We’re a team, Clive and I. Food is scarce when you’re a legless zombie, and not the intoxicated kind either, Smart Alec. Clive brings back food, not a lot, but enough guts and entrails to keep me going…and I, on the other hand, keep him fed, after all, what use did I have for legs?
(55 Words)
@LastKrystallos
Depeche Mode gives us this week’s Blues-Buster over at The Tsuruoka Files with ‘Home’. I decided to go with love and yearning…
Yearning
She dragged the back of her hand across her forehead, and wiped the sweat on the edge of her skirt as she stared into the distance. The road fizzled into a mirage of haze on the horizon and Loren leaned back against the fence post.
She’d heard the rumours, word spread fast in a small town, and she waited.
Slowly she slid down the wooden post, smoothed by wild prairie winds and rain, and settled in the long grass. She closed her eyes and let the sun beat down upon her. She glanced quickly to her side and smiled at the swathe of ox-eye daisies bobbing their heads at her in the breeze. The morning sun moved slowly overhead, and shadows glided lazily across her skin.
The midday bus ambled past in a cloud of dust, but Loren didn’t stir. She knew he’d walk.
Daisies anchored her, their nodding flowers brushing her leg where the breeze had ruffled her skirt.
Then she saw him. On the far horizon a figure broke through the haze and Loren got to her feet.
Her heart skipped and her breast rose and fell beneath her thin cotton, summer dress. Down on the floor a daisy brushed her leg and she smiled at its touch. Her breathing quickened as the figure grew slowly bigger and her heart began to unlock the bars that encased her soul. She could feel her blood coursing through her veins, and the rising flood threatened to break the dam of emotions now throbbing within her head.
She lifted one foot and rested it flat against the fence post, her knee thrusting forward, her skirt flapping in the breeze, and she flexed her fingers and swallowed. The summer wind rippled across her collarbone and she inhaled slowly. She cast her eyes downward and stared at the grasses then raised her head, following the rolling grass, until she focused solely on the silhouette walking down the vast road.
His pace lifted, and it was all she could do to stay rooted to the ground. He was no longer a blurry image, but a man, putting one exhausted foot in front of the other.
She could hear nothing but the crunch of his footfalls on the dusty gravel and the thump of her heart. She stood, ignoring her weakening legs and damp palms, and turned her face toward her man. Tears rolled down her cheeks, but still she did not move, choosing instead to remain anchored and savour the sweet approach of her love. Her hands shook and the empty years rolled away.
His face was dark and tanned, his stubble raw, and his hair swept in curls about his face as he locked his black velvet eyes with hers. His hand reached forward and unsteady fingers moved a strand of golden hair from her cheek and then his lips were on hers, and hunger bled through their bodies.
She melted into his frame and fingers entwined, legs leaned close and bodies moulded into one, and beneath the hot summer sun, for a few moments, they were lost within each other.
Flushed and quenched she ran her fingers down his prickly cheek and gently pushed him away. His eyes pierced her through and black, lusty pupils drowned in her gaze. She smiled and cast her eyes down toward the flowers and grasses at her feet, her anchor. He followed her gaze and his face crumpled.
He fell to his knees and whispered softly, “God grant me grace…and forgiveness…”
Loren watched, her heart soaring with pride and love as he held out a trembling hand, and beheld his own eyes.
The five-year-old smiled, a shy curl of her lips, and black velvet eyes regarded him with curiosity. Then as tears streamed down his face his daughter held out a small hand and presented a daisy, a broken daisy with a snapped stem and missing petals. He took the flower and raised it to his lips, then stuck it in the button hole of his moth-eaten, four-and-a-half-year-old, woollen suit.
He took his daughter’s hand and stood. His voice caught as he stared into Loren’s eyes, “I’m home.”
(692 Words)
A stomping tune in the form of John Legend’s ‘Who Did That To You’ brings us retribution for The Tsuruoka Files Mid-Week Blues-Buster.
She walked the surf-tormented shore, every day, and every day I watched.
Sometimes she walked and her sodden robes trailed behind erasing her footprints, and sometimes, like today, she ran. Sometimes her hair flew out behind like spray from angry waves, and her feet splashed as she sprinted across wet sand, and urgency rang out in her echoing sobs. Sometimes she stood, like a pillar, staring, with eyes already laden with salt, and I watched, my own eyes brimming with briny tears caused by wind and sorrow.
Today she arrived with dawn’s breeze and fear caught in her throat. Her skirts billowed and she ran. The wind lifted her tears from her cheeks, swirling them like tiny pieces of sea-glass, before dropping them into the glittering waves. She ran, blinded by tears and the glistening sun, until the ocean wept at her feet. There she stopped to catch her breath. Her toes sank into sand and icy ocean swells licked her ankles, and I reached out my hand. Noisy sobs echoed across the bay, and I yearned to take her in my embrace.
But I sank back as hooves rang out, and an ebony stallion charged across the beach.
She fell to her knees, her face in her hands and she sang to me like a lost Siren.
The horse halted beside her and its rider slid off, his boots splashing into the sea, and he grasped her arm lifting her to her unsteady feet. Waves crashed and his horse stomped and whinnied, and I clenched my fists. His fingers tightened around her fragile, purple-ringed wrists and her shoulders shook in his hold.
I felt tension build, and anger roil.
His words spat into her face like surf whipping off a wave and she fought to pull away. His black steed neighed and churned the sand in agitation, and he tried to swing her up onto his horse. She baulked, resisted, and his hand stung her cheek, and as her head swung back and an anguished cry carried on the wind, I rose.
Her wretched Siren song of misery carried across the waves and there was no holding me back.
I whipped up my army and my white horses galloped forward, crashing and dancing, and tossing their bleached manes and tails. As we advanced, his ebony charger reared and knocked him to the ground, before screaming and circling in retreat.
Nursing his bruised ego more than his winded chest, he held onto his prize and ignored her cries of protest and fear. Waves rolled over the couple and I rushed closer, my white horses carrying me on. His fingers held tight as water drenched them both, until he finally threw her aside as he struggled to prevail.
My horses thundered into him, rolling across his body and dragging him back into the pitching surf. They showed no mercy and, as he writhed and grappled with the ocean, my breakers thrashed and tore his breath from his worthless throat. They pummelled and pounded until he lie broken in death beneath the waves…and I turned to her.
She knelt at the shore, her hair falling in soaked strands about her face, and her tears falling into my salty embrace. She raised her head and gazed at me, her lips glistening in early morning sun. She sang…and the Siren, who could not win against him, sang to me. The girl who could not beat her human nemesis sang and calmed an ocean, and I, Poseidon, knew I would watch her forever.
(588 Words)
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:
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)
Colour had been banished and was nothing but a faded memory in surviving centenarian’s minds. Colour slowly leeched out of existence when mother earth’s calls for help were ignored.
Her final vengeance came in colour, lots of it. Royal blue burned the sky, and everyone beneath, as copper ammonium rained down from her unforgiving heavens.
(55 Words)
@LastKrystallos
A thin line runs between safety and peril, a narrow path between hitting the right or the wrong note.
Sadie’s thumb throbbed as she stubbed it whilst closing the kitchen cupboard. She took a moment and cocooned it in her hand, clasped to her heart then she continued serving up dinner.
Sadie’s thumb rubbed up and down her arm as she held her arms across her chest, and watched Alec eat. Her eyes followed every mouthful and she studied his hands as he gripped his knife and fork.
Sadie’s thumb moved lightly across her lips as he pushed his plate away and leaned back in his chair. He smiled, and she scooped up his plate and hurried to the kitchen.
Sadie’s thumb tapped nervously on the edge of the sink as she rested for a moment, relief flooding her tension. Today she is safe.
(144 Words)
Written for Anonymous Legacy’s Visual Dare Week 25: Precarious.
Go look at the other great stories!
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…
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)
This is my entry into Becky Fyfe’s challenge over at Imagine! Create! Write!, to create a Female Superhero. Go take a look and enter, if there are enough stories Becky is hoping to create an anthology with the proceeds going to a girls charity. So here’s my tale…
Author: Lisa Shambrook
Wordcount: 997
Anthology: Yes
Charity: Because I Am a Girl
Name of female superhero: Snowfire
Name of human alter ego, if different: Neva Brant
Superhero Appearance (hair, eyes, body type, etc.): Hair shimmers with a coating of frost, fringe flicks back. Eyes glint ice green and her skin pales.
Human alter ego appearance (if she has an alter ego): Dark brown hair, just below shoulder length with a long fringe which often covers half her face. She has green eyes, pale skin and an average body she hides in jeans and t-shirts, beneath a worn leather jacket.
Costume: When Neva uses her ability her dark brown hair shimmers with ice, her skin pales even further and an aura glows about her person. She chooses to wear black jeans and a black leather jacket, with black leather boots.
Personality: Neva is shy, doesn’t like attention, but cannot abide cruelty or injustice. She won’t seek attention, but when opportunity arises she fights for the underdog.
Brief description of how the superheroine gets her powers (i.e. born with them, radioactive accident, mad scientist experiments on her, etc.): Neva was born with her powers, but they were latent until an incident when she was fourteen.
Powers: Neva can freeze and thaw objects on demand, but she needs to touch her target for the power to be effective.
Anything else important: A frozen ‘object’ can be shattered and destroyed, but if left alone will thaw at a normal rate. A frozen person’s heart rate will drop and hypothermia will set in, but survival is likely if medical attention is sought fast.
Neva is learning to develop her ability and her father, a doctor, discovers her freezing technique can be honed to do good in the medical world. If she concentrates deeply enough she can freeze and destroy individual cells, when this ability becomes known, Wolfe Pharmaceuticals CEO, Professor Archaleaus Wolfe, becomes obsessed with obtaining Neva, codename Snowfire.
The Last Krystallos 
