Darkening - #FridayFlash

Partial picture credit
(can't find the original artist in this website or anywhere else)

I'm coming back home on a spring day. The sunset increases the contrast of city colors; the horizon is plastered with blues, oranges and yellows. I twist my nose at the garbage on the street and hear the voices behind me. 

"Bro, it was so easy!" 

"Dunno, man..."

"Swear ya. It was, like, pitch black, like. No way they saw my face. Girls are easy to do, bro." 

I feel him smirking and my fingers roll tightly into fists. They seem not to notice me. 

"Really, it was like... two seconds, bro! They were coming like right at me. The street was dark already and there was those trees. Kinda scary. But it was like a desert so no chance the cops could get there in time. Irress... Irressis - You know!" 

"Irresistible." 

"Yeah! You're the brain-man! Like that villain in the cartoon. Superman, like."

I start thinking of alternate ways. I certainly don't want to lead these two to my doorstep. I don't want them having brilliant ideas.


"I mean it, bro. I took one grand like that!" He snapped his fingers. "Easy as shit."

I relax a bit but my indignation stabs me like a broken beer bottle. 

"A G?" 

"Yeah." I feel him grinning, his rapper sneakers, the below waste jeans and his sideways Yankees. I feel his pride and his friend's greed; another crook coming to life. I feel them closing in and my eyebrows have a nice little gathering on my forehead. I stop to cross the street and contemplate the alternatives. There are still two blocks to get home and the week's work is collecting its toll, weighting on my shoulders and dragging my stomach down. Is it worth walking one extra block or they don't even know I'm here? Such a stupid idea to wear a skirt today... I hold my breath, the stoplight flashes green and I hear their voice dissolving in the past. I breathe out and carry the weight home.

*

This is a translated piece so please forgive any strangeness.  Besides, I'm rusty!

Smarty Girl - #FridayFlash and Writer's Pets Contest Entry

This is an early #FridayFlash to remind people of the last day to enter the Writer's Pets Contest. Check out the rules here. ;)


My entry is called "Smarty Girl", which I reproduced below for your delight, and the picture that goes with it is the one on the side. Care to share your opinion on it? :)   (No comments on the nose's size, please. I'm aware of that! :P) 

*

She sniffed the air. Something had changed, she could feel it. Yes! Beloved was coming home! Tale sweeping the air, she ran to the top of the stairs and lay down, looking expectantly at the front door. When Beloved put the key on the hole, she shouted her warm welcome waggling so hard that her whole body moved along with her ventilator-tale.

But as soon as the door opened she stopped barking, letting her borrowed sister do the job instead. Of course Beloved didn’t like the noise, she never did. She went up the stairs ignoring the excited dogs and shushing the white little sister, who kept calling out despite the firm commands. Beloved went up to the second floor, left her bag on her room and came down again, going to the back of the house where she sat in a chair and looked down at her lovelies. They were still panting with those round shiny eyes, filled with infinite love, earning for her attention.

Beloved couldn’t resist anymore, she stretched her hands, each to one small hot head and smiled broadly at the moans of pleasure. The dogs soon sprawled on the floor, giving their bellies to be stroked. After everyone was fairly satisfied, Beloved got up and went back inside leaving the dogs behind. She snorted at her older sister; Beloved would never know that she was the one calling out behind the door.

Story Up at the #amwriting blog! Endure - #FridayFlash

Picture credit

I'm thrilled to announce that my story "Endure" is up at the amazing writing community's blog #amwriting.org. :D


Please go there and tell me what you think.


After you do so, I suggest you check out the blog for some excellent writing advice and great flash fiction from our #fridayflash folks. 


Here's another link: Endure

The Winter Adventure of a Cushion-dog - #FridayFlash

I'm cheating this week and reposting one of my very first stories for this week's #FridayFlash. I'd love to have some feedback on this one; It's very different from what I've been posting lately, and I'm curious as to your opinion. :)

*

The Winter Adventure of a Cushion-Dog

On my first winter in this new land the family was finally gathered together again. How merry I was!

For the first time I tasted snow, sniffed the chilling wind, and ran free on motionless crops and mild streams. I wasn’t alone of course; my beloved seemed as pleased as I was with the surroundings. The beaming smile that I cherished the most, lately so scarce, blossomed in her peaceful countenance.

It suddenly broadened to a playful grin as she signaled a dash on the frosted grass. I needn’t a second stimulus; sprinting uphill I – what? Didn’t find the other side but a stony fall onto itchy leaves and rounded rocks. The cold water below was another unexpected sensation, but the familiarity of the beloved’s worried cries calmed me down. I smiled up to appease her, and shouted back so she could appreciate that I wanted to rejoin her as soon as possible.

She is a smart human, my beloved, smarter than anyone else! At once she understood my need and studying the vines that had held me moments before, climbed down, urging the brown-black intruder to remain far from us, where it belonged.

The intruder is a most aggravating creature that entered our lives not long ago, indicating the firm intent of residing with us permanently. Not even my best efforts seemed enough to cast her away once she planted her malign seed in the second beloved’s heart. I only tolerate it for fear of displeasing beloveds first and second. They must pity the wretched thing; that’s the only possible explanation!

Indeed, whereas she ensured that I was unharmed and the intruder had not followed, we exulted in our reunion and walked upstream for a short while, accompanied from above, sadly, by the anxious brownish.

An enlightened glance flashed in beloved’s honeyed-coloured eyes when she spotted a larger ivy vine, but I’m embarrassed to admit that her physical strength is not as grand as her mind, as she was unable to pull us up. I even daresay that the effort of reassuring the intruder might have played a decisive part in her rescuing efforts.

A few bruises, a ripped coat and another flash away, she was holding me again, lifting me up to salvation. But how could I abandon beloved? How could I leave her to her doom, and worse, to once again meet my abhorrent foe? No, I would not leave her. Besides, she had raised me so high to help me up that I didn’t feel as nearly safe as in her arms!

“You damned dog, go! Go that I’ll follow suit!”

I knew she was a tad upset with me, but I was firm in my purpose of not abandoning her to death. I’m certain she could read this in my eyes!

“You coward! I’ll be right there with you!” Her arms trembled with the exertion. “I can’t carry you up, don’t you understand?”

Oh, my beloved’s warm embrace is inestimable! I was presently adjusting myself to her chest’s shape when she put me down, clutching her own knees. She is so pretty when flushed, you should see it! But once again the intruder called out, diverting her attention from my grateful wagging.

She then found a clear branch on the thorny vegetation to rest, as the twilight threatened to fall upon us. For a few moments her respiration accelerated when noticing the darkening sky, but did I mention how clever the beloved is? Deep breaths prevented desperation and another flash led us farther upstream, where she spotted a clearing and a lowering of the fringe right ahead.

At this point the water was too cold, so I found lodge on a small ravine. She called out, but my paws were much better placed (and warmer) on the sand than in the icy stream. I was once again lifted and carried safely to the dry margin, where the blackish intruder manically wagged us welcome.

*

Moira’s misfortunes may have been a grand adventure for her and Iris (the “intruder”, which is actually my other lovely dog), but from where I stand it was not so. Only a hot shower could prevent an onset of the flu. These cushion-dogs can be so troublesome…

Below you can take peek at her amusement, a season later, when revisiting the site.

Cathy Webster's Week - On The River Side - #FridayFlash

Understand why the fuss, HERE.
Picture credits on this post.

In continuation to Cathy Webster's week, I present you a story featuring no one less than Cathy herself!

For a better enjoyment, I suggest you also read her interview here at Randomities, and her answers to the Bernard Pivot Blogfest.  

*

On The River Side

The chilly wind blew on Cathy’s hair, making it shine bright against the reflection of late winter’s snow. Where she stood, the river was quiet and inviting, its water gurgling softly in her ears. Further ahead it grew in speed and strength, the waterfalls composing another spectacle.

Black-caped
Chickadee
Picture credits

But she wanted the quiet now. A tiny bird flew past her and landed on a pine tree at her right. She smiled broadly, recognizing the Chickadee, and waited for it to settle down. It sang as if it had arrived specially for a private concert. She couldn’t feel merrier, except that now she missed someone to share this moment with. Strong arms embraced her from behind. She hadn’t heard Dave arriving, but she recognized him instantly by his touch, his scent, and his smile buried in her neck. She leaned back to increase the contact and they stood there, enjoying the moment.

All of the sudden, the bird stopped chipping and flew away. Both Cathy and Dave frowned and looked around, unable to identify the source of its agitation. As their breathing calmed down, they heard before seeing the loud group of teenagers on the other side of the river. They were about ten, she counted roughly, and they were chatting, shouting and listening to some music that sounded like garbage being dumped. Brats, she thought, releasing herself from Dave’s embrace.

They both went upriver to their one-day camp, being horrified at the view of the turbulent group right on the other margin. They were setting the tents under the supervision of one single adult. He was a robust man, she could tell, but from that distance there wasn’t much else to see. She thanked all gods for not having brought the kids, or they’d be crossing the freezing water to discuss the latest game or Lady Gaga’s concert. She snorted out loud, giving Dave a good chuckle.

An abrupt silence spread across the river bank. Everyone turned their back to them. She could feel them squinting to see between the ancient trees. There was a small commotion, which the adult in charge was trying to control. She saw him waving at the kids to pack their things up again as silently as possible. There were whines and restrained sobs but they managed to gather up with a certain order.

Cathy and Dave looked at each other. He went to their tent to pick up his binoculars, while she watched the group reach the irregular stone path they had used to cross the river in the morning. She sighed. The loud kids were coming their way.

Dave poked her in the shoulder. “Uh, I think I know why they gave up their camp.” To her inquiring look, he continued, “I’m not completely sure, but I think I saw movement between the trees. Something big.”

“Not a bear, is it?” she asked, her voice pitching high with panic. “They should be hibernating; it’s still winter!”

“Well, it seems that this one is an early waker.” She grabbed his arm with such force that Dave had to take a deep breath not to groan. “It’s okay honey, the bear was going in the opposite direction. They must be crossing the river just for precaution,” he finished nodding to the waving adult with thirty kids behind him.

Cathy froze in place as the man reached her view field. Dave watched worriedly her face lose all its color. “Are you ok?”

“Yeah,” she babbled, staring at the smiling man who introduced himself as Carlos.

While Dave and Carlos chatted amicably, Cathy noticed that the group was heavily packed. “Are you planning a long stay?” asked David, while Cathy twitched her hands surreptitiously.

“Only a few days,” said Carlos. The kids wanted some adventure, so I’m giving them.” He grinned.

After taking a deep breath, Cathy finally managed to muster some words, “Gee, I can’t imagine spending the night in this cold.” She shuddered under her thick sweater.

An hour later, Cathy and Dave had packed up to leave and Carlos approached to say goodbye. A boy that seemed very uncomfortable with his limbs’ length was close behind. 


“If you’re crossing back the river, I’d suggest you leave all your food behind,” Carlos said at some point. “That bear must be very hungry and it can smell food from miles away. We were very lucky that it went away.”

“What about you? We're going home, but the bear might turn back for your food,” asked Dave, concerned about the kids' safety.

“I don't think it will turn around,” replied Carlos, “but if it does, I'm prepared to deal with it.” He finished patting his right side. Cathy didn't seem very happy about his intentions, and seeing her closed face he added, “The gun is my last resource, of course, but I won't hesitate to use it if it comes to that. The kids are my priority.”

His concern about her opinion made a new light shine in her eyes. Feeling her face heat up, she knelled down harshly to remove all her food from her backpack. Dave did the same, although grudgingly. When he put the chocolate bars and homemade sandwiches on the boy’s had, he let out a “nomnom”. Cathy showed him her cringed teeth, which prompted the boy to step back as if she were the bear itself.

They said their final goodbyes and headed separate ways. Cathy and Dave walked in silence for two good hours, afraid to make too much noise and call the bear’s attention. It was only when the spotted the parking lot Dave said, “Don’t you think Carlos looks just like Tony Soprano?”

“Ah, you think so?” replied a flushed Cathy. She looked away to prevent her husband to notice, so she didn’t see his amused smile.

“That fecking bear almost ruined our day,” she added to change subject. “If it weren’t for it, those obnoxious kids wouldn’t have seen us and come our way.”

“Honey,” said Dave, cupping her cheek with his hand, “it’s hard not to notice you in this pink sweater.” 

*

Cathy Webster lives on the sunshiny banks of the Muskoka River near Bracebridge, Ontario, Canada. She shares her rustic, 131-year-old log cabin with her new husband, Dave, two good-looking sons, two cats, one smallish dog and some squirrels in the attic. When she's not blogging at Life on the Muskoka River or coveting her new Kindle, she's designing magazines, camping at one of Ontario's gorgeous provincial parks, or fishing on the riverbank. Some day she thinks she might try writing a novel. Some day ... but you're not holding your breath, are you?

Train Day - #FridayFlash

Picture credits
I suggest you check out the artist's page;
there are some nice drawings in there!

This story is based on real facts, and it was inspired by Icy Sedgwick's story that is also set in a train.

*

Jonathan woke up at six thirty in the morning. He had a good reason for making such effort. Jonathan liked to sleep, to wake up with no timer set, to get off the bed only when his body demanded him to. But today was an important day.

He gets up, washes his teeth, lets the dogs out, washes the dishes... Damn, there's no time. Leaves the dishes as they are, changes, lets the dogs in, I'm forgetting something. Ah, yes, eat. I have to eat or I'll be lightheaded when I arrive and that'll be no good. Is there time? Checks the hour. Confused by sleepiness, shares an apple with the dogs, put shoes on, gets book, binder. Opens door to leave. Money! How can I leave hungry without any money? Stupid.

The train arrived punctually at the station and Jonathan got on, controlling the butterflies in his stomach. There were only two more to go, if you don't count the subway between the first stop and the next one. He managed to get a good place to sit and watched the naked trees and uncared-for buildings pass by, while listening to a blond curly hair and a squared chin with blue eyes chat to pass the time. He was interested in her and she didn't reciprocate. The train was packed up with people. Jonathan was surprised how it felt like a upper subway instead of a train line. The hair made some general mention to it too.

The train slowed down at several stations. Ok, that's expected, he thought. Blond hair was annoyed at the delay. The train usually missed the time by five minutes and they were already ten minutes past the schedule. Stop. Tick, tick, tick. The chin and the gesturing blond hand look at their watches. Twelve minutes late. Stop. Slow moving. Stop. The train drags itself through the line as if it too were feeling the crowd inside its rumbling belly.

They arrived with almost twenty minutes of delay. Jonathan squeezed himself off the train, apologizing his way out, and ran. Slowing down but not stopping, he asked for directions to the subway, bumped on a tall guy and ran. Ops! Sorry! Excuse me! Two tickets please? Thanks! He twisted his body sideways to avoid contact with shoulders, purses, skirts; skipping a pace to prevent toe injuries, he passed the ratchet, asked the round face with gentle eyes for direction and sprinted down the stairs. Checking with a black suit that he was at the right side of the platform, he paced until the train arrived. Now, there's the crowded subway. Stop. One more station. What a cute guy... Stop. There!

Upstairs he goes, puffing with the effort. The subway vomited him right at the train station entry. I have eight minutes, I'm going to make it! More stairs, rolling stairs, female voice informing that his train is about to depart at the tenth platform. He arrives right in front of it and the train is still there!

He trots to his cart, just in case, excusing himself with comfy caramel boots at the door, and finds his place. He wants to throw himself on the seat, but there's a distinctive looking man who he'll observe later to think him a writer. It's nine fifteen when the train departs. Ten minutes late. I hope It'll catch up on the way, or I'll be sweating in plain winter when I arrive. If I arrive.

Yellow sweater complains that he's sat right in front of him. Johnathan smiles awkwardly and apologizes for no reason. Facebook guy (boy?) arrives with scowling girl. High pitched voice arrives soon after and mentions that Jonathan had her place. He offers to change, but voice says it's no matter. Voice makes several phone calls, disturbing the yellow writer. Johnathan's throat is sour from the cold air, so he orders a coffee when the opportunity arises, and opens his book. Plain girl arrives and yellow writer has to move to his designated seat. He puts his writing aside. Butterflies settle down as the reading snatches his attention.

There's snow outside. Strange, he thinks, and keeps reading. An hour later the conductor comes to check the tickets. He scratches his head and murmurs something to his female colleague. The train is going to the opposite way, he says apologetically. Jonathan's face looses all its blood. He had taken the wrong train! Idiot. He arrives at the wrong station after half an hour, where he manages to get on the next train back without paying an extra ticket.

He calls, but there's not time to arrive at his destination. He gets some chips to calm his empty stomach, and a bottle of water. As he opens his book, he sighs. Ah, well... Back to being a housewife, househusband, whatever.

*

Yet Another One - #FridayFlash

Picture credits


Hello everyone, I've missed you all!

It's been a long hiatus. I'm not sure I'm totally back, but I have something that might interest you. (finally! ;P)

I've written a short story that is very short but doesn't fit the flash fiction category. I wrote it in Italian as an exercise for a creative writing course I'm taking. We had no word count, so I couldn't edit it to fit the 1.000 word limit,or I would disnature it. 


I have translated it to English because I wanted to know your opinion, and since the #FridayFlash community is known to be flexible I thought I could make a (big, I know) exeption to the rules. Consider it a coming back gift? Please, pretty, please? :)

Please notice that the expressions in italic are originally written in English.

*

Giancarlo arrived at the door. He raised his hand to ring the bell and let it fall to the side. He turned his back and watched the garden, the Christmas lights, the immutable neighbourhood of his childhood. The air felt gelid as if it had snowed the night before, but it was all grey and hard instead of white and soft. Deciding to confront the door, he knocked, letting out an inconscient sigh. He heard the noise of people and the movement of who approach in a hurry.

“Always late, Gianluca,” his mother uttered. “Everyone has been waiting for you for a while now. Where’s the girlfriend?”

“No one is coming this year, mom,” he said while bending to kiss her in the cheeks.

“But why?” her back asked him. Their shoes echoed in the long corridor


“She is with her family, and I am here,” he replied, lowering the head and the voice.


“Brother!” !” His brother from America left the couch to meet him, smiling broadly and hugging him before saying, “This is my girlfriend, Charlenne. I added an “en” to her name to make it sound more Italian.” A short girl, not older than twenty two years, blonde with long hair and full breasts, appeared at his side.


He gave his hand and a timid smile to her. He turned to the uncle who waited with his bear-hug, the adherent cousins, and finally the grandma, who sat beside the Christmas tree. Giancarlo was still freeing himself from the others when she saw him and raised her hand half-way to the heart, letting it fall with a relieved breath. She signalled conspiratorizlly for him to approach, and while he kissed the old lady of withered body and radiant eyes she whispered in his ear, taking his large hands between her delicate fingers, “You did well sparing the sweetheart, grandson of mine.”


With the first genuine smile of the day he answered, “Each year I lose one.”

 “Make go through the proof of fire only the one you believe will be able to bear with us,” she said with a wink.

By means of  reply he smiled again, knowing that there was no need of words with grandma. He wanted to sit by her side and enjoy her company, drink of her wisdom, but all of a sudden the mother came by and took him by the arm, directing him to the table. “It’s late Giancarlo. Come and eat. The turkey got cold while we waited for you.” The mother turned back to the grandmother, offering her a hand, “Come, mother.”

“You know well enough that I don’t need help. I’ll be there in a moment.”

No one caught the darkening on mother's brown eyes. She briskly turned her back to them, and while she herded the others to the table Giancarlo slid back to the grandmother. When they arrived everyone was standing, except for the brother and his girlfriend.

“This is an Italian house,” said the mother, “and I am the one to say where each person should sit. In America you do as you please, but in my house you will do as I say.”

The brother crossed his arms over his muscular chest, chin facing forward, ignoring the exasperated girlfriend who knew to be in the centre of the conflict. Charlene gazed at the  brother. Not finding help there, she looked up at the others, also unsuccessfully.

“Where do you want Charlene to sit?” asked Giancarlo, drawing everyone’s eyes to him.

“The places at the table should be set as your father liked,” she replied. “At the head of the table sits grandma. You, the older son, should sit at her right side, and your brother at her left. Since your father isn’t with us anymore, I should sit by your side and uncle in front of me. Your older cousin should sit by my side, and the other by the side of her father.”

“But we’re twins, aunt,” interrupted the cousins with their hight pitched voices.

"Fine, you can choose either place.”

“And where should Charlenne sit?” asked the brother, rising his nose.

“Well, not at the head of the table! Neither where she’s sat; that’s you uncle’s place. You should educate better your dolls.”

"Mamma!” The brother rose from his chair, hitting the table with both hands.

“Could we open the table to make room?” intervened Giancarlo before other harsh words were said.

The wide eyed mother turned to Giancarlo, “How in heavens have I forgotten about that?”

Giancarlo and the uncle opened the table and the grandmother gently guided the girlfriend to her place, speaking an incomprehensible English to which she nodded and smiled. Her relief didn’t last much, though. When she realized she was isolated from everyone who she could communicate with, she turned to the brother, who pretended not to see her. She leaned back in the chair, calmly lowered her hands and stared blank eyed at the wall.

With all sat at their places, the Christmas celebrations started. They ate the first dishes in silence. While the turkey and the second dishes were brought, the cacophony of private conversations filled the table. Charlene tried to call her boyfriend’s attention, who glared at his food, sulking. Giancarlo took advantage of the rare private moment to talk with the grandmother, the cousins chatted between themselves, frequently glancing sideways at him, who felt comforted by the barrier his mother created between them. The uncle seemed to be waiting for something, and the mother peered at him with keen eyes.

The hunter took for himself the honour of carving the turkey as he has been doing since his brother-in-law’s death. He worked merrily, ignoring his sister’s cutting eyes and the embarrassment they both caused. When almost everyone was served, the mother’s countenance started to relax. Everything seemed at its place and the doll remained curbed. As if guessing her thoughts, the uncle initiated his annual speech right after serving himself.

All faces became funereal. The mother waved wildly, trying to interrupt the uncle who barked how the niggers had destroyed the country, how the extra-communitarians should be kicked out like Mussolini did with the Jews and pederasts. Giancarlo let his head fall forward, which he supported with his hands at the last moment; the grandmother looked like a corpse; the cousins, being quite used to his speeches, communicated between themselves with signs and whispers; the brother couldn’t care less, but his girlfriend wasn’t this indulgent.

She had Hebrew origin and had lost her grandparents to the Holocaust. To the mention of the “great dictator” she rose from her place and staring at the uncle’s bulged eyes she said knowing that he wouldn’t understand her words, “You…” She pressed her anger-paled lips together. “You should be ashamed of yourself.” She left without further word, hoping that her boyfriend would follow. The brother, however, shrugged, compelling Giancarlo to take action. The grandmother nodded in ascension, offering her face to a goodbye kiss.

Giancarlo rose from his place, brushed his lips against grandma’s cheek and followed Charlene, who was walking in the wrong direction with overflowing eyes. He honked to call her attention and offered her a ride. She stopped, feeling anesthetized. She couldn't understand why she always got involved with the wrong man. Why couldn't she get close to men like Giancarlo? She accepted the ride to the hotel and asked him to take her to the airport right after. She wanted to go home.

Arriving at the hotel, she invited him up. Unconvinced of her own offer, she didn’t feel offended by his gentle rejection. He wanted to get to his girlfriend’s as soon as possible. Maybe he would be able to surprise her and arrive before dessert.

The Air Has Color

It's salmon.

It is no mist, no veil, no illusion.

The sun gave me a twilight gift.

It is meant for all of us.

It is on the trees, on

people's skin, on the air.

I breathe in the gift

and smile without smiling.

Note: The picture was taken by yours truly in the vicinities. I suggest you click on it to enlarge if you want to have a better grasp of what I felt when receiving this wonderful gift. :)

Breathe

I had promised another installment of the zombie dragon story for this week, but, but... It doesn't matter does it? heh ;P

So, I wrote this a few days ago, which I thought I'd share with you although it doesn't really qualify as #FridayFlash. But there you go; I hope you'll like it. :)

Breathe

I'm walking on a large road with no room for pedestrians. I'm going from one appointment to another and I have plenty of time. I'm hungry. I'm eager to sink my teeth into the half-eaten sandwich I'm carrying in my purse.

My strides are calm yet determined. I spot this:

I had seen this small path before, walking on the same road. I've wanted to explore it although it looked too much like the entry to a private property. Today I dare going in. It might have been the pending flowers that made it look like the door to another world, or it was the sun inviting me to rest under the trees tops. It doesn't matter.

I look back to see if someone sees me and I stroll in. I'm welcomed by chipping birds, a kind breeze and white butterflies.

As I advance I'm more and more certain that I'm trespassing. I ignore the knot on my stomach and look at the shades of green of the tree leaves above my head; I smell the humidity of the earth below my feet; I hear the cracking sound of the fallen branches at my every step.

I hear a rumbling sound that does not come from my belly. Shortly after I see a construction between the tree trunks; there's no doubt anymore.

I turn to go away. Nature invites me to stay for a while longer, so I leave the rough road embracing the woods, feeling that the birds will hide and protect me from the owner's wrath. I'm wearing red under a black coat.

I give my back to the house and the noise and sit on a tree stump. I eat my sandwich, leaving the crumbs in appreciation of the bird's greeting. The sun thanks me with a warm beam, illuminating every one of us.

I breathe in the moment and go. The butterflies salute me in my way back.

*

I'm writing this in a charming town, drinking a good caffè macchiato. I pause every once in a while to gaze at the passing people, the buildings and into nothing.

The sun has hidden behind the clouds, providing a cool afternoon. My red scarf protects me from the mountain air and the coffee heats me from the inside. Life is good right now.

Note: These pics were taken by yours truly with her crappy cell phone camera. Please forgive their bad quality, although I've tagged this post as "pretty things". It's the essence that is pretty, not the form. ;)

Retirement - #StoryCraft

#StoryCraft is a twitter chat with discussions focused on the craft of writing. This week's challenge is to write a piece of 200 words using exposition (telling) sparingly but well.

Here's my attempt. Let's see if I've met the challenge. ;)

Note: Warning for bad wording. The characters are what they are, just saying. ;P

Retirement

“So, are you in?”

“You know darn well I’m retired.”

“C’mon Cloud, we’re about to score big time, but we need you in this one!” You fucking moron.

Claudius McNair was the cool headed sort that wouldn’t flinch before a gun pointed to his head. He looked up to his hot tempered friend and said, “I’ve paid the price for this kind of greed,” he paused, looking straight at Mike’s eyes, “and I don’t intend to come back there.”

Mike frowned and Cloud continued, “Just leave me be a fat old guy who likes to shoot some deer once in a while.”

You used to like your killings back then, you son of--

“It’s no good,” said Cloud, interrupting Mike’s thoughts, “don’t waste your time trying to convince me.”

“Nah, I was just thinking of who could fit your suit.”

“There’s a new guy in town, haven’t you heard?”

“Why didn’t you fucking say so? I’ve lost a whole afternoon talking to an old fag who knows fucking well how tight our schedules are!”

“You never asked.” Cloud grinned.

* * *

Note: I found the gorgeous sunrise picture here.

What's It Like? - #FridayFlash

Note: Warning for gore and some violence. No exaltation of it of course, but be prepared.

What's It Like?

Everyone else was having fun. She was shaking internally, and drinking. At each filling up several eyes met, narrowing at the inconvenience. She wanted to smack off their yellow smiles.

She was finally getting anesthetized by the alcohol when the cute blondie Maria turned to her, "Say, you're Jeniffer, right?"

She nods.

"So Jeniffer, what's it like?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know..." Maria leans her head in the cutest way she knows, the way even girls fall for.

Jeniffer frowns, "I don't know what you mean."

There's a sudden silence. Maria pauses, unsure whether to press on or not; she sees her best friend's eager eyes and makes a decision; she clears her throat, "You know, to be abused."

"Abused."

"Yes..."

"You want to know how it feels to be abused?" Jeniffer asks incredulous.

"Well, yeah?"

"No, you don't."

Jeniffer stands, carefully holding her cup with both hands, as well as the incoming tears. She swallows them, walks calmly to the buffet and serves herself with another beer, wishing it was something stronger. The memories are back in full swing.

Damn therapy, she thinks, it only works for their own peace of mind. It's all bullshit.

Jeniffer takes her time, hoping that the topic will be dropped. Maybe she should go home, it's not as if she's having a great time, is it?

"So?" she hears from behind.

With tensed shoulders she turns, "I beg your pardon?"

"We're waiting," Maria says, leaning back in her chair, wearing a mischievous grin.

Not a single gaze is diverted from Jeniffer's burning eyes. Most guests shift position, the hostess squeezes her boyfriend's hand searching for comfort. He doesn't squeeze back.

Jeniffer presses her lips together and refrains from crushing the plastic cup. She too makes a decision. She rests the cup on the table, gently, and circles it towards the other girl.

"You want me to tell you how it feels to have someone hurt you so badly that you're damaged for good, that you feel like, like..." She swallows, "No matter."

Jeniffer shows her teeth, pausing to see the effect it creates on her newest friends. When she reaches Maria's chair the remaining smiles are gone, including Maria's. Jeniffer wonders how's the look on her face, ugly, scary, pathetic?

From behind Maria, she leans forward putting a hand on the table and whispers in her ear, "I'll show you what it feels like."

Before anyone can react, she makes room with her left arm, grabs the scared girl by the neck, shoving her on the beer washed table and lifts her pink skirt.

This is when the audience realizes what her intention is. A broad shouldered guy stands up, jumps behind Jeniffer locking her both arms and suspending her. She throws her head back, breaking his nose. Released from his grip, she elbows him in the ribs and puts her right foot behind his left, making a lever and pushing him down by the bloody cheek.

While he grunts on the floor, she grabs a half eaten salami, puts Maria back in place, rips her panties off and touches it on her most sensitive parts.

Holding the salami there, she leans on, "Oh, don't you worry, I'm not going further with this." She smiles against Maria's choking, "Now you'll know what's it like not wanting to talk about something bad that has happened to you."

Jeniffer can't hear anything but the ringing in her ears, although she knows that all breaths are held. She releases the girl when seeing her tears flow.

"You wanted to know how it feels to be abused, as you put? Multiply this one moment by, say, a thousand, and you won't be even close to the sensation of being raped, tortured and starved for the eternity."

Jeniffer takes a deep breath and turns to the open mouthed birthday girl, "It seems I'm not a good company just yet."

To the party's bulged eyes she adds, "Maybe never?"

With a bitter smile, Jeniffer circles the table back to the far couch where she left her purse and heads for the door.

"Wait," Cathleen shouts, "you just kicked Little John's ass. I didn't know you could do that!"

Sliding the door open Jeniffer answers, "You didn't think I'd go through all that and not take self defense classes, did you? Happy birthday."

Note: The "Woman Frowning" I found here, and the artist's page is this. Pretty cool things in there. ;)

Cliffs and Girls - #StoryCraft

"I can't do this," Wilfred whined.

"What do you mean? After a five hour bus trip my ass is squared. You've got to jump."

"Jeff, I told you I'm afraid of heights."

"That's the point of all this you moron! You've got to stop being such a wuss."

"I'm not a wuss," Wilfred mumbled.

Putting a hand on Wilfred's shoulders Jeff said, "Look, everybody says that the best way stop being afraid of something is confronting your fears."

"Confronting your fears..." Wilfred repeated, as to reassure himself.

"Yeah, now jump."

Wilfred crouched to peek at the deep blue below. "This is too high. We should find some other place."

"No. It's high enough and the currents aren't dangerous here. You'll be fine."

"You know I don't swim well," he said looking up.

"I know, that's why I'll jump right after," Jeff said, pointing at his lifeguard badge.

"I have to do this."

Jeff grinned encouragingly.

With a pitiful smile Wilfred asked, "If I jump, will I be able to finally get a girl?"

Jeff refrained from snorting, "My guess is that you'll have better chances, since you'll have more confidence in yourself."

"Ah."

Wilfred got up, stepped back and said with a trembling voice, "I'm going."

Jeff crossed his arms and nodded.

Taking several deep breaths to gather all his courage, all his manhood in this single act, Wilfred frowned. Right after his shoulders slumped, "Let's just go home."

Jeff marched towards him, passed a tanned arm around his shoulders and strolled back while whispering fervently, "Come one Wil, you're a good looking guy, you can get all the girls you want if you change your attitude."

Wilfred looked up, "Good looking? Are you insane? Look at my belly."

"We can work that out later. Lots of... err, big guys get girls too, think of Charlie."

"Fat Charlie? He takes them by force."

"Right, bad example. My point is that you don't need my kind of abdomen to get laid," Jeff said, stopping at the edge.

Wilfred looked up to his older brother with the doggie eyes Jeff knew so well and opened his mouth to speak.

"Sorry bro, this is for your own good," Jeff said, and pushed him.

*

Well, this was my first challenge for #StoryCraft twitter chat, which this week is focused on dialogue.

I hope you enjoyed this little tale about bravery and tanned men, heh, and will join us next Sunday at 11pm GMT (5pm EST) to discuss the craft of writing. Psst, this is not public knowledge, but I've heard there'll be a special guest next week. ;)

Note: That awesome picture I found here. It was taken by Eric Chan.