They’re saying I killed the man. Poison in his drink, knife in his chest when it took too long for the life to drain from his eyes. I’d confess to it if I thought people would understand. See, he was going to die anyway. He was weeks out at most, failing organs and jelly limbs, he could barely sit up in bed. Every day he saw only the empty white of the palace ceiling and the rim of the porcelain bowl I used to feed him sad brown porridge. What is life in a state like that? When you’re young like me, at least people tell hopeful lies—they’ll say your aching joints could mend themselves one day, that you might become more than a lowly servant if you serve your monarch well. But for a man like him who had seen all there was to see, everyone was waiting for him to die. If he had been able to speak in those last moments, he would’ve begged me to finish him off. They’re saying I killed the man. But I know. I showed him compassion.

Our hearts pounding rhythmically at a mesmerizing hypnotic cadence. A race against the clock ticking, winding, tocking. Rolling thunder chasing us. Lighting crashing. Sky growing fierce. Sweat dripping into lashes and blinding glacier blues. Cherry gloss smearing into a luscious cupids bow as decadence and aromatic whipped toppings and cherry jubilee slide down into unspeakable places. Smoldering hot mid -summers day. Sheets ripped by ropes, tape and glass. A metal rod and whip end the finale.

A walk in the park led me to a soulful glance at the broken pieces of bench where I was catapulted into its shattered remains

once more. As they led straight into my heart in a kaleidoscope of cognac merlot, empty promises and paramount nights. I stood alone. Wandering, meandering into broken paths. And it made me think of you.

#fastfiction #fiction #shortstory #lust #love #hot

It was hopeful.

It's the colour of her hair and the laughter in her eyes. The rims of her glasses and the joy crackling in her soul. The beads on her camp bracelet, the sky at that one perfect moment, the way she could describe feeling happy.

It's a little too close to the bleakness she felt daily, the watered down light in the winter, and colour of her ex's favourite sweatshirt. The drink she drank when she didn't let herself eat. Little too close.

But it was bright, it was kind, it was unique. It was a good reminder.

It was hopeful.