She smiled, her eyes large and soft and beautiful. She pulled out her license and showed it to me.
“I don’t understand.”
“What about everything else? How could you mislead me?” This is what heartbreak felt like. This tearing in the center of your body, like something enormous and very, very angry was trying to get out.
“Amy, I’m in love with you. Have been from the beginning. I’m sorry… everything I’ve ever said to you was truth. You’re the other half of my soul.”
December 15, 2016 prompt:In 99 words (no more, no less) explore the importance of a name within a story. It can be naming an experience, introducing an extraordinary name, or clarifying a name (who can forget Who’s on First). Go where the prompt leads.
We scrambled up the familiar trail, shale cascading from beneath him like marbles. We’d reach the summit to stand and gander. Such views from the rim. Cobalt skies and red rock and always a vulture making his lazy circles.
I dropped to the ground 100 yards from the top, his breath too labored. I waited while he recovered, my hand on his shoulder.
Once arrived, we stood. I turned to see him kneeling; before he went down I slid the Winchester from the leather scabbard. Thirty years of these rides. It was time. I owed him this much.
Fill me with words of lust and care, of tenderness and need; of raking touches and tongues, of praying and fucking. Worship my body, let me worship yours. Running fingertips over your skin, over your scars, touching your flaws with reverence and wonder. Everything and nothing inside this moment against your vibrating body, and the sensations sing like tenors. Taste your sweat, your blood, your tears and fears and all those years of nothing. We’re found falling into this embrace and perhaps we’ll never let go, never wash it off, never be free of the mark. Eyes like tar, a smile like hunger. Surrounded by stars and satin, push me into the goose down with the hardness of your body, trap me here, eyes blind and limbs bound and make me yours as you are mine.
Cherish me and I will honor you. Fuck me and I will follow you. Make me forget and I will hold you here with my lust, my cunt, my lips. Stolen moments hidden from lives of normalcy. Do not let me down. Do not allow my fear. I will shelter in your breast, a secret you hold, and we’ll find it; our acceptance.
“Would you prefer I do this?” She clapped her hand over the other’s mouth, and promptly got bitten. “OW! Heavens, Marcy.”
“Well. Don’t shush me. Or touch me.”
“I can’t hear a word if you keep nattering on. You never did know when to shut up.”
“Shouldn’t be eavesdropping anyway. You were always a nosy bitch.”
“You need to watch your language!”
“What pushed you out of the wrong side of bed this morning anyway? You’re a crank pot.” Then she held up her hand, the one with the reddening teeth marks, and leaned her ear against the door.
“What are they saying?”
“That they’re going to put you up for adoption if you don’t smarten up.” There was a dark twinkle in Janie’s brown eyes. But suddenly it left. Her young face fell into an expression the younger sister perceived like a cold hand around her heart.
“What? What is it, Janie? Tell me! Is he coming home?” she hissed.
Janie looked at her with welled eyes and shook her head.
Marcy touched her shoulder. “It’s okay. Don’t cry.”
Janie kept shaking her head, the tears now spilling over her pale cheeks, and the cloud that descended on 1414 Chatham Street that day smothered them in a permanent hush.
Thank you to Linda for a great prompt. Head over to SoCS to be inspired and for the participation rules!
It was the kind of kiss that started wild fires. He took her hand and held it with his in her lap. He leaned across the console. “Every touch is a promise,” he said, and his voice was soft and deep and warmed her like aged whisky. His lips brushed her nose, and she closed her eyes and instinctively tilted her head. How did she know to do that? It was not only their first kiss…
“But you’re not allowed,” he said, and the tip of his tongue brushed the cupid’s bow of her lip. “To fall.”
Upon awakening each morning she wondered who she would be. For this day, a gust of wind past a yawning window. Or something small and beautiful and dying, going nowhere at all.
She bathed and dressed in solitude, taking great care with an appearance that would go unacknowledged. Small tasks completed gave a sense of satisfaction while awaiting the arrival of the soul she would be today. How that arrival might color her view of the world, the one she sat in the shadows and quietly observed. In the blazing Technicolor of a fantasy dream-coat? Or bleak grays, inky blacks and washed out whites? In the sepia tones of memory? Or the pastel gossamer and silk of youth and hope?
Upon awakening each morning she felt the temporary flutter of her heartbeat and wondered how many she had left. She awaited the arrival of the soul to tell her how to feel about this one. Whether it was dark and sad or bright and lustful, she embraced each as the feeling of being alive, an observer of the life outside.
The porn films are not about sex. Sex is airbrushed and digitally washed out of the films. There is no acting because none of the women are permitted to have what amounts to a personality. The one emotion they are allowed to display is an unquenchable desire to satisfy men, especially if that desire involves […]