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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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Thank You But No

Next week has to be better!

Thank you but no

Thank You But No

This week started with a big bang. It has also been one of weird balances. For every positive accomplishment, there seemed to be an equally negative occurrence.

Example #1: I sold my car at a price higher than I anticipated. Very good. Thieves busted the driver’s side window and ripped out the radio, GPS, and took everything out of the glove box and arm rest. As if that wasn’t enough, sometime after the break-in a neighborhood cat dragged a bird through the open window and made a dinner of it, leaving blood and feathers everywhere. Very Bad.

Example #2: I’m up for a job, which will let me write my column in an online paper twice a week. It comes with a sweet salary. I just need to prove that I can write a little grittier. Very good. I decide to write about a topic that I feel strongly about. I go undercover with a friend and we almost get the crap beat out of us. Didn’t know I could run that fast! Very bad.

What does a girl do after thanking the Big Guy Upstairs profusely for her survival? She hangs out with her friends to try to find some normalcy, which is sadly lacking, in her life. My friends and I decided to go to a local eatery with a rather interesting bar. The place was packed and my friends and I were having a good time laughing, joking and sharing rather ribald anecdotes.

As the night progressed, I found myself in search of the lady’s room. I think I should tell you first that staring at a computer screen all day, plus alcohol intake, minus glasses, equals a very merry woman who can’t see well. Down the dark hall I pranced (there was a catchy tune playing), encased in my happy buzz and I walked into the first door I saw with a familiar symbol. The first sight that greeted me was what I thought was a woman with her back toward the entrance; pants down, facing what I believed were a bank of sinks. I stood there puzzled and a bit shocked when she turned around and after seeing me, yelled in a deep baritone “Hey lady! Wrong room?”

What? Now I’m truly confused so I moved a little closer, trying to sharpen my murky vision. As I got closer, I realized the protester was a guy with long blonde hair and what I thought was a bank of sinks were actually urinals. Imagine my mortification! Even more embarrassing was that the guy had turned to face me fully with his pants still drawn down and I was close enough to make out a lot of little details. I got out of there so fast it made my fuzzy head spin.

Later on, I spied the guy, from what I now know was the men’s room, a few tables away and sent him a drink and apology via the waitress. Right before we left that night, in return, the guy sends me a drink and a business card with his phone number on it.

Frankly, you’d think the guy would be embarrassed. I sure as heck was. Would you make a pass at a person who’d just seen your goods?

 
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Posted by on June 23, 2011 in Life Observation

 

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Forget you. I’m The Answer, Not The Problem.

Forget You.

Forget you. I'm the solution, not the problem.

Lately I find myself watching people a lot. Wondering, what they’re thinking; what their lives are like. Are they happy, and if not, why not?

A few days ago, I witnessed someone I know sink under the mounting pressures of Life. A hot tear rolled down her cheek as the weight of life jumped on her back and rode her mercilessly until her knees buckled and she gasped a plea for clemency. Having been in her position most of my life, I could readily identify with her pain and struggles, but for once my reaction wasn’t the usual commiserating anger. Instead, as I watched, something deep inside me snapped and I said to myself “screw it!”

We spend most of our lives trampling each other in the dust. Oblivious to the total promise of life as we race frantically toward that invisible finish line.

When we get there, will we have enough forethought to look back and see what we’ve left in our wake? And just what will lay in the groove of our treads? A full meaningful life with no regrets, lots of warmth, love, and positive thoughts or misery and bitterness and emptiness so hollow we can still hear its echo?

There’s a saying, “If you’re not part of the solution, you’re part of the problem.” I think this is true. It’s not saying you can’t have problems, it just says don’t be one. A problem is someone who refuses to grow spiritually, takes their own negative thoughts and criticisms as gospel and uses it like a sword to cut down anyone or thing of beauty, promise, talent or courage…you get the picture.

I could go on, but what’s the point? Unfortunately, we all know someone like that, heck, we might that person ourselves. For me, today, tomorrow and the day after tomorrow, I’ll say, “Screw it!” This new-found strength will not conquer overnight, but I’ll be damned if I willingly let the negatives of life ride me until my knees buckle leaving me to hang on to the vestiges of an existence barely claimed and unwanted.

From now on, I am a solution. When it’s my turn to cross that finish line I want to know that though I may not have started out a winner, somewhere along the line I became one. More importantly, the grooves of my tread will be filled with the glow of those I loved, and those who walked with me, whether short or long distances, on my journey to the finish line.

 
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Posted by on June 22, 2011 in Life Observation

 

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I Killed A Secret Agent On Mother’s Day

It was my best Mother’s Day Gift ever!

Personalized Mystery

Personalized Mystery Novelette

I felt the tip of the cold steel barrel press against the back of my neck. Funny, after being terrified for days of this very moment, it was finally here and I felt nothing. I was an empty shell…hollow. One thought echoed through my mind, “Go ahead. Get it over.”

I stood up straight and slowly turned to face him. The barrel of the gun pressed deeper into my neck. The slightly roughened edge scraped along my skin as I moved. Finally, we faced each other. His soulless black eyes were roiling pits of anger. Still, he instilled no fear in me as his thin lips drew back cruelly and exposed his large white teeth.

I realized; he no longer had any power over me. It didn’t matter that he was three times bigger than me. It didn’t matter that he held a gun at my throat. We stood as equals.

I felt his hand tighten around the barrel of the gun. This was my last chance. My only chance. Having been so docile, so resigned, he was not expecting the quick movement of my hand as I rammed my open palm into his bulbous nose. I heard a quick crack and knew I had broken it. The gun relaxed against my throat as my would be assassin bent forward and emitted an angry growl laced with pain. Blood sprang from his nose and splashed the wooden planked floor.

He was still bent forward as I grasped the back of his head and with quick hard force, shoved his forehead down to meet my rapidly rising knee. The motion happened so fast; my adversary had no time to counteract. This agent, who had helped to kidnap my family; this bully, who had terrorized me for a week, dropped to his knees in front of me…helpless. His hand still clutched the gun but it no longer pointed at me. The barrel aimed toward the ceiling as both of his meaty paws clutched as his head. I moved back and slightly to the side of him. My action going unnoticed as he tried to collect himself. I raised my foot and kicked the lower right side of his jaw with all the force I could gather. The agent’s head snapped sideways. Another crack resounded through the room, loud and final, like a period at the end of a long heavy sentence.

The agent swayed slightly on his knees before his considerable bulk crumpled to the cabin floor. I felt no triumph at having killed my would-be killer. No satisfaction. Only more emptiness.

An hour after I had killed the agent, I sat down to enjoy a lovely dinner of medium rare lamb chops, crispy potatoes and asparagus. A delicious wine I had been given for Mother’s Day accompanied my dinner. I ate voraciously, savoring every morsel. I guess being the star of your very own personalized novelette works up a huge appetite. It was the best Mother’s Day gift I’d ever received.

I wonder which personalized novelette I’ll choose next? Honey, do we have any more cake left?

Chroniclekeeperz.com.  They make it personal, you make it unique.

 
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Posted by on June 22, 2011 in Books, Mystery, Videos

 

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