Category Archives: fiction

Will you…

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Will you take the time to know me
Beyond the secret of my curves
I’ll return the favor
And explore your attributes…

Will you celebrate life’s wonders
Let me see it in your eyes
That you couldn’t live without me
You’d never want to try…

Will you stay with me forever
Or as long as time allows
You see, I can’t release you
I’m afraid I don’t know how…

~~~

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I want to dance…

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I want to dance

To twirl and feel the air

Lift silken layers and guide your eager

Hands to my hips…

I want to dance

My fingers across your nape

Twine them into your curls

And tug gently till our eyes meet…

I want to dance

Attendance on your lips

To linger thigh to thigh

In a soft cocoon…

I want to dance

But we are caught

as surely as our hands between us

Or our mingled breaths…

We pull apart

You twirl me away

Chiffon floats like a cloud

I want to dance…

 

The Long Road Home…

The wind bit into her exposed skin as Dena huddled against her broken down car on the side of the interstate.  Dusk was closing in and she knew it would be dark soon.  How could she have forgotten to charge her phone before starting the drive home for Thanksgiving?

Mom is going to kill me, she thought ruefully, but with no phone and no car, she had no choice but to try to get someone to stop and help her.  Maybe she’d luck out and another kid going home from college would stop and pick her up.  Or maybe a nice truck driver.  They were the ones to help you on the road, her dad always said.

Okay, if no one was coming down the road, she was going to get back inside her car and wait where it was at least a little warmer.  Maybe the OnStar thing would work.  She got in and pressed it again and again, but nothing.  No disembodied voice asking how they could help her.  Her luggage was in the trunk of the little Dodge Dart and maybe she’d get it out and put some more layers of clothes on to try to stay warm.  She didn’t have another coat, but more jeans and socks and a big sweater, at least.

Darkness was rapidly closing in when she heard rumbling sounds behind her.  Peering out the frosted over back window she saw a huge semi bearing down on her.  The noise must have been the truck downshifting as the driver tried to stop after seeing her car.  Too late to get out and make a run for it, she just prayed that the air brakes caught and the massive machine stopped before slamming into her car.  Head down, trying to remember the long ago prayers from when she was a little girl, “Our Father who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name…”

Oh, thank you, Jesus, the truck swung around her car and pulled onto the shoulder just in front with an awful squeal.  Dena’s heart was still pounding and her mouth was nearly dry, not noticing a tall, broad-shouldered man get out of the cab, a knit cap pulled low over longish brown hair as he stalked toward her car.  She was still in a daze when the loud rapping on her window brought her into the present.

Dena opened the door a crack to peer out and his lips tilted up a little.  “Can I help you with anything, miss?”

“Oh, thank goodness you stopped,” was all she could muster as her eyes filled with tears.

“Yep, seems like good luck all around, doesn’t it?  Come on into my truck and warm up a little and I’ll see what’s going on with your car.”  His big hand tugged on hers a little until she finally got her body to move.  She was almost stiff with the cold and the remnants of  fear from seeing the truck bearing down on her.  And now, relief — or something — was making her light-headed.

“My name is Dena,” she managed as he guided her toward the cab of the truck.  She noticed it was white and had some sort of telephone number and Jones Trucking on the side.

“Nice to meet you, Dena,” he smiled, again with the slight uptilt.  “Most folks call me Jonesy, but my name is Bill.  Now get on in there and warm up a little.”

It seemed like she barely had time to settle back against the luxurious padded seat and feel her toes and fingers start to thaw before he was climbing back up beside her.  Then she felt the truck lurch forward before it moved onto the highway.

Spatter…

A little something I’m reposting from last year to wish you happy Friday the 13th… Boo!

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The Friday the 13th party had been winding down anyway and the flirty blonde in the short black dress suggested her place, so she and Mike were grabbing their coats from the back bedroom when they heard the sounds of glass breaking and people shouting.  Then the lights went out.  The blonde had opened her mouth but before she could start shrieking he’d pulled her close and shoved her face into his chest to try to muffle a scream.  She’d shoved him away hard like she was afraid and he felt her run past him in the darkness as he slipped and now he wasn’t even sure where she was…
What the hell? Mike could feel the toe of his boot hit something as he stumbled in the darkness to find the light switch. God dammit but his head hurt. He must have hit the back of his head against the footboard of the bed as he fell.  Christ, he hadn’t meant to scare the girl, he just figured if a fight had broken out or something they could just stay in the bedroom till everybody settled down.  He’d only been in Jim and Sara’s apartment a few times so he wasn’t sure he was remembering right, but, yeah, there was the switch to the right of the door.
As the light clicked on, he looked out into the living room and saw spatters of red everywhere, like a paint can had flown from someone’s hand and liquid curved up into the air in slow motion then fell like rain drops in a mesmerizing pattern. Looking more closely, he realized the red was too thin, too dark, had a coppery smell — good Lord, it was blood. Blood everywhere.
Squinting against the bright light, he could make out the pale, shocked faces of Jim and his wife, Sara, and another guy he remembered from the party, Leo maybe — no, Logan, somebody who worked with Jim at the trucking company. They were all staring at him in horror. Then Sara started screaming and screaming and he looked down and there was the blonde in the short black dress, glossy red lips and blue eyes open wide as blood spurted from the slash across her neck and soaked into the light gray carpet…

Bus Stop…

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A repost from last year you might not have read…

Why can’t life be easier?  Why can’t things just work out?  Trisha shook her head sadly as she boarded the bus, glad to be out of the chilly November air and happy to see that a seat was open near her.  She sank down gratefully, pulling her coat in around her and grasping her bag closely on her lap.

The scruffy young man on her right moved his legs together guiltily, apparently realizing he was taking up more than half the seat. “Oh, sorry,” he said in a deeper voice than she’d expected. Trisha glanced up quickly into soft blue gray eyes that really did look apologetic.  She couldn’t help but return his smile. “No problem,” she said. “I’m exhausted, is all, and just glad to find an empty seat.”

“Long day, I’d guess?” That voice of his just rumbled and as her eyes met his again she noticed the wrinkles around the corners of those eyes and the touches of gray in his beard.  Not so young, maybe. “Long week, and its only Wednesday.”

“Ah, well, maybe things will be looking up soon.”  How did he manage to look so appealing and sympathetic at the same time?

“Maybe.  I guess.  Sure.” She could feel her cheeks heating. “Sorry, I haven’t any idea, really.  My job was just downsized today.  Such a nice way of saying you’re fired without really saying it.”

“Oh, I am sorry to hear that!  Perhaps I could buy you dinner?” Now he had the grace to look slightly uncomfortable. “Jeez, you must think me an idiot.  My name is Grant Thomas and I’m getting off at the Peterson Avenue stop unless you’d go to dinner with me, in which case we can get off the bus wherever your stop is?”

“Trisha James,” she said extending her hand. “Peterson is my stop, too, and there’s a little Italian restaurant right there on the corner.” “Brunettis,” they said together, laughing.

“So, Trisha James, what do you say?  Join me for a glass of wine and some incredibly good pasta?”

Closing her eyes briefly against all the reasons she shouldn’t trust this rather scruffy looking stranger she’d just met on a city bus, Trisha glanced up into those very kind eyes and decided. “I’d like that, Grant,” she smiled.

“Wonderful and here’s our stop now,” he said, guiding her down the aisle toward the door, nodding to the driver. “Good night, Lillian.”

“Night, Dr. Thomas. See you tomorrow.”

Oh, my, Trisha thought, appearances certainly could be deceiving…

Picture from Pixabay