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Written by fantastical in portal Poetry & Free Verse

Fires of Anguish, Winds of Grief (Raw Draft)

It begins with joy, always

The deepest sort

A sort that shapes your soul

Into a better being

In such a way that was impossible

to do on your own.

That joy becomes inverted

In a sudden, violent shift.

Not quite the Tarot opposite

But altogether quite worse

A harbinger of grief, not grief itself.

The merest, beginning ember.

Feel all of your hope peeled away

Every layer, dried dust blowing away

From a field where nothing takes root.

Still clinging to the memory of the joy.

The hope eventually is extinguished

Yet, the peeling continues slowly.

Trapped between what the joy was to be

And the reality that will become

One can feel each grain of sand

Slowly drift to an ultimate conclusion

The agony of it feels never-ending

Yet cling to it, for the anguish will be much worse.

The dusk of the journey approaches

The son you ached for is born

The briefest reminder of joy, tasted

Until you see the wound, the flaw

Destined to end his fragile life

To end all of your simple dreams.

You hold him, watching each breath

You share him, yet not wanting to let go

Selfishly waiting to embrace him again.

You hold him, 'til his final breath is exhaled.

You think the sand has run out.

You are still so very wrong.

You watch your wife sleep,

Exhausted from her own journey

While you cradle you dead son in your arms, alone

A brief, reprise of peace.

A quiet requiem 

A time you can finally weep alone.

You take your hardest step,

Then another, then one more.

A repeatable pattern, yet one that approaches an ending

You feel the stares, yet they do not know,

Save for the pain etched in your face.

Every step, the sound of a grain of sand falling

in the hourglass

There are so few left.

You lay the baby down,

Blanketing him as if it is for a nap.

A parental, instinctual thing.

For he hasn't breathed in an hour

Every movement of fatherhood,

There are so few left.

You feel other's try to pull you away.

You are not ready to part,

You were never ready to let go.

You were never truly given a choice.

You hear the door to his chariot close.

You hear a wailing, your own.

Yet it seems like a stranger.

The anguish, an acid on the soul.

Dissolving.

A few days later, 

A few lifetimes of torment,

You bury your son

That you knew for minutes

Yet forever.

You say your words,

For either no one else had them

Or no one else could.

The wind blows in the yard

Grief finally introduces itself.

Yet, It takes Its time to get acquainted

It shows you all that has become broken

The depths of the holes left in anguish's wake.

The deep, gouged changes within

The vast, smothered changes without

It is in the aftermath, where grief is truly felt.

In the ruins of life,

Where ashes and dust remain,

And the bitter knowledge that

You must rebuild

Something in this sacred space.

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Written by fantastical in portal Poetry & Free Verse
Fires of Anguish, Winds of Grief (Raw Draft)
It begins with joy, always
The deepest sort
A sort that shapes your soul
Into a better being
In such a way that was impossible
to do on your own.

That joy becomes inverted
In a sudden, violent shift.
Not quite the Tarot opposite
But altogether quite worse
A harbinger of grief, not grief itself.
The merest, beginning ember.

Feel all of your hope peeled away
Every layer, dried dust blowing away
From a field where nothing takes root.
Still clinging to the memory of the joy.
The hope eventually is extinguished
Yet, the peeling continues slowly.

Trapped between what the joy was to be
And the reality that will become
One can feel each grain of sand
Slowly drift to an ultimate conclusion
The agony of it feels never-ending
Yet cling to it, for the anguish will be much worse.

The dusk of the journey approaches
The son you ached for is born
The briefest reminder of joy, tasted
Until you see the wound, the flaw
Destined to end his fragile life
To end all of your simple dreams.

You hold him, watching each breath
You share him, yet not wanting to let go
Selfishly waiting to embrace him again.
You hold him, 'til his final breath is exhaled.
You think the sand has run out.
You are still so very wrong.

You watch your wife sleep,
Exhausted from her own journey
While you cradle you dead son in your arms, alone
A brief, reprise of peace.
A quiet requiem 
A time you can finally weep alone.

You take your hardest step,
Then another, then one more.
A repeatable pattern, yet one that approaches an ending
You feel the stares, yet they do not know,
Save for the pain etched in your face.
Every step, the sound of a grain of sand falling
in the hourglass
There are so few left.

You lay the baby down,
Blanketing him as if it is for a nap.
A parental, instinctual thing.
For he hasn't breathed in an hour
Every movement of fatherhood,
There are so few left.

You feel other's try to pull you away.
You are not ready to part,
You were never ready to let go.
You were never truly given a choice.
You hear the door to his chariot close.
You hear a wailing, your own.
Yet it seems like a stranger.
The anguish, an acid on the soul.
Dissolving.

A few days later, 
A few lifetimes of torment,
You bury your son
That you knew for minutes
Yet forever.
You say your words,
For either no one else had them
Or no one else could.
The wind blows in the yard
Grief finally introduces itself.

Yet, It takes Its time to get acquainted
It shows you all that has become broken
The depths of the holes left in anguish's wake.
The deep, gouged changes within
The vast, smothered changes without
It is in the aftermath, where grief is truly felt.
In the ruins of life,
Where ashes and dust remain,
And the bitter knowledge that
You must rebuild
Something in this sacred space.
#grief  #loss  #anguish 
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Written by fantastical in portal Romance & Erotica

Whiskey with a Smile

John did not know what the hell he was doing here; or perhaps he knew all too well. He sat as he watched the woman fix him a drink at the bar. The woman, a mere stranger an hour ago, flashed him a perfect teeth smile. A perfect smile, yet he could not overlook that her nose and teeth were not aligned. It didn’t matter, somehow this woman made him more horny than he has been in years and harder than he ever remembered being as a teen.

She strolled over to him, her natural gait both predatory and sexual. She handed him the tumbler and flashed her smile, “Here dear. Your poison with one less rock, but I assure you, the bourbon is of finer stuff than that swill you were drowning yourself in back at the bar.”

Her name was Joy, or that was at least what she told him it was. John felt that it was a lie or at the very least a feint. He was still puzzling how she stirred this level of lust within him. He has been around women that have been more attractive, he had passes made toward him by women that were willing to be mistresses, yet he passed each and every time. Why stray now? Why her?

Joy sat across from him, legs spread. John’s eyes stayed on hers though, even as his mind played out how if she lifted her legs just a few inches more, he would be able to gleam the type of panties she was wearing, or if she was wearing any at all. He was surprised by how turned on he was just to uncover that simple mystery. When was the last time he cared what his wife wore underneath her clothes. He figured that sort of sexual tease died in him a long time ago. Why did he stir to know what Joy had under her dress?

“John, do women in general get soaked under your gaze, or is it just me?”

Joy’s comment caught him off guard. “Excuse me?”

Joy laughed easily, it tasted of honey and sex, “Your eyes. Your penetrating stare. Within ten minutes talking to you in the bar, my thighs were soaked, just from you looking at me with those gorgeous eyes. I cannot recall the last time someone could fuck me with just their eyes. It is a rare and wonderful thing.”

John dusted off all of his memories of his old lovers. None reminding him of his eyes playing an overly important part of their couplings. He thought of all of the times making love to his wife, when they still made love. He thought of all of the times when they just fucked, then the times when they just fucked around, never a mention of his eyes doing anything to stir her. For a moment, it seemed like something was missed. Was he looking at Joy in a different way? He didn’t think so. “I’m afraid that has never happened,” John replied a bit chagrined, “or somehow I was never aware of their effect.”

Joy laughed in disbelief. “Well, go ahead, sit there, sip on the whiskey, and please keep fucking me with those fucking, gorgeous eyes.” With that, she reached down and in a single, fluid flourish, she pulled off her dress. All she was left in were her heels, her perfume, and her smile. No panties to removed. Her thighs did seem to glisten.

John felt his heart pounding in his ears. Felt his cock trying to pound free from his pants, twitching in a way as if reaching for her. Felt the memory of his wife and felt his guilt for being here melt away. All of their years of blissful matrimony, followed by all of the years of painful matrimony, followed by all of the years of indifference and reflex mechanics of marriage, melted away. If Harriet ever found out about this, she would probably barely care, or so he tried to tell himself. All that was left of the passion in their love was embers, if that. No, an ember, that John finally grew too tired of trying to shelter so it didn’t die.

John watched Joy’s fingers explore all of the parts of her he wanted to explore. Her mouth, her shoulders, her breasts, her thighs. He watched her tremble, as if somehow his eyes were groping her, fondling her, were indeed fucking her.

She gasp before her fingers entered her sex. Her wetness was audible. John growled at the thought of a woman being that wet for him, and he hadn’t even done anything yet watched her. He took a sip of the whiskey and Joy whimpered. She was right, it was good poison, but his hunger now was the poison between her legs.

“Tell me,” she panted, “what you want…”

John could barely hear her request over the pounding rush of blood ringing in his ears. It was almost an anger that he had never felt such lust before. So much wasted time. “I thought you said you wanted my eyes to fuck you? Haven’t they made it…”

Joy let out a high pitched sound. It wasn’t a moan, it wasn’t a scream per se, but the sudden tremor of her thighs mixed with flow of sweet fluid pour over her fingers from her sex told John all he needed to know. He tried to take a sip but all that was left in the glass was the water from the ice. He set the glass down ready to get up as he watch her prop herself up, dangling wet fingers as evidence of his crime.

“Well, what I want,” Joy mummered in wanton tones, “is for you to show me if more than just your eyes want to fuck me.”

John stood, undid his belt and fairly slowly pulled down his pants. He let out a sigh being free from their constraints, feeling the cool air engulf his hot, engorged cock as it sprung free. Joy took a few steps toward him and pushed him lightly, a lead to fall back into the chair. Her eyes were all lust and hunger and wantonness. For the first time, he felt like he was being fucked by a lover’s eyes. He would never forget the moment.

“Stroke it,” she whispered, as she fed him her fingers.

His hand followed her command, slowly stroking his cock as he always stroked and John moaned in a way he never did when he masturbated alone. He moaned because he couldn’t remember the last time touching himself ever felt this fucking good. He moaned because he couldn’t remember how sweet a woman could taste. Harriet was always uncomfortable being tasted.

Joy moaned and pulled her fingers free and laughed, “I believe I am more of a glutton than you.” She kneeled down, making damn sure her breasts pressed against John’s legs, making damn sure he felt how soft they were. She pulled his hand away from his cock and replaced it with her own. They moaned together when she brought her lips around his head. She sucked and stroked him in want over obligation. She feasted on him as if he was doing her a favor by letting her. Her lust poured over her lips, until she was overwhelmed with it.

Joy broke away from her sucking and awkwardly climbed into John’s lap, slapping her sex against his; kissing him hard and deep. Before John had a chance to gain another breath, Joy worked his cock into her. They fucked with everything they had. Their cock and cunt, their hands, their eyes, their lips, their moans. John didn’t know where the orgasms started and ended. For the first time for as long as he could remember, he couldn’t tell where he ended and his lover began.

When it all subsided, Joy kissed him softly, yet even deeper. When she finally broke it, she looked deep in his eyes, “I hope you don’t need to leave soon. I want to know how tenderly your touch can be, even if your eyes cannot stop fucking me.” Joy got up and walked back over to the bed, fell on it, turned and waited to see if John would join her. Joy cooed at the first of his tender caresses once he did join her and smiled.

~~~

John watch Joy slip her dress back on as easily as slipping on a second skin. “Thank you for a wonderful evening, John. I wish we could do this again.”

John was still drunk on the magical, lust-filled night, “So I assume this was a one time thing, then?”

“I’ve only had my heart broken once. I how found flash fires of sex preferable to the complications of love. I will admit though, I will miss how well you fuck with those lovely eyes of yours. I still don’t believe you that no one else has ever mentioned it.”

“Nope, before you, I am not sure I was ever aware that such a thing was possible, especially by me.”

Joy smiled, stepped closer, caressed John’s cheek, and gave him a final kiss. “I am positive I will never forget them. Your eyes fucking me will haunt me ‘til I’m old and grey.”

With that, she left him alone, with a new found arousal, but nowhere to direct it.

~~~

John looked in his glass of bourbon, swirling it slowly, feeling frustrated and empty and alone. He didn’t want to go home yet, there was nothing waiting for him there but silence or empty conversation. John had half hoped that he could find some way to bring some life back to his marriage with Harriet after his tryst with Joy. There were a few moments where they almost found something lost, but too soon they fell back to old routines. Joy was true to her word, he had never come across her again. Never at this bar, where she first introduced herself after catching him take her in. He thought it was just a glance, “With eyes like yours, you can fuck a lady like me with just a glance.”

He remembered her whisper that to him, while they were in between sessions on that hotel bed oh so long ago. He ordered another drink. It had been about a year, it could not have been already two. He let his eyes wander. He suddenly wanting to feel...something again. They fell on the various women drinking their sorrows away, or drinking to amplify the joys of their moment. His eyes didn’t feel like they were doing anything though.

The door to the bar opened and he watched a couple of women walk in, joined at the hips and their shared kiss. When they broke their kiss, the pair showered the bar with their joyful laughter. One of the women was his wife, Harriet, the other, he had never seen. His heart caught in shock and surprise. John’s mind replayed the last few decades of his life with this now stranger. How did he miss this? When did it start?

There was a fluid of emotions rushing through him. Harriet seemed so...happy. When was the last time she seemed that happy with him? He felt a pang of guilt. How much of that was his fault? Neither of them ever recovered from being childless. They both wanted a family so bad. When they ran out of options to have their own biological child, he could never convince her to adopt. He could never get her past feeling broken. She closed him out.

John turned into the dutiful husband. Tried to be supportive. Tried to understand her pain. Tried to reach her. The chasm slowly grew though, whether they wanted it to or not. How many years have gone by since they’ve truly shared happiness. When was the last time they shared some of the ‘for better’ and ‘in health’ over the ‘for worse’ and ‘in sickness’.

John looked down at his empty glass, he didn’t dare to have another one here. He watched his wife and her lover until he was sure they didn’t see him. He thought it was a kindness to let Harriet have her happy moment and not confront them here. A part of him envied and wished he still had the means to give her that raw joy she showered the bar with. He almost forgot just how lovely she was when she was happy and reachable. He almost remember what made him fall in love with her so long ago in the first place. He paid his tab and slipped out of the back door. More lost than he had felt for a long time and he has felt lost and alone for far too long.

~~~

John sat in the kitchen, nursing a drink, wondering if the pair would come back here. He wasn’t suppose to be home for another couple of days. The meeting in Atlanta was such a failure that it ended prematurely. He almost went to a hotel instead, but in between the bar and where to go, he thought home was the best choice. Either she wouldn’t come home tonight and have one last night of believing she had a secret or she would come home and they would face it together. Suddenly knowing a hard end was coming was not comforting. Funny that he should dread this, even though their marriage has been on life support for years. John heard the garage open and felt the lump in his throat grow. He suddenly wish he did go to a hotel. He was not ready for this. Not ready for the end. Not ready for letting that final ember he has painfully kept burning alive to finally be extinguished. Yet he knew it was over. Forcing the marriage forward would truly be a lie now. Perhaps it has been all these years anyway.

Harriet was standing in the doorway. Even though there was a look of worry and guilt on her face, he could still see the happiness from earlier radiate from her. It crushed him that just seeing him erased that joy and replaced it with worry and guilt.

“John, why are you home? I thought you were gone until Sunday.” John swallowed down the bile rising in his throat as he took in not her words, but the tone. A mix of shame and concern and even a bit of anger. It crushed him, and he wasn’t sure quite why.

“The meeting was an absolute failure,” John said, it came out as almost a laugh, “and yet in hindsight it perhaps was the better part of the week.”

“I am sorry John...do you need to talk about it?”

John took a breath and cut to what the conversation needed to be about, “I saw you tonight Harr, at the bar. I was there when you entered.”

“Oh…” the sound came out so small, soft, meek, and ashamed.

“How long, Harriet?”

“With her?”

“With anyone,” John tried to sound calm.

“Too long,” she whispered, tears welling up, “but with Jill,” she said the name as if forced to, “nearing four years.”

Four years with such a secret. How did he miss this? John thought to himself, only to follow it by perhaps just not wanting to see.

“I am sorry, Harr,” John replied, with a sorrow too deep to understand, “sorry that you had to try to keep such a secret from me. Sorry for whatever went wrong with us.”

She was crying true now, but they were tears of guilt and shame, she mistook his words.

“Harriet, I am not mad. A bit surprised, more than a bit sad, but it is a sadness that I think we both have suffered for too long.”

“But, I cheated…”

John, held up a hand, “I am no saint. I did too.”

Harriet looked surprised and suddenly hurt, “Really?”

“It was a one time event. I am not quite sure what happened, yet it did.”

Harriet chewed on her lip, “You were tired of being alone. I shut you out and you were one to crave intimacy even if your eyes always hungered for a bit more.”

John laughed, “My eyes hungered for more?”

Harriet smiled, “You have dangerous eyes, John. You always have.” She smiled again, and then she frowned, “but those eyes could cut in their hunger too. After a time, they can become a weight on the soul. Your actions may always been noble, your eyes always screamed what you needed or wanted though.”

John lost his smile. One last shared moment. One like it use to be.

The silence remained until it was too awkward.

“Where do we go from here John?” She was leaving it to him.

He chewed on the word. What he wanted was gone a long time ago.

“I want you to be happy, Harriet. If that is not with me, so be it. Perhaps this way, we can at least salvage a friendship of a sort. Better that than what we’ve let us become. I miss you being my best friend, if I can get a facet of that friendship back, well at least that is something. Tell me, now that I know you’ve been with Jill, do you have any desire not to be with her? Hell, it’s been four years, Harriet.”

“No, I care for her deeply. I...love her in a way I never thought I would ever feel again. We helped each other heal in ways neither of us thought could heal.”

“Then, that is what matters, Harr.”

“What will we tell the family?”

“Whatever the hell you want to tell them. Tell them it was my fault if it lessens the blows on your end. I’ll tell my side whatever you are the most comfortable to tell them. They don’t matter. You matter.”

Harriet started to cry, “You can still surprise me, John.”

“I try,” was his only reply. He tried to smile, even though his heart still broke for them, for her, and for himself.

~~~

John took a sip of the whiskey and let it burn his mouth before swallowing it. He was surprised how lost he was in the world two months after the divorce. He was tired of the questioning from both his siblings and his in-laws. Harriet wanted to wait to tell her family everything, knowing some of them wouldn’t understand, but she felt guilty knowing John was being beaten about it, blamed for it.

“Hey stranger, mind if I join you?”

John looked over and saw Joy. In spite of himself, his heart pounded a bit.

“The seat is yours, although I believe you said I would never see you again?”

Joy shrugged, “Surprises happen. I see your hand is lacking a ring now.”

John looked down, his thumb still missed fidgeting with it, “It seems my wife had another love. Life goes on.”

“Sucks doesn’t it. Letting them go even when you still love them in your broken way?”

“Exactly.” John wondered if Joy’s broken heart she hinted about required her to let go her old love as well.

“That is the other reason I liked you, John. Your eyes and that you would eventually do the right thing and let Harriet go and be with Jill.”

John paused, and looked at her, “I do not believe I ever mentioned my wife to you and I definitely know I didn’t mention Jill.”

Joy actually blushed, “Well, Jill is a friend of a friend. I met the pair of them at a party. I am sorry to say I knew of your wife’s affair before you probably did. Like I said, I’ve had a broken heart before. I pick my lovers by knowing if they have broken heart themselves, even if they do not know why they are broken.”

John didn’t know what to say to that, so he took another long sip of his drink.

She put her hand on his thigh, damn it that it felt wonderful to be there. He didn’t want it to feel wonderful. He didn’t want what Joy seemed to too easily stir within him. He wanted to cradle his pain and loneliness.

Joy laughed, “If you trust nothing else from me, trust that our night together was not out of pity. By the way, my real name is Hope, my middle name is Joy. My parents each wanted to name me each of those name. My mother wanted Hope. They struggled to have kids. I was their only one.”

John’s heart lurched. Wondering what the world would have been like if Harriet and he did successfully have a child. They probably would have fought over names similar to Hope-Joy’s.

“Well Hope, would you like to have dinner with me sometime?”

“How about right now? I’m famished! But, is it possible for you to calm your eyes down?”

“Not sure. Since I don’t know that I am doing it, and my ex-wife confirmed I had dangerous eyes, and the fact that whether I want to or not, I find you irresistible, probably not.”

“Well, in that case John, perhaps room service would be the better way to go,” Hope said with a sultry smile.

“Perhaps you are right,” John replied, laughing an honest laugh for the first time in a long time, “but what about the complications of love?”

“Who said anything about love, John?” Hope smirked, “That said, perhaps dreaming about those eyes of yours have left me pondering if they would stare at me with the same intensity when I am old and grey?”

Hope seemed to almost blush at the thought. John’s heart skipped a beat. He quickly paid the tab and they left the bar hand in hand. As they walked through the doorway, John kissed Hope deeply, suddenly feeling that the doorway was just as good of a place to let a relationship begin as it was a place to end one.

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Written by fantastical in portal Romance & Erotica
Whiskey with a Smile
John did not know what the hell he was doing here; or perhaps he knew all too well. He sat as he watched the woman fix him a drink at the bar. The woman, a mere stranger an hour ago, flashed him a perfect teeth smile. A perfect smile, yet he could not overlook that her nose and teeth were not aligned. It didn’t matter, somehow this woman made him more horny than he has been in years and harder than he ever remembered being as a teen.

She strolled over to him, her natural gait both predatory and sexual. She handed him the tumbler and flashed her smile, “Here dear. Your poison with one less rock, but I assure you, the bourbon is of finer stuff than that swill you were drowning yourself in back at the bar.”

Her name was Joy, or that was at least what she told him it was. John felt that it was a lie or at the very least a feint. He was still puzzling how she stirred this level of lust within him. He has been around women that have been more attractive, he had passes made toward him by women that were willing to be mistresses, yet he passed each and every time. Why stray now? Why her?

Joy sat across from him, legs spread. John’s eyes stayed on hers though, even as his mind played out how if she lifted her legs just a few inches more, he would be able to gleam the type of panties she was wearing, or if she was wearing any at all. He was surprised by how turned on he was just to uncover that simple mystery. When was the last time he cared what his wife wore underneath her clothes. He figured that sort of sexual tease died in him a long time ago. Why did he stir to know what Joy had under her dress?

“John, do women in general get soaked under your gaze, or is it just me?”

Joy’s comment caught him off guard. “Excuse me?”

Joy laughed easily, it tasted of honey and sex, “Your eyes. Your penetrating stare. Within ten minutes talking to you in the bar, my thighs were soaked, just from you looking at me with those gorgeous eyes. I cannot recall the last time someone could fuck me with just their eyes. It is a rare and wonderful thing.”

John dusted off all of his memories of his old lovers. None reminding him of his eyes playing an overly important part of their couplings. He thought of all of the times making love to his wife, when they still made love. He thought of all of the times when they just fucked, then the times when they just fucked around, never a mention of his eyes doing anything to stir her. For a moment, it seemed like something was missed. Was he looking at Joy in a different way? He didn’t think so. “I’m afraid that has never happened,” John replied a bit chagrined, “or somehow I was never aware of their effect.”

Joy laughed in disbelief. “Well, go ahead, sit there, sip on the whiskey, and please keep fucking me with those fucking, gorgeous eyes.” With that, she reached down and in a single, fluid flourish, she pulled off her dress. All she was left in were her heels, her perfume, and her smile. No panties to removed. Her thighs did seem to glisten.

John felt his heart pounding in his ears. Felt his cock trying to pound free from his pants, twitching in a way as if reaching for her. Felt the memory of his wife and felt his guilt for being here melt away. All of their years of blissful matrimony, followed by all of the years of painful matrimony, followed by all of the years of indifference and reflex mechanics of marriage, melted away. If Harriet ever found out about this, she would probably barely care, or so he tried to tell himself. All that was left of the passion in their love was embers, if that. No, an ember, that John finally grew too tired of trying to shelter so it didn’t die.

John watched Joy’s fingers explore all of the parts of her he wanted to explore. Her mouth, her shoulders, her breasts, her thighs. He watched her tremble, as if somehow his eyes were groping her, fondling her, were indeed fucking her.

She gasp before her fingers entered her sex. Her wetness was audible. John growled at the thought of a woman being that wet for him, and he hadn’t even done anything yet watched her. He took a sip of the whiskey and Joy whimpered. She was right, it was good poison, but his hunger now was the poison between her legs.

“Tell me,” she panted, “what you want…”

John could barely hear her request over the pounding rush of blood ringing in his ears. It was almost an anger that he had never felt such lust before. So much wasted time. “I thought you said you wanted my eyes to fuck you? Haven’t they made it…”

Joy let out a high pitched sound. It wasn’t a moan, it wasn’t a scream per se, but the sudden tremor of her thighs mixed with flow of sweet fluid pour over her fingers from her sex told John all he needed to know. He tried to take a sip but all that was left in the glass was the water from the ice. He set the glass down ready to get up as he watch her prop herself up, dangling wet fingers as evidence of his crime.

“Well, what I want,” Joy mummered in wanton tones, “is for you to show me if more than just your eyes want to fuck me.”

John stood, undid his belt and fairly slowly pulled down his pants. He let out a sigh being free from their constraints, feeling the cool air engulf his hot, engorged cock as it sprung free. Joy took a few steps toward him and pushed him lightly, a lead to fall back into the chair. Her eyes were all lust and hunger and wantonness. For the first time, he felt like he was being fucked by a lover’s eyes. He would never forget the moment.

“Stroke it,” she whispered, as she fed him her fingers.

His hand followed her command, slowly stroking his cock as he always stroked and John moaned in a way he never did when he masturbated alone. He moaned because he couldn’t remember the last time touching himself ever felt this fucking good. He moaned because he couldn’t remember how sweet a woman could taste. Harriet was always uncomfortable being tasted.

Joy moaned and pulled her fingers free and laughed, “I believe I am more of a glutton than you.” She kneeled down, making damn sure her breasts pressed against John’s legs, making damn sure he felt how soft they were. She pulled his hand away from his cock and replaced it with her own. They moaned together when she brought her lips around his head. She sucked and stroked him in want over obligation. She feasted on him as if he was doing her a favor by letting her. Her lust poured over her lips, until she was overwhelmed with it.

Joy broke away from her sucking and awkwardly climbed into John’s lap, slapping her sex against his; kissing him hard and deep. Before John had a chance to gain another breath, Joy worked his cock into her. They fucked with everything they had. Their cock and cunt, their hands, their eyes, their lips, their moans. John didn’t know where the orgasms started and ended. For the first time for as long as he could remember, he couldn’t tell where he ended and his lover began.

When it all subsided, Joy kissed him softly, yet even deeper. When she finally broke it, she looked deep in his eyes, “I hope you don’t need to leave soon. I want to know how tenderly your touch can be, even if your eyes cannot stop fucking me.” Joy got up and walked back over to the bed, fell on it, turned and waited to see if John would join her. Joy cooed at the first of his tender caresses once he did join her and smiled.

~~~

John watch Joy slip her dress back on as easily as slipping on a second skin. “Thank you for a wonderful evening, John. I wish we could do this again.”

John was still drunk on the magical, lust-filled night, “So I assume this was a one time thing, then?”

“I’ve only had my heart broken once. I how found flash fires of sex preferable to the complications of love. I will admit though, I will miss how well you fuck with those lovely eyes of yours. I still don’t believe you that no one else has ever mentioned it.”

“Nope, before you, I am not sure I was ever aware that such a thing was possible, especially by me.”

Joy smiled, stepped closer, caressed John’s cheek, and gave him a final kiss. “I am positive I will never forget them. Your eyes fucking me will haunt me ‘til I’m old and grey.”

With that, she left him alone, with a new found arousal, but nowhere to direct it.

~~~

John looked in his glass of bourbon, swirling it slowly, feeling frustrated and empty and alone. He didn’t want to go home yet, there was nothing waiting for him there but silence or empty conversation. John had half hoped that he could find some way to bring some life back to his marriage with Harriet after his tryst with Joy. There were a few moments where they almost found something lost, but too soon they fell back to old routines. Joy was true to her word, he had never come across her again. Never at this bar, where she first introduced herself after catching him take her in. He thought it was just a glance, “With eyes like yours, you can fuck a lady like me with just a glance.”

He remembered her whisper that to him, while they were in between sessions on that hotel bed oh so long ago. He ordered another drink. It had been about a year, it could not have been already two. He let his eyes wander. He suddenly wanting to feel...something again. They fell on the various women drinking their sorrows away, or drinking to amplify the joys of their moment. His eyes didn’t feel like they were doing anything though.

The door to the bar opened and he watched a couple of women walk in, joined at the hips and their shared kiss. When they broke their kiss, the pair showered the bar with their joyful laughter. One of the women was his wife, Harriet, the other, he had never seen. His heart caught in shock and surprise. John’s mind replayed the last few decades of his life with this now stranger. How did he miss this? When did it start?

There was a fluid of emotions rushing through him. Harriet seemed so...happy. When was the last time she seemed that happy with him? He felt a pang of guilt. How much of that was his fault? Neither of them ever recovered from being childless. They both wanted a family so bad. When they ran out of options to have their own biological child, he could never convince her to adopt. He could never get her past feeling broken. She closed him out.

John turned into the dutiful husband. Tried to be supportive. Tried to understand her pain. Tried to reach her. The chasm slowly grew though, whether they wanted it to or not. How many years have gone by since they’ve truly shared happiness. When was the last time they shared some of the ‘for better’ and ‘in health’ over the ‘for worse’ and ‘in sickness’.

John looked down at his empty glass, he didn’t dare to have another one here. He watched his wife and her lover until he was sure they didn’t see him. He thought it was a kindness to let Harriet have her happy moment and not confront them here. A part of him envied and wished he still had the means to give her that raw joy she showered the bar with. He almost forgot just how lovely she was when she was happy and reachable. He almost remember what made him fall in love with her so long ago in the first place. He paid his tab and slipped out of the back door. More lost than he had felt for a long time and he has felt lost and alone for far too long.

~~~

John sat in the kitchen, nursing a drink, wondering if the pair would come back here. He wasn’t suppose to be home for another couple of days. The meeting in Atlanta was such a failure that it ended prematurely. He almost went to a hotel instead, but in between the bar and where to go, he thought home was the best choice. Either she wouldn’t come home tonight and have one last night of believing she had a secret or she would come home and they would face it together. Suddenly knowing a hard end was coming was not comforting. Funny that he should dread this, even though their marriage has been on life support for years. John heard the garage open and felt the lump in his throat grow. He suddenly wish he did go to a hotel. He was not ready for this. Not ready for the end. Not ready for letting that final ember he has painfully kept burning alive to finally be extinguished. Yet he knew it was over. Forcing the marriage forward would truly be a lie now. Perhaps it has been all these years anyway.

Harriet was standing in the doorway. Even though there was a look of worry and guilt on her face, he could still see the happiness from earlier radiate from her. It crushed him that just seeing him erased that joy and replaced it with worry and guilt.

“John, why are you home? I thought you were gone until Sunday.” John swallowed down the bile rising in his throat as he took in not her words, but the tone. A mix of shame and concern and even a bit of anger. It crushed him, and he wasn’t sure quite why.

“The meeting was an absolute failure,” John said, it came out as almost a laugh, “and yet in hindsight it perhaps was the better part of the week.”

“I am sorry John...do you need to talk about it?”

John took a breath and cut to what the conversation needed to be about, “I saw you tonight Harr, at the bar. I was there when you entered.”

“Oh…” the sound came out so small, soft, meek, and ashamed.

“How long, Harriet?”

“With her?”

“With anyone,” John tried to sound calm.

“Too long,” she whispered, tears welling up, “but with Jill,” she said the name as if forced to, “nearing four years.”

Four years with such a secret. How did he miss this? John thought to himself, only to follow it by perhaps just not wanting to see.

“I am sorry, Harr,” John replied, with a sorrow too deep to understand, “sorry that you had to try to keep such a secret from me. Sorry for whatever went wrong with us.”

She was crying true now, but they were tears of guilt and shame, she mistook his words.

“Harriet, I am not mad. A bit surprised, more than a bit sad, but it is a sadness that I think we both have suffered for too long.”

“But, I cheated…”

John, held up a hand, “I am no saint. I did too.”

Harriet looked surprised and suddenly hurt, “Really?”

“It was a one time event. I am not quite sure what happened, yet it did.”

Harriet chewed on her lip, “You were tired of being alone. I shut you out and you were one to crave intimacy even if your eyes always hungered for a bit more.”

John laughed, “My eyes hungered for more?”

Harriet smiled, “You have dangerous eyes, John. You always have.” She smiled again, and then she frowned, “but those eyes could cut in their hunger too. After a time, they can become a weight on the soul. Your actions may always been noble, your eyes always screamed what you needed or wanted though.”

John lost his smile. One last shared moment. One like it use to be.

The silence remained until it was too awkward.

“Where do we go from here John?” She was leaving it to him.

He chewed on the word. What he wanted was gone a long time ago.

“I want you to be happy, Harriet. If that is not with me, so be it. Perhaps this way, we can at least salvage a friendship of a sort. Better that than what we’ve let us become. I miss you being my best friend, if I can get a facet of that friendship back, well at least that is something. Tell me, now that I know you’ve been with Jill, do you have any desire not to be with her? Hell, it’s been four years, Harriet.”

“No, I care for her deeply. I...love her in a way I never thought I would ever feel again. We helped each other heal in ways neither of us thought could heal.”

“Then, that is what matters, Harr.”

“What will we tell the family?”

“Whatever the hell you want to tell them. Tell them it was my fault if it lessens the blows on your end. I’ll tell my side whatever you are the most comfortable to tell them. They don’t matter. You matter.”

Harriet started to cry, “You can still surprise me, John.”

“I try,” was his only reply. He tried to smile, even though his heart still broke for them, for her, and for himself.

~~~

John took a sip of the whiskey and let it burn his mouth before swallowing it. He was surprised how lost he was in the world two months after the divorce. He was tired of the questioning from both his siblings and his in-laws. Harriet wanted to wait to tell her family everything, knowing some of them wouldn’t understand, but she felt guilty knowing John was being beaten about it, blamed for it.

“Hey stranger, mind if I join you?”

John looked over and saw Joy. In spite of himself, his heart pounded a bit.

“The seat is yours, although I believe you said I would never see you again?”

Joy shrugged, “Surprises happen. I see your hand is lacking a ring now.”

John looked down, his thumb still missed fidgeting with it, “It seems my wife had another love. Life goes on.”

“Sucks doesn’t it. Letting them go even when you still love them in your broken way?”

“Exactly.” John wondered if Joy’s broken heart she hinted about required her to let go her old love as well.

“That is the other reason I liked you, John. Your eyes and that you would eventually do the right thing and let Harriet go and be with Jill.”

John paused, and looked at her, “I do not believe I ever mentioned my wife to you and I definitely know I didn’t mention Jill.”

Joy actually blushed, “Well, Jill is a friend of a friend. I met the pair of them at a party. I am sorry to say I knew of your wife’s affair before you probably did. Like I said, I’ve had a broken heart before. I pick my lovers by knowing if they have broken heart themselves, even if they do not know why they are broken.”

John didn’t know what to say to that, so he took another long sip of his drink.

She put her hand on his thigh, damn it that it felt wonderful to be there. He didn’t want it to feel wonderful. He didn’t want what Joy seemed to too easily stir within him. He wanted to cradle his pain and loneliness.

Joy laughed, “If you trust nothing else from me, trust that our night together was not out of pity. By the way, my real name is Hope, my middle name is Joy. My parents each wanted to name me each of those name. My mother wanted Hope. They struggled to have kids. I was their only one.”

John’s heart lurched. Wondering what the world would have been like if Harriet and he did successfully have a child. They probably would have fought over names similar to Hope-Joy’s.

“Well Hope, would you like to have dinner with me sometime?”

“How about right now? I’m famished! But, is it possible for you to calm your eyes down?”

“Not sure. Since I don’t know that I am doing it, and my ex-wife confirmed I had dangerous eyes, and the fact that whether I want to or not, I find you irresistible, probably not.”

“Well, in that case John, perhaps room service would be the better way to go,” Hope said with a sultry smile.

“Perhaps you are right,” John replied, laughing an honest laugh for the first time in a long time, “but what about the complications of love?”

“Who said anything about love, John?” Hope smirked, “That said, perhaps dreaming about those eyes of yours have left me pondering if they would stare at me with the same intensity when I am old and grey?”

Hope seemed to almost blush at the thought. John’s heart skipped a beat. He quickly paid the tab and they left the bar hand in hand. As they walked through the doorway, John kissed Hope deeply, suddenly feeling that the doorway was just as good of a place to let a relationship begin as it was a place to end one.


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The writer of the best short story from this challenge wins a ProWritingAid Lifetime License, worth $140. Take the terribly-written adverb-laden outline of a story below and use your own voice to make it amazing. Maybe it's sci-fi, maybe it's romance, maybe it's thriller...it's up to you: The door was opened and they looked out. She was very surprised. He looked very worried. They went quickly to find out more. She slowly picked up the object and it all finally made sense.
Written by fantastical

The Doorway

“You ready, Alex?” Evelyn asked, as much to get his attention as she was anxious to finally see the result of years of work and research finally prove their theories.

Alex snapped out of his deep-thought trance and smiled back at her. “As ready as I’ll ever be, Love.”

Evelyn pushed the button and the engineered door hummed to life and opened. Opened to to another place, not of Earth. She looked in wonder while Alex looked in concern, because the air didn’t change or vacuum away like he predicted.

Evelyn removed her helmet, took a breath, and gave Alex a look to to prove that everything was ok. He still looked concerned. Evelyn slipped out of her suit, giving up its safety and walked toward the doorway, knowing Alex would follow, if for no other reason than his cavalier romanticism.

Peering through the doorway revealed a near blackness beyond, with only a dull white object about yards ahead. She took a step forward.

“Ev’yn, don’t you think…”

“Alex, we been working endlessly toward this. You have to want to see!”

“But…”

“No, I am going, this is as big as the first steps on the moon. Bigger. We will be the first.”

When they reached the white object, they found it was a cylinder platform, etched in glyphs of nothing familiar or ancient. Atop of it was a darkened spheroid looking of smoked glass.

Evelyn lifted the object up and studied it. “It almost looks like an apple. Alex take a picture.”

Evelyn smiled and brought it to her lips with a smile. The place shifted as if a wind came from nowhere and everywhere. The door slammed shut, causing Alex to turn his head to see that they were suddenly cut off. Evelyn gave out a familiar, ecstatic scream, causing Alex to turn back toward her. The ecstasy was deeper than any he ever brought her.

“ALEX! I Understand now…”

“What? Are you ok?”

“Everything!”

Alex watched as Evelyn started to glow, almost blindingly bright. In her bright form, the spheroid absorbed her until it became a perfect, bright sphere. In turn, the sphere was pulled into the cylinder replacing its dull whiteness to the same brilliant glow.

Alex ran toward it, seeing the surface revealed a hole that was deepening from the sphere. In desperation he reached in, trying to grab the sphere back. At touching it, he could almost feel her still. The sphere was impossibly heavy, he could not lift it out.

“YES! Alex. Come with me...Forward, not back. Come with me forward…”

Alex succumbed to her words. Alex pushed his hand against the sphere. The sphere grabbed hold and pulled him toward it, pulling him into the platform.

Everything was suddenly blindingly white. Everything was perfectly black. Alex thought he was blind. Until he saw the sphere. Saw it shrink to almost nothing as it ripped away his humanity, until all that was left of him was his flawed soul. He touched it, he understood then the ‘Everthing!’ Evelyn referred to. The sphere shattered in a bang, filling the void they now existed in with the energy Evelyn became. They started a new universe, together. They now understood how beginnings began. She now scattered giving raw energy its first types of form. He was to set the forms into motion, over eons, until he could slowly weaver her together again and they could share in the new universe they birthed.

“Let there be light!” Alex said, and laughed. He could almost hear Evelyn’s laugh echo his, within the newly forming cosmos.

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The writer of the best short story from this challenge wins a ProWritingAid Lifetime License, worth $140. Take the terribly-written adverb-laden outline of a story below and use your own voice to make it amazing. Maybe it's sci-fi, maybe it's romance, maybe it's thriller...it's up to you: The door was opened and they looked out. She was very surprised. He looked very worried. They went quickly to find out more. She slowly picked up the object and it all finally made sense.
Written by fantastical
The Doorway
“You ready, Alex?” Evelyn asked, as much to get his attention as she was anxious to finally see the result of years of work and research finally prove their theories.

Alex snapped out of his deep-thought trance and smiled back at her. “As ready as I’ll ever be, Love.”

Evelyn pushed the button and the engineered door hummed to life and opened. Opened to to another place, not of Earth. She looked in wonder while Alex looked in concern, because the air didn’t change or vacuum away like he predicted.

Evelyn removed her helmet, took a breath, and gave Alex a look to to prove that everything was ok. He still looked concerned. Evelyn slipped out of her suit, giving up its safety and walked toward the doorway, knowing Alex would follow, if for no other reason than his cavalier romanticism.

Peering through the doorway revealed a near blackness beyond, with only a dull white object about yards ahead. She took a step forward.

“Ev’yn, don’t you think…”

“Alex, we been working endlessly toward this. You have to want to see!”

“But…”

“No, I am going, this is as big as the first steps on the moon. Bigger. We will be the first.”

When they reached the white object, they found it was a cylinder platform, etched in glyphs of nothing familiar or ancient. Atop of it was a darkened spheroid looking of smoked glass.

Evelyn lifted the object up and studied it. “It almost looks like an apple. Alex take a picture.”

Evelyn smiled and brought it to her lips with a smile. The place shifted as if a wind came from nowhere and everywhere. The door slammed shut, causing Alex to turn his head to see that they were suddenly cut off. Evelyn gave out a familiar, ecstatic scream, causing Alex to turn back toward her. The ecstasy was deeper than any he ever brought her.

“ALEX! I Understand now…”

“What? Are you ok?”

“Everything!”

Alex watched as Evelyn started to glow, almost blindingly bright. In her bright form, the spheroid absorbed her until it became a perfect, bright sphere. In turn, the sphere was pulled into the cylinder replacing its dull whiteness to the same brilliant glow.

Alex ran toward it, seeing the surface revealed a hole that was deepening from the sphere. In desperation he reached in, trying to grab the sphere back. At touching it, he could almost feel her still. The sphere was impossibly heavy, he could not lift it out.

“YES! Alex. Come with me...Forward, not back. Come with me forward…”

Alex succumbed to her words. Alex pushed his hand against the sphere. The sphere grabbed hold and pulled him toward it, pulling him into the platform.

Everything was suddenly blindingly white. Everything was perfectly black. Alex thought he was blind. Until he saw the sphere. Saw it shrink to almost nothing as it ripped away his humanity, until all that was left of him was his flawed soul. He touched it, he understood then the ‘Everthing!’ Evelyn referred to. The sphere shattered in a bang, filling the void they now existed in with the energy Evelyn became. They started a new universe, together. They now understood how beginnings began. She now scattered giving raw energy its first types of form. He was to set the forms into motion, over eons, until he could slowly weaver her together again and they could share in the new universe they birthed.

“Let there be light!” Alex said, and laughed. He could almost hear Evelyn’s laugh echo his, within the newly forming cosmos.
#scifi  #fiction  #romance  #flashfiction 
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Challenge of the Week #61: Write a piece of flash fiction about rejection. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by fantastical

The Cuts of Laughter

Their laughter cut Daniel, he could feel its edge as if the blade of it kept cutting over his flesh, again and again and again. He almost wished he took the coward’s way instead and stayed silent, yet he knew the hurt of never knowing an answer did cut a lot deeper than the three girls laughter. Still, the bitter taste of rejection was harsh if it was thrown in your face or if it was a mystery that haunted you your entire, adopted life.

He tried to imagine, or perhaps hope - a bit foolishly - that Debbie did laugh a little bit less than her friends, that she was being cowardly by doing so, but deep down a part of her was at least touched that he asked her to the dance. A foolish hope perhaps.

Daniel lived in a world of foolish hopes though. He had parents that loved him, yet few days have gone by where he didn’t hope his biological mother or father would show up at his door. He was ready to forgive them for tossing him away, he just wanted the chance to do so.

There was a guilt that went along with that need though. The guilt that somehow by wanting to meet the ones that rejected him, that he was now rejecting the only parents that he ever knew and loved. Two people that loved him more than he probably deserved. But, they didn’t understand. How could they? There was a pull of invisible strings. There was a need to know. A need that cut deeper than bone.

A need that felt just as random as the pull Debbie had on him. Her smile, her kindness - up until now anyway. Even with the laughter, and the humiliation, this part of him still was drawn to her. It was just like being drawn to the parents that never wanted him. An irrational need to have a love that was...unattainable.

Daniel would head home later, his dad would know of Debbie’s answer before Daniel even got two words out. He can almost hear his dad’s response.

“You tried and perhaps I was a bit wrong, for laughter is a bit worse than a simple ‘no’, but time will pass. Your young heart will slowly move on to another girl to fancy and try to woo. Perhaps then you’ll see that you are a better man for the laughter. Perhaps the laughter showed you a side of yourself you needed to see?”

His words would make perfect sense to Daniel’s mind, even as his heart would reel from them, for his heart has been haunted by rejection for as long as it has missed the rhythm of a different heart; the heartbeat of the woman that birthed him. A sound that still haunted him beautifully in his dreams each and every night. A sound to take the edge off of three girls’ laughter, only to cut in a deeper way.

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Challenge of the Week #61: Write a piece of flash fiction about rejection. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by fantastical
The Cuts of Laughter
Their laughter cut Daniel, he could feel its edge as if the blade of it kept cutting over his flesh, again and again and again. He almost wished he took the coward’s way instead and stayed silent, yet he knew the hurt of never knowing an answer did cut a lot deeper than the three girls laughter. Still, the bitter taste of rejection was harsh if it was thrown in your face or if it was a mystery that haunted you your entire, adopted life.

He tried to imagine, or perhaps hope - a bit foolishly - that Debbie did laugh a little bit less than her friends, that she was being cowardly by doing so, but deep down a part of her was at least touched that he asked her to the dance. A foolish hope perhaps.

Daniel lived in a world of foolish hopes though. He had parents that loved him, yet few days have gone by where he didn’t hope his biological mother or father would show up at his door. He was ready to forgive them for tossing him away, he just wanted the chance to do so.

There was a guilt that went along with that need though. The guilt that somehow by wanting to meet the ones that rejected him, that he was now rejecting the only parents that he ever knew and loved. Two people that loved him more than he probably deserved. But, they didn’t understand. How could they? There was a pull of invisible strings. There was a need to know. A need that cut deeper than bone.

A need that felt just as random as the pull Debbie had on him. Her smile, her kindness - up until now anyway. Even with the laughter, and the humiliation, this part of him still was drawn to her. It was just like being drawn to the parents that never wanted him. An irrational need to have a love that was...unattainable.

Daniel would head home later, his dad would know of Debbie’s answer before Daniel even got two words out. He can almost hear his dad’s response.

“You tried and perhaps I was a bit wrong, for laughter is a bit worse than a simple ‘no’, but time will pass. Your young heart will slowly move on to another girl to fancy and try to woo. Perhaps then you’ll see that you are a better man for the laughter. Perhaps the laughter showed you a side of yourself you needed to see?”

His words would make perfect sense to Daniel’s mind, even as his heart would reel from them, for his heart has been haunted by rejection for as long as it has missed the rhythm of a different heart; the heartbeat of the woman that birthed him. A sound that still haunted him beautifully in his dreams each and every night. A sound to take the edge off of three girls’ laughter, only to cut in a deeper way.
#prosechallenge  #adoption  #rejection  #Itslit  #getlit 
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Challenge of the Week #57: you’re god; rewrite the creation story. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by fantastical

The Story of Dot (a revision)

.

Once upon a time there was just Dot. Dot was literally everything there was, save the void Dot existed in. The void, Dot supposed, was everything else. But since everything else was essentially nothing, the void, there really was just Dot. (But, even nothing can sometimes be something.)

Dot just was, if you were there too, no matter how close or far from Dot you would get, Dot always would look the same. A perfection in the art of singularities.

Dot liked to move, or at least believed to like it. It was hard for Dot to tell if it could move since the void had no points of reference. It made Dot a bit sad to consider it.

That sadness lead to wanting a change. Dot wasn't content with just being Dot any longer. Dot wasn't content to just existing in one dimension. So Dot stretched one moment, for what seemed to be forever and became Line.

-

Line, that was once Dot, was a slightly happier thing. But since that was the first stretch of happiness as well, it was a infinitely happier thing. At least for a while. So Line decided one moment to stretch again, but this time bowing out in the middle. Initially, Line turned into Arch, but Arch was curious what happened if it kept going and eventually brought both ends of itself together.

c

Something magical happened when Arch did this, Arch became Circle.

o

Now Circle was very happy. Circle felt a bit as it did when it was it was just Dot, but now just more. After a time though, Circle missed the some of the wonders of being just Line. So Circle tried become Line again, but didn't want to let go of the ends of itself that created Circle in the first place. So it tried to make multiple lines instead. It couldn't just form two connecting lines, but it could form three! When Circle finally did this feat, it became Triangle.

Triangle was ecstatic! That feeling was greater than any happiness it had known before. Once again, it had the nice straightness of Line, but repeated two more times. Even more amazingly, it possessed these new things which it decided to call sides and angles. The tips of each angle was almost like being Dot again, times three!

Triangle was so excited, that it wondered what would happen if it formed more sides and angles.

Triangle became Square. Square became Pentagon. Pentagon became Hexagon. Heptagon...Octagon...Nonagon...Decagon...

It kept adding sides to for an infinite time, until magically, it was Circle once again. Circle was amazed! That it could add so many sides and have so many angles and still become Circle again.

Circle was happy and felt it knew all there was to know. Until it wasn't. Circle wanted not to be alone in the void any longer. In a moment that could only be called sadness, by someone like you and I, Circle twisted. For the briefest of moments, Circle became Lemniscate (If you were to look at the symbol we use for infinity today, that is what Lemniscate looked like.)

Lemniscate, in that briefest of moments asked itself, "What happens if I let go, to become two? Do I die or become something more?"

Lemniscate let go...and became Circle again. But, Circle wasn't alone anymore. Circle had a clone now.

Circle laughed and spun around the other, finally realizing just how fast Circle could move! They were both happy. Until one moment Circle watch the clone become a Lemniscate, only to split and become two new Circles. Now there were three Circles. The two newer ones laughed, both lemniscating again. Split again. Three became five. The one, the original, was 'larger' than the other four, but just sat back and watched the others laugh at their new life. Two of them played the becoming Triangle game. While the other two lemniscated again. Circle was having a hard time keeping track of them all. They were all changing and lemniscating too fast.

Soon, where there was once just Dot (and everything else, that was really nothing else), now there were shapes of all types. Some were perfectly content to be just Triangles or just Octagons. Some Triangles were perfect, in that each side was the same length. Others liked to make one or two sides a bit longer. That went with the other shapes as well. Some Circles added a wave to their single side. Other Circles twisted at two points to become Crescents. Circle never thought about doing that before.

Now Circle watched as some of the Shapes formed partnerships and collectives. Six of the meaner Squares formed a ganged named Cube, for example. It was an amazing time. Yet, it was scary in so many ways.

Soon Circle witnessed the creation of a collective called Letters by a few of the more anarchist shapes.

Soon Circle witnessed some of the other Shapes team up to form Art. Some from the Letter collective left to join the Art collective, creating sub-collectives called Poetry and Stories. Some in the Art collective went back to the Letter collective to show Letters how to be more stylish. The Letter-Artists refer to it as being Typographically gifted.

Circle watched in wonder, but Circle missed its original friend, its original child. So Circle decided to Lemniscate once more. But, the new Circle watched what all of the other Shapes were doing, and went to join them, leaving old Circle alone once again.

Frustrated, Circle would Lemniscate, again, and again, and again. Each time, hoping the new Circle would want to stay and watch with Circle. They never did.

Circle decided to Lemniscate once more. But this time, Circle didn't do it symmetrically, one side of the Lemniscate was infinitely large, the other side infinitely small. When this somewhat odd Lemniscate let go, all that was left was Dot and a new Circle. The new Circle quickly left Dot to go play in the chaos and order of all of the other Shapes and Letters and Art.

Dot watched all it created, realizing it inadvertently became a god doing so. Dot was happy for what it started, yet always a bit sad for being always a bit alone.

One day, Dot was observing an offshoot of Letters and was amazed at what they were doing, suddenly wanting to join in.

You might wonder whatever happened to Dot after that, and let me tell you. Dot is here, right now, looking right at you. Dot goes by a different name today though. That name is called Period. And Period now lives at the end of Dot's story, this story. Here .

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Challenge of the Week #57: you’re god; rewrite the creation story. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by fantastical
The Story of Dot (a revision)
.

Once upon a time there was just Dot. Dot was literally everything there was, save the void Dot existed in. The void, Dot supposed, was everything else. But since everything else was essentially nothing, the void, there really was just Dot. (But, even nothing can sometimes be something.)

Dot just was, if you were there too, no matter how close or far from Dot you would get, Dot always would look the same. A perfection in the art of singularities.

Dot liked to move, or at least believed to like it. It was hard for Dot to tell if it could move since the void had no points of reference. It made Dot a bit sad to consider it.

That sadness lead to wanting a change. Dot wasn't content with just being Dot any longer. Dot wasn't content to just existing in one dimension. So Dot stretched one moment, for what seemed to be forever and became Line.

-

Line, that was once Dot, was a slightly happier thing. But since that was the first stretch of happiness as well, it was a infinitely happier thing. At least for a while. So Line decided one moment to stretch again, but this time bowing out in the middle. Initially, Line turned into Arch, but Arch was curious what happened if it kept going and eventually brought both ends of itself together.

c

Something magical happened when Arch did this, Arch became Circle.

o

Now Circle was very happy. Circle felt a bit as it did when it was it was just Dot, but now just more. After a time though, Circle missed the some of the wonders of being just Line. So Circle tried become Line again, but didn't want to let go of the ends of itself that created Circle in the first place. So it tried to make multiple lines instead. It couldn't just form two connecting lines, but it could form three! When Circle finally did this feat, it became Triangle.

Triangle was ecstatic! That feeling was greater than any happiness it had known before. Once again, it had the nice straightness of Line, but repeated two more times. Even more amazingly, it possessed these new things which it decided to call sides and angles. The tips of each angle was almost like being Dot again, times three!

Triangle was so excited, that it wondered what would happen if it formed more sides and angles.

Triangle became Square. Square became Pentagon. Pentagon became Hexagon. Heptagon...Octagon...Nonagon...Decagon...

It kept adding sides to for an infinite time, until magically, it was Circle once again. Circle was amazed! That it could add so many sides and have so many angles and still become Circle again.

Circle was happy and felt it knew all there was to know. Until it wasn't. Circle wanted not to be alone in the void any longer. In a moment that could only be called sadness, by someone like you and I, Circle twisted. For the briefest of moments, Circle became Lemniscate (If you were to look at the symbol we use for infinity today, that is what Lemniscate looked like.)

Lemniscate, in that briefest of moments asked itself, "What happens if I let go, to become two? Do I die or become something more?"

Lemniscate let go...and became Circle again. But, Circle wasn't alone anymore. Circle had a clone now.

Circle laughed and spun around the other, finally realizing just how fast Circle could move! They were both happy. Until one moment Circle watch the clone become a Lemniscate, only to split and become two new Circles. Now there were three Circles. The two newer ones laughed, both lemniscating again. Split again. Three became five. The one, the original, was 'larger' than the other four, but just sat back and watched the others laugh at their new life. Two of them played the becoming Triangle game. While the other two lemniscated again. Circle was having a hard time keeping track of them all. They were all changing and lemniscating too fast.

Soon, where there was once just Dot (and everything else, that was really nothing else), now there were shapes of all types. Some were perfectly content to be just Triangles or just Octagons. Some Triangles were perfect, in that each side was the same length. Others liked to make one or two sides a bit longer. That went with the other shapes as well. Some Circles added a wave to their single side. Other Circles twisted at two points to become Crescents. Circle never thought about doing that before.

Now Circle watched as some of the Shapes formed partnerships and collectives. Six of the meaner Squares formed a ganged named Cube, for example. It was an amazing time. Yet, it was scary in so many ways.

Soon Circle witnessed the creation of a collective called Letters by a few of the more anarchist shapes.

Soon Circle witnessed some of the other Shapes team up to form Art. Some from the Letter collective left to join the Art collective, creating sub-collectives called Poetry and Stories. Some in the Art collective went back to the Letter collective to show Letters how to be more stylish. The Letter-Artists refer to it as being Typographically gifted.

Circle watched in wonder, but Circle missed its original friend, its original child. So Circle decided to Lemniscate once more. But, the new Circle watched what all of the other Shapes were doing, and went to join them, leaving old Circle alone once again.

Frustrated, Circle would Lemniscate, again, and again, and again. Each time, hoping the new Circle would want to stay and watch with Circle. They never did.

Circle decided to Lemniscate once more. But this time, Circle didn't do it symmetrically, one side of the Lemniscate was infinitely large, the other side infinitely small. When this somewhat odd Lemniscate let go, all that was left was Dot and a new Circle. The new Circle quickly left Dot to go play in the chaos and order of all of the other Shapes and Letters and Art.

Dot watched all it created, realizing it inadvertently became a god doing so. Dot was happy for what it started, yet always a bit sad for being always a bit alone.

One day, Dot was observing an offshoot of Letters and was amazed at what they were doing, suddenly wanting to join in.

You might wonder whatever happened to Dot after that, and let me tell you. Dot is here, right now, looking right at you. Dot goes by a different name today though. That name is called Period. And Period now lives at the end of Dot's story, this story. Here .
#prosechallenge  #fictionOrIsIt  #Itslit  #getlit 
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Challenge of the Week #56: Write the beginning of a story about a tyrannical king who threatens the entire realm. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by fantastical

A King's Enemies

King Kavan sat both bored and impatient, listening to the the farmer petition him over his ruined crops. Kavan had much more important things to deal with this day. Today was a day to see if his destiny was still the same, a day to talk with his oracles, a day to important to care about an lowly farmer’s ruined crops. If he ever succeeded to raising himself to godhood, he would more easily hand off the audiences of petitioners to some underling, but for now, some traditions still need to be kept.

“So, what, pray tell, would you have me do to bring back your crops?” Kavan asked, not trying to cover his disdain.

The farmer cringed, “How am I to feed my family? How will I pay my taxes?”

Kavan looked at the man, weighing him with his eyes. Kavan thought to himself, This man has something to contribute to my realm still and because it is a day to face enemies, perhaps it will be to my good fortune to give some kindness to my loyal subjects. “Olivar! Give this man 50 crowns and a wagon to store whatever food he buys with it…”

“Oh thank you, most graciousness…”, the farmer prostrated toward the king, in a grateful and humble way.

Kavan sneered at being interrupted, “I am not done! Olivar! Take note of this farmer’s name…”

Olivar gulped and meekly interjected, “Your Majesty, he gave you his name, it’s…”

Kavan turned his steel-cold eyes onto his steward, “I SAID, ‘YOU TAKE NOTE of his name’ if this farmer dares to petition the court ever again, it will be his last time. Understood?”

Olivar bowed, “Of course your Majesty. My humblest apologies, your Majesty.” Olivar stepped down the dais and paid the farmer, Kavan smirked and wondered how far the poor bastard would get before someone was crazy enough to rob him. Perhaps the farmer would be lucky, such crimes did not happen often, but for a pleb to walk out of the palace with more money than he would make in half a lifetime, it would make him a tempting target in the eyes of those that were not so lucky petitioning the court.

“Olivar, the next petitioner please. And for all you hold dear, let the court know this will be the last one I hear today.”

Olivar cleared his throat and called out, “Vanessia the Fuller would like to claim a grievance done against her family by Captain Montan of the city guard. This will be the last petition the King will hear today.”

Now this should be interesting, thought Kavan as he listened to the slight moans and grumbles of Olivar’s proclamation. Kavan took note as the woman and his captain approach. His captain looked snide and annoyed, probably rightly so, rarely were any so bold to bring a charge against the city guard. Those that did rarely enjoyed the outcome. The woman, Kavan thought to himself, was way too pretty to be working with urine all day. She had pretty eyes, eyes that had a fire for life and didn’t show the toll that life eventually brought to all common folk. She had a shape that would stir most men, as it was stirring him. This should be interesting indeed.

“Your Majesty,” she began, with a voice of honeyed smoke, and an intoxicating confidence, “the captain gravely injured my husband. I could barely support us alone without him working, but with his injuries as well, we are literally starving trying to pay the street healers to try to fix him up.”

“Captain. Did you injure her husband?” Kavan asked, trying to sound generally concerned.

“Yes, your Majesty. In self defense, your Majesty.”

“My Captain claims self defense. Do you call my Captain a liar?”

Vanessia spoke boldly, Kavan enjoyed her spirit, and watching her lips shape words, “Your Captain,” it came out like a hiss, “struck me, so my husband came to my defense, your Majesty. Your Captain and his men, beat him within an inch of his life.”

“Is this true, Captain?”

“She was charging an unfair price for my piss, beg your pardon, your Majesty.”

“Captain! That is not what I asked.”

Captain Montan shrank, “Yes your Majesty, I struck her. I was rash, I admit, however…”

“Silence! Olivar! Get Captain Esterton to send some men to fetch the lady’s husband and have them bring him to my personal healers. Captain Montan, for your actions, you and the men that were with you will be flogged in public display on the morrow, to a point deemed equal to injury inflicted. Obviously you will go without pay until you are back to work. Is this fair, Captain Montan?”

Captain Montan swallowed hard. “Of course, your Majesty. My deepest apologies, my lady. For the injury I caused you and your husband.”

Vanessia’s eyes welled up with tears.

Kavan smiled and turned to Vanessia, “My dear Vanessia. While your husband is healing, you will take residence in the palace. Olivar! Have Vanessia taken to my bed chambers, clothed accordingly, and fed whatever her heart desires.”

The hush in the audience chamber was a tangible thing. Vanessia responded to the final part of the proclamation, “but, I am married…”

Kavan responded calmly, enjoying the way her lips flushed and moved, “perhaps if you take a liking to me, you will beg me to void your marriage? I can have Captain Esterton called back and you can go back dealing with the street healers if you prefer?”

Whatever courage Vanessia showed before, it was gone now. There was no malice in her stare, just the weight of her world. “No, your Majesty. You are kind to offer your esteemed healers to help my...love.”

So there is a hint of defiance in her! Kavan smiled. She would be a fun challenge then, his blood warmed at the thought. He would have to order his healers to take their proper time with her husband.

Kavan watched Olivar usher Vanessia away while watching the guard usher the remaining petitioners out of the chamber. As the room cleared, he saw Lieutenant Paxia approach the throne with a pair of soldiers. Paxia bowed and spoke, “Your Majesty! I bring great news from the front. The siege at Rainmere is fairing well. The castle should be ours within the fortnight. More importantly though, our thieves acquired the stone.”

One of the soldiers approached and unwrapped a piece of silk, showing a stone rod, granite veined in a metal of the rarest sort. Kavan smiled as the soldier handed it to him. There was only one left to get now. This day could not get much better.

“You will be quite rewarded, Lieutenant! Have a runner return to the front to inform your General that I am very pleased. You and your men I am sure have pressed hard to get here so quickly. You will stay in the city as long as you desire. Enjoying all that it has to offer. I will let Olivar know the three of you are to be well compensated. When the army returns from their assured victory, we will have a festival in your honor that will dwarf all that have occurred before.”

“We are humbled by your generosity, your Majesty.”

Kavan barely heard him, he was lost in thought. In dreaming what it will be like to become a god as he cradled the relic in his hands that got him one step closer to that reality.

~~~

The druid chanted over the new rod, it started to glow like the previous ones did. Kavan felt the power that pulsated through it.

“Yes, this is one we’ve seeked, Kavan’ti. Now we wait for the final acquisition. Once they are all together, we can make you a godking in truth.”

Kavan thought about it. How long has the world gone on without one? How long has it gone lost and fractured? He already set so much to rights. He wondered if once he was a god would he still care about such things. The legends of the godlings of the past seemed to make it so. Kavan smiled. So close now. So close to more easily shape the world to his desire, to its proper form.

~~~

Kavan sat impatiently, waiting for any of the oracles to speak. They never spoke in any order. Big change happened today, he needed to know did it bring change to his destiny. He needed to know if anything was at risk.

The lost oracle spoke out in a violent tremor, “The enemies. The enemies. Two must become one.”

The balanced oracle spoke next, as if she suddenly saw a new future. “The woman that weeps in your bed, if she is to love you, will save you. If she is lost to you as a man, will end you. If she is lost to you as a god, will end us.” The oracle wept.

The sage oracle shivered, then spoke, “Ask your questions, my King. I can give only two answers.”

Kavan asked, “So I am still destined to be a god?”

Her metallic reply, “Still. So long as you still trust in the druid completely. This weepy woman changes things though. She was not in the stream before. The water ripples with change from her.”

Kavan hated the days he only got two answers. He hated symbolic water ripples even more. He wondered if his lusting of the fuller woman would unravel anything. Kavan twisted the cryptic words in his head, trying to phrase the next question just right. He still trusted the druid because he knew what the druid got if Kavan did become a god. The druid would never betray him.

“How do I not lose her?” He asked, bracing that he didn’t make a mistake with the question.

“Two must become one. In your enemies. In each other. She must become the queen of your heart. You must become the king of hers. The druid knows. It is how his kind wed, not yours.”

Kavan smiled. A cryptic answer, but an answer with a path to another question. The druid knows. He would have to see the druid again. But, something more pressing required his attention first.

~~~

The gaoler pulled at the rusted door and it creaked open, like the sound of a dying breath. Kavan stepped inside and looked at the man glaring at him. The man that tried to kill him once. One of the few men that had the means of being able to easily, if he wasn’t so sloppy in his attempt. He looked at the man, at his more haggard face, at his dimmer eyes. They didn’t burn with as much hate. Or at least the man would have Kavan believe.

“So,” Kavan said with a mirthful smile, “How is my failed apprentice today?” Kavan was answered with silence. “Very well. Again, why did you try to kill me?”

“Because, our kind kill tyrants. You were not suppose to become one. Once you did, you left me no choice.”

“Am I one? Surely you would have succeeded if I were a tyrant. That is our order’s charge. To remove the tyrants of the world and set their nations on a more proper course by any means necessary after.”

Their order was an nearly forgotten one, supposedly set by the last godling before he vanished. Assassins, groomed to be drawn to kings. Befriend them only to remove them from the game if they show themselves to be tyrants.

“Come, let me show you of the mistake you made. Let me show you that because of your rashness, you failed learn some of the final lessons of our cause. Gaoler! Bring him.”

The gaoler was a huge man, he unchained the apprentice from the wall and dragged the weakened man - still locked in his manacles - from his cell. Almost carrying him like a sack of flour. They walked down the musty, dark corridor to the door at the end. The gaoler handed Kavan the key to the door. Kavan unlocked it, and pulled it open. This door didn’t make a sound. It wasn’t rusted like the others. It was made out of a metal more ancient than iron, one that worked correctly never gives away to rust. It is a door to hold the most precious of things within.

A man leaped at them like a beast as soon as the door showed a hint of freedom. He reeked, yet showed a strength he shouldn’t have. His hair was unkempt and filthy. His grizzled beard was brittle gray and hung down to his waist. He snarled and pulled at the chain just holding him back.

“Now this is someone with some fight left in him. This is what I expected of you actually,” Kavan said toward his former apprentice. “Recognize him?”

The apprentice looked closely at the crazed man. At first he didn’t, then recognition set in. “But you killed him!”

“No, my old friend. My dearest brother. I removed him. You believed that I killed him. Yet, it seems you might finally get your deepest desire. You might finally get to kill a king today.”

The apprentice looked at the crazed man, the former king, with a mixture of awe and disgust, then turned to Kavan, “What do you mean?”

“The two of you are to share this cell. Neither of you will have a meal until only one of you is still has a heartbeat.” The former king looked at the former apprentice with a glare that he was ready to kill the man as soon as he was within reach. The former apprentice looked at the former king with a sense that he was barely a man anymore.

Kavan spoke, almost solemnly, “Goodbye brother. Even if you are the fortunate one to eventually have another meal, we will not meet again. Two must become one. Gaoler, toss him in.”

The gaoler did as was ordered and closed the door, locking it behind him with cold finality. The door muted the screams to almost a whisper.

“Now to learn how druids wed,” Kavan said to no one in particular, a smile creasing his lips, he had a feeling he was going to enjoy the answer, barbaric he may be, but his kind enjoyed life in the earthly ways that the more civilized envied.

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Challenge of the Week #56: Write the beginning of a story about a tyrannical king who threatens the entire realm. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by fantastical
A King's Enemies
King Kavan sat both bored and impatient, listening to the the farmer petition him over his ruined crops. Kavan had much more important things to deal with this day. Today was a day to see if his destiny was still the same, a day to talk with his oracles, a day to important to care about an lowly farmer’s ruined crops. If he ever succeeded to raising himself to godhood, he would more easily hand off the audiences of petitioners to some underling, but for now, some traditions still need to be kept.

“So, what, pray tell, would you have me do to bring back your crops?” Kavan asked, not trying to cover his disdain.

The farmer cringed, “How am I to feed my family? How will I pay my taxes?”

Kavan looked at the man, weighing him with his eyes. Kavan thought to himself, This man has something to contribute to my realm still and because it is a day to face enemies, perhaps it will be to my good fortune to give some kindness to my loyal subjects. “Olivar! Give this man 50 crowns and a wagon to store whatever food he buys with it…”

“Oh thank you, most graciousness…”, the farmer prostrated toward the king, in a grateful and humble way.

Kavan sneered at being interrupted, “I am not done! Olivar! Take note of this farmer’s name…”

Olivar gulped and meekly interjected, “Your Majesty, he gave you his name, it’s…”

Kavan turned his steel-cold eyes onto his steward, “I SAID, ‘YOU TAKE NOTE of his name’ if this farmer dares to petition the court ever again, it will be his last time. Understood?”

Olivar bowed, “Of course your Majesty. My humblest apologies, your Majesty.” Olivar stepped down the dais and paid the farmer, Kavan smirked and wondered how far the poor bastard would get before someone was crazy enough to rob him. Perhaps the farmer would be lucky, such crimes did not happen often, but for a pleb to walk out of the palace with more money than he would make in half a lifetime, it would make him a tempting target in the eyes of those that were not so lucky petitioning the court.

“Olivar, the next petitioner please. And for all you hold dear, let the court know this will be the last one I hear today.”

Olivar cleared his throat and called out, “Vanessia the Fuller would like to claim a grievance done against her family by Captain Montan of the city guard. This will be the last petition the King will hear today.”

Now this should be interesting, thought Kavan as he listened to the slight moans and grumbles of Olivar’s proclamation. Kavan took note as the woman and his captain approach. His captain looked snide and annoyed, probably rightly so, rarely were any so bold to bring a charge against the city guard. Those that did rarely enjoyed the outcome. The woman, Kavan thought to himself, was way too pretty to be working with urine all day. She had pretty eyes, eyes that had a fire for life and didn’t show the toll that life eventually brought to all common folk. She had a shape that would stir most men, as it was stirring him. This should be interesting indeed.

“Your Majesty,” she began, with a voice of honeyed smoke, and an intoxicating confidence, “the captain gravely injured my husband. I could barely support us alone without him working, but with his injuries as well, we are literally starving trying to pay the street healers to try to fix him up.”

“Captain. Did you injure her husband?” Kavan asked, trying to sound generally concerned.

“Yes, your Majesty. In self defense, your Majesty.”

“My Captain claims self defense. Do you call my Captain a liar?”

Vanessia spoke boldly, Kavan enjoyed her spirit, and watching her lips shape words, “Your Captain,” it came out like a hiss, “struck me, so my husband came to my defense, your Majesty. Your Captain and his men, beat him within an inch of his life.”

“Is this true, Captain?”

“She was charging an unfair price for my piss, beg your pardon, your Majesty.”

“Captain! That is not what I asked.”

Captain Montan shrank, “Yes your Majesty, I struck her. I was rash, I admit, however…”

“Silence! Olivar! Get Captain Esterton to send some men to fetch the lady’s husband and have them bring him to my personal healers. Captain Montan, for your actions, you and the men that were with you will be flogged in public display on the morrow, to a point deemed equal to injury inflicted. Obviously you will go without pay until you are back to work. Is this fair, Captain Montan?”

Captain Montan swallowed hard. “Of course, your Majesty. My deepest apologies, my lady. For the injury I caused you and your husband.”

Vanessia’s eyes welled up with tears.

Kavan smiled and turned to Vanessia, “My dear Vanessia. While your husband is healing, you will take residence in the palace. Olivar! Have Vanessia taken to my bed chambers, clothed accordingly, and fed whatever her heart desires.”

The hush in the audience chamber was a tangible thing. Vanessia responded to the final part of the proclamation, “but, I am married…”

Kavan responded calmly, enjoying the way her lips flushed and moved, “perhaps if you take a liking to me, you will beg me to void your marriage? I can have Captain Esterton called back and you can go back dealing with the street healers if you prefer?”

Whatever courage Vanessia showed before, it was gone now. There was no malice in her stare, just the weight of her world. “No, your Majesty. You are kind to offer your esteemed healers to help my...love.”

So there is a hint of defiance in her! Kavan smiled. She would be a fun challenge then, his blood warmed at the thought. He would have to order his healers to take their proper time with her husband.

Kavan watched Olivar usher Vanessia away while watching the guard usher the remaining petitioners out of the chamber. As the room cleared, he saw Lieutenant Paxia approach the throne with a pair of soldiers. Paxia bowed and spoke, “Your Majesty! I bring great news from the front. The siege at Rainmere is fairing well. The castle should be ours within the fortnight. More importantly though, our thieves acquired the stone.”

One of the soldiers approached and unwrapped a piece of silk, showing a stone rod, granite veined in a metal of the rarest sort. Kavan smiled as the soldier handed it to him. There was only one left to get now. This day could not get much better.

“You will be quite rewarded, Lieutenant! Have a runner return to the front to inform your General that I am very pleased. You and your men I am sure have pressed hard to get here so quickly. You will stay in the city as long as you desire. Enjoying all that it has to offer. I will let Olivar know the three of you are to be well compensated. When the army returns from their assured victory, we will have a festival in your honor that will dwarf all that have occurred before.”

“We are humbled by your generosity, your Majesty.”

Kavan barely heard him, he was lost in thought. In dreaming what it will be like to become a god as he cradled the relic in his hands that got him one step closer to that reality.

~~~

The druid chanted over the new rod, it started to glow like the previous ones did. Kavan felt the power that pulsated through it.

“Yes, this is one we’ve seeked, Kavan’ti. Now we wait for the final acquisition. Once they are all together, we can make you a godking in truth.”

Kavan thought about it. How long has the world gone on without one? How long has it gone lost and fractured? He already set so much to rights. He wondered if once he was a god would he still care about such things. The legends of the godlings of the past seemed to make it so. Kavan smiled. So close now. So close to more easily shape the world to his desire, to its proper form.

~~~

Kavan sat impatiently, waiting for any of the oracles to speak. They never spoke in any order. Big change happened today, he needed to know did it bring change to his destiny. He needed to know if anything was at risk.

The lost oracle spoke out in a violent tremor, “The enemies. The enemies. Two must become one.”

The balanced oracle spoke next, as if she suddenly saw a new future. “The woman that weeps in your bed, if she is to love you, will save you. If she is lost to you as a man, will end you. If she is lost to you as a god, will end us.” The oracle wept.

The sage oracle shivered, then spoke, “Ask your questions, my King. I can give only two answers.”

Kavan asked, “So I am still destined to be a god?”

Her metallic reply, “Still. So long as you still trust in the druid completely. This weepy woman changes things though. She was not in the stream before. The water ripples with change from her.”

Kavan hated the days he only got two answers. He hated symbolic water ripples even more. He wondered if his lusting of the fuller woman would unravel anything. Kavan twisted the cryptic words in his head, trying to phrase the next question just right. He still trusted the druid because he knew what the druid got if Kavan did become a god. The druid would never betray him.

“How do I not lose her?” He asked, bracing that he didn’t make a mistake with the question.

“Two must become one. In your enemies. In each other. She must become the queen of your heart. You must become the king of hers. The druid knows. It is how his kind wed, not yours.”

Kavan smiled. A cryptic answer, but an answer with a path to another question. The druid knows. He would have to see the druid again. But, something more pressing required his attention first.

~~~

The gaoler pulled at the rusted door and it creaked open, like the sound of a dying breath. Kavan stepped inside and looked at the man glaring at him. The man that tried to kill him once. One of the few men that had the means of being able to easily, if he wasn’t so sloppy in his attempt. He looked at the man, at his more haggard face, at his dimmer eyes. They didn’t burn with as much hate. Or at least the man would have Kavan believe.

“So,” Kavan said with a mirthful smile, “How is my failed apprentice today?” Kavan was answered with silence. “Very well. Again, why did you try to kill me?”

“Because, our kind kill tyrants. You were not suppose to become one. Once you did, you left me no choice.”

“Am I one? Surely you would have succeeded if I were a tyrant. That is our order’s charge. To remove the tyrants of the world and set their nations on a more proper course by any means necessary after.”

Their order was an nearly forgotten one, supposedly set by the last godling before he vanished. Assassins, groomed to be drawn to kings. Befriend them only to remove them from the game if they show themselves to be tyrants.

“Come, let me show you of the mistake you made. Let me show you that because of your rashness, you failed learn some of the final lessons of our cause. Gaoler! Bring him.”

The gaoler was a huge man, he unchained the apprentice from the wall and dragged the weakened man - still locked in his manacles - from his cell. Almost carrying him like a sack of flour. They walked down the musty, dark corridor to the door at the end. The gaoler handed Kavan the key to the door. Kavan unlocked it, and pulled it open. This door didn’t make a sound. It wasn’t rusted like the others. It was made out of a metal more ancient than iron, one that worked correctly never gives away to rust. It is a door to hold the most precious of things within.

A man leaped at them like a beast as soon as the door showed a hint of freedom. He reeked, yet showed a strength he shouldn’t have. His hair was unkempt and filthy. His grizzled beard was brittle gray and hung down to his waist. He snarled and pulled at the chain just holding him back.

“Now this is someone with some fight left in him. This is what I expected of you actually,” Kavan said toward his former apprentice. “Recognize him?”

The apprentice looked closely at the crazed man. At first he didn’t, then recognition set in. “But you killed him!”

“No, my old friend. My dearest brother. I removed him. You believed that I killed him. Yet, it seems you might finally get your deepest desire. You might finally get to kill a king today.”

The apprentice looked at the crazed man, the former king, with a mixture of awe and disgust, then turned to Kavan, “What do you mean?”

“The two of you are to share this cell. Neither of you will have a meal until only one of you is still has a heartbeat.” The former king looked at the former apprentice with a glare that he was ready to kill the man as soon as he was within reach. The former apprentice looked at the former king with a sense that he was barely a man anymore.

Kavan spoke, almost solemnly, “Goodbye brother. Even if you are the fortunate one to eventually have another meal, we will not meet again. Two must become one. Gaoler, toss him in.”

The gaoler did as was ordered and closed the door, locking it behind him with cold finality. The door muted the screams to almost a whisper.

“Now to learn how druids wed,” Kavan said to no one in particular, a smile creasing his lips, he had a feeling he was going to enjoy the answer, barbaric he may be, but his kind enjoyed life in the earthly ways that the more civilized envied.
#prosechallenge  #Itslit  #getlit 
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As the spirit sat and watched the girl on the other side of the mirror, he felt such sadness. Despite being dead for only a short time, it felt like an eternity. He watched his wife with loving eyes and watched as she.......
Written by fantastical

The Other Side

Death was a strange thing. There was life after death. Life of a sort anyway. I died in my bedroom. Supposedly a heart attack. When I woke from my death, I found myself still in my bedroom, yet, not. I found myself in a dull reflection of my bedroom. I found myself on the other side of the mirror. It wasn't as magical a place as the Alice visited through her looking-glass, but it was my own.

I would watch my wife weep, everyday, through the mirror, into what was our real bedroom. Her tears seemed to never end. I wanted to comfort her. I tried to whisper to her to no avail. Her woe became my woe, my afterlife, a form of hell.

Days turned into weeks turned into months. My life was empty save for when she was in the bedroom. I tried to leave my version of the bedroom, but it was hard. It seemed like it was my anchor point. The farther I tried to get away, the darker my world got.

I learned how to read all of my books that were printed in reverse. They gave me a little distraction. They helped to pass the time between seeing my beautiful wife.

Her tears subsided, even if her sadness did not. Her friends tried to get her to go out more. Over time, she did.

A part of me was shocked when she brought a man into our bedroom for the first time. I watched them couple anyway. I yearned for it to be me with her, and when I heard her accidentally whisper my name as she climaxed, I realized she still yearned for me. The man left with little said, and she cried in guilt.

For a while, after that, she slept alone. The times she would pleasure herself, she still called out to me, but the acts she fantasied us sharing were not ones we shared in when I was alive. Did her desires change with my passing or did she always keep them from me. Regardless, the acts both stirred me and left me sad, that we would never be able to share them.

The next man she brought to the room she loved like she never loved me. My name was never whispered. I felt my room dull a bit. I was becoming forgotten. A part of me yearned for that oblivion.

They married. Eventually, I stopped watching them. It hurt too much, yet I was happy her heart was not burdened by me any longer.

One day I noticed her brushing her hair. When did she get so old? She hummed and smiled. Then her eyes closed and I watched her slip into death.

She was suddenly sitting in the chair on my side of the mirror. She turned to look at me and smiled as if the sun arose. I kissed my wife. She kissed me back, like she had never had before. Our room became our heaven.

 

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As the spirit sat and watched the girl on the other side of the mirror, he felt such sadness. Despite being dead for only a short time, it felt like an eternity. He watched his wife with loving eyes and watched as she.......
Written by fantastical
The Other Side
Death was a strange thing. There was life after death. Life of a sort anyway. I died in my bedroom. Supposedly a heart attack. When I woke from my death, I found myself still in my bedroom, yet, not. I found myself in a dull reflection of my bedroom. I found myself on the other side of the mirror. It wasn't as magical a place as the Alice visited through her looking-glass, but it was my own.

I would watch my wife weep, everyday, through the mirror, into what was our real bedroom. Her tears seemed to never end. I wanted to comfort her. I tried to whisper to her to no avail. Her woe became my woe, my afterlife, a form of hell.

Days turned into weeks turned into months. My life was empty save for when she was in the bedroom. I tried to leave my version of the bedroom, but it was hard. It seemed like it was my anchor point. The farther I tried to get away, the darker my world got.

I learned how to read all of my books that were printed in reverse. They gave me a little distraction. They helped to pass the time between seeing my beautiful wife.

Her tears subsided, even if her sadness did not. Her friends tried to get her to go out more. Over time, she did.

A part of me was shocked when she brought a man into our bedroom for the first time. I watched them couple anyway. I yearned for it to be me with her, and when I heard her accidentally whisper my name as she climaxed, I realized she still yearned for me. The man left with little said, and she cried in guilt.

For a while, after that, she slept alone. The times she would pleasure herself, she still called out to me, but the acts she fantasied us sharing were not ones we shared in when I was alive. Did her desires change with my passing or did she always keep them from me. Regardless, the acts both stirred me and left me sad, that we would never be able to share them.

The next man she brought to the room she loved like she never loved me. My name was never whispered. I felt my room dull a bit. I was becoming forgotten. A part of me yearned for that oblivion.

They married. Eventually, I stopped watching them. It hurt too much, yet I was happy her heart was not burdened by me any longer.

One day I noticed her brushing her hair. When did she get so old? She hummed and smiled. Then her eyes closed and I watched her slip into death.

She was suddenly sitting in the chair on my side of the mirror. She turned to look at me and smiled as if the sun arose. I kissed my wife. She kissed me back, like she had never had before. Our room became our heaven.


 

#challenge  #death  #love  #flashfiction 
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Write a pair of haikus, one describing how each lover feels for the other.
Written by fantastical in portal Haiku

Two Lovers

I caress her face

Getting lost in her blue eyes

As her hand counters

My fingers slide down

Finding his deep desires

Arouse at my touch

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Write a pair of haikus, one describing how each lover feels for the other.
Written by fantastical in portal Haiku
Two Lovers
I caress her face
Getting lost in her blue eyes
As her hand counters

My fingers slide down
Finding his deep desires
Arouse at my touch

#haiku  #micropoetry  #erotic 
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Challenge of the Week #55: Write a story of 200 words or more about a stranger. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $200. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by fantastical

Knock! Knock! (ver. 2)

Knock! Knock!

Brad tried to ignored the jarring interruption and keep his focus on what he was reading. He wasn’t in the mood for company. His girlfriend Katy was out with her best friends in Vegas having a girls-only weekend. So Brad vowed to himself to enjoy the freetime in some quiet solitude with a few books that he has been itching to devour. He missed the days he could polish over dozens of books in a week. Now he was lucky to get one read in a month. An overactive life is a death sentence to a book lover. Katy loved an overactive lifestyle and thus, Brad now lived an overactive lifestyle. Brad loved Katy, even enough to sacrifice his previous life-long love affair with his books. Still, it was perhaps the toughest sacrifice of the relationship.

Knock! Knock!

Brad grimaced, he suspected that the person at the door knew someone was home, somehow. Perhaps he left the garage open, although he didn’t think so.

Knock! Knock!

Brad sighed in a defeated silence, placed his brass bookmark on the page, set the book down and opened the door. A distinguished man, dressed in a nice tailored suit greeted Brad with a smarmy smile and before Brad could take a breath, said, “Good day kind sir. Let me introduce myself, my name is Charlie Batcher. I am here today to show you the Suckmaster 3000! I will swear on my life, that after seeing it you will never need another vaccuum cleaner again!”

“Sorry, I am not…”

“...interested. Forgive me for saying so, sir. But that is what they all say at first. If you will give me just five minutes of your time…”

“Again, NOT interested. We have a Dyson and it works perfectly fine. have a nice day!” Brad slowly started to close the door. Charlie Batcher though strategically placed the Suckmaster 3000 in the way.

“If I may, sir. Just looking over your shoulder, either you haven’t vacuumed for a while, or that if you forgive me saying so, piece of crap Dyson really isn’t cutting it. At the very least, give me five minutes and I can have this room looking like you just installed new carpet. The love of your life will be thrilled, I assure you. You do have a love of your life, sir?”

“Umm….yes, she is out of town with some friends.” Brad looked back at the floor. It did seem to to be showing a bit of grime. Amazing what you don’t notice when you are not looking for it. Still, he was more that a bit annoy, he started pushing the Suckmaster 3000 away from the door jamb with his foot. “Really, I’ll vacuum it up later. Have a nice…”

“But sir, I bet when you spill, let say some wine, like you must have over there, you would normally have to dig out your carpet cleaner. The Suckmaster 3000 is not only a vacuum, but has a patent-pending technology to clean wet stains without getting the carpet wet, adding to the live of your carpet. Those carpet cleaners are worse on the carpet than the stains themselves.”

Brad turned to look, and near the corner of the sofa, there was a considerably large, wine stain on the carpet. How the hell did he miss that? “And you can get this all clean in five minutes?” Brad asked.

“I guarantee it! If not, I will give you the Suckmaster 3000 for free.”

“Come on in.”

“Thank you sir,” Charlie Batcher said with a smile and a bow of the head, “your home will never regret it.”

Four-and-a-half minutes later...

Charlie Batcher watched his gremlin minion vacuuming the room with the Suckmaster 3000, while Charlie himself polished his fangs and perused the book the owner of the house was reading.

“The Portable Voltaire, how utterly dull. I am pretty sure this guy is not going to be missed. Are you almost done Abercrombie? It has almost been five minutes.” Charlie asked.

“Do I get more stamps if I finish on time, Master?” the gremlin asked as a response.

“Of course.”

“The old ones? None of those Forever ones. Those are rubbish and get stuck in my throat!”

“You get the old ones no matter what, you just get more if you get done on time, we did make a promise.”

“No, you made a promise, Master.” Abercrombie, the gremlin, sped up over the last part of the blood stain his Master left while sucking the blood from the owner of the home, then turned off the Suckmaster 3000.

“Tsk tsk, too bad Aber, five minutes and 4 seconds. Close, but…”

The gremlin called Abercrombie pouted.

“I am just kidding. Close enough! Nice touch by the way adding that wine stain on the floor. We need to remember that for the future tough customers.” Charlie tossed an antique book of stamps to the gremlin. Abercrombie devoured them them quickly. Charlie never understood the hows and whys gremlins got hooked on eating stamps of all things, but to most gremlins, stamps were as sweet as crack cocaine was to a human addict. “We will need to leave the Suckmaster 3000 though. So make sure you take their Dyson before we go. Oh, and also, make sure you loosen a screw or three to the Suckmaster so the misses calls on the warranty in oh, three months or so.”

“Sure thing boss!”

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Challenge of the Week #55: Write a story of 200 words or more about a stranger. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $200. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by fantastical
Knock! Knock! (ver. 2)
Knock! Knock!

Brad tried to ignored the jarring interruption and keep his focus on what he was reading. He wasn’t in the mood for company. His girlfriend Katy was out with her best friends in Vegas having a girls-only weekend. So Brad vowed to himself to enjoy the freetime in some quiet solitude with a few books that he has been itching to devour. He missed the days he could polish over dozens of books in a week. Now he was lucky to get one read in a month. An overactive life is a death sentence to a book lover. Katy loved an overactive lifestyle and thus, Brad now lived an overactive lifestyle. Brad loved Katy, even enough to sacrifice his previous life-long love affair with his books. Still, it was perhaps the toughest sacrifice of the relationship.

Knock! Knock!

Brad grimaced, he suspected that the person at the door knew someone was home, somehow. Perhaps he left the garage open, although he didn’t think so.

Knock! Knock!

Brad sighed in a defeated silence, placed his brass bookmark on the page, set the book down and opened the door. A distinguished man, dressed in a nice tailored suit greeted Brad with a smarmy smile and before Brad could take a breath, said, “Good day kind sir. Let me introduce myself, my name is Charlie Batcher. I am here today to show you the Suckmaster 3000! I will swear on my life, that after seeing it you will never need another vaccuum cleaner again!”

“Sorry, I am not…”

“...interested. Forgive me for saying so, sir. But that is what they all say at first. If you will give me just five minutes of your time…”

“Again, NOT interested. We have a Dyson and it works perfectly fine. have a nice day!” Brad slowly started to close the door. Charlie Batcher though strategically placed the Suckmaster 3000 in the way.

“If I may, sir. Just looking over your shoulder, either you haven’t vacuumed for a while, or that if you forgive me saying so, piece of crap Dyson really isn’t cutting it. At the very least, give me five minutes and I can have this room looking like you just installed new carpet. The love of your life will be thrilled, I assure you. You do have a love of your life, sir?”

“Umm….yes, she is out of town with some friends.” Brad looked back at the floor. It did seem to to be showing a bit of grime. Amazing what you don’t notice when you are not looking for it. Still, he was more that a bit annoy, he started pushing the Suckmaster 3000 away from the door jamb with his foot. “Really, I’ll vacuum it up later. Have a nice…”

“But sir, I bet when you spill, let say some wine, like you must have over there, you would normally have to dig out your carpet cleaner. The Suckmaster 3000 is not only a vacuum, but has a patent-pending technology to clean wet stains without getting the carpet wet, adding to the live of your carpet. Those carpet cleaners are worse on the carpet than the stains themselves.”

Brad turned to look, and near the corner of the sofa, there was a considerably large, wine stain on the carpet. How the hell did he miss that? “And you can get this all clean in five minutes?” Brad asked.

“I guarantee it! If not, I will give you the Suckmaster 3000 for free.”

“Come on in.”

“Thank you sir,” Charlie Batcher said with a smile and a bow of the head, “your home will never regret it.”

Four-and-a-half minutes later...

Charlie Batcher watched his gremlin minion vacuuming the room with the Suckmaster 3000, while Charlie himself polished his fangs and perused the book the owner of the house was reading.

“The Portable Voltaire, how utterly dull. I am pretty sure this guy is not going to be missed. Are you almost done Abercrombie? It has almost been five minutes.” Charlie asked.

“Do I get more stamps if I finish on time, Master?” the gremlin asked as a response.

“Of course.”

“The old ones? None of those Forever ones. Those are rubbish and get stuck in my throat!”

“You get the old ones no matter what, you just get more if you get done on time, we did make a promise.”

“No, you made a promise, Master.” Abercrombie, the gremlin, sped up over the last part of the blood stain his Master left while sucking the blood from the owner of the home, then turned off the Suckmaster 3000.

“Tsk tsk, too bad Aber, five minutes and 4 seconds. Close, but…”

The gremlin called Abercrombie pouted.

“I am just kidding. Close enough! Nice touch by the way adding that wine stain on the floor. We need to remember that for the future tough customers.” Charlie tossed an antique book of stamps to the gremlin. Abercrombie devoured them them quickly. Charlie never understood the hows and whys gremlins got hooked on eating stamps of all things, but to most gremlins, stamps were as sweet as crack cocaine was to a human addict. “We will need to leave the Suckmaster 3000 though. So make sure you take their Dyson before we go. Oh, and also, make sure you loosen a screw or three to the Suckmaster so the misses calls on the warranty in oh, three months or so.”

“Sure thing boss!”




#prosechallenge  #Itslit  #getlit 
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Written by fantastical in portal Poetry & Free Verse

A Momentary Haiku

A writer's soul blooms

Unravels words locked inside;

Pouring out his thoughts

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Written by fantastical in portal Poetry & Free Verse
A Momentary Haiku
A writer's soul blooms
Unravels words locked inside;
Pouring out his thoughts
#poetry  #haiku 
13
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2
Juice
48 reads
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