20 January, 2013

Ocean - A Short Story


Her lips curled into a sneer as the blood dripped from the split in her eyebrow, running in lines down her cheek. Her head faced the ground where she crouched – hands supporting her weight in the dirt in front of her – but her eyes looked through her lashes up at the man who stood over her, her blood on his hands.
“I don’t know why you insist on fighting back,” his hand waved dismissively at her, “you won’t ever win doped up like this.” His slight Brooklyn accent was highlighted by the pleasure in his voice. He looked down at her - evaluated quickly that she was not a threat to him right now – and casually leaning back on the cement wall behind them.

He didn’t look afraid. In fact, his voice and body language radiated confidence. But there was a split second where Ocean could see it in his eyes; uncertainty and fear. It was gone before he had time to take in a breath, and although she was a prisoner, she felt in control again. She used her hands to push up from the ground and stood in front of him His wary gaze flashed again in his eyes before he called her a slur and dipped out the door, locking it behind him.

The room was no bigger than an average living room, and housed a dirty mattress in the corner a broken sink and toilet by the door - her home. She staggered to the sink and splashed water on her face, her blood splattered the water droplets around the porcelain and swirled and pooled into the drain. She glanced slowly at the piece of mirror above the sink, the only shred of reminder of who she was, and she gingerly touched the gash on her eyebrow from where he had backhanded her. “Bastard” she thought.

Ocean had been living in squalor and drug-induced haziness for over a year, since her capture, confined to the concrete room where she was not allowed to leave. Oh, the experimenting and drugs happened, but they knocked her out with gas through the door so she never knew where she was being taken. She was always dumped back here to trip and sweat the drugs out of her system by herself, soaking wet from being kept in tanks of water.

For over a year her captors had been trying to recreate her ability. They tried blood transfusions, drugs, implanting wires into her brain, keeping her submerged for hours on end, and other terrifying things that she had tried in vain to forget. Multiple times they threw in helpless donors, bodies who were barely alive, into her room to wait. She stared at them in horror while they pleaded for mercy and help. One by one they would always get dragged out, and she would meet them again in the Room.

The Room was where she ended up whenever they took her for another round of experiments, in-between her daily dose of drugs. It was a kitchen-turned-lab, with medical equipment strewn haphazardly along the counters, blood-stained grout criss-crossed the ceramic tiles below. The strapped gurneys held the donors, as white coats injected various substances as the bodies screamed. Often, they died on the table, and the men would haul them off and toss them carelessly on the floor, cracks and wet sounds emanated from their broken bodies.

She mostly sat in the corner of her room facing the door, it slowly fading in and out of her line of vision, sometimes doubling. On a good day she could walk across the room to the toilet without falling- those were few and far between. The drugs were mixed into her food; powders were dissolved in the disgusting soup mixture. She had tried to stop eating it in protest but she would always find herself with nosebleeds so severe, she would pass out.  The nosebleeds were the best of her side effects. She dealt with skull-crushing headaches, enough to make her writhe silently on the floor, tears mixed with blood streaming out of her eyes. Her ears would pressurize with the build up of blood, threatening to pop and make her deaf - her own pulse could be heard like a drum line in her head. Yes, the side effects to hunger were far more unpleasant than the drugs – she had determined that months ago.
--

17 January, 2013

Iris - A Short Story


Rhett stared at Tryll as she walked; her heels aerating the runway rhythmically as she strut her hips to the electronic music humming through the speakers. He looked around at the large theatre – he noticed the men when he sat down.

Granted, it was a runway show full of hot girls but there was something about the guys sitting in the front row, something about their gaze at her that made him feel inadequate. They had only started dating – dating was a strong word – they were bedroom acquaintances who occasionally went out to eat after the slick film of sweat on both their bodies had dried.

To this day he had no idea what she saw in him. He was tall and thin, too thin for his frame and his limbs were long and slender. His muscle tone lacked, but he had a square jaw and a moderately attractive face, and normally had no problem with girls.

Not girls like her.

She was tall as well, much taller than the other girls at the college, by a full head or so, boarding on his 6’1. Her body was built out of soft curves which displayed her hourglass figure, full hips, tight abs and ample round breasts. Her skin was soft and creamy, and her lips were always warm and flush. Her blonde hair fell in waves, covering her collarbone and cascaded down her back in streams. She looked good enough to eat in anything she wore, including a pair of his sweatpants once, and he tore those right off when he saw her in them. She was every inch a model and she could have any guy she wanted. 

His senses sharpened back to reality as she stood seductively; hand on her bare hip looking down at the audience in front of him. She half turned and made eye contact with him – her irises looked like coal and he felt the heat emanating from her – how did she do that, he thought.

She may be a beautiful woman but there was something else… something more. Her eyes seemed to hold him when she looked his way, and her caress was almost a paralysis. There was something to her that he didn't know, and he didn't know if he wanted to.

The show resumed as normal, more girls trotted on stage and locked eyes with the men in the front row, girlishly throwing their hair back and winking. The men didn't seem to be as interested. There were 3 guys sitting there, but the one in the middle was set on her. On Tryll. His Tryll. As he was evaluating the man he looked over and hooked Rhett’s glance. The man narrowed his eyes and then sat back and resumed his normal position, like nothing had happened. Rhett had felt the gaze, could feel it pulling him.

After the show Rhett stepped into the changing room after the last of the models scampered out. He glided up behind her as she leaned coyly on the vanity table, rolling several tubes of makeup off the side. Before he could congratulate her, she grabbed the base of his neck with one hand and wrapped her free hand around his waist and pulled him into a kiss.

His mouth tingled and his heart ignited. Blood pumped furiously through his body as he grabbed her breasts, still clad in a silken robe and ripped the tie open, exposing her skin to the cool air of the room. Rhett ran one hand up her inner thigh as he scooped her up, setting her spread eagle onto the table. She threw back her head and released a guttural groan, arching her back giving him a better path for his fingers.

The door burst open and both their heads whipped around to see the three men standing in the doorway.

“Jesus Christ Try,” The middle man held his hand out and pointed to Rhett with a hurt look on his face, “everyone you could have picked and this was it?”

“Sab are you kidding me right now?” Tryll fumbled with her robe and took a step toward him. “Get the fuck out of here.”

Sab stepped forward so he was only a foot away from her determined face. Rhett strode in-between them and blocked her body with his own.

“Listen, you heard her, you need to leave.” Sab snorted and dramatically placed two fingers on the side of Rhett’s shoulder. With little force he managed to clear Rhett’s body completely from his view of Tryll, like he weighed nothing, like he was sliding butter over a hot pan. Panic washed through Rhett as he realized he couldn't move – he couldn't fight back. Sab grabbed his shoulder and pushed down hard, guiding Rhett’s body into a chair.

Sab walked closer and cupped Tryll’s face in his hands. Lust filled his eyes. “Don’t.” She said softly, glancing nervously at Rhett, immobile and housing trickles of sweat on his brow.

“He…” Sab started and looked back at the two men still standing in the doorway, then at Rhett, who was unable to speak or move from his chair, “he’s not like us. You need somebody… that is. You know this.” His face softened for a split second, and he stroked her cheek with his thumb. His voice lowered to an almost inaudible whisper. “It’s supposed to be me.”

She pushed his dark hair from his eyes and spoke. But it was not in English, or any language Rhett recognized. Sab’s eyes closed as he held her hand against him. He returned the phrase before dropping his hand. His eyes met Rhett’s and again he felt a cool power glide though him.

Sab turned and the men walked out, closing the door behind them. Rhett could move, and he sprang out of his chair and over to Tryll.

“Are you hurt, are you OK? ” His fingers searched her face and neck, eyes darting over her features looking for distress. There was none, she looked sad.

Slowly she looked up at him. Her eyes smouldered into his, and he could swear they were changing colour in front of him. Her trance held him as she untied the silk sash of her robe and let it drop to the floor. Her hands moved quietly as she undid the buttons of his jeans and slide the belt out of its loops. He stood still, almost tranquil as she reached for the waistband of his boxers, and he felt himself grow with her touch.

He walked her backwards until her back was against the vanity table, and once more lifted her up so she straddled him. He reached down and resumed the place he fingers held, as they worked her. He reached behind her and pulled her onto him; she gasped slightly and took him in. Rhett slowly moved inside her, enough so when she started to grab onto him he clasped both her wrists in one hand, capturing her. He held her wrists and continued pulling her onto him steadily. She tried to get out of his grip but he held her unfaltering as he watched her teeth clasp her lip and her eyes shut. Her head lolled back and her cries were sharper and more frequent. She opened them enough so Rhett could see the brilliant blue irises in her beautifully lashed eyes.


16 January, 2013

Which story do you like best and why?


Pick 1, 2, or 3


1.
The boy’s flannel pyjamas clung to his body, damp fabric tightened around him with every breath; hair matted with sweat. He lay motionless in bed; heart thundering in his tiny chest - eyes wide and unblinking under the covers.

The man stood in the doorway with one hand on the woman’s shoulders; his stomach shrilled with suppressed hunger.

“He’s gotten so big,” her voice thrummed with excitement.

“Ours.”

The boy snuck a shallow breath.

The man clicked his head towards the sound.

She licked her lips and stepped in.

The light of the hallway faded as the door closed.



2.
His parents droned, filling their plates and dishing peas as they blathered on. His little sister was more concerned with hiding the peas under her mashed potatoes.

He didn't dare look up - the last thing he wanted to do was give it the satisfaction. So he kept his eyes on his plate and only glanced at it in his peripheral vision.

It was still there, clutching the crown moulding lining the ceiling.

He couldn't help it – he looked up and caught its red eyes with his own.

It winked at him.



3.
She got up slowly; stretching her neck and spreading her massive wings. The delicate skin was ripped and tattered, frayed from centuries of flying and battle.

Her scales glittered gold under the light of the moon, reflecting intricate patterns into the water below the nest – the colours danced on the surface like leaves in the wind.

She leaned over and saw her weathered face ripple in the soft swells of water. She had made up her mind.

She rolled the gigantic egg over the nest with her tail, and stared as it sank gracefully to the bottom of the lake.

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