With Him

From Heaven, I observed my charge

and felt through him; everything.

For the first time, the cold dissipated.

With him,

a summer breeze on the river;

with him,

seasons turning around a love-seat.

.

As an angel, I fell for my charge

and felt through him; everything.

For the first time, I chose.

With him,

Heaven exchanged for an embrace;

with him,

time stood still, and yet whirled by.

.

On Earth, I watched my charge age

and felt through him; everything.

For the first time, I loved.

With him,

Touch, nights, silence;

With him,

Words, laughter, sunshine.

.

In soil, I buried my human

and felt through him; nothing.

For the first time, I grieved.

Without him,

I turned to stone;

without him,

I have reached my end.


“I turned silences and nights into words. What was unutterable, I wrote down. I made the whirling world stand still” Arthur Rimbaud

Collage 6

Collage #6 Prompt

X-Games

“X-rated,” Kyle said through a smile.

“And you found it here in the park?” Carla asked, head poking out from behind her longboard to glance at the naked curves.

“Well,” Kyle began slowly. “I may have brought it from home.”

“Gross! Why?”

“I wanted to show you?”

“Why, in everything that is holy, did that seem like a good idea?” Carla dropped the longboard and skated down the pipe.

“Crap.” Kyle followed. When he reached the other side of the half pipe, he had enough self-preservation to look ashamed.

“You told me you were curious about ladies…maybe.”

Carla sighed. “That was a secret! My sexuality isn’t one of your games!”

Photo Credit: Mike Fleming via CC.

Photo Credit: Mike Fleming via CC.

A Microbookends Tale


Judges Thoughts:

4th Place

A rite of passage story given a thoroughly modern makeover.

At the core of this story is a friendship between Carla and Kyle, both coming terms with the inevitable changes of adolescence.

There is an honesty and openness in their relationship that shines through the tricky subject matter.

Kyle’s curious to know more. Carla’s secure enough to start coming to terms with who she might be: strong enough to do so on her terms, rather than Kyle’s, but forgiving enough not to completely cut him out when he realises the mistake he’s made.

Carla’s a great character – I’d like to know more about her.

In today’s age, where x-rated material is so freely available to skew impressionable minds, it was reassuring to read a story that touches on this subject matter, but ultimately is about a boy and a girl getting to know each other as friends, rather than objects.

So while this piece of flash fiction stands by itself, it has the potential to withstand being fleshed out into something more substantial and longer. That’s why it made my top four.

Now What?

Under normal circumstances, I’d be glad that someone killed my captor. Her dead eyes will haunt me for the rest of my days, but that isn’t the issue here. No, I had fallen in love with her. I’m a stupid statistic of the Stockholm syndrome. And even knowing this, I can’t bring myself to be happy.

She gave my life meaning. My meaning was to please her, and now she is gone.

“Mam, can you identify the victim?” The police officer asks me, his walkie-talkie statics into the empty night.

They don’t know. They don’t know she took me from my boring undergrad and whisked me into her whirlwind of a life – Paris, Morocco, Tokyo.

A flash to the beatings too, her tornado like bursts of anger that left me bruised and sometimes broken as I shuffled to find us another hotel room.

There had been moments I could have escaped but then where would I be? Later, a slap would hit my face and knock a tooth loose and I’d remember standing in the middle of some million-person city and think, “if I had only disappeared when I had the chance.”

But my captor needed me, she needed me the way anyone needs their lover. She chose me, I was special – in her eyes.

The eyes that now stare blankly towards the summer night sky.

“I just met her tonight,” I lie.

“Did you hear any noises? See what took this woman down?”

We had just left the bar. The rain poured down our bodies – horrible weather for an ambush. We ran three blocks, laughing, drunk, until she pushed me to the wall and kissed me hard. It was beautiful, the feeling of having her eyes on me alone, her lips on mine, I’d never been enamored by a woman – by anyone – until my captor found me.

She kissed me, tugged at my hair, and then the bullet came. I will forever wonder if she was shielding me from it’s blast.

“What brought you out tonight?” The officer continues his questioning.

I shrug. “Bar hopping.”

“And that’s where you met this woman?”

No one in the bar knew anything about us, no one would refute it. So, I nod in agreement.

“Did you hear anything?”

“A loud bang. A bullet, I guess, and then –“ I gesture to my dress, soaked wet with water and blood.
The police officer looks around, towards vantage points before breaking the static and sending a message through his walkie-talkie.

“Check the rooftops, we may have a sniper.” The officer waits for a response then turns back to my captor. “Someone had a bone to pick with this gal.”

I shrug again, keeping the emotion from my face.

“You’re free to go.” The officer states, slowly, assessing me with his eyes. “Unless you want to come down to the station.”

I shake my head. I wonder where I’d go next. What life would be worth living after my captor and her violent love?


A #FinishThatThought tale.

Can’t Get You Out Of My Head

“Soap, John. We need more soap!” The walls are thin and I hear his wife’s shout like it is meant for me. In a way, it is.

It means John’s leaving.

I hear the screen door slam and count to ten before I pull on my boots. The snow crunches as I walk around the corner.

John is leaning against his truck, a small smug smile across his face.

“It took you long enough, Charles.”

I growl and grab the loops of his jeans, pull him in close. “I’ve been waiting all goddam day.”

“Where can we go?” John asks, nuzzling my neck.

“She’ll never find us at the opera.”


Written for Micro Bookends where the prompt chooses your first and last word, you write the rest!

Photo Credit: gfpeck via CC.

Photo Credit: gfpeck via CC.