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A blog for poetry, prose, and pop culture.

Sunday, April 28, 2013

Flash Fiction: Under a Dead Sun: Past Sins

Chapter 47

Cody yanked hard on her hair pulling her face up to his. She let out a grunt but didn't speak, just stared at him. He could see the tears forming in the corner of her eyes but she was putting on a brave face. He admired that. It made him hard. She looked away but he used one hand to roughly grab her cheeks and turn her face back towards him.

"I'm gonna hear you beg bitch. You can put on whatever brave face you want. But I WILL hear you beg."

He jerked her hair so hard a few strands pulled free and continued pulling her up the staircase of the hotel. She struggled but his grip was to strong. Her feet, knees, and shins smacked hard against the steps until he reached the top floor and she let out a few small grunts, but still no scream. Not yet. He kicked open the first room at the top and muscled Ally through the doorway, violently throwing her on the bed.

She tried to scramble off as soon as she hit the mattress but he was on top of her instantly. He pressed his weight on top of her and she tried to hit at him with her free hands but he used his legs to wedge one of them down.   With his position and weight she couldn't get much leverage against him and he let out a smile as he ran a caressing finger along her cheek. He fondled the split he'd caused on her lip before she took a bite at his finger. His smile quickly lapsed into a frown as he punched her hard in the eye. That did ellicit a cry from her. He watched it welt and start to turn purple as she writhed beneath him.

"Now we'll really have some fun."

She tried squirming left, tugging at her free arm as he slid back on top of her a little. He grabbed one of her breasts hard as his free hand gripped the collar of her dress. He pulled at it, tearing fabric and popping buttons, exposing the tender white flesh beneath, still ripe with the bruises he had given her. That sick, thick grin came back as he used that hand to undo his gun belt, tossing it beside the bed. He kept his other hand around her throat, keeping her eyes on him anytime she tried to turn away. His fingers were stiff and cruel as he forced her to look at him as he spoke.

"You can start crying now."

He slapped her across the face again for good measure before tugging at the button on his pants. This would feel so good. He'd killed to many people to have ignored this urge this long. It had been days since that whore at the farmhouse, and this nectar was twice as sweet as she had been. He let go of her face and used both hands as he slipped his pants down, rising off her slightly in the process. It was in that momentary lapse in pressure that the whore made her move. Her arm suddenly free, he saw her hand blur and felt a searing pain across his eye. He let out a scream and fell backwards off the bed, red filling his vision. He clutched at the socket, feeling the flap of skin where his eye use to be and the salty flecks of blood dribbling on his lips from between his fingers.


With his good eye he saw her stand up, clutching the steak knife from her meal in her hands. The whole world was a vision of red and pain, but he still felt that white hot urge in his gut. He stumbled towards the bed, still holding his eye as he tried to stand up.


She drew close to him, her voice small and hard.

"It's okay to start screaming now."

He did scream then, after he felt her jam the knife into his stomach.

End of Line.

Saturday, April 27, 2013

Flash Fiction: The Sea

The Sea

Everett flicked the tail end of the cigarette away, watching it spin end over end into the sea. He let loose the last remnants of the precious smoke from his lungs and brought the bottle to his lips. He drew a pull of the liquor, cheap, dark, and brown, but serviceable for his needs. He took several more pulls, wishing that hadn't been his only smoke and watched the tide push in its refuse, the beach resembling some waterlogged junkyard. He felt the booze burn his throat and wished it would dull some of his other senses, but it wasn't enough, not yet.

He sat on the shoreline until the tide began to lap at his feet, blending in with the rest of the trash on the beach. Everett laid on his back, holding the bottle in his hand and looked to the sky. It was dark, but the smog and carbon monoxide of the city formed a film over the skyline. Only the brightest stars shown through though and even then they were but a pale reflection behind a scummy veneer.  He tuned to the moon, the only thing that held any light at all. On a night like this, he wished it had been full, bright and warm, lighting the darkness in its pale ether.

Instead the moon was but a sliver, a slim crack of light in the inky paleness of the night sky. Not even a crescent, just the barest of curvature hinting at the lunar globe. An outline of his loneliness. He held the bottle high, letting the sliver of light shine through the bottle, covering himself in a brown moon shadow. In an offered toast, he took one last drink and flung the bottle into the sea. Washed away to wash ashore again, unwanted by the land and the sea, just like him.

It was there he sat on the beach, letting the waves lap at his feet as he watched the moon circle across the sky. The chill of the water and the windy bite of the breeze didn't seem to faze him, nor did the graininess of the sand, wet and cold beneath him. The night seemed to pass in a mire, slowed by the wet slickness of the sea. It blended into the darkness of a night sky meeting a blackened sand. A dead sky meeting a dead beach. It was hard to tell where the horizon ended and the Earth began. A moment in space lost, lost among the refuse of the discarded.

He sat unmoving, numbness slipping into his limbs as the tell tale red trim of the sun approached to the west. The tide had begun to reduce, retreating into the cold green spray of the sea. He sat waiting, wondering if the dawn held the answers that the night had kept from him. Wondering if the beginning of today could be worse than the end of yesterday.

End of Line.

Wednesday, April 10, 2013

Flash Fiction: All I Ever Wanted

All I Ever Wanted

The place smelled of death. Slow rotting, antiseptic death. It was there, underneath the smells of bleach, sanitizer, and the squeaky rubber aroma of the nurses' orthopedic shoes. It permeated the place, underlying the offered lonely peace of the hospital bed. A peace belayed by the beeps of machinery and the sounds of respirators pumping oxygen into so many people who still clung to this precious life. Their time trickling away as they watched re-runs of Dr. Phil in the fading moments of a life well wasted.

In the time that we had left I had tried to cut those distractions away, the only sensation I wanted was the feel of her hand in mind, as we brushed each others fingers softly. She looked at me, tears in her eyes and I tried to smile through the lump in my throat. We didn't need words or sounds, just that soft touch, just the feel of her hand in mine. The knowlege of a life shared, of a dream come true. Of a dream that was soon to end.

She opened her mouth to speak but I softly shook my head no. Words couldn't come to me, not in that moment, not in this place. I closed my eyes and squeezed her hand tighter. I didnt want my last vision of her to be in this place. I wanted to remember her the way I do in my dreams. I wanted to remember that first day I saw her in school, holding her books and laughing at something someone had said. Her shy nod yes the first time I asked her out. The taste of her lips when we first kissed. The day she agreed to marry me. I wanted to remember her from everyday in our life. From every morning she woke, till every night when she slept. I wanted everyday... but not today.

I licked my lips and reached for my own words. How could I sum up everything this woman had meant to me? How could I put into words the meaning her life has had in mine? What do you tell the meaning of life?

I lifted her hand to my cheek slowly, nuzzling it every so gently. Weakness and time had wrought it's toll and life faded with each passing second. I tired to impart with touch what I couldn't with words.   To put a lifetime of memories and love into each caress. I couldn't find my voice, but I hoped she heard my message.

We stayed like that a long time. I knew the end was close, creeping upon us. I could feel it coming, I knew our time was almost over. I tried to feel her hand, to let her know I was still here, but my limbs felt numb. I opened my mouth to speak but my voice had already failed me. The only thing that escaped my lips was one last breath, slow and drawn out, the last moments of my life leaving my body.

I wanted to stay with her. It was all I had ever wanted.

End of Line.