you can read my submission here.
https://thecage.co/phpBB/viewtopic.php?t=2511
We had to use 20 assigned words. other than that, it's open season. you vote by clicking the like button under the story. you can only vote for one story.
you can read my submission here.
https://thecage.co/phpBB/viewtopic.php?t=2511
We had to use 20 assigned words. other than that, it's open season. you vote by clicking the like button under the story. you can only vote for one story.
It was a dark street, especially in the small hours right before dawn. Many of the houses here had those automatic light timers and several had already winked out in anticipation of morning. Bruce stood in the middle of the street, swaying a bit. He felt light headed and a little woozy.
It's the house. It has to be the house.
How long had he been standing here? He could make out frost on the lawn now, cold and beautiful. Was that there before. I don't think so.
It was always the same house. Same street, same strange feeling. It even felt like the same night, although that couldn't be. Something about this place… it's my true north. Now what does that mean?
He stood there, ignoring the chill. The house wasn't completely dark. He could see soft yellow light playing against the bay window. Candle light, if he wasn't wrong. It was muted, probably coming from a room deeper in the house. A bedroom maybe. He'd dated a woman once who loved candles, especially when she was taking a bath. Those big, Yankee Candles, vanilla scent. They were pretty.
Pretty expensive. I must have dropped one hundred dollars easy on Valentine's day. Walked in there thinking I could get away cheap. Bruce smiled to himself.
Inside was all shadow and muted yellows. The living room was as dark as it looked from outside. Nothing extraordinary here, as far as he could tell. A nice couch. Nice TV. Glass coffee table with a deck of cards and a book with those pictures of babies dressed like flowers and whatnot. There was a small fireplace that looked unused, probably just for show, and —
And what am I doing inside?
It didn't feel odd, being in a stranger's house (and isn't that odd in itself?). What bothered Bruce was not remembering walking in here. The candlelight spilled into the room from a hallway that, he assumed, led to the bedrooms. Well, in for a penny… Bruce made his way down the hall.
He found her in the first bedroom, sleeping on top of the covers, cloaked only in the soft light of two candles. She was beautiful. Not on the outside beautiful, although part of him was aware that physically she was attractive. But everything else about her overwhelmed him. There was no other way to explain it. She was —
She was a taste of orange and cinnamon; a memory of sugar. She was the dark chocolate of past romance, salted with tears from false starts and promises. There was a music about her that made Bruce woozy. All brass and strings, sweet with promise and countered with dark tones of regrets and grieving. He'd never seen anything like it before.
Has anyone?
Everything seemed to breathe with her, expanding slightly and then contracting. Bruce fell to his knees. She was so… so
So alive! She's alive and I'm not. I'm not alive. Something happened…
The woman turned her head and whispered something, but he couldn't make out what she was saying. Her hair fell across her face and the world turned silver. That's the color of peace. For her. He knew.
“Are you here?” She sat up and looked past him.
The question is, why am I here?
“I know you're here. I think.” She leaned forward and Bruce was treated to a bouquet of jasmine and spring rain.
She smells like hope.
She said something else, but it was lost on him. Background noise to the othersomething that was really her. She was expecting him, Bruce realized.
The cards. They were tarot cards. She summoned me!
“Please. If you can hear me, give me a sign. Something. Anything!”
Now he could taste sea salt and sand, and cold and he knew it was fear. She's afraid I'm not real.
At that moment, Bruce would have given everything to let the beautiful woman know he was there. The thought of disappointing her was unbearable.
But that's not how it works! I can't speak. I can't move anything. I can't—I can't.
“Please, just this once. Just one time. I know I'm not crazy. Please.”
A tear. A perfect, amazing tear rolled down the side of her face.
That is the sound of stillness. The whisper of expectation.
And then Bruce knew what he could do.
He surrendered. He gave up trying to hold on and surrendered to the beautiful woman. He embraced her, permeated her. Everything he was clung to her.
This is why I'm here. This is my reward.
He didn't fade. Not really. His last thought was
I don't know what I am. But I'm happy. Of course I'm happy. Look at her.
The woman sighed, and blew out the candles. “Stupid of me to fall asleep with them burning like that.”
Wen she again fell asleep, there was no disappointment; no sadness in her song and her life. Her life glowed a little brighter that night and all the nights that followed.
The 3rd story of seven promised.
Tequila flavored dancers
touch my life from time to time,
the sweetness of seduction mixed with salt and lime.
and the bars are closing early and my nights are getting blurry
as we sweat the righteous sweat of good clean sin.
and we're howling in the night as we hold
each other tight,
longing and desperation
touched with gin.
the lights are poppin' brightly
and the music's unforgiving.
so let the devil wait his turn
and let's get on with living,
as we revel in each other's chance to burn.
Making Good on my bet with a crime story.
WHAT THE DOG SAW
At 20,000 feet, you have ninety-seconds before you hit dirt. That information was generously provided to me by Sal Gianni, right before his goons threw me out of the plane.
There may be things worth dying for, but Christine ain’t one of them.
I met her in a Dairy Queen. She was blonde and knew how to wear the fuck out of a pair of high heel shoes. I couldn't believe my luck when she sat down and took the cherry off my Tastee Freeze. I'm no horror show, but I’m no Mr. Hollywood either. I'm the kind of guy a wife puts up with. So when she asked:
“Have you ever killed a dog?”
I wasn’t paying much attention to what she said, as much as how she said it – with a cherry stem nestled between her lips.
“Um, what?”
She smelled like honeysuckle and her tits worked harder than Viagra. She put her hand on my arm. When I came to, she was whispering in my ear.
“I need someone to fuck me, steal my husband's money, and kill a dog. And I want that someone to be you.”
I should have told her to get lost. But then she breathed. Oh my, did she breathe. Instead, I played it cool.
“Um…”
“My husband's a prick, but he’s not a monogamous prick.” She placed her small hand on my thigh. “So I want to return the favor, and then some.” Her hand moved up my leg.
“Er…”
She gave a gentle squeeze. “So, are you in?”
She kissed my ear. “Or are you out?”
“Uhh..”
“In?” Another soft squeeze.
“Or out?”
Fifteen minutes later we were in her hotel room. Fifteen minutes and 3 seconds later, I was in her mouth. I know, but I don’t have time for discretion. 20,000 feet, remember?
She took pictures. All kinds of pictures.
“For hubby,” she purred.
Later, after we scraped ourselves off the sheets, she took two objects out of her purse and placed them on the nightstand. A keychain and a gun.
“Uh…”
“The big key opens the front door. The small key opens the floor safe under the desk in the upstairs study. There should be anywhere from 40 to 75 thousand dollars in there. You keep half. But,” she held up my wallet and waved it under my nose. “If you're not back in two hours, I send these pictures to my husband, along with your name and address. Sal is not the kind of man to let something like this go. He's more the kind of man to have you dig your own hole and leave you there.”
“Um…”
"When you get back, I’ll send the pictures anyway, but only the ones without your face. I want that bastard to do a slow burn for the rest of the day, and then I hope his head explodes when he finds out his money is missing."
“And the gun? I could use the money and I appreciate the, um, the sex. But I don't think I could shoot anyone.”
She gave a throaty laugh, took my head in her hands and pressed it against her moneymaker.
“The gun's for the dog.”
Oh yeah. The dog.
"The house will be empty except for Lucky. He loves that mutt more than me and maybe more than his money. Lucky’s about 500 years old and farts more than he barks. Shoot the fucker, bring me back his collar, and I'll wear it and let you fuck me like a dog until one of us passes out.”
“Um…”
Like all suburban neighborhoods in Jersey, the place was a ghost town between 10:00 am and 2:00 pm. I opened the door and slipped inside. I made my way straight up the stairs. Hook a right, go past two doors, open the third. Bingo. The study.
I found the light switch and ceiling fan whirred to life. I walked to the desk, got on my hands and knees and found the keyhole to the floor safe. Christine was right. There was a lot of cash. $55,000 and change. I took it all, together with a Movado watch.
I put everything in a “Kings Supermarket” reusable shopping bag and stood up.
A German Shepherd sat in the doorway. Christine wasn't lying about Lucky. His eyes were filmy, his fur matted and his panting sounded like my Grandpa Manuel when he watched the showgirls on Telemundo. He was big enough, but there was no fight in him.
And he wore a silver studded black collar.
My mouth went dry at the thought of Christine on her knees wearing nothing but that collar.
“Hiya boy. Who's a good doggie?” I cocked the gun and took a few cautious steps toward the door. Lucky took the opportunity to lie down and pass a fart, causing me to curse the ceiling fan. I stood there, gun in hand, looking eye to eye with the Methuselah of the canine world. Lucky whined. Even a rube like me couldn't miss at this distance.
But I couldn't do it. I had fifty-five thousand dollars, a watch and a beautiful woman. Why should I kill a dog? I'd stop by PetCo, buy a damn dog collar and have my fun.
“Today's your lucky day, Lucky.” I put the gun away and stepped over pooch. I was halfway to the stairs when I heard the front door open. I silently ran into the first bedroom on the left. My choices were under the bed, in the closet or in the bathroom. I chose under the bed.
Footsteps. A brief pause. A man's voice.
“Lucky! How ya doing boy?”
A dog’s happy pant and halfhearted bark.
Dog paws clicking on the wood floor. Then scratching at the bedroom door.
“Where you going, boy?”
A door opens.
Excited whining.
A long nose peeks under the bed, sniffing and searching for its new friend.
“Lucky? Out of the way boy.”
I should have killed the godda--
I took a deep breath and turned the key. The chastity belt stuck a little and Bertha cackled as I struggled with it.
I looked up at her but my vision was already a bit blurry, and a cloud of stale smoke and a night of tequila shooters made it difficult to see.
“Youse got to work to earn my reward, sugar.”
I couldn't be sure, but at the time I swore I could see more smoke filling the room as she spoke, although I saw no lit cigarettes in the tiny bedroom that doubled as a "sitting parlor" whenever Bertha took her home on the open road.
Part of me, the part we all ignore, was begging me to leave. But the important part of me was saying ‘Put your back into it!” I turned the key and pulled with all my beer muscles. The doorway to heaven popped open and I rocked back on my knees. A scream caught in my throat. I expected to see a pussy, but instead a bird fell out. There was more cackling and other noises.
I wish I could tell you that I left right then. I really do.
The End.
P.S. Don't judge me. We've all been there!
Part of my Seven Deadly Sins Poems
Anger.
You gave me everything, delivered with a hungry mouth.
Tease.
All taken away, erased
by a few words.
Lips that once poured forth and took in
sharp, electric pleasures.
Now withdrawn, thin, petulant.
Not satisfied,
you crushed my sanctuary.
with so few words;
with hands once dedicated to dark caresses.
A touch.
The gentlest of touches every now and again
were all I desired.
And you took them away.
Now it's winter and I am old,
warmed only by memory.
My fingers stiff and numb,
unable to hold onto anything.
Not even anger.
The rules are simple. You get one pick. I'll edit this post to list them all.
1. Marilyn Manson cover of Sweet Dreams
2. Lords of.Acid: Rough Sex
3. Type O Negative: Wolf Moon
4. Nin: Closer
5. Skyler Grey: Dance without you- Ricky Luna Remix
6. Kito: Alone With You
7. Rezz: Purple Gusher
8. Massive Attack: Angel
Type O Neg.: Love You To Death
Yesterday, I kinda lost a friendly bet. That's not what really happened, but the end result is I agreed to write a romance or crime story every other day for a few weeks. These are the two genres I struggle most with. Mostly, because I didn't read a lot of crime or romance. But, a promise is a promise. So here is the first tale. I flipped a coin, and it came up romance.
ONCE UPON A TIME
“Tell me a story.” Susan sniffled and pressed the phone against her face, searching for a pocket of warmth underneath the blanket. She'd been crying for longer than she cared to think about. She was exhausted and didn't think she could keep her eyes open another minute. But she wasn't ready to let go.
“Really?” The man — her man's — voice sounded muffled and scratchy at the same time. Susan smiled in the dark. He was terrible with phones and she never understood half of what he was saying.
But what I can hear is always wonderful. Fresh tears.
“Yes. Tell me a story.”
“Hmm… Okay. Once upon a time…”
He's been crying too. He won't admit it.
“Once upon a time there was a beautiful woman.”
Susan smiled. “Oh, I think I am going to like this story.”
“Shh.”
“Once upon a time there was a beautiful woman and she lived on an enchanted balcony.”
That made Susan smile and cry at the same time. She loved her balcony. Coffee and cigarettes in the morning and wine at night. The only times she felt happy lately.
The man continued. “She was not only beautiful, however. She was also the most powerful person in the land and she didn't even know it. You see, whenever she smiled all the people would feel good. They would feel special. And not just the people. Everything became lighter, lighter and more important when she smiled.” The man's voice cracked a little and he cleared his throat.
Tell him it was a mistake. Tell him to come over. Tell him anything. Just don't let it end like this. But then he was talking again.
“Her smile made a man feel that everything was going to be okay. People came from all over the land just to wait under her balcony; hoping to catch a glimpse of that smile. And for a while, everything really was okay.”
There was a pause and she could hear him take a deep breath. He wasn't trying to think about what to say next. She knew he had no trouble telling these stories to her. They came to him easier than breathing. He's thinking about that kiss in the rain. How warm it was and how right it felt. He's hoping his story will fix everything between us. And I want it to. I want it to so badly but I don't even know what's broken.
“The woman didn't know it, but she had become famous. Just from sitting on her balcony and smiling. Imagine that. Every day she would smile and every day the people would leave feeling healed inside.”
That made her smile. He always made her smile. But it's dark and I am alone and there is no one to see. No one to heal, even if I really did have that kind of magic. Susan put the phone on speaker and closed her eyes. They were in the small hours now, and she really was exhausted. If she fell asleep during his story, he would understand. He always understands. Except this. This he doesn't understand.
“But then,” her man continued. “But then one day an evil troll named Jerk heard about the beautiful woman and her magic smile.”
Susan almost laughed then, despite the tears. “Jerk” was her husband. An angry, mean man who was bent on hurting her any way he could since she had filed for divorce. He knew his way around a courtroom and Susan didn't think she would ever be free of him. Turning him into a troll was a kindness, she thought.
“This is so —“
“Shh. Let's finish this last story.” Now there was no effort to hide the tears and they came through the phone clear as cool wine.
“I must have that smile for myself,” the troll said to the night. ‘And I will keep it in a dark place until the beautiful woman forgets she ever had it.' And so Jerk the troll, who was so ugly on the inside, pretended to be good on the outside. He talked to the beautiful woman and he pretended to love her. And the beautiful woman thought she was in love, so she let that disgusting, petty troll onto her balcony.”
“Dillon, stop.”
“What?”
“You know I do love you.”
“Shh. I know. I just wish that was enough. Do you want to hear the rest of the story?”
“Yes,” Susan whispered. Tell it forever and ever and ever.
“Okay. So the beautiful woman let the troll onto her balcony. Jerk the troll didn't waste any time. He talked in a soft voice and his breath smelled like Lunesta.”
Susan laughed at that.
“Shh. Listen. His breath smelled like Lunesta and the beautiful woman was lulled to sleep. As soon as she closed her eyes, Jerk used his dark troll magic to steal her smile.”
“How did he do that?,” Susan asked. But she knew.
“There are so many ways for a man to steal a woman's smile that it breaks my heart to even think about them.” Dillon stopped talking for a minute and she could picture him trying not to break down.
“The next day the beautiful woman woke up feeling sad. She tried to be happy because until that day, being happy was all she knew. But the dark troll magic was too strong and Jerk made her feel blue, and small. That was the first time the beautiful woman didn't smile for a whole day. Can you imagine that? And each day after that, Jerk worked his troll magic and each day the beautiful woman forgot to smile, and each day the world grew just a little darker. Until finally people stopped coming to the grassy space underneath her balcony. Without her smile, they all forgot why they wanted to be there and eventually every one of them stumbled home in the dark.
Except for one man.”
Susan kissed the phone, quietly so that he wouldn't know. “I'm smiling now.”
“No you're not. You're crying, but that's okay,” Dillon told her. “Some stories make you wait to smile. But sometimes they are the best ones, I think. Now shh.”
“Except for one man. He was a strange man. A little odd looking and awkward in the way he stood and swayed there, on the grassy spot under the beautiful woman's balcony. The thing was, the strange man had never been in love before and didn't think he ever would be. He was resigned to live an ordinary life. Can you imagine what that would be like? Your narrator shudders at the thought.”
“You are certainly not ordinary, crazy man,” she laughed. She thought she could hear him smile on the other end of the line.
“I think we have definitely established that much. But this isn't about me. This is just a story. So let me finish.”
“As I was saying, the strange man was resigned to live an ordinary life. But that was before he happened to look up from his walk and see the beautiful woman sitting in a wicker chair on her balcony. She was not smiling of course and her eyes were so sad. All that dark troll magic made her look like just another person.
But the strange man was not fooled.”
Now she really was smiling. How does he do that? How does he know just what I need to hear? And why isn't that enough?
“After that brief look, his heart was already hers. And the love he felt was strong. Stronger than all the dark troll magic in all the land.
Don't stop. Don't end this story, Dillon. Please.
“So the strange man stood below the balcony and started talking to the beautiful woman. It was at once the hardest and easiest thing he had ever done. ‘She will never talk to someone like me,' he thought. But at the same time he knew that she would. He was filled with doubt and completely sure of himself. That has always been the way with the strange alchemy of love.”
Tell me more. Tell me more about the love. Don't skip anything, my love. Talk to me forever like this.
The tears came back and the story continued.
“Because the man's love was stronger than his fear. A lot stronger. So he talked and he talked. He talked about the weather, about his favorite foods. Anything he could think of. Sometimes he would stutter and sometimes his voice would fall into a whisper and sometimes he felt like an idiot, standing there and talking nonsense.”
No. Talk nonsense to me forever, Dillon. Never stop.
‘Better to act a fool then to live anyway else without her,' he thought. And of course he was right.
The strange man was eager. And so silly. But the beautiful woman could see, even from her balcony that he really did love her. He didn't know what to do about it, so he was doing everything!
Keep doing it, love. Susan squeezed her eyes shut.
“Seeing the strange man made the beautiful woman feel good. It made her happy. And finally, one day while the love sick man was telling her the most awful jokes, the woman thought: ‘This is a man who will never be mean. He is goofy, but he is an open soul. He sees something in me. I wonder what it could be.'
“The man kept talking and stumbling and bumbling underneath her balcony. And then, without thinking, the beautiful woman smiled.”
No! Not yet! It's too soon, my love. Susan started to speak but no words came. She had no idea what she wanted to say.
“She smiled just as the sun was rising. She smiled a smile that no man had ever seen. A smile that no troll could ever possess. It was filled with simplicity and love and promise and wonder. It was so strong that it made the strange man stop talking. I think he forgot how to speak at that moment.”
In her bed, Susan smiled and cried and cried and smiled. She was a mess. But we already knew that.
“Somewhere in the forbidden woods, a troll screamed and died. Killed by envy. And the man? He spent the rest of his days trying to show the beautiful woman how much he loved her. “
“And the beautiful woman spent her days smiling at her goofy man and they lived happily ever after.”
“The end.”
Susan lay in the darkness.
“Good night beautiful. I hope you enjoyed the story.” Dillon hung up because they both knew there was nothing more he could say.
Susan fell asleep thinking about love and loss.
Dillon fell asleep thinking about his beautiful woman.
And the story?
The story changed nothing.
I will take my satisfaction later,
after you are restored.
For now I am done with moving,
and I will rest my mouth here,
and here
and here.
Don't move.
Don't disturb my lazy adventure,
I beg you.
Let me rest my weary hands here,
and here
and here.
You are charged, electric.
You are tension and need,
but I am molasses, floating in amber.
So let me rest my weary body here;
always here