Her arms slithered around my waist, slowly; seductively caressing down, down my legs and up again. Continue reading
Mrs Pry tsked to herself; that dress had been up there all week. She had assumed at first that it must be some sort of Halloween decoration, but that apartment was still uninhabited. Mrs Pry curled her lips and let the curtain fall, mumbling and grumbling to herself all the way to bed.
Mrs Pry was deep asleep when clouds parted and revealed the full circular moon. And she was snoring loudly when the dress shifted, and floated up, making a bee-line across the city to where a pair of trousers and a shirt waited, ready for a dance.
For Friday Fictioneers; I loved the picture this week, so enthralling, but I keep thinking I’ve seen it somewhere, maybe on TV. Oh well! Hope you liked the story.
Her scent was everywhere and, standing in the exact centre of her room, Jasper was in the middle of it; inhaling it, savouring it, willing to drown in it. He sunk on her bed and turned among the sheets, smiling at the crisp, crunchy sound the cotton made as he eased his arms and legs about the bed, cooling his skin against the cold, smooth surface. Continue reading
‘…and tonight the witch shall be punished for her sins, her soul purified. She shall taste the wrath of the Almighty…’ the priest was shouting at the highest chord his voice could muster. With each invocation of the Lord’s name, his eyes dilated and his hands trembled; lost in self-righteous ecstasy. Continue reading
I watched him as his hardened eyes focused on the screen; men in camo covered in dust, a mike shoved under their unwilling mouths, replying to questions in a rehearsed monotone. Colour abandoned his face, shriveled out of him like water from a sponge forgotten in the sun. A hundred condolences rushed to my tongue, none adequate. I stepped forward instead, and placed my hand on his shoulder. But his eyes, now red, never left the TV, his mind wondering only of the son he’d lost; the one standing next to him a mere presence trespassing on his grief.
This is in response to Trifecta’s challenge:
Color: complexion tint:
I changed it to the British version, but the word is still there, up for your critique. Thanks for reading.
We used to sit around the table, all five of us, every Sunday at lunch. Until the trolls invaded and all my boys left; called up and conscripted.
I harvested the land with the women, and waited at the gate every sundown. Those who returned were unrecognizable. A guilty thought chafed at me; if this is what they came back as, did I want my boys to return?
But the choice was never mine.
Three of us sit at the table now in haunted silence, staring into the fires of the two lit lamps; a tribute to our dead.
For this episode of Friday Fictioneers, I went with fantasy. I hope you like it.
My Paul is a cat person. I hate cats and always wanted a dog. So we agreed when we moved in, ‘No Pets.’ We even shook on it.
But when one day I was walking home and found this husky pup stuffed inside a box on top of a skip, shivering, I couldn’t help it. I scooped him up and took him home. Continue reading