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Category Archives: Creative Writing

Just Another V On The A Train – Part II

Part II: Who Am I? What Am I?

Eye death

Image by doug88888 via Flickr

My hunger temporarily at bay, there was nothing to divert my attention from my unwanted hostess. She had not moved since surrendering her plate to me. Her narrow features pulled into an expression, which on a normal person, I would have called amusement.

“You find me funny?” Anger laced the words I spat at her. I loathed her smugness. My fist itched to clear the smirk from her ruby lips.

Her dark brow rose at my tone. A warning I was well acquainted with, but ignored. I wanted answers and was willing to court her ire to get them.

“I find everything amusing. When you’ve lived as long as I have, you learn to take very few things seriously.”

Her movements were languid as she rose to stand next to her chair. Her brilliant blue eyes lit on me expectantly. We went through the same routine every night. I was to rise and follow her into the adjoining room. There she did things to me I tried like hell to forget. Tonight, I decided to be more obstinate than usual. I planned to unravel the riddle that had become my life. Whether I cooperated or not, I was going to suffer.

“Are you really going to challenge me on a matter as trivial as this? One slender arm dropped over the back of her vacated chair. Her wisp of a figure fell into a relaxed pose. I braced myself for flight. By now I had seen how quickly she could strike. When she did move, a game of slap and tickle would not be her intent.

“Who am I?” I noticed a tremble in my voice. I detested myself for the show of weakness.

“Get up,” She ordered. Her full ruby lips curved into an inviting smile; but her electric blue eyes…they told a different story. A story you prayed you would never have the misfortune to read.

“Who am —, “ She leapt upon me! One second she lounged against her chair and the next she was hovering over me. She held my short hair in a vise-like grip and yanked until she exposed my throat. I pounded and scratched her offending hand, all to no avail. I screamed in stark terror as her head lowered. Her fangs punctured my neck with a brutality my mind refused to accept. My screams rent the air until I lost consciousness.

I came to slumped in my chair. My tormentor sat in front of me, perched on the edge of the dinning table. I watched in disgust as she licked flecks of my blood from her lips. My hand sought my wound and found a trail of wet stickiness down the side of my neck. As my fingers gingerly pressed the wound, I could feel it mending. In a few minutes, there would be no wound or pain. Not even a scar left as a reminder.

“Will I become like you?” I croaked, frightened all over again at the prospect.

“You humans,” she laughed. “You watch too many movies and read too many books.”

“Has it been so long you’ve lost any shred of humanity? At one time, even you were human.” I reminded her.

“Don’t speak on subjects of which you know nothing. I was never human.” She informed me. Her eyes locked on my bloody fingers.

I didn’t know what to make of her words. She had ravaged my throat on a regular basis since bringing me to this forsaken place. It had been hard to digest the fact that I was the captive of a vampire. If she wasn’t a vampire, what in hell was she? My mind reeled as I pieced together her actions. I mentally replayed every word we had exchanged. Actually that was all there was to review. My memory before being brought here was lost to me.

I noticed she had left my question unanswered. Was that deliberate? Would I eventually become a creature like her?

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Just Another V On The A Train – Part I

Part I: Who and What Am I?

Eye death

Image by doug88888 via Flickr

“You’re such a slob. I go through all the trouble of providing you with a nice dinner and you go at it as a pig would to a trough!”

I had devoured everything on my plate, cleared the serving dishes, and emptied the pots on the stove of their contents. My stomach clenched; a painful reminder of my still raging hunger. I needed more food. Across the table from me sat her plate, untouched and laden with the night’s fare.

Without saying a word, I reached across the table, grabbed the plate, and dragged it over the frilly tablecloth toward me. The dish was more than halfway on my side of the table when one of her talon-like hands latched on to the rim of the plate. I tugged, but the plate it did not budge. Her strength surprised me, given her small delicate demeanor. Then I remembered her outside shell was nothing but a facade. Meek and mild would never be two words used to describe her. Only days before, she’d thrown me more than fifteen feet. I wondered how far I would have traveled if I hadn’t slammed into a wall, which seemed to spring up out of no where.

My mouth watered as the aroma from the roast tantalized my nose. I needed more food! The red nails on her hand, which clutched the dish, reminded me of drops of blood against its whiteness. It should have made me nauseous but it only added to my burning appetite. Our gazes locked, suspended in a moment that felt as if it were hours. They say the eyes are the mirrors to the soul. In hers, I saw blue pools of nothingness. Did this mean she had no soul? I wondered as she stared into my eyes, could she see the contempt I held for her? The desire I had to bury my fork in her heart. Did she have a heart?

Her deceitful eyes fell away and with a flourish, she relinquished the plate. I brought it to me and greedily shoveled fistfuls of food into my mouth. I had lost patience with trying to gather morsels by fork a few minutes after I had sat down to dinner. Hence her snide, but not untrue comment.

What was I becoming? This unquenchable need for food was not the person I knew, but how did I know that when I could not remember my name, if I had family and friends, or where I lived?

 
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Posted by on June 26, 2011 in Creative Writing, Horror, Literary

 

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Death Came To Call

Death Came To Call

Death Came To Call

We had played a game of hide and seek, he and I. We danced around each other, but never acknowledged the other’s presence. I had expected his visit sooner. I was far from surprised when he finally came.

His strides had purpose. He was graceful. But proud? I saw no sign of such a trait. He came closer and offered a hand to me, palm up, fingers extended.

“It is time.” Death informed me. I looked into his hollow but not empty eyes and smiled.

“You took your sweet time. Where were you when I begged for you?” I asked him and stepped away from him.

“Your cries did not go unheard, but it was…”“Not my time.” I cut in dryly.

Death stepped closer and reached for my hand. I took another step away from him and placed my hands behind my back, out of his reach.

“Not so fast.” I admonished him. “If I’m to spend an eternity who knows where, at least indulge me with one last request.”

Those not empty hollows of Death’s eyes studied me. His head tilted slightly forward; a silent request that I continue.

“I want one last cup of my favorite tea and biscuits. Will you join me?” Wordless, he nodded.

I set the table with my best china. After all, what guest would I ever have more important than Death?

We sat down to Red Zinger tea and short bread biscuits. I served my guest with all the indulgence due royalty.

“Do you take lemon or milk?” I asked while I poured the hot fragrant brew into his cup.

“May I have cream?” Came his timid request.

I brought the cream to the table and watched Death pour a healthy dollop into his tea. He then proceeded to load his plate with short bread biscuits.

“I love short bread too,” I confided as I placed a few on my plate.  “Please,” I encouraged, “Help yourself.”

In all my imaginings of Death, that of Death smiling with pleasure while indulging in Red Zinger tea and cookies never crossed my mind.

“Can I tell you something?”  Death’s tone was conspiratol as he leaned forward.  “I have met many since life was breathed into this planet.  They cry, they beg, they fight, but you are the first to share a respite with me.  Thank you.  I will do my best to bring you comfort.”

I hesitated.  I had made a friend of Death.  I had a feeling I was about to lose him with my next sentence.  “I want to make a bargain with you,” I admitted.  I could feel Death’s warmth withdraw from me.  Wordless, he nodded once more.

“I will tell you a riddle.  If you can answer the riddle, I will go with you willingly.  If you cannot answer the riddle correctly then you will not return until I call for you.  Does that not seem fair?”

Death sat back in thought.  He still nibbled on a short bread biscuit.  After a moment, he nodded.

“The riddle is ‘When is Death not Death?’’  I asked.

First minutes, then hours passed with no response from Death.  The sun rose and set, but no reply came.  The sun has risen for the second time when Death at last spoke.

“I do not know.  When is Death not Death?”

“When Death is a guest to tea.”  I answered.  Death laughed and I smiled.

“How do you like your eggs?”  I asked.

I want to give a heartfelt Thank You to the beautiful people of Bella Czar for the wonderful video.

 
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Posted by on June 25, 2011 in Creative Writing, Literary

 

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Honey Jar

Honey Jar

One day I came upon a star
I’d captured in a honey jar.
It shined for me and me alone.
I heard it cry, “Let me go home!”
 
I asked my little shooting star,
“Aren’t you happy in your jar?
I’ve placed you highly on a shelf,
From everyone except myself.”
 
“I cannot live inside a jar.
Who or what, do you think you are;
To have me hidden on a shelf,
From everyone except yourself?”
 

Fade

“I need to shine and have some fun.
I blaze for all, not just for one.
So set me free.” the star insisted.
I felt no guilt as it persisted.
 
“I cannot set you free to shine.
I captured you so now you’re mine.
Get used to shining only for one.
You’ll survive without your fun!”
 
My star began to dim and fade.
And once more it did beg and bade.
“My light is dying, fading fast,
Not much longer will I last.
Let me go home, I beg of you.
What more can I possibly say or do?”
 
“Leave me alone! You cannot go!
So stop your whining, the answer is no!”
You’ll stay in that jar and fade or shine.
I don’t set free what I take as mine.
 
I came upon an empty jar,
Which once had held a shooting star.
It faded ’til there was no light,
Then slipped away amidst the night.
 
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Posted by on June 22, 2011 in Creative Writing, Literary, Poetry

 

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Love – Better Off Without It

Please tell me it’s the baby.

A pregnant woman

Image via Wikipedia

Jake struggled to keep his hazel eyes open as he slid the key into the lock. With the baby coming, he needed the overtime, but it was taking its toll on his health and his marriage. Exhaustion left him slumped against the door jamb until the front door finally swung open. He stepped over the threshold with a deep sigh. Home at last.

The living room was dark and empty. Jake was more than pleased. Lately he and his wife, Becky, constantly argued. He didn’t have the energy to withstand one of her tirades that night. He was feeling for the light switch, near the front door, when a large heavy object hit Jake full in the chest. His breath escaped him in a whoosh as the momentum of whatever hurled at him wrenched him back outside through the open doorway. At the edge of the porch, he teetered precariously, and then toppled backward to land in the front yard.

As he lay on the ground and tried to collect his bearings, Becky’s voice, strident as a foghorn, yelled out to him. “You want her so much, take your crap and go stay with her.” She punctuated her cry with the crash of the flat screen TV from his study.

“If she’s going to crawl into your boxers,” his wife shrieked, “she can damn well wash them!” The splintering of Jake’s laptop ended the sentence.

The thuds of his belongings as they landed on the lawn, began to form a rhythmic pattern. Through it all, Jake remained flat on his back.

Jake wearily regarded the stars above him. He implored the twinkling mass to give him the strength not to choke the living daylights out of his wife. He chanted repeatedly, “Becky’s pregnant. Beck’s pregnant.” The chant did nothing to assuage the overwhelming desire to make Becky a nice pair of cement shoes and drop her in the nearest ocean.

Countdown, A personalized Mystery

Countdown, A personalized Mystery

A few of Jake’s golf clubs sailed past him. One missed his head by mere inches.

‘Love,’ he thought, ‘I think I was better off without it.’

This is dedicated to DJ. Keep fighting the good fight. I love you man!

Countdown, A Personalized Mystery Novelette

 

This crazy experience can be yours at Chroniclekeeperz.com.  Let them personalize an adventure for you.

 

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Isn’t He Romantic

Yes, He Remembers

Popeye and Olive Oyl in the Fleischer Studios ...

Image via Wikipedia

Husband: I can remember the day I met you. It was in April, thirty years ago.

Wife: The month was October, 45 years ago.

Husband: Your light gray eyes flashed bolts of summer lightning.

Wife: My eyes are brown.

Husband: Your curls were golden rays of sunshine.

Wife: I was a brunette at the time.

Husband: Your shapely body put an hourglass to shame.

Wife: I was so thin people would whistle the Popeye theme as I walked by.

Husband: Your voice was that of an angel’s.

Wife: I had laryngitis.

Husband: Your dress was silver to match your eyes.

Wife: My dress was green to match my shoes.

Husband: Your feet were so small and dainty.

Wife: I wear size twelve shoes.

Husband: You smelled like a lily field.

Wife: I put Joy dish soap in my bath water.

Husband: You sashayed into my world, my lovely queen and I crowned you with my heart.

Wife: I was hobbling. Someone had hit me in the leg with a broom and I tripped into you.

Husband: And so decisive! You told me how it was going to be between us from the very start.

Wife: I said, “Get off my foot buster. And stop staring at me like you’ve lost your marbles.”

Husband: We gazed at one another and you surprised me by whispering my name, “Lorenzo!”

Wife: I yelled, “Loser!”

Husband: The band was playing a romantic song.

Wife: The band was on a break. A baby was wailing his head off.

Wife: Dear?

Husband: Yes, Sweetheart?

Wife: Are you sure, you married the right woman?

Husband: I’m as sure as your name is Olivia.

Wife: My name is Janice.

 
 

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