Tomorrow

4 September, 2011 at 10:20 (Short) (, , , , , , , , , , )

“Blessed day.” he intoned. “Sacred night. Come forth what may, I charge this rite.”

She found the words terrifying, she wished that they were more sonorous, more grim, perhaps just less tritely rhyming.

He moved towards her.

She reflected as she saw the blade of the knife, that it was odd she was still so much of a snob when…

…the thought died as his knife plunged into her heart.

“I have it!” he crowed. “The power of tomorrow is mine!”

He began to laugh when something shifted at the edge of his vision, the knife blade seemed to shatter…no not to shatter, for each shard seemed still to be attached, it moved out as if it had become the edges of reality’s kaleidescope and each particle of the scene before him, each segment of her blood and skin and hair was reflected back at him with the urgency of the blade.

“Blessed day.” he intoned. “Sacred night. Come forth what may, I charge this rite.”

She found the words terrifying, she wished that they were more sonorous, more grim, perhaps just less tritely rhyming.

He moved towards her.

She reflected as she saw the blade of the knife, that it was odd she was still so much of a snob when…

…the thought died as his knife plunged into her heart.

“…Wait…the power of tomorrow?…Wait” he stuttered uncertainly into laughter when something shifted at the edge of his vision, the knife blade seemed to kaleidescrope out and yet he thought he had seen each particle of the scene before him, each segment of her blood and skin and hair reflected back at him before, somehow, as if the blade’s movement was familiar.

“Blessed day.” he intoned. “Sacred night. Come forth what may, I charge this rite.”

She found the words terrifying, she wished that they were more sonorous, more grim, perhaps just less tritely rhyming.

He moved towards her.
“Wait…” He said, again?

She rolled her eyes at his brief reprieve, she found it odd that she was still so much of a snob as to care about the quality of ritual that killed her when…

…the thought died as his knife tore across her throat.

“Don’t mock me bitch.” he said, then saw the blood, “No, I didn’t…I…The power of tomorrow is mine?”

The world mocked his uncertainty just as she had done and the blade shifted from his grasp, kaleidescoping over each segment of her dripping blood, torn skin and hair until it’s blade turned in opposition across his throat and joined their blood forever…never…forever…

“Blessed day. Sacred night. Come forth what may, I charge this rite.”

She laughed as the trite words came from nowhere, into her mind. Perhaps she could use them for a short story, then again, perhaps not. Even so, Tomorrow blew the words into a writer’s ears, perhaps they would form something after all.

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Muse

28 August, 2011 at 18:38 (Flash) (, , , , , )

You’ve got her in your pocket
And there’s no way out now
Put it in the safe and lock it
’cause it’s at home sweet home

Red hair, swirling over my eyes, I blinked it away, there was a ceiling which bubbled like water and the roaring noise of the falls was in my ears.

Nobody ever told you that it was the wrong way
To trick a woman, make her feel she did it her way
And you’ll be there if she ever feels blue
And you’ll be there when she finds someone new
What to do
Well you know

“Well, there’s a first time for everything,” he said, pulling his shirt off.

“Would you like some music on?” I asked, sharpening my pencils into the wastepaper basket, as he unbuttoned his jeans.

“Ok,” he said, pulling down his jeans and pants.

“The CD rack’s over there,” I said gesturing, “Choose whatever you like.”

Whilst he bent over the CDs I set up my pencils, putty rubber and pencil sharpener on the desk next to me, then I opened my sketch pad. He put some CDs in the player and sat upon the bed.

“For the first pose,” I said, “Just sit comfortably, something you can hold for a while.”

He nodded.

You keep her in your pocket
Where there’s no way out now
Put it in a safe a lock it
’cause it’s home sweet home

Water rushing in my ears, bubbles escaping my nose as I tried to stop them, my fingers wrapped around his arm. His voice distorted as I kicked beneath the surface.

I unwrapped the cheese from it’s muslin covering and looked out over the woodland below the cliff. I cut myself a slice as I waited for him. The clouds raced across the grey sky and presently his sweating, muscular form appeared and threw itself on the grass besides me. I handed him the lemonade which he drank down immeadiately before tearing at the bread and cheese with his solid hands.

The smile on your face made her think she had the right one
Then she thought she was sure
By the way you two could have fun
But now she might leave
Like she’s threatened before
Grab hold of her fast
Before her feet leave the floor
And she’s out the door
’cause you want

My fingers running over the muscles of his back, red hair swirling across my blinking eyes as I struggled to see beyond the brightness of the summer light.

“We did it,” he said, looking out over the ruined city as the sun began to lay it’s rays upon it.

“Yeah…” I said, “We did.”

And we walked along the cobbled path down to the city.

To keep you in my pocket
Where there’s no way out now
Put it in a safe a lock it
’cause it’s home sweet home

Red hair, swirled across my eyes and the light in them blinding me as never before. My head broke the surface and I sucked in the sweet, fresh air.

“Come on,” I said. “Down here.”

“Ahh,” he said suddenly, “Now I know where we’re going.”

I laughed, “I just hope it doesn’t rain. I can’t believe I was barefoot the first time.”

He sipped his whiskey as we hurried along.

“I seem to remember socks weren’t the only things you were lacking.”

I looked at the lamp-posts as we passed them. “Here we are,” I said, “Number four.”

He sipped his whiskey before putting it down carefully.

“We should do this properly I think, if it’s going to be the last time.”

I smiled broadly.

And in your own mind
You know you’re lucky just to know her
And in the beginning all you wanted was to show her
But now you’re scared
You think she’s running away
You search in your hand for something clever to say
Don’t go away
’cause I want

The water dripped down my face and the light was too bright to watch him walk away, even shading my face with my hands. I could make out the length of his back but the redness of his hair had vanished in the distance.

I had his arm as we walked up the damp slabs of the pavement. She was sat in the window, smoking and we fell silent as we approached. I opened the door as he went to share her cigarette and walked inside, back to the party.

Red hair, swirling over my eyes, I blinked as the mist bubbled like water covering my eyes and the roaring noise of the falls was in my ears.

To keep her in your pocket

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The Shipwreck

21 August, 2011 at 19:09 (Flash) (, , , , , , , , , , )

The storm cracked it’s lightning whips from overhead and still the rig continued it’s journey, tossed by the waves. For a moment it was outlined against the black clouded sky by a crack that echoed around the sky. It strained over the racing waves, beneath the clouds. Not even those aboard could hear the creaks of it’s timbers as the wind tore a line free of the mizzenmast. The roar of the ocean was too great and the thunder too loud. Then the ship seemed to catch itself in the trough of two waves, the fore tossed by one and the aft by another, there was a moment when the sea seemed to pause, hover above the decks, and then it crashed. The figurehead plunged into the trough of the wave and the jigger tore from it’s hold and the foam and salt of several tonnes of water plunged upon the ship.

There was no time for anything to be done, as the sailors aboard the ship tried to race up from below decks the sea pushed them back. The sea wrapped itself around the full-rig like a serpent and squeezed with all it’s might. The foremast joined the jigger as the sea squeezed. Lines from the mainmast span free from the rigging and spiraled up in the water like tentacles from a drowning sea urchin.

The next morning the sea was calm. The yellowed sky glowed free of clouds and the only evidence of the previous nights events was the driftwood that came ashore as flotsam. The beachcombers ran for such, but the gentlemen on the beach ignored the spars of the ship and it’s intricately carved figurehead to favour the barrels floating merrily as jetsam upon the tide.

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Dreams

14 August, 2011 at 22:08 (Flash) (, , , , , , , , , )

“You’ll stop seeing her?” I finally asked as I stepped from the shower.

A pace behind and his arms wrapping the warm, dry towel around my shoulders. “Of course.”

His lips in my hair and in the bathroom, still humid from the hour long shower we had spent together, he outlined how we would spend our future together. He held me tightly to him, towelled skin to towelled skin and we dreamed aloud to each other.

I knew he lied, better than he did, he had fallen in love with our dreams more than I and had not realised he’d left them behind as soon as he had kissed her.

I pulled on my clothes, still giving voice to our dreams, he smiled as he kissed me before heading out the door.

All day I packed until not a single thing of mine remained within the home we had built together. I picked up the cat and left a sheet of paper upon the kitchen table.

It was her phone number and two words, ‘Move forward’.

Then I left to find my own future in a world more solid than spoken dreams.

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