Category Archives: Blues Buster

Blues-Buster: Love’s Resistence

Over to The Tsuruoka Files for another Mid-Week Blues-Buster…inspired by the song Tinta by Faun, and my love of all things oceanic:

Photo by Kimberley Collins Photography

Model Jess Brown, MUA Masterpiece FX

Moonbeams silvered the sand and Ophelia’s fingers traced a sweeping arc, a lazy circle, and she sighed rolling from her elbow onto her back. Stars littered the night sky, twinkling and shimmering in the firmament above, and a soft smile parted her lips.
Night’s tantalising breeze floated over the sea, and across the beach, and caressed Ophelia’s naked, sand-glittered skin. She closed her eyes imagining the air to be a lover’s touch, and melted into the shore and her dreams.
She lie with her hands linked behind her head, waves rippling across her lower body, and thoughts of love and desire coursing through her soul. The ocean whispered sweet nothings and she breathed them back.
The tinkle of soft laughter interrupted her reverie and brought her to her senses, and she rolled back onto her belly. Now alert, she hugged close to the black-as-midnight rock, letting bladderwrack drip into her hair. She swept wet hair away from her eyes, letting it cascade instead, mingled with seaweed, down her back and over her shoulders as she rose onto her elbows.
Through the gap in the rocks she watched a young couple wander along the deserted shore. They stopped just shy of the rocks, as she knew they would, and she gazed as they kissed beneath the stars.
Moments later, giggling carried on the breeze as the couple, stripped of their clothes, raced into the sea.
Ophelia twisted and slipped back into the waves, feeling the ocean’s embrace, and she swam like a fish past the rocks and beyond the surf, until she was adjacent to the amorous pair. She dived, flying through the water, rising only to catch a glance of the couple bathed in nothing but moonlight. Ducking back beneath the spray she caught handfuls of broadleaf weed and dead man’s bootlaces and twisted them in her hands.
Splashes guided her until two pairs of legs hung from the ocean’s roof. As they untwined she rose and weaved seaweed about the stocky set of legs. Moments later she tugged at the weed pulling it beneath the surface. She ignored his resistance; her muscular tail and her arms were stronger than his.
As he sank, she glided through the water, rising to meet him, and adoration filled her eyes. Her arms entwined with his and love saturated her aching heart. All it would take was a kiss, just one kiss, and he’d be hers, and trapped within her arms he was already hers.
But his eyes betrayed fear, and terror, and the wonder she’d expected was absent. He stared into her eyes misunderstanding her sentiments…and Ophelia knew his love would never truly belong to her.
She held tight, her eyes piercing him deep, but with a tug of regret her soul let him go.
He kicked free of the weed and propelled upwards, exploding out into the moonlit surf, and within moments the couple were gone, dressed and running across the beach, never to return.
Ophelia rose, and bobbed on the waves, watching the loss of her heart. Moonbeams accentuated briny tears as they slipped down her cheeks, and each tear dropped into the ocean of lost dreams.

(527 Words)

Blues-Buster: Splintered Heart

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I didn’t plan this story, but it fit with the song chosen for Jeff’s Blues-Buster over at The Tsuruoka Files which is: The White Stripes ‘Rag and Bone’. After listening to this the insistent beat stayed with me…and last night my husband shared something that had happened with me that made me very angry, and I recognised festering anger and welling fury, matching this beat…and saw my protagonist storming up and into a mansion, to seek vengeance for wrongs that had been wrought…and I wrote…

Photograph by Lisa Shambrook (Please do not use)

Splintered Heart

She didn’t care if anyone saw her – in fact she rather hoped someone would.

She walked up the drive, fingernails biting her palms and her heart pounding, right up to the front door, and pushed it wide. She stepped calmly over the threshold as the door rebounded behind her.

She scanned the vast hallway, a sneer developing in the corner of her mouth, and as she walked past the console table her fingers wandered over the telephone, tipping the receiver from its cradle. A tall vase, filled with gaudy, orange gladioli, crashed to the floor, flowers scattering amid the pool of water and broken glass.

She ran her trembling hand through her hair and swept into the lounge.

Fury moved through the room, books tumbled from the bookcase, ornaments clinked as they broke, and a pile of old vinyl records crashed into the fireplace tiles, shattering in a delicious explosion of wrath.

Destruction ran up the stairs, and pictures leaped from the walls, bouncing back down the steps, and she flexed her fingers and growled.

A clock chimed, its mournful lament echoing throughout the house, and she turned the bedroom’s brass door knob.

Bile crept up her windpipe and her stomach swirled with acid rage, and she pulled the curtains from their rings. Trinkets flew across the room, bedclothes tore and pillows burst, and feathers flew like tiny, white doves around the frenzied tempest. Her rampage continued, like a tornado caught within a storm’s wild winds, until the room was razed. She slammed the en suite door against the wall and rent the shower curtains, and a bottle of after-shave flew to the mirror, satisfying her livid heart as it disintegrated into shards in the sink.

Her breath came in shreds, razors of rasping air tearing at her throat as she leaned against the rim of the sink, staring into the last fragile piece of mirror still hanging from its frame.
Sweat bloomed across her flushed forehead, dripping down her cheeks, saturating her thin t-shirt, and leaving dark stains beneath her armpits. She wiped her head, pushing damp hair off her face and tears mingled with heavy perspiration.

She seized a mirrored fragment, ran it down her cheek and threw it to the tiled floor. A strangled cry escaped her wretched throat. Blood flowered in the basin, little crimson ink blots decorating the splintered mirror, reflecting her warped face.

Ire brewed, filling her body with hate, smouldering with fury, boiling into vehemence and burning rage.

She stalked back into the bedroom, followed by an insistent trail of scarlet beads, and grabbed a frame by the bed. His gaze stared back at her, his round face and hateful grin oozing out of the image. An unrecognisable, guttural cry invaded her ears, crammed with pain and resentment, and hornets stung her blood-shot eyes.

His cretinous image stained her soul like the stench in an abattoir, and she would never escape. His smug, lying eyes would torment forever, and his deceit would corrupt the very ground she paced.

She smiled, a raw, distorted grimace, and imagined his arrival.

The front door scratched by fingernails and the telephone on the floor, the whirlwind-attacked living room and fallen pictures across the stairs. The struggle in the bedroom, the fight in the bathroom…and she carefully tore the neck of her sweat-sodden t-shirt, revealing her heaving breast.

Her hand lifted, slowly and certainly, the shattered bottle shard glinting in the afternoon sunlight as it poured through the half drawn, half torn down curtains. It only took a movement, one quick and resolute movement, and blood decanted from her throat like a rich, red wine…

She sank to the floor, a vengeful smile flowering on her lips…for the very last time.

(626 Words)

Blues Buster: Time to Live, Lie, Laugh and Die

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So, I’m not a Doors fan (sorry), but this weeks Mid Week Blues-Buster over at the Tsuruoka Files is ‘Take It As It Comes’ by The Doors and the first few words caught me…’Time to live, time to lie, time to laugh, time to die’ and that’s where I took it:

Photograph by Lisa Shambrook (Please do not use without permission)

Time to Live, Lie, Laugh and Die

She ran, her breath tearing at her throat, and her legs threatening to give way, but his crashing footfall still thundered behind her. She could barely recall his smile as her feet dragged through mental sludge.

“C’mon baby…let’s have some fun!” He grinned and his eyes pierced her through. Her breath caught and her heart skipped that proverbial beat. “Time to live a little!” he said as he grabbed her hand and lead her to the dance floor where she allowed the pounding music to flood her veins.

Caught in the moment and the euphoria of his blue eyes, she threw back her head and swayed, enjoying the way he looked at her. “Be back in a bit babe,” he said and sauntered off through the ocean of undulating bodies. He threw back a glance and she caught his wink.

Fog coursed through her mind, and her steps became clumsy and tree roots crept close to her ankles. She leaped and sidestepped, and forced herself on as the echo of broken twigs splintered her heart.

He sloshed the drink as he passed it to her. “Sorry!” His hand shot forward to brush the spillage from her shoulder, and desire at his touch burned behind her eyes. The cool drink sated her thirst and she let him take her hand.

Now her eyes burned with tears, and the trees swayed tall and liquid either side as she ran. Fear twisted its knife in her back and darkness began to fall. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide and his voice boomed through the dusk. “Everything’s going to be okay! Where are you? Wait for me!” His words bounced from tree to tree and she ran unable to tell which way was left or which way was right.

The drink took hold faster than she could imagine and as teasingly slow as he wanted, and it wasn’t long before she allowed him to hold her steady and lead her to safety. He laughed and she shivered as she wobbled and grasped his hand, leaning uncomfortably close enough for him to inhale her dizzy sweetness.

His laugh resounded and the chill of the drawing night danced across her skin. She shook her hazy mind and swung into dense undergrowth, her skirts catching on brambles and the wind. She ducked beneath huge, fingered leaves and rampant thorns, ignoring trails of scarlet rising across her pale arms. Like Sleeping Beauty at the spindle she slipped into unwelcome slumber and her pursuer tore on through the night.

Daylight dawned, casting rays of gold on her sleeping body and she slowly rose, fear manifest behind tearstained eyes. Frightened eyes darted from tree to tree as she escaped the forest’s cocoon. A heeled shoe and bare foot stepped warily, until a few feet away lay a body. A man tripped by roots and tangled bramble, an errant fallen branch a stake in his heart, now resting cold in death…and morning’s respite brought her time.

(497 Words)

Blues Buster: Torque

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I liked my Five Sentence Fiction: Goggles piece so much I thought I’d continue it for Jeff Tsuruoka’s Blues-Buster. The song prompt for this week is Kira Skov’s Riders of the Freeway.

Photo Source: wikipedia.org Detail of Indian Larry’s Wild Child bike by Mike Arther

Cropped and altered by Lisa Shambrook with Instagram and Streamzoo

“I’m surprised you didn’t clock him with the torque wrench!” murmured Steven, standing at a safe distance behind the bike. Thalia tried not to grin, but couldn’t stop her lip from curling into a smile. “If I were a lady, I’d have punched him a while back,” he added.
“If I were a lady, he’d still be waiting for it…thankfully, I’m not a lady!” Thalia raised a wry eyebrow. “You don’t need to wait around, I’m almost done.” She flashed him a glance and tightened up a nut.
He shrugged. “Actually that’s not true, when Danny gave you your marching orders this afternoon and you refused to go…he left it to me to see you off site.”
Thalia glowered beneath a layer of engine grease, her cheeks reddening despite the smears of oil. “I said I’d go when I was ready, he doesn’t get to order me about!”
Steven shrugged again. “He’s the boss’s son, and he did fire you…”
“Small detail,” she seethed. “Okay if you’re waiting, slide the tool box closer will you?”
The metal box grated across the concrete floor, echoing throughout the hangar as Steven pushed it with the toe of his boot. Thalia glanced up, her eyes flitting about, but he was right, everyone had gone.
Thalia stood and arched her back, stretching and working out the crick in her neck.
“I won’t offer to help,” Steven grinned remembering the crack Danny had received as he’d touched Thalia’s shoulders unbidden. She shook her arms and caught his eye, for a moment energy crackled and Thalia’s defences caved. She laughed.
Steven reached down for an oily rag and searched for a clean edge. He began to rub the motorbike’s engine, polishing it, rubbing in circles and Thalia looked on with feelings brewing inside she wasn’t entirely sure of.
She picked up her chamois, and watched him polish, his eyes intent on the metal and his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth as he concentrated. The setting sun threw orange blazes across the hangar and set his thick blonde hair on fire. He glanced up, and squinted, blinded by the sudden sun. She blocked the light and cast her shapely shadow across the bike.
“It’s okay, I’m not going to hit you for polishing my bike,” she spoke softly and handed him her chamois. His fingers brushed hers as he took it and she inhaled deeply, unconsciously allowing his grimy, gritty sweat to permeate her mind.
“You’ve turned this heap of junk into something quite spectacular,” he said as the soft leather stroked the customised Indian Bobber.
She watched again as the engine began to shine beneath his deft fingers.
“You know we could take it out…” she began.
“It’s not yours…” He grinned as her eyes sparkled even in the gloom of shadow.
“I know, but I’m sacked and I’m not coming back, are you coming back tomorrow?”
His heart raced. If she left, there’d be nothing left to come back for.
She grabbed her leather jacket and pulled it tight across her breast, buckling it up and watching his face as she shook out her dark hair. His Adam’s apple bobbled unconsciously in his dry throat and then he was zipping up his own jacket. She threw him a pair of goggles and slid hers over her head and over her eyes. Her boots clipped on the concrete and she swung her leg over the low-slung bike.
It came to life between her thighs and growled, its voice snarling through the empty hangar.
Thalia glanced at Steven and pulled on her soft, fitted gloves as it purred beneath her. She curled a finger at him and smiled.
Her teeth shone in the evening glare and Steven knew he’s been snared.
He climbed upon the back of the rumbling bike and closed his legs around her rear. His arms, hesitated for a moment, then stretched around her waist and she squeezed the throttle.
Moments later they were gone, headed up the vast, open freeway, with only memories left behind.

(676 Words)

Blues Buster: The Fog

1 Reply

This week’s prompt for The Tsuruoka Files Blues-Buster is Judas Priest’s The Ripper. I took inspiration from the London fog and came up with this…dead on the word limit!

Photo by Lisa Shambrook (please do not use without permission)

Nobody expected the fog. It rolled in overnight and as Kit stared out the window she smiled. Only faint halos from the white gas lights could be seen, like will-o-the-wisps lost in urban alleys. She backed away from stark oblivion, her skin taut and cold in the early morning air, and slid back into bed beside Tay. He grumbled in his sleep and Kit ran her finger down his exposed spine. He tensed, his whole body suddenly alert, and she giggled.

“Don’t do that!” he admonished sharply as he relaxed and rolled over.

She responded by curling her legs around his torso and placing her lips firmly on his.

“Okay, you can do that…again…” he said as he pulled away then drew her close for a more intimate kiss.

She gave herself for a few sweet moments, sharing passion as if they were sharing their last minutes together, before reluctantly pushing him away. He watched, sated, as she rolled out of bed and pulled on her underpants then drew her jeans over her long legs.

“Come back, just for a few more minutes…” he urged.

She shook her head and pulled her sweater down over her body and stood. “C’mon Tay, it’s perfect out there today, and there won’t be much time, it could change any moment!”

Tay grumbled again, but pushed the covers away and got out of bed. She grinned, and threw his shirt at him. “Get dressed!”

Kit shivered as they stepped out of the apartment and into the gloomy world. She reached for Tay’s gloved hand and gripped it tight. “Don’t let go,” he warned.

“I should be the one telling you that!” She rose on her toes and kissed his stubbled cheek.

Whispers of frost coiled within the fog and she shivered again. Holding hands they moved along the wall and waited at the corner.

Kit listened. Her hearing was perfect, and in this low visibility hearing was the greatest weapon they had.

The city was quiet, almost silent.

The birds never sang anymore, and the only birds they ever saw were ghostly corvids, and they sat lonely and lost atop the gas lamps, like black shadows in the mist. They never sang.

Kit squeezed Tay’s hand and they moved, heading into the labyrinth of alleys. Glancing down, Kit could barely see her feet. She pulled her soft leather jacket tight amid the cold, white fog. They were prepared, and ready.

Their familiarity with the dank corridors kept them on track and they ran silently through the streets.

“Almost there,” whispered Tay, as they came to an abrupt halt.

Kit listened, and Tay’s nostrils flared.

“I can smell the river,” he murmured. “I can smell…”

“Don’t!” Kit placed a finger over his lips and she strained to hear. “It’s quiet, but I can hear them…we’re not alone.”

They stood with their backs against the once imposing, now dilapidated, Savoy, disguised only by the blinding fog. Kit reached into her jacket removing her hunting knife from its leather sheath. She noted the narrow trident dagger strapped to her boot, and felt the comfort of her combat knife snug against her thigh. Tay stood beside her similarly armed, with his kukri held close.

They moved stealthily forward, until reaching the embankment. On the river’s edge, they stood, back to back…ready.

Tay squeezed Kit’s hand and then let go.

Sweat sparkled in the fog and they waited for their scent to betray them.

The water was still, stagnant and foul, but Kit listened as its tiny lapping waves grew and the tendrils emerged. Like snakes tentatively searching, tendrils peered through the fog and curled before their faces.

“Now!” Kit’s battle cry rang through the fog. “The Kraken wakes, but so do we!”

The swish of knives swung through the air, sweeping through tentacled flesh and ripping jellied arms and limbs from the leviathans.

From the Thames came explosions of water as creatures from the deep surfaced and climbed out onto the promenade, but alongside Kit and Tay, all along the embankment, came shouts of battle and wrath, and from the fog emerged a force so large and enraged that bloody battle to the end was the only possibility…

(700 words)

Blues Buster: Broken

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Another story for the Mid-Week Blues-Buster from The Tsuruoka Files, the prompt song is found here: ‘Man With the Hex’ by The Atomic Fireballs.

Photograph by Lisa Shambrook (please do not use without permission)

Broken

Crushed blades of grass made him almost as sad as the broken daffodil stems. Golden yellow trumpets drooped and withered and his heart sank as he shuffled down the path, his hand reaching down to lift a flower with as much gentleness as his frail body could manage. A tear dropped from his hooked nose, but even that had no more than a moment’s restoration power for the doomed bloom.

He glanced about his garden, turning his arthritic neck and surveying the damage. It wasn’t the first time and wouldn’t be the last, but every time he stood and gazed, his tears welled and his heart froze, just a little bit more.

Emerald grass was battered and churned where feet had converged and turned the small patch into a veritable bog. Mud spattered across blooms that now struggled to stand tall. Scarlet tulip petals, stained with saffron yellow, splayed open and wide, their stamens and pollen laid bare. His orchestra of daffodils slouched, bewildered, petals torn and creased, and stems snapped and broken. Mounds of purple aubretia lie crumpled beneath foot and burgeoning clumps of bluebells were flattened and trampled. Primroses stared at him from rumpled beds and cowslips’ had been creamed, the innocent victims of the garden massacre.

He closed his rheumy eyes and clenched his tired, bony fists, his brittle finger nails biting into his hardened palms. In his mind he saw the feet of reprobates and hooligans dancing in his garden, screaming and whooping while he hid behind his curtains, and his dry, cracked lips pursed tight.

He remembered his body jumping in fear as stones from his path clattered against his window. He recalled his heavy heart and the way his shoulders gently bounced as he wept. He felt the twinge in his back of his neck as he’d bowed his head, and how hot tears slipped down his furrowed face, and slid down inside the open collar of his shirt, soaking his grey, wiry chest hair. He recalled the rage that had built and the tension that had gathered in his old body and the strength his anger had given him.

The boom, as something large hit the window, and the subsequent crack of glass like a frozen lake waking, had roused his wrath and turned it into something terrible and he’d flung open the door and stared.

Now a football lay abandoned in the middle of his swampy lawn and he stared blankly, wondering why the boys hadn’t retrieved it when they’d scarpered. His eyes caught the mud, now dried in a strange circle on the cracked window, and he shook his head.

He hobbled slowly up his path, his joints creaking with pain and age, and he sighed in deep disappointment. As his door clicked shut, curtains from neighbouring home swung back into place, the football quivered as three young toads cowered behind it…and the neighbourhood quietly mourned the loss of three more of their intrepid, but foolish, young boys.

(497 Words)

Blues Buster: A Rainy Night in Soho

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Another Blues Buster from The Tsuruoka Files, the prompt song is A Rainy Night in Soho by The Pogues and several lines from this song inspired me: ‘I’ve been loving you a long time, down all the years, down all the days, and I’ve cried for all your troubles, smiled at your funny little ways…’ and ‘Now the song is nearly over, we may never find out what it means, still there’s a light I hold before me, you’re the measure of my dreams…’

Photograph by Lisa Shambrook (please do not use without permission)

A Rainy Night in Soho

He glanced at her, his pale blue eyes tearing up as he gazed at her long hair, glowing silver in the moonlight upon the pillow. She stirred and a smile played on his lips. He wanted to reach across and move a stray lock away from her face, but didn’t want to risk waking her at such an early hour. A sigh swelled in his throat and he released it gently, shivering as his breath departed in a long wisp of smoke.
The cold penetrated his bones, even under the thick duvet, and he pulled the cover up tucking it round his shoulders. He carefully manoeuvred his body, again cautious not to disturb his lady, and settled on his side, his head gently relaxing into his flat and stained pillow. He drifted off to sleep with the beating rain drumming in his head.

She danced in his slumber, invaded his dreams with her youthful grace and honest beauty. He whirled her in his arms, up and down the rainy, glittering streets beneath the brutal neon lights and dirty windows.
Her crimson lips and tight dress won hearts and minds, and caused desire to rise through the steamy rain. He whirled her in his arms, letting her dance, and he fought her battles and defeated the dragons disguised as paramours. He allowed her essence to soak him and he fell in love.

He awoke again, still in the depths of night. He tried to dilute the urge, but failed, and he pushed back the duvet and stepped out onto cold, hard linoleum. He hurried across the floor and down the corridor, the cold air prickling like a million tiny daggers of ice and he clicked the bathroom door closed.
Sweet relief and he moved as swiftly as he could back to bed. Sliding down beneath the covers he wriggled his toes to recirculate his chilled blood. He shivered violently as the temperature slowly rose and he gripped the duvet tight around his chin. He stared at the window, still partially lit by the roaming moon and smiled as familiar neon blue flickered in the bottom corner, from the sign on the building opposite. He sank into the mattress, feeling his body reacquaint to its accustomed hollow. His eyes gradually closed and his dream resumed.

She still danced, but this time she waltzed just out of reach, her long, black hair glinting against the stormy night, her lips smiling and teasing. He relaxed to watch and adore his queen as she stole the hearts and yearning of every man she saw. He had nothing to worry, for she returned to his embrace every night, creeping back into his arms and soul in the early hours to slake their desire.

The moon was vanquished when he woke, and salmon pink streaked through the early clouds peering in through the icy window. Frost had etched and encrusted the pane while they’d slept, and dawn’s colours danced, filtering through the oblique design.
A tired sigh escaped his mouth and he chuckled at the smoke eddying through the crisp morning air, as he turned to regard his love.
She remained asleep, her raven hair, now silver and white in dawn’s gaze, and he carefully propped his old body up on his elbow. Ravaging cold bit through his greying vest and goose-bumps exploded across his wrinkled skin, and his rheumy eyes blinked with unshed tears.
He caressed her shrunken cheek, and moved the stray lock of hair. He leaned forward and tenderly kissed her dry, cracked lips.
Grief tore through his ancient body, and he shuddered, and swirling breath danced across her peace, as his tears dropped onto her tranquil face.
Her song was done, not a note escaped her silent lips, but he gently moved from his depression in the mattress and cupped his body to hers. There he lingered, holding his love, his tears wetting the pillow and her silver hair, and in his dreams she danced…

(662 Words)
@LastKrystallos

Blues-Buster: Red Right Hand

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Another of Jeff’s Blues-Buster’s, and the prompt song is the brilliant Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds – Red Right Hand. I was particularly caught by the lyrics: ‘…where the viaduct looms, like a bird of doom, as it shifts and cracks, where secrets lie in the border fires, in the humming wires, Hey man, you know, you’re never coming back…’

Scan by Bekah Shambrook manipulated by Lisa Shambrook (Please do not use without permission)

Red Right Hand

Jenson ran, his rasping breath burning his throat, but he ran without looking back. He’d learned long ago that looking back got you killed and that wasn’t part of his plan.
The streets were deserted, but he knew they were coming as sure as his blood raced through his burning veins.
The old town spread its fingers in narrow, contorted lanes and he knew most of them, his pursuers did not, they relied solely on the tracking device in Jenson’s stomach. He smirked wryly, barely thinking cognitively as pain seared his lungs, but aware of the irony of his enemies using the same tech he’d developed himself so long ago.
His fingers closed around a foil containing a bead of liquid purge, but he was unable to use it for fear of damaging the other prize churning within his stomach’s bile.

A helicraft whirred, not far out of range and he knew time was running out. He ducked into an alley and stared at the screen strapped to his wrist; old tech, twenty-first century tech, this time. He gazed at the flashing dots, until sure of their definite positions. Seconds later he was running again.

The arm that grabbed him came out of nowhere and he reeled, spinning, his hand ready to strike as he stumbled into a doorway.
“Shhhh!” she hissed, “it’s me!” She twisted his wrist pulling him down into her lap.
“I thought they had you!” he whispered, his hand moving from strike to stroke as he touched her bloodied and scarred cheek.
“They did…” Her voice caressed his ear.
“How did you escape? That place is strapped down like a lunatic in a strait jacket!”
“I have my ways,” she purred and slid her hand across his inner thigh.
“No time for that!” he said regretfully, but unable to stop his lips from claiming hers.
She pulled away. “Transport, Jenson, transport!”
He chuckled. “Always a tease…we’ve got three and a half minutes…stop delaying!” He yanked her to her feet and the pair of them left the doorway, sprinting across the road towards the most abandoned part of town.
“How’re they extracting you?” she panted, “Helicraft…or something else?”
He pulled her across the road towards the old viaduct and the crumbling bridge.
The whir of the approaching helicraft erupted, destroying the silence, and Jenson pulled her across the kerb. Rotary blades thumped and the craft loomed up over the bridge like a merciless vulture eyeing its prey. Jenson’s hand wrapped around hers and they raced for sanctuary. Above them came the crackling sound of gunfire and collapsing masonry.
Beneath the arch of the bridge Jenson turned her hand palm up and placed his over hers. “What’re you doing?” She was out of breath.
“Checking!” Jenson grinned. A red glow emanated between their clasped hands. “I had to know, you could have been playing me, been one of theirs, one of his…but you’re not.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I’m the only one who knows how to mess with the chip in your hand, yours is red…as it should be. Now are you ready for change?”
“Change?” She stared at him. “I’m ready for anything, I’m a wanted woman!”
“That you are!” He whirled her round against the wall and pulled her body close, kissing her hard. “I’m leaving with everything he owns,” He patted his stomach, “and you, if you’re coming with me?”
“Like hell I am!”
“A new century… this time I’m going back to the twenty-first!” Jenson slammed his hand to the wall above her head, directly onto an ancient, peeling, red graffiti hand print. Dust choked the air, bricks distorted beneath his palm and he grinned at his companion’s shocked cry as they plunged backwards. “Geronimo!”

(622 Words)

Blues-Buster: Is This Love

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Written for Mid-Week Blues-Buster Flash Fiction Challenge Week 3 over at The Tsuruoka Files. This week’s prompt song is: Bob Marley’s ‘Este Amor (Is This Love) by Gerado Ortiz. A 500 word challenge, but anything between 300 and 700 words works! I was inspired by this section of the translated song:

‘I want to love you and treat you right, I want to love you every day and every night, We’ll be together with a roof right over our heads, We’ll share the shelter of my single bed.’

Source: wikipedia.org Saguaro Sunset by Saguaro Pictures

Elena stood by the door arch, and the flames from the lantern flickered in her eyes as she stared down the dusty road into the night. Her bare feet shifted leaving scuff marks in the dirt and she cocked her head to listen to the sounds in the shack behind her. Small voices whispered and a complaint echoed. She leaned back inside and uttered instructions to share. The voices softened and faded, and she returned to her vigil.
The ground beneath her feet was pitted and worn, and her rough soles matched the patches of eroded earth. She shivered and pulled her holey shawl tighter around her shoulders, and leaned down to flick away an irritating mosquito. Elena coughed, a sound that echoed through the night as much as it rattled through her chest, and she struggled to clear her throat.
She tapped her foot impatiently and tried to gaze further than her old eyes would see, tried to penetrate the dark indigo desert and see beyond the tall saguaro, the sentinel at the edge of the track into town. She pulled in a deep breath, shaky with worry, and leaned back against the stone doorframe. The wick in the lantern was low and the oil almost spent, but she refused to turn it out, refused to sink the track into the gloom of dusk…not yet.
A bark carried across the chill night air and resonated through her bones, and sent fear curling into the pit of her stomach.
Still she waited, aware that there was now quiet in the hovel, aware of the fatigue that chilled her fragile body, and aware of the last crust of bread and spoonful of soup sitting by the dying embers in the grate. Her belly growled.
The moon scrolled across the sky, and stars began to glimmer, and Elena wondered if time had moved too far.
She stepped out from beneath the arch and moved across the stony track, limping awkwardly, her heart sank each time the wild dog howled, and she tried to bat away the tears that hung on her lashes.
She waited, still standing firm, her resolve never wavering, despite the darkness of the night. She stood until her feet ached and hope began to fade like morning stars.
Then she heard it, as quiet and soft as a mouse; footsteps, tiny footsteps beating against the dirt trail and her heart swelled. She shuffled towards the sound, dragging her lame foot, until a small child burst past the saguaro and ran, haloed in the moonlight, into her welcoming arms.
He wept, rubbing tired and dirty fists across his tear-stained face, and Elena hugged him close. “Hermoso niño!” she murmured, “Al fin en casa.”
After the spoonful of soup and the last crust of bread the exhausted child slipped beneath a ragged blanket on a narrow bed, with six other lost children, and slept beneath his guardian’s constant gaze.

(488 Words)

(For those of you needing a translation: “Hermoso niño!” – “Beautiful child!” and “Al fin en casa.” – “Home at last.”)

Monday Mixer: Moonlight Tryst

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This is for The Latinum Vault’s Monday Mixer. Write a piece in exactly 150 words using at least three of the nine prompts: a place, a thing and an adjective. I’ve gone for six, therefore putting myself up for Overachiever…

Photo by Lisa Shambrook Instagram Brannan (Please do not use without permission)

Nell struggled to keep up with Liam, striding ahead up the hillock. She shivered as the cool night air danced across her bare skin, and her thin skirt wrapped itself around her legs. Liam glanced back, waiting a few yards ahead, and Nell’s pulse quickened. He was gorgeous and profligate with her emotions, but she just couldn’t help herself, she’d follow him from one end of the river to the other if he asked. The crease in his brow faded as she caught up.
Overlooking the firth was a small copse, the surrounding farmland abandoned, a perfect place for a nocturnal tryst.
Now pensive in the moonlight, Nell allowed him to pull her to the ground and as his eyes flashed and he shuffled in the dirt, his yelp surprised both of them! Slightly relieved, Nell examined his nether regions and not in the way he’d desired. “Caltrops!” she giggled.

(150 Words)