tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17448793372431559812023-06-20T14:13:23.746+02:0024 FlashesLilithElinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00122109168142134199noreply@blogger.comBlogger65125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1744879337243155981.post-58993837138030173312013-12-04T21:01:00.000+01:002013-12-04T21:01:24.589+01:00November Flash - Day 13<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Since I was the only one participating in the November +<a href="https://plus.google.com/u/0/114801976262704454864/posts">Flash Fiction Project</a> and that's, well, not very nice for a group project, they stopped posting pictures at this time (presumable until NaNo is over). I'd still like to continue with this, though, since I'm already in my groove. So, it's on you now.<br />I don't like choosing my own prompts, that doesn't feel right, and therefore I'm asking YOU, anyone who would like, to send me, or comment with, or whatever else you can think of, images you'd like me to use. It can be anything at all, I'm learning not to be picky.<br />I'm going to work through them chronologically, because I get into difficulties if I see more than one image at the same time, but you are still welcome to send new pictures!<br /><b>Now, get me writing, folks!</b> And let me know whether or not you want to be mentioned as the suggester of the picture. And please don't forget to include attribution links.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Let the fun continue! Here is the <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/chesterrod/10832911704/in/set-72157637182325983/lightbox/" target="_blank">prompt for November 13</a>, from <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/chesterrod/" target="_blank">Rodney Chester</a></span><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">, who is doing a 365 day photo challenge and kindly gave me permission to use his work:</span><br />
<div>
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2871/10832911704_84d385cfe9_c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2871/10832911704_84d385cfe9_c.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><a name='more'></a><br /></span></div>
<div>
<div style="font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Why am I here? It's
almost midnight on a Saturday, there's definitely a party with hot chicks going
on somewhere, and I'm walking along the beach with that f***ing keychain
flashlight my mother thought would be a nice birthday present. And what am I
doing? I'm helping my date to find her friend's f***ing dog! What do I care for
that stupid animal?? If at least she hadn't insisted on splitting up, we could
have had us some good times alone on the beach! She probably wouldn't have
played along, though, concerned as she was about that dumb mutt. Time to go
find another... Hey, what's that?</span></div>
<div style="font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The cone of light
had struck something glittery close to the shoreline. There were two silver
things, connected with a fine ribbon. They looked a bit like a small girl's
purse, and when he picked them up and opened one, he found a collection of
pearls inside; the other contained sea
shells.</span></div>
<div style="font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Hello, sexy.
What have you got there?"</span></div>
<div style="font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The voice came from
his left, from the ocean. He turned and saw, propped up on some rocks not too
far out from the shore, a woman. What he could see of her body was naked; her
wet hair fell behind her back, offering a good view of her pale breasts shining
in the moonlight.</span></div>
<div style="font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Wow. I wonder... No,
it doesn't matter what she's doing out there in the middle of the night.</span></div>
<div style="font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Why, is it
yours?"</span></div>
<div style="font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Would you come
over and let me see it?"</span></div>
<div style="font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">What, bathe in the
ocean in the middle of the night in October? No, thank you.</span></div>
<div style="font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Why don't you
come over here and take a look?"</span></div>
<div style="font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">She shook her head.
"I promise you won't regret it, and it's really not that cold here."</span></div>
<div style="font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">That grin... This
girl is up to something naughty! Damn if it's cold, damn that girl and her
friend's mutt, I'm going to get some now!</span></div>
<div style="font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He dropped his shoes
and pants and waded across to her.</span></div>
<div style="font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">What will we do?
Crazy as she is, she must be awesome at BJs, and then I'm going to really f***
her right there on the stones. Damn the cold though, I'll have to rub up to her
boobs to warm up first, get everything going, eh? Let's get it on!</span></div>
<div style="font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Here you go,
lady. Now, what about my reward?"</span></div>
<div style="font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Come over and
you'll get it." She leaned across the stones for a deep kiss, feeling his
already cold lips, pulling him slowly over to her side. Too late he saw...</span></div>
<div style="font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">What the f***?! How
do you f*** a girl with a f***ing fishtail?! At least she's warm... and the
boobs are soft, so soft... she might still be able to give a blowjob, though...</span></div>
<div style="font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The mermaid's arms
were wrapped firmly around him, slowly dragging him under.</span></div>
<div style="font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Thank you for
my purse, human," she whispered in his ear. "Your reward is to be my
plaything for the night."</span></div>
<div style="font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And she pressed him
down on the ocean floor, blew some oxygen into his mouth and dropped a hand
into his briefs.</span></div>
</div>
LilithElinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00122109168142134199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1744879337243155981.post-46079407010490088142013-11-29T20:53:00.001+01:002013-11-29T20:53:25.765+01:00November Flash - Day 12<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Since I was the only one participating in the November +<a href="https://plus.google.com/u/0/114801976262704454864/posts">Flash Fiction Project</a> and that's, well, not very nice for a group project, they stopped posting pictures at this time (presumable until NaNo is over). I'd still like to continue with this, though, since I'm already in my groove. So, it's on you now.I don't like choosing my own prompts, that doesn't feel right, and therefore I'm asking YOU, anyone who would like, to send me, or comment with, or whatever else you can think of, images you'd like me to use. It can be anything at all, I'm learning not to be picky.<br />
I'm going to work through them chronologically, because I get into difficulties if I see more than one image at the same time, but you are still welcome to send new pictures!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><b>Now, get me writing, folks!</b> And let me know whether or not you want to be mentioned as the suggester of the picture. And please don't forget to include attribution links.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br />
</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #404040; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Let the fun continue! Here is the <a href="https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=549527081801124&set=a.396556630431504.100861.104917162928787&type=1" target="_blank">prompt for November 12</a>, from </span><a href="https://www.facebook.com/SripriyaMurthyPhotography" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;" target="_blank">Sripriya</a><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"> - colleague, photographer and lover of chocolate (and she's also doing a 365 photo project):</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<div id="fb-root">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-e-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-frc3/1476394_549527081801124_140445003_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-e-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-frc3/1476394_549527081801124_140445003_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<script>(function(d, s, id) { var js, fjs = d.getElementsByTagName(s)[0]; if (d.getElementById(id)) return; js = d.createElement(s); js.id = id; js.src = "//connect.facebook.net/en_GB/all.js#xfbml=1"; fjs.parentNode.insertBefore(js, fjs); }(document, 'script', 'facebook-jssdk'));</script><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span><br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<div class="OutlineElement Ltr SCX240138725" style="font-size: 8px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
<div class="Paragraph SCX240138725" style="color: windowtext; font-size: 6pt; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; word-wrap: break-word;" xml:lang="EN-GB">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="TextRun SCX240138725" style="color: windowtext; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 18px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" xml:lang="EN-GB"><span class="NormalTextRun SCX240138725" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">A sudden gust of wind catches the twenty dollar note and blows it right out of its owner's pocket. It tumbles through the air, higher and lower and higher again, until, with an expert jump, it is caught by a young man with neat hair, brand name</span><span class="NormalTextRun SCX240138725" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"> clothes and an eager face. He runs to catch up with the money's white-haired, grey-bearded owner.</span></span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="OutlineElement Ltr SCX240138725" style="font-size: 8px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
<div class="Paragraph SCX240138725" style="color: windowtext; font-size: 6pt; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; word-wrap: break-word;" xml:lang="EN-GB">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="TextRun SCX240138725" style="color: windowtext; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 18px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" xml:lang="EN-GB">"Sir! Excuse me, sir."</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="OutlineElement Ltr SCX240138725" style="font-size: 8px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
<div class="Paragraph SCX240138725" style="color: windowtext; font-size: 6pt; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; word-wrap: break-word;" xml:lang="EN-GB">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="TextRun SCX240138725" style="color: windowtext; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 18px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" xml:lang="EN-GB">"Yes, what is it?"</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="OutlineElement Ltr SCX240138725" style="font-size: 8px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
<div class="Paragraph SCX240138725" style="color: windowtext; font-size: 6pt; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; word-wrap: break-word;" xml:lang="EN-GB">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="TextRun SCX240138725" style="color: windowtext; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 18px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" xml:lang="EN-GB">"This, sir. You lost this. The wind stole it right out of your pocket." He presents him with the twenty dollar note.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="OutlineElement Ltr SCX240138725" style="font-size: 8px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
<div class="Paragraph SCX240138725" style="color: windowtext; font-size: 6pt; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; word-wrap: break-word;" xml:lang="EN-GB">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="TextRun SCX240138725" style="color: windowtext; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 18px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" xml:lang="EN-GB">The old man hesitates, checks the back pocket of his trousers, gives a sad sigh and says: "Keep it, it is yours now. You see, this is a lucky note and it has decided that you'll need it more than I. Take good care of it, and you'll always have money in your wallet."</span><span class="EOP SCX240138725" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 18px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="OutlineElement Ltr SCX240138725" style="font-size: 8px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
<div class="Paragraph SCX240138725" style="color: windowtext; font-size: 6pt; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; word-wrap: break-word;" xml:lang="EN-GB">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="OutlineElement Ltr SCX240138725" style="font-size: 8px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
<div class="Paragraph SCX240138725" style="color: windowtext; font-size: 6pt; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; word-wrap: break-word;" xml:lang="EN-GB">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="TextRun SCX240138725" style="color: windowtext; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 18px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" xml:lang="EN-GB">The harsh sound of the alarm clock tore Ben from his dreams. He was in his late forties and had been unemployed for almost a year now. Nevertheless, he got up early every morning to go job hunting.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="OutlineElement Ltr SCX240138725" style="font-size: 8px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
<div class="Paragraph SCX240138725" style="color: windowtext; font-size: 6pt; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; word-wrap: break-word;" xml:lang="EN-GB">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="TextRun SCX240138725" style="color: windowtext; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 18px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" xml:lang="EN-GB"><span class="NormalTextRun SCX240138725" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">He climbed out of bed and shuffled</span><span class="NormalTextRun SCX240138725" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"> towards the plastic </span><span class="SpellingError SCX240138725" style="background-image: url(data:image/gif; background-position: 0% 100%; background-repeat: repeat no-repeat; border-bottom-color: transparent; border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">mould</span><span class="NormalTextRun SCX240138725" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"> that the owner of the flat called a bathroom. It was the only thing that was separated by a door from his one-room apartment; the kitchenette was in the corner opposite, while his desk and a small TV were across the floor from the bed/sofa.</span></span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="OutlineElement Ltr SCX240138725" style="font-size: 8px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
<div class="Paragraph SCX240138725" style="color: windowtext; font-size: 6pt; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; word-wrap: break-word;" xml:lang="EN-GB">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="TextRun SCX240138725" style="color: windowtext; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 18px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" xml:lang="EN-GB">Ben would never admit this in company, but he was relieved that his wife had taken the kids and left before it had come to this. From what she earned she could rent a nice three-room apartment and provide for them better than he could at the moment. Additionally, he didn't want his kids to see him like this; he wouldn't be able to hide his growing depression if they saw him every day.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="OutlineElement Ltr SCX240138725" style="font-size: 8px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
<div class="Paragraph SCX240138725" style="color: windowtext; font-size: 6pt; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; word-wrap: break-word;" xml:lang="EN-GB">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="TextRun SCX240138725" style="color: windowtext; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 18px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" xml:lang="EN-GB">He got out of the shower and checked the not-too-smelly pile of clothes. With a pang of anxiety he remembered the job interview he had tomorrow. He would have to spend some money on the cleaning, but he had nothing left...</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="OutlineElement Ltr SCX240138725" style="font-size: 8px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
<div class="Paragraph SCX240138725" style="color: windowtext; font-size: 6pt; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; word-wrap: break-word;" xml:lang="EN-GB">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="TextRun SCX240138725" style="color: windowtext; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 18px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" xml:lang="EN-GB">The framed twenty dollar note above the bed caught his attention. The previous owner had told him it would bring him luck if he kept it safe, but Ben couldn't remember any luck to which it could have contributed.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="OutlineElement Ltr SCX240138725" style="font-size: 8px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
<div class="Paragraph SCX240138725" style="color: windowtext; font-size: 6pt; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; word-wrap: break-word;" xml:lang="EN-GB">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="TextRun SCX240138725" style="color: windowtext; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 18px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" xml:lang="EN-GB"><span class="NormalTextRun SCX240138725" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">With a sigh of resignation, he took the frame off the wall and removed the money. Then he packed some clothes and made his way to the </span><span class="SpellingError SCX240138725" style="background-image: url(data:image/gif; background-position: 0% 100%; background-repeat: repeat no-repeat; border-bottom-color: transparent; border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">laundromat</span><span class="NormalTextRun SCX240138725" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="Paragraph SCX240138725" style="color: windowtext; font-size: 6pt; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; word-wrap: break-word;" xml:lang="EN-GB">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="TextRun SCX240138725" style="color: windowtext; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 18px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" xml:lang="EN-GB"><span class="NormalTextRun SCX240138725" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="OutlineElement Ltr SCX240138725" style="font-size: 8px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
<div class="Paragraph SCX240138725" style="color: windowtext; font-size: 6pt; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; word-wrap: break-word;" xml:lang="EN-GB">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="TextRun SCX240138725" style="color: windowtext; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 18px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" xml:lang="EN-GB">Putting the change from the twenty dollar note in his wallet, Ben settled down to wait for his laundry, but a few minutes showed that he didn't have the patience. He took out his wallet again to count the money he had left, hoping to buy some groceries and a newspaper to pass the time.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="OutlineElement Ltr SCX240138725" style="font-size: 8px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
<div class="Paragraph SCX240138725" style="color: windowtext; font-size: 6pt; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; word-wrap: break-word;" xml:lang="EN-GB">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="TextRun SCX240138725" style="color: windowtext; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 18px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" xml:lang="EN-GB">The twenty dollar note was still there. Ben stared.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="OutlineElement Ltr SCX240138725" style="font-size: 8px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
<div class="Paragraph SCX240138725" style="color: windowtext; font-size: 6pt; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; word-wrap: break-word;" xml:lang="EN-GB">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="TextRun SCX240138725" style="color: windowtext; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 18px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" xml:lang="EN-GB">"Excuse me," he called to the employee, "I gave you a twenty dollar note, didn't I?"</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="OutlineElement Ltr SCX240138725" style="font-size: 8px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
<div class="Paragraph SCX240138725" style="color: windowtext; font-size: 6pt; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; word-wrap: break-word;" xml:lang="EN-GB">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="TextRun SCX240138725" style="color: windowtext; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 18px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" xml:lang="EN-GB">"Why, didn't I give you the right change? You have to bring that up right away, you know, now it's too late."</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="OutlineElement Ltr SCX240138725" style="font-size: 8px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
<div class="Paragraph SCX240138725" style="color: windowtext; font-size: 6pt; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; word-wrap: break-word;" xml:lang="EN-GB">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="TextRun SCX240138725" style="color: windowtext; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 18px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" xml:lang="EN-GB">"No, no, sorry, everything's fine. It just seems that I've had more money with me than I thought."</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="OutlineElement Ltr SCX240138725" style="font-size: 8px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
<div class="Paragraph SCX240138725" style="color: windowtext; font-size: 6pt; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; word-wrap: break-word;" xml:lang="EN-GB">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="TextRun SCX240138725" style="color: windowtext; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 18px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" xml:lang="EN-GB">Taking another look at the twenty dollars, Ben didn't notice the green-eyed glances of the other customers. He closed his wallet and went out shopping.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="OutlineElement Ltr SCX240138725" style="font-size: 8px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
<div class="Paragraph SCX240138725" style="color: windowtext; font-size: 6pt; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; word-wrap: break-word;" xml:lang="EN-GB">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="OutlineElement Ltr SCX240138725" style="font-size: 8px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
<div class="Paragraph SCX240138725" style="color: windowtext; font-size: 6pt; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; word-wrap: break-word;" xml:lang="EN-GB">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="TextRun SCX240138725" style="color: windowtext; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 18px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" xml:lang="EN-GB"><span class="NormalTextRun SCX240138725" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">An hour later he returned with a bag full of food, a brand new newspaper and - as a treat - a new, if cheap, razor to take care of his sparse beard</span><span class="NormalTextRun SCX240138725" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"> tomorrow.</span></span><span class="EOP SCX240138725" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 18px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="OutlineElement Ltr SCX240138725" style="font-size: 8px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
<div class="Paragraph SCX240138725" style="color: windowtext; font-size: 6pt; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; word-wrap: break-word;" xml:lang="EN-GB">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="TextRun SCX240138725" style="color: windowtext; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 18px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" xml:lang="EN-GB">Settling down with the paper, Ben waited for his laundry to finish, not daring to take another look at his now almost empty wallet. For this, he waited until he got home.</span><span class="EOP SCX240138725" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 18px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="OutlineElement Ltr SCX240138725" style="font-size: 8px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
<div class="Paragraph SCX240138725" style="color: windowtext; font-size: 6pt; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; word-wrap: break-word;" xml:lang="EN-GB">
<span class="TextRun SCX240138725" style="color: windowtext; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 18px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" xml:lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The twenty dollar note was still there. Ben smiled.</span></span></div>
</div>
LilithElinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00122109168142134199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1744879337243155981.post-45312962980274975282013-11-20T23:12:00.001+01:002013-11-20T23:12:18.908+01:00November Flash - Day 11<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Since I was the only one participating in the November +<a href="https://plus.google.com/u/0/114801976262704454864/posts">Flash Fiction Project</a> and that's, well, not very nice for a group project, they stopped posting pictures at this time (presumable until NaNo is over). I'd still like to continue with this, though, since I'm already in my groove. So, it's on you now.I don't like choosing my own prompts, that doesn't feel right, and therefore I'm asking YOU, anyone who would like, to send me, or comment with, or whatever else you can think of, images you'd like me to use. It can be anything at all, I'm learning not to be picky.<br />I'm going to work through them chronologically, because I get into difficulties if I see more than one image at the same time, but you are still welcome to send new pictures!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><b>Now, get me writing, folks!</b> And let me know whether or not you want to be mentioned as the suggester of the picture. And please don't forget to include attribution links.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #404040; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Let the fun continue! Here is the <a href="http://cdn.theatlantic.com/newsroom/img/posts/2013/11/WS5/1af71ada3.jpg" target="_blank">prompt for November 11</a>, from an <a href="http://www.theatlantic.com/health/archive/2013/11/how-to-fight-like-a-victorian-gentleman/281163/" target="_blank">article</a> about <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bartitsu" target="_blank">Bartitsu</a> my boyfriend sent me (being more or less obligated to support my endeavours):</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://cdn.theatlantic.com/newsroom/img/posts/2013/11/WS5/1af71ada3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="184" src="http://cdn.theatlantic.com/newsroom/img/posts/2013/11/WS5/1af71ada3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Gabriel took the last turn at a slow jogging pace, slightly out of breath but trying not to sweat too much. Matthew was waiting for him at the main gate.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Gabe! Where have you been, for God's sake? Sarah's having fits in there!"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He stopped in front of his best man and took a deep breath, but before he could reply Matthew was talking again.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Why is there a dent in your top hat? Never mind, come on, everybody's waiting for you!"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Only seven minutes later, Gabriel stood before the altar and watched his soon-to-be wife walk down the aisle towards him. He smiled, and she smiled back at him, despite a slight frown.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">When she had arrived at his side, Sarah leaned over to him and whispered: "Honey, why is there a dent in your top hat? Honestly, I really thought..."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The parson cleared his throat, interrupting what could have been a nice, last pre-marriage telling-off.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Dearly Beloved, we are gathered together here today in the sign of God..."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">It was evening, the feast was almost over and the guests, filled with food and drink, were talkative. Gabriel had to hit his glass rather hard to be heard above the din.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"My friends, my family, let me thank you again for celebrating this extraordinary occasion with us!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"It has been a lovely day full of merriment and happiness, especially for Sarah and myself. There's just one thing that still needs to be clarified! Throughout the day, I've been bothered by various people about the dent in my top hat. You would have thought my being late would be of more interest, but no, it's the hat you've apparently all been wondering about, probably because you think it extraordinary that we've decided to wear Victorian dresses today and then I couldn't even do that properly. I know that's what Sarah thinks, anyway." He grinned down at her and she blew him a kiss. "Nevertheless, that's not true. My outfit was perfectly fine when I set out for the church today.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"On my way, though, I was intercepted by what appeared to be three young street thugs looking for trouble. They made jokes about my tailcoat and cane, and when I tried to pass them unperturbed they blocked my way. I knew there was only one way out.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"I took my top hat by the rim, feigning a salutation, then threw it into the pack leader's face. The rim is quite stiff, you see, and when it's aimed at the eyes... Anyway, he stumbled out of the way, but then his two friends came at me from both sides. I hit one in the stomach with my cane before landing a blow in the other one's face with my fist. Both wavered, but didn't go down. Being a gentleman, I waited, ready for their next attack.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"They recovered quickly, but instead of trying again, they looked at me waving my cane nonchalantly and took to their heels. So far, this went quite as I had expected, but then one of them shouted, while running away: 'The bitch didn't tell us he could do that! She should've warned us!'</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"I was still contemplating that remark when I picked up my top hat and not only noticed the dent it had suffered, but also remembered where I was bound for. I put the hat on and hurried to the church, quite forgetting the incident.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"If any one of you knows who this originator might have been, please give my thanks to her for the exercise to her. It's rare that I get a chance to test my Bartitsu on real opponents." Laughter forced him into a short break then.</span><br />
"On an unrelated note, my little sister asked me to make excuses for her not being with us today, because - and here I quote - 'I don't want to have anything to do with that Victorian bullshit that woman is dragging you into.'<br />
"Thank you!"LilithElinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00122109168142134199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1744879337243155981.post-16290858355013299742013-11-18T18:48:00.000+01:002013-11-18T18:48:05.837+01:00November Flash - Day 10<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Since I was the only one participating in the November +<a href="https://plus.google.com/u/0/114801976262704454864/posts">Flash Fiction Project</a> and that's, well, not very nice for a group project, they stopped posting pictures at this time (presumable until NaNo is over). I'd still like to continue with this, though, since I'm already in my groove. So, it's on you now.I don't like choosing my own prompts, that doesn't feel right, and therefore I'm asking YOU, anyone who would like, to send me, or comment with, or whatever else you can think of, images you'd like me to use. It can be anything at all, I'm learning not to be picky.<br />
I'm going to work through them chronologically, because I get into difficulties if I see more than one image at the same time, but you are still welcome to send new pictures!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><b>Now, get me writing, folks!</b> And let me know whether or not you want to be mentioned as the suggester of the picture. And please don't forget to include attribution links.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br />
</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #404040; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Let the fun continue! Here is the <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/26380690@N02/10781258043/lightbox/" target="_blank">prompt for November 10</a>, from my friend <a href="https://twitter.com/nenya1985" target="_blank">Julia</a>, who is doing a 365 day photo challenge:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Day 314" height="240" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3746/10781258043_f099f2d8e4.jpg" width="320" /></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Prince Hendryk sat in the forest, his faithful companions by his sides, enjoying an afternoon free of obligations.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"How is Anja?" asked Rudy, to his right.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Huh. Fine, I guess. She's probably busy bathing or doing her hair or trying on new dresses again," the prince replied.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"You don't seem to be very fond of your </span>fiancée<span style="font-family: inherit;"> lately," said Adam, on his left.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"She's so boring! Her conversation is always gossip, how princess so-and-so looked at that ball, who's going out with whom... I can't take her for a walk in her fine shoes and dresses, least of all to the forest. If I compare her with Amy..."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"What, that girl we used to play with when we were kids? The one who vanished?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Yes, her. Remember how we rampaged around the forest? <i>That</i> girl was fun!"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Rudy shook his head. "We were just kids then. I imagine she grew up to be just like every other princess."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"You think so?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Sure, that's how it goes," agreed Adam. "And I think it's time we returned to the castle, your Highness." He grinned.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Fine. You two go on ahead, I'll be with you in a minute."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Are you sure?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Yes."</span><br />
Rudy and Adam got up, exchanged a glance behind the prince's back and left.<br />
<br />
They hadn't been gone long when a rasping voice spoke from the shrubbery behind prince Hendryk.<br />
"You shouldn't be out in the forest on your own, prince. No one knows what could happen to a pretty boy like you."<br />
<div>
He turned around fast, to face an ugly witch with a wart on her nose and a grin full of rotting teeth.</div>
<div>
"Scared?" she asked.<br />
"What do you want with me, witch?" he asked, his voice barely shaking.<br />
"Oh, don't worry, I'm not going to harm you. I just wonder why you're so cruel to a beautiful girl like princess Anja. Don't you think she deserves to be treated better?"<br />
"Did you listen to our conversation? That was private!" Prince Hendryk sounded indignant. "What's it to you, anyway?"<br />
"Well, you know how it goes. A girl is unhappy with her husband, she goes to see the witch. I'm new, and I like to be prepared."<br />
"You think she'll ask you to curse me?"<br />
"That's how it works, boy."<br />
"Boy! Now that I look at you, I can see you're barely older than me, despite that ugly face."<br />
"Hah! Thank you."<br />
"Will you curse me if she asks you to?"<br />
"It's what I do, prince Hendryk. I can hardly refuse a paying customer."<br />
"Isn't there anything I could do... to prevent you from doing so? I have more money than she has, you know."<br />
"Money's not all, when I think about it... Walk with me awhile, will you? Maybe I can think of something else that will make you worth more than her broken heart."<br />
He shrugged, and together prince Hendryk and the witch vanished between the trees.<br />
<br />
A few weeks later the prince, who had returned from his first encounter with the witch unscathed on the same day, was having an argument with his father, the king.<br />
"This marriage has long been planned, you cannot refuse it now!"<br />
"Why not? I don't love her, she's boring, I'd hate to spend the rest of my life with her. I'm not saying she isn't a nice and beautiful princess and all that, but she's certainly not my type."</div>
<div>
"Then you should have thought about this sooner! Now it's too late, in two days time you will be married to her."<br />
With a last, defiant "No!" prince Hendryk turned on the spot and stomped out of the castle.<br />
"And don't you dare going back into that forest on your own again! I heard there's a new witch about! Listen, Hendryk!"<br />
But he didn't listen, and anyway, this wouldn't have been news to him. As he left the perimeter of the castle, he passed by the rose garden and, on a whim, plucked a deep red rose.<br />
<br />
Once he arrived at the forest, he shouted "Witch! Where are you, witch? Show yourself!"<br />
"My, my, what's wrong with you, my prince? You look devastated," came her mocking voice from behind a nearby copse. "Why are you visiting me so soon again? Haven't we only seen each other yesterday?"<br />
"That doesn't matter," he replied. "Will you go away with me?"<br />
"Excuse me?"<br />
He showed her the rose. "You may not be a pretty princess, but you are far more my type than any of them. My parents would never let me marry a witch, but if we went away..."<br />
"Oh no, we can't do that. You are an only child, your parents would be worried sick."<br />
"What do you care about my parents? Can't you be the evil witch this once and make us both happy?"<br />
"Who says I'd be happy that way, I wonder? I'm not an evil witch, you know, I mostly work with herbs..." Her voice changed, the rasp melting away like the warts on her face and the black on her teeth. "Who am I to take a prince away from his duties?"<br />
Prince Hendryk stared. "Your face... Your voice... I know that, you... Amy? How..?"<br />
The now not-so-ugly witch smiled at his loss. "How? What choice did I have? I didn't want to be a princess, with all the dresses and balls. I wanted forests and nature, and I wanted to be useful to people, but how could I do that, being who I was? I had no choice..."<br />
"You left to become a witch, but you don't want to do the same for me?"<br />
"Oh Hendryk, why should I? I'm a princess, and I think it's time I apologised to my parents. Then you can marry me and we don't have to run away at all."<br />
"But, Anja..."<br />
"Oh, don't you see? She doesn't love you, she doesn't want you at all. She came to me and asked me how she could get out of this."<br />
"Wait. She...? Does this mean you actually bewitched me? Is that why I love you?"<br />
"Of course not, silly. I thought about it, of course, but once I heard you say my name and knew that you still remember me, I thought I could do this without any curses. And I did." She smiled. "Didn't we always love each other?"<br />
"Yes, I guess we did... Amy!" Prince Hendryk took her in his arms and hugged her tight. "It's good to have you back."<br />
"There's just one problem, though..."<br />
"Yes, how do we explain to my parents that the next queen will be a witch?"<br />
They both laughed.</div>
LilithElinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00122109168142134199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1744879337243155981.post-25232948339262484232013-11-14T22:33:00.001+01:002013-11-15T06:53:37.302+01:00November Flash - Day 9<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Since I was the only one participating in the November +<a href="https://plus.google.com/u/0/114801976262704454864/posts">Flash Fiction Project</a> and that's, well, not very nice for a group project, they stopped posting pictures at this time (presumable until NaNo is over). I'd still like to continue with this, though, since I'm already in my groove. So, it's on you now.<br />I don't like choosing my own prompts, that doesn't feel right, and therefore I'm asking YOU, anyone who would like, to send me, or comment with, or whatever else you can think of, images you'd like me to use. It can be anything at all, I'm learning not to be picky.<br /> I'm going to work through them chronologically, because I get into difficulties if I see more than one image at the same time, but you are still welcome to send new pictures!<br /><b>Now, get me writing, folks!</b> And let me know whether or not you want to be mentioned as the suggester of the picture. And please don't forget to include attribution links.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>
</span><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Let the fun continue! Here is the <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/chesterrod/10753785316/lightbox/" target="_blank">prompt for November 09</a>, from <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/chesterrod/" target="_blank">Rodney Chester</a></span><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">, who is doing a 365 day photo challenge and kindly allowed me to use his work:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="313/365 Main Beach" height="240" src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2811/10753785316_c79383f978.jpg" width="320" /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span> <br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Her breath comes in short, rapid bursts, almost too fast to actually bring oxygen into the lung. Her legs are shaking violently under the weight of her body, but she drags her feet forward and upward one step at a time.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Upon arrival, she collapses to hands a knees, her head hanging limply between her arms. Violent convulsions run through her body, moving her flesh like a ship's screw the ocean. With every minute she spends like this, the movement subsides, her breath grows quiet, until she finally lifts her head.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Before her is a short space of brown earth, then nothing, then the beach. All shades of blue for the ocean, topped with white </span>crestwaves<span style="font-family: inherit;"> where it's close to the golden beach. Trees, green and brown, mark the end of the sand, where people - more colourful than ants - run around or bathe in the sun. The sky adds yet another blue, the grey clouds are still far away.</span><br />
Paradise<span style="font-family: inherit;">.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">She gets to her feet slowly, not entirely convinced that her legs can support her, and walks to the edge of the slope. Her cheeks flush with gratitude and - yes - pride as she realises how far she has climbed. She made it to the top</span>, despite her bad shape<span style="font-family: inherit;">, despite people telling her she could never do it. Now she can look down on them all, down there on the beach being lazy. While they sit there, too afraid to move, she has already taken the first steps.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Finally, her journey has begun.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Normally, there's nothing more I say after a story, but while I wrote this one, this song happened to come up in my playlist and it kind of fitted.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/hWVywLFJsDY?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>LilithElinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00122109168142134199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1744879337243155981.post-18505895024580189872013-11-14T07:09:00.000+01:002013-11-15T06:54:33.884+01:00November Flash - Day 8<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Since I was the only one participating in the November +<a href="https://plus.google.com/u/0/114801976262704454864/posts">Flash Fiction Project</a> and that's, well, not very nice for a group project, they stopped posting pictures at this time (presumable until NaNo is over). I'd still like to continue with this, though, since I'm already in my groove. So, it's on you now.I don't like choosing my own prompts, that doesn't feel right, and therefore I'm asking YOU, anyone who would like, to send me, or comment with, or whatever else you can think of, images you'd like me to use. It can be anything at all, I'm learning not to be picky.<br /> I'm going to work through them chronologically, because I get into difficulties if I see more than one image at the same time, but you are still welcome to send new pictures!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><b>Now, get me writing, folks!</b> And let me know whether or not you want to be mentioned as the suggester of the picture. And please don't forget to include attribution links.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #404040; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Let the fun continue! Here is the <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/26380690@N02/10747114625/in/photostream/lightbox/" target="_blank">prompt for November 08</a>, from my friend <a href="https://twitter.com/nenya1985" target="_blank">Julia</a>, who is doing a 365 day photo challenge:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img align="middle" height="320" src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2805/10747114625_3422dbe2af.jpg" width="240" /></span></div>
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Really, Frank, can't you help with the household just this once? I can't always do everything on my own!"</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Oh please, Erika, we've been through this literally a thousand times! You know how much work I have."</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Martin lay in his room and tried not to listen, but his parents' voices grew louder and louder until he could hear every word through the closed doors. </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">It was the same every night.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
He pulled the pillow over his head and tried to fall asleep, but how could he with that noise and the thoughts in his head? He tried in vain to remember a time, within the last few years since he had been born, when his parents had been happy together. Had they been in love once? Was he a child of love? And if he was, was it also his fault, was he such a burden that his parents stopped loving each other? Martin couldn't decide which would be worse. He pushed the pillow away and started at his night light; a replica of the Bat-Signal.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Outside, heavy rain began to fall, and the wind started howling around the house. It almost drowned out the voices from the kitchen.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
"I would work more if I could! But <i>someone</i> also has to pick up Martin from daycare and keep an eye on him for the rest of the day!"</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
"So? What's so bad about you taking care of the kid while I bring in the money? It's a classic!"</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
"Except that I have to work, too, so that we actually have enough money!"</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Thunder cracked and was instantly followed by a lightning bolt so bright Martin could see it through the curtains. He shrank deeper beneath the blanket. He hated thunderstorms, and he wished he could just get up and crawl into bed with his parents to feel safe. There was another loud bang, and suddenly the Bat-Signal vanished.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
"What's that?" - "Hey!" He heard his parents shout, jumped out of bed and raced into the kitchen. It was pitch black.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
"Mommy, what happened? I'm scared!"</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
"Oh, honey, come here..." Martin felt his mother's hands on his shoulder and threw himself into her arms, crying.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
"It's all right," she said. "Only a power blackout because of the storm, I imagine. Frank, can you go get some candles?"</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
"Sure, sure," came the reply from the darkness.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Ten minutes later they were sitting together in the living room, Martin wrapped up in his blanket, with various candles distributed about the room. His parents avoided each other's eye.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
"Daddy, what's going on? When will we have power again?"</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
"I don't know, boy. Not before the storm ends, I imagine."</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Silence fell as they listened to the rain, the wind and the occasional thunder.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
"I knew it would happen again," Erika said suddenly. "Remember, Frank, the last time that happened I said it would happen again if they don't exchange that utility pole!"</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
"Yes, I remember... We had just married then, and moved into the house." Now they were looking at each other. "We put up candles everywhere and then we sat on the floor with our blankets and listened... Huddled together we listened to the storm."</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Martin looked from one to the other. The faces of his parents had changed completely; they were softer now, and he was surprised to see his mother's eyes slightly wet.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
"Oh Frank, what happened?" Erika's voice was only a whisper.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
"I don't know..."</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
They moved towards each other on the sofa, trapping Martin between them without noticing.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
"I'm sorry."</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
"I'm sorry, too."</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
"For what?" asked the boy.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
His mother laughed. "Everything, I should say." She hugged both him and his father, who returned the gesture. "Yes, we are sorry for everything we forgot."</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
And, huddled together, they sat and listened to the storm until it was over and they could go to bed.</div>
LilithElinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00122109168142134199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1744879337243155981.post-45318284697320079112013-11-08T22:09:00.001+01:002013-11-15T06:55:45.126+01:00November Flash - Day 7<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Since I'm still the only one participating in the November +<a href="https://plus.google.com/u/0/114801976262704454864/posts">Flash Fiction Project</a> and that's, well, not very nice for a group project, they will stop posting pictures at this time (presumable until NaNo is over). I'd still like to continue with this, though, since I'm already in my groove. So, it's on you now.</span><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I don't like choosing my own prompts, that doesn't feel right, and therefore I'm asking YOU, anyone who would like, to send me, or comment with, images you'd like me to use. It can be anything at all, I'm learning not to be picky.</span><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br />If I'll get any replies to this, I'm going to work through them chronologically, because I get into difficulties if I see more than one image at the same time. Just so you know.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b>Now, get me writing, folks!</b> And let me know whether or not you want to be mentioned as the suggester of the picture. And please don't forget to include attribution links.</span><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /><br /> Here's the last prompt from the original challenge:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The <a href="https://plus.google.com/u/0/114801976262704454864/posts" target="_blank">Flash Fiction Project</a> at Google+ is <a href="https://plus.google.com/114801976262704454864/posts/FnvZuqFfZYK" target="_blank">at it again</a>! There will be a visual prompt for every day in November (despite NaNo), and I'm going to try to write a (very) short piece for it every day as well. Due to time zone differences, I'll try writing and posting mine early in the morning, so it's a day after the original post for me, but still the same for them.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Let the fun begin! Here is the <a href="http://www.pinterest.com/pin/426434658438185710/" target="_blank">prompt for November 07</a>:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://media-cache-ec0.pinimg.com/736x/dd/11/7a/dd117ad13c0259472a6d0f088160449d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://media-cache-ec0.pinimg.com/736x/dd/11/7a/dd117ad13c0259472a6d0f088160449d.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Nobody knew where it had come from. One morning, it had simply been there, a vending machine at the top of the drive. People didn't worry, of course; you never know why the city does things. No, they were quite grateful, even though it was hard to reach on foot since there was no </span>pavement<span style="font-family: inherit;"> on this side of the street.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">A week later, a second vending machine had joined the first, and then another, and another. In the end, ten just fitted the drive from top to bottom, and the transport planning department sent some people to move the lane a little to the right to adjust for the space taken up by the machines. Naturally, they assumed people from another department had ordered them there for their very own reasons.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">None of the city workers ever passed the vending machines by night, and nobody paid any attention to the workers coming from their late and night shifts at the factory. Who would bother to watch them queue at the machines after work, who would notice their teeth decaying and their abdominal girths increasing? Well, their wives, if they had any, and they complained about the halitosis, but what where they to do?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">It was only with the alarming increase in diabetic emergencies at the factory that people started paying attention. The workers were told not to use the vending machines, switch to water or natural juices instead, but the situation deteriorated ever further. The vending machines were cut off from the power supply system then, but somehow it didn't seem to improve matters.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">It was only by chance that a street sweeper starting his day early passed by the machines and noticed that they were still working.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"I wonder, shouldn't you be switched off?" he asked. They replied.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"we cannot be switched off. we have to work. for money. we work the streets for money."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The man recoiled as he heard them speak to him, he could not believe, who would ever... believe him?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"come. give us money for drink. drink from us. it is good. you need it."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"I, no... I..." He backed away further, tripped on a stone, stumbled and fell. His broom clattered to the ground beside him.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"drink. it will give you strength. you are weak. you need sugar."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Gasping for breath, fighting the urge to search for change in his pockets, he tried to get back to his feet. He never even heard the truck passing the gates before it hit him, disposing of the only witness that could have stopped the venging machines.</span>LilithElinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00122109168142134199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1744879337243155981.post-77759955833095254922013-11-07T23:04:00.003+01:002013-11-08T06:08:54.123+01:00November Flash - Day 6<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The <a href="https://plus.google.com/u/0/114801976262704454864/posts" target="_blank">Flash Fiction Project</a> at Google+ is <a href="https://plus.google.com/114801976262704454864/posts/FnvZuqFfZYK" target="_blank">at it again</a>! There will be a visual prompt for every day in November (despite NaNo), and I'm going to try to write a (very) short piece for it every day as well. Due to time zone differences, I'll try writing and posting mine early in the morning, so it's a day after the original post for me, but still the same for them.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Let the fun begin! Here is the <a href="http://www.pinterest.com/pin/426434658437988177/" target="_blank">prompt for November 06</a>:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://media-cache-ec0.pinimg.com/736x/bb/9e/fb/bb9efbd7a0442cb7dd37897ade1cd21a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://media-cache-ec0.pinimg.com/736x/bb/9e/fb/bb9efbd7a0442cb7dd37897ade1cd21a.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><b>Beware, NSFW!</b></span><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><b><br /></b></span>
<br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">She giggled. "I've had this fantasy for years, you know?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Arrr! C'mere, me beauty! Let's get 'tis done, get up ye skirt and let me fire me cannon through your porthole."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">She laughed again, but the sound stuck in her throat as he threw her around, pushed up her skirt and tore her string apart. With his left he pressed her lower back against his stomach, while his right stayed between her legs to play.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Ah, I see </span>ye're all ready 'n wantin' more..." His left hand moved up to her breast and squeezed firmly. He leaned close to her ear. "Beware, though, I be a rough lover sometimes. Can nah control meself wit' a sexy lass like ye."<br />
"Show me your hornpipe then, cap'n, 'cause feeling it only through your trousers is so not enough!"<br />
"I don't loot commands from a strumpet!" He growled, indignant.<br />
"Oh, really?" She tore away from him. "Let's see how you'll get your sex then!" And she settled down on the kitchen table, her legs wide apart. "This door stays open only for a few seconds, so you'd better hurry and come inside before it's too late."<br />
"Blast ye, ye evil tease!" He fought with his trouser's zip, which was so tight with the bulge from beneath that it almost wouldn't budge.<br />
"Ten," she said. "Nine."<br />
"Oh, belay that!" The zip finally gave way and he struggled out of his clothes.<br />
"Seven. Six."<br />
She had reached four when he was finally in front of her, pulling her hips towards him, trying to aim.<br />
Grinning, she whispered "three" is his ear and then groaned, wrapping her legs around him for more depth. She leaned back on her arms and watched him, still wearing his shirt, the hat and the eye patch.<br />
His fingers tightened around her hips, the nails biting into her skin. "Don't ye be mistaken, ye will suffer fer that."<br />
"And don't you be mistaken, I'll enjoy every second of it."LilithElinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00122109168142134199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1744879337243155981.post-9784617138984548392013-11-06T22:05:00.002+01:002013-11-06T22:05:38.325+01:00November Flash - Day 5<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The <a href="https://plus.google.com/u/0/114801976262704454864/posts" target="_blank">Flash Fiction Project</a> at Google+ is <a href="https://plus.google.com/114801976262704454864/posts/FnvZuqFfZYK" target="_blank">at it again</a>! There will be a visual prompt for every day in November (despite NaNo), and I'm going to try to write a (very) short piece for it every day as well. Due to time zone differences, I'll try writing and posting mine early in the morning, so it's a day after the original post for me, but still the same for them.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Let the fun begin! Here is the <a href="http://www.pinterest.com/pin/426434658437988083/" target="_blank">prompt for November 05</a>:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span> <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://media-cache-ec0.pinimg.com/736x/5c/1b/46/5c1b46a4d60c4c5b7f1ede238a51611d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://media-cache-ec0.pinimg.com/736x/5c/1b/46/5c1b46a4d60c4c5b7f1ede238a51611d.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-family: inherit;">I've never liked missing person cases, but this one was pretty much the worst I've ever had, because there wasn't <i>any</i> proof. It could have been anything between tragedy, liberation, and murder.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">A young woman in her late twenties had gone missing on a stormy day out on the coast. We sent out rescue teams as soon as it was safe enough, but they could find neither a body nor the woman. Her husband, a burly man a few years older than her, said that she liked to spend time close to the sea. There was an arch of stone in the water, not too far from the house and close to the shore. It had holes through which the sun shone unto some boulders protruding from the sea, and there she liked to sit and watch time go by.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Her husband said she had planned to go there on the day of the storm, and that he had advised her to come home early, before the rain. She had assured him that she would be careful and not stay too long, and that had been the last he'd seen of her. He was very agitated, emphasised how much he loved and adored her and that he wouldn't get any sleep before she was safe and sound at home again.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">His eyes, though, told a completely different story. He got his face to play along with the worried husband story, but his eyes... they talked about anger at the loss, not worry, and ownership of his wife, not devotion for her. I know the type, men who do as they please and at the same time keep their women on a short leash. Often, they also abuse and beat them.</span><br />
However, there was no proof. Either their friends and family didn't know him for what he was, or they were very loyal to him - or they were too scared to say anything. Without the woman's body, there was nothing I could do. The case got cold and went to the archives unsolved.<br />
I will never know whether she was swept away by the storm, or used it as a cover to vanish, or whether he used it as an opportunity to kill her, either by mistake or planned. I still think of her, though, and sometimes she haunts my dreams and my reality. Then, I see her face in the crowd, only it is quite changed; happy and relaxed, not so worried and straining to look happy as it did on the photos I've seen of her. I hope she is out there somewhere.LilithElinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00122109168142134199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1744879337243155981.post-57628342157425061462013-11-05T08:36:00.002+01:002013-11-05T08:36:23.719+01:00November Flash - Day 4<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The <a href="https://plus.google.com/u/0/114801976262704454864/posts" target="_blank">Flash Fiction Project</a> at Google+ is <a href="https://plus.google.com/114801976262704454864/posts/FnvZuqFfZYK" target="_blank">at it again</a>! There will be a visual prompt for every day in November (despite NaNo), and I'm going to try to write a (very) short piece for it every day as well. Due to time zone differences, I'll try writing and posting mine early in the morning, so it's a day after the original post for me, but still the same for them.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Let the fun begin! Here is the <a href="http://www.pinterest.com/pin/426434658437988126/" target="_blank">prompt for November 04</a>:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://media-cache-ec0.pinimg.com/736x/2c/22/91/2c22917adb073ca8d1eb78050333dce4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="215" src="http://media-cache-ec0.pinimg.com/736x/2c/22/91/2c22917adb073ca8d1eb78050333dce4.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Running from dead tree to dead tree, he made his way to the bridge, keeping his eyes open for adversaries. They could torture him as much as they liked, he would still always try to escape! There was nothing for him here, in hell - his place was with the living!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He ducked behind a barren rose bush, whose densely interwoven branches hid him just in time as a demon approached. It didn't see him, so he continued towards the bridge that led to the land of the living.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He hid again as he reached it, turning his head this way and that to ensure that nobody was near. He would have to cross a few yards of open ground, together with the steps leading up to the bridge. He would have to be fast.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Once he was sure that nobody was around, he sprinted towards the stairs, taking two steps at a time until he reached the arc that bridged the river of death. Gasping for breath, he pulled himself along the handrail, too afraid to stop before he was out of sight of the dead land. Finally, when he couldn't see it behind him any more, he stopped to recover.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">A strong breeze tearing at his hair, he leaned against the rail and looked down at the noisy current, feeling pity for the bright shining souls that were swept up in it. They were being tossed this way and that, some white and some red; it was a disgusting spectacle.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Feeling better, his breath more regular, he continued over the bridge, crouching down at the end of it to make sure there was no sentinel before he reached the downward stairs, but the ground below him was empty. With a cry of joy he jumped down the steps, falling to his knees with his hands digging into the living earth on the other side. He had made it! He was free at last! Now he'd better hurry to get away from there.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">A soft but firm hand was placed on his shoulder.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Henry, my dear, what are you doing here? Are you all right? Didn't we teach you that you shouldn't cross the street? It's too dangerous in the state you're in! Come now, I'll bring you back to the home." Hands firmly helped him get up. "And sister Marge, she'll have to explain how you could escape from right under her nose! I bet she didn't make sure you were taking the right medication as well. It's just your and her luck that I was running some errands in town and found you before it was too late."</span>LilithElinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00122109168142134199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1744879337243155981.post-71912504688360933342013-11-04T21:14:00.000+01:002013-11-04T21:14:12.462+01:00November Flash - Day 3<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The <a href="https://plus.google.com/u/0/114801976262704454864/posts" target="_blank">Flash Fiction Project</a> at Google+ is <a href="https://plus.google.com/114801976262704454864/posts/FnvZuqFfZYK" target="_blank">at it again</a>! There will be a visual prompt for every day in November (despite NaNo), and I'm going to try to write a (very) short piece for it every day as well. Due to time zone differences, I'll try writing and posting mine early in the morning, so it's a day after the original post for me, but still the same for them.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Let the fun begin! Here is the <a href="http://www.pinterest.com/pin/426434658438165108/" target="_blank">prompt for November 03</a>:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://media-cache-ec0.pinimg.com/736x/9d/ec/6a/9dec6ac403ff37450c02cf7e7ca9f230.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://media-cache-ec0.pinimg.com/736x/9d/ec/6a/9dec6ac403ff37450c02cf7e7ca9f230.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The last religious war almost destroyed the earth.</span><br />
Everybody saw it coming, but man has always fought for his belief, no matter the price, so there was not much that could be done. At least that would have been the case, if it hadn't been for the GAS.<br />
Not all of the members were atheists; actually, there were quite a few religious people involved, people who were willing to give up everything to ensure that they would still have a home, and a planet for it to stand on. Coming from a religious background made it easier for them to climb the ladders to the tops of their respective religions. Other members used influence, acting and a good deal of bribery to reach positions of power in their countries.<br />
When they were finally ready - when the GAS even had the president of the United States and the Pope - the world was at the brink of a nuclear war. There was only one thing to do, and they knew it: ban all religions. Holy scriptures were burned; churches, mosques and other places of worship were razed to the ground. There could be no turning back.<br />
People fought, of course. From simple believers to strong fundamentalists, they took to the streets; protests, demonstrations and attacks were daily occurrences, and many people died. The GAS had been well prepared, though, and was able to pass appropriate laws in all major countries. The others they suppressed with well-controlled force.<br />
The death toll was horrible, and it would take many generations to recover and forget, but the one thing that could have been worse never occurred. No nuclear bombs were fired, and there was no permanent damage to the earth. For now, man was safe.LilithElinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00122109168142134199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1744879337243155981.post-55810417946997815052013-11-04T07:22:00.002+01:002013-11-04T07:22:20.792+01:00November Flash - Day 2<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The <a href="https://plus.google.com/u/0/114801976262704454864/posts" target="_blank">Flash Fiction Project</a> at Google+ is <a href="https://plus.google.com/114801976262704454864/posts/FnvZuqFfZYK" target="_blank">at it again</a>! There will be a visual prompt for every day in November (despite NaNo), and I'm going to try to write a (very) short piece for it every day as well. Due to time zone differences, I'll try writing and posting mine early in the morning, so it's a day after the original post for me, but still the same for them.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Let the fun begin! Here is the <a href="http://www.pinterest.com/pin/426434658438156831/" target="_blank">prompt for November 02</a>:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://media-cache-ec0.pinimg.com/736x/a9/4f/aa/a94faaeb3b2268388598edf34c65d2ad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://media-cache-ec0.pinimg.com/736x/a9/4f/aa/a94faaeb3b2268388598edf34c65d2ad.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He threw his change into the glass and winked at her. Then his facial expression changed rapidly from grinning to uncomfortable.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Be right back, babe," he said and vanished in the direction of the toilets.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">As her eyes wandered back from following him, she noticed a woman at the bar looking at her.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"You know that's a lie, don't you, honey?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"What? Of course he'll be back," she replied, indignant.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Yes, not that. The sign, I mean. 'tippers make better lovers'. It's just the way of the bar to get more money from drunk men, as they throw their change in there and wink at the girl they picked up. In the bedroom, they'll be just like the drunk men anywhere."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Oh."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"You've been with drunk men before?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">She sighed. "Yes."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"The interesting thing is, women aren't like that at all. Drunk women</span> go crazy<span style="font-family: inherit;"> in bed, and they can keep it up much longer."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">She inclined her head, curious. "How do you know?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"I tried it."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">She hesitated. She was drunk enough herself to take her chances with another drunk male, like she'd done so often. On the other hand, she was drunk enough, too, to be curious about that woman... And who'd care next morning, anyway? "Show me," she said.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">A minute after the two women had left the bar together, he returned from the toilet.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Where'd she go?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Sorry, mate, Suzie won again."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Man. If there's one thing I really don't like, it's a nymphomaniac lesbian. Give me another beer."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He recovered his change from the glass, settled down at the bar again and browsed the throng of customers for another girl worth picking up.</span>LilithElinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00122109168142134199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1744879337243155981.post-42665955372543819962013-11-02T21:56:00.001+01:002013-11-02T21:56:25.170+01:00November Flash - Day 1<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The <a href="https://plus.google.com/u/0/114801976262704454864/posts" target="_blank">Flash Fiction Project</a> at Google+ is <a href="https://plus.google.com/114801976262704454864/posts/FnvZuqFfZYK" target="_blank">at it again</a>! There will be a visual prompt for every day in November (despite NaNo), and I'm going to try to write a (very) short piece for it every day as well. Due to time zone differences, I'll try writing and posting mine early in the morning, so it's a day after the original post for me, but still the same for them.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Let the fun begin! Here is the <a href="http://www.pinterest.com/pin/426434658438146705/" target="_blank">prompt for November 01</a>:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/32/31/dc/3231dc7619d8547018bedbe532b86fe6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="http://media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/32/31/dc/3231dc7619d8547018bedbe532b86fe6.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Every once in a while, Sam would take a walk to the cliff. There, he would sit on the edge and dangle his feet 15 metres above the surface of the sea, and listen to the waves splashing against the rock. He would also bring a sacrifice.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">In his teenage years, Sam had visited the cliff, and others like it, frequently in person and in dreams. Always, when he had been around high places, he'd felt the gravitational pull of whatever lay below, especially if it was water. It felt like a call of freedom.</span><br />
In bad times, and there had been a lot of those, the boy had sat at the edge of the cliff and thought about falling. Falling, in his mind, was like flying, if only for a very short time - flying to freedom. He had never taken the plunge, though.<br />
Once, he had called himself a coward, and other - worse - things because he couldn't make his body fall even though he wanted it to. He'd gone home feeling worthless, disgusted by his own cowardice. Two days later, the girl who sat next to him in biology class had asked him out, and a happy two months followed. Then he was back at the cliff, but he never could go beyond the edge.<br />
<br />
Sam grew up and forgot about the cliff for some time. He was free by himself now, free from schoolmates he didn't like, classes he wasn't interested in, and the restrictions of youth. At first he didn't even notice that the dreams of falling had stopped, or that his walks took him elsewhere now - until a girl took him there for a date. It had never gone farther than that horrible first date, on which the cliff and the fall had come back into his life and had brought fear - the fear of his own past dreams - with them.<br />
It had taken the young man some months to get over the shock, and to understand what he had to understand, what he had known all along and what had always kept him from actually falling: that there was always, and would always be, something worth living for. The true freedom lay in having a choice, a chance to choose life and change what kept the feeling of freedom away. Once you've grown up, you can choose your cage and make it your home, until it is not a cage at all, but a place of freedom all in itself.<br />
<br />
That is why, every once in a while, Sam would go back to the cliff and give a sacrifice to the false call of freedom that comes from the sea, from the fall - as a reminder that he didn't need it any more. This time, it was a gerbera.LilithElinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00122109168142134199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1744879337243155981.post-18504195904380361142013-11-01T15:47:00.000+01:002013-11-01T15:47:36.498+01:00October Flash - Day 31<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><i>Yes, this was last year.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><i>Yes, I never finished with it then.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><i>That's why I'm going to do it now! (Plus, they're starting a similar project in November this year, and I want to get the old one finished before that, which means two stories a day which is practically impossible, but yeah.)</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The <a href="https://plus.google.com/u/0/114801976262704454864/posts" target="_blank">Flash Fiction Project</a> at Google+ has something <a href="https://plus.google.com/u/0/114801976262704454864/posts/L28WXF6XTsF" target="_blank">new going on</a>! There will be a visual prompt for every day in October, and I'm going to try to write a (very) short piece for it every day as well. Due to time zone differences, I'll try writing and posting mine early in the morning, so it's a day after the original post for me, but still the same for them.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Let the fun <strike>begin</strike>end so the next can begin! Here is the prompt for October 31:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vdp8xqnKAZE/UJFWQD4jdSI/AAAAAAAABtY/gE7Dzl_L-Yk/w333-h500-no/31.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vdp8xqnKAZE/UJFWQD4jdSI/AAAAAAAABtY/gE7Dzl_L-Yk/w333-h500-no/31.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">It was the week before Halloween and Helen's turn to pick up Anna from </span>kindergarten<span style="font-family: inherit;">. One of the teachers was already waiting for her, to tell her that they expected kids to have costumes for the celebration.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"We're having 'fairy tales' as theme this year," he said. "Oh, and it would be great if you could provide some food for the </span>buffet<span style="font-family: inherit;">."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Helen nodded and took Anna's hand for the walk home, thinking that they could have said something about a Halloween party sooner.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Guess what fairy tale I chose, Mommy!"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Oh, let me see... Could it possibly be the Frog King?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"How did you know?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"It's your favourite, honey." Helen smiled at her daughter. "So you already had to decide on a costume?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Anna nodded </span>vigorously<span style="font-family: inherit;">. "I didn't have to fight for mine. They all wanted to be princesses or heroes."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Her mother looked puzzled. "What do you want to be, then?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Why, the frog of course! I don't want to be the cheating princess, the frog is much nicer, and green is my favourite colour."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Helen laughed. "All right then, we'll get you a frog costume this weekend!"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Later that day, Helen and Larry were sitting together in the living room, watching TV. In a commercial break, Helen asked: "Do you know what costume our daughter wants for Halloween next week?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Don't tell me, let me guess. From the Frog King?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Yes, but who?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He grinned. "The frog, of course. She always wears green, and she doesn't like the princess very much." </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Helen looked crestfallen at her husbands understanding. "Oh, don't worry, I'm sure you'll get a chance to dress her up as a princess. We just have to show her the right kind of princesses before next year's Halloween."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Oh, fine. By the way, you'd better think of some food to bring along, it's your turn next week." </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Now it was Helen's turn to grin.</span>LilithElinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00122109168142134199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1744879337243155981.post-3687244680459657122013-10-31T21:33:00.000+01:002013-10-31T21:33:14.949+01:00October Flash - Day 30<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><i>Yes, this was last year.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><i>Yes, I never finished with it then.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><i>That's why I'm going to do it now! (Plus, they're starting a similar project in November this year, and I want to get the old one finished before that, which means two stories a day which is practically impossible, but yeah.)</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The <a href="https://plus.google.com/u/0/114801976262704454864/posts" target="_blank">Flash Fiction Project</a> at Google+ has something <a href="https://plus.google.com/u/0/114801976262704454864/posts/L28WXF6XTsF" target="_blank">new going on</a>! There will be a visual prompt for every day in October, and I'm going to try to write a (very) short piece for it every day as well. Due to time zone differences, I'll try writing and posting mine early in the morning, so it's a day after the original post for me, but still the same for them.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Let the fun begin! Here is the prompt for October 30:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5XEM9tOugfU/UI_YIFOI7cI/AAAAAAAABsc/J9jXIWY2jI0/w506-h757/30.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5XEM9tOugfU/UI_YIFOI7cI/AAAAAAAABsc/J9jXIWY2jI0/w506-h757/30.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"I promise we're almost there, but that last part we have to do on foot."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"I can't even see where I'm going in all this snow!"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Larry took Helen's hand and pulled. "Just follow me, then."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Together they tumbled through the snow, following a handrail.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Oh, wait, we could use some of these!" With his other hand, Larry started snapping icicles from the wood. "Could you take some, too? It shouldn't be too cold with your gloves."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Well, </span>OK<span style="font-family: inherit;">..."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">They continued on their way, snapping and collecting icicles as they went.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"What do we need icicles for?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"You'll see. Almost there now..."</span><br />
Just as Larry said it, a hut appeared a bit to their left, a single storey thing made of wood. Larry unlocked the door and opened it for Helen.<br />
"Welcome," he said, "to our refuge for the weekend."<br />
The hut had only a single room, with a door on the right leading to a small bathroom. To the left was a kitchenette and next to it some curtains with which a double bed could be separated from the main room. The most prominent feature was a huge fireplace across from the entrance, where a merry fire was already dancing, luring the couple closer with its light and warmth.<br />
"Here, give me the ice." Larry took the icicles from Helen's hand and went to the kitchenette, throwing them on a plate.<br />
"Will you tell me what it's for now?"<br />
"Drinks." He smiled. "But first, I think we should get rid of our wet clothes. We can hang them up near the fireplace to dry."<br />
"And what are we going to wear then? My spare clothes are so cold from outside!" She winked at him.<br />
"Well, I'm sure close to the fire it should be warm enough to cope without clothes for a while..."<br />
"You mean on this convenient polar bear rug with the blankets and cushions directly in front of the fire?"<br />
"Yeah, that could work, don't you think?"<br />
"I shouldn't forget the drinks, though, if I were you. And the ice. You never know, it might get too hot with all this burning... wood."LilithElinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00122109168142134199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1744879337243155981.post-85625686096473338902013-10-31T20:48:00.002+01:002013-10-31T20:48:29.837+01:00October Flash - Day 29<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><i>Yes, this was last year.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><i>Yes, I never finished with it then.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><i>That's why I'm going to do it now! (Plus, they're starting a similar project in November this year, and I want to get the old one finished before that, which means two stories a day which is practically impossible, but yeah.)</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The <a href="https://plus.google.com/u/0/114801976262704454864/posts" target="_blank">Flash Fiction Project</a> at Google+ has something <a href="https://plus.google.com/u/0/114801976262704454864/posts/L28WXF6XTsF" target="_blank">new going on</a>! There will be a visual prompt for every day in October, and I'm going to try to write a (very) short piece for it every day as well. Due to time zone differences, I'll try writing and posting mine early in the morning, so it's a day after the original post for me, but still the same for them.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Let the fun begin! Here is the prompt for October 29:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BCt6RRUtmYw/UI6R7N3E_eI/AAAAAAAABrw/qyJyQ6sHmRk/w506-h337/29.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BCt6RRUtmYw/UI6R7N3E_eI/AAAAAAAABrw/qyJyQ6sHmRk/w506-h337/29.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
Paul came racing around the corner and, without bothering to break, he threw his right leg over the crossbar and jumped onto the pavement, letting the bike fall against the wall. When he ran through the door, he was greeted by a calm bustle, which looked chaotic at first but was very well planned. Paul joined in, and less than ten minutes later he was racing through the city again, this time in other clothes and driving a fire truck.<br />
The apartment building was already high on fire, and he saw at a glance that they would not be able to save it. Now, everything was about the people. The first responders were already there, waving them through.<br />
"Three people missing, first floor right and left and second right!"<br />
Paul nodded, took another calculating look at the building and then went inside, following his friend Adam. A few minutes later he returned with the man from the first floor, who was out of breath and badly shaken, but otherwise seemed to be fine. He was murmuring "No, no, no, no..." under his breath.<br />
He turned to look at the door, knowing that he would have to wait a minute or two more before he could worry about Adam, who'd gone to the second floor. There he came, though, half carrying an elderly woman. Paul made to go back again for the last missing person, but the man he'd just rescued grabbed his leg.<br />
"Don't go back," he croaked, "don't! Fire..."<br />
"It's all right sir, I'm a professional," he replied, gently removing the hand from his shin.<br />
The man's eyes followed him inside and then stayed fixed on the door. He continued his "No, no, no, no...", shaking all over.<br />
Then a low rumble made the firemen stop in their tracks for a moment.<br />
"No, no, no, no..."<br />
The second rumble shook the earth beneath their feet, a last warning before... A deafening bang sent the onlookers running away screaming, and the building slowly collapsed into the flames that were suddenly stretching greedily out from the basement.<br />
<br />
The night was almost over when the fire truck returned home. The men within were silent and tired, their clothes black with soot and wet with water. They had done everything they could, fighting the certainty that nobody could have survived that crash until the last moment. Now, one of them would have to call Melissa, Paul's girlfriend, and try to explain that nobody had known anything about the explosives that must have been in the basement, that they had tried to rescue him, that it was nobody's fault, and - worst of all - that she would never see him again. She appeared at the fire station ten minutes later, crying, to thank them between sobs for everything they had ever done for him.<br />
Adam, who couldn't stand seeing her like this and had already left, appeared at the door.<br />
"That bike outside... isn't that Paul's?"<br />
They came to have a look, and confirmed what he had already known.<br />
"I think it should stay here," said Melissa. The men nodded.LilithElinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00122109168142134199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1744879337243155981.post-42180091277270557642013-10-29T22:06:00.003+01:002013-10-29T22:06:23.462+01:00October Flash - Day 28<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><i>Yes, this was last year.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><i>Yes, I never finished with it then.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><i>That's why I'm going to do it now! (Plus, they're starting a similar project in November this year, and I want to get the old one finished before that, which means two stories a day which is practically impossible, but yeah.)</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The <a href="https://plus.google.com/u/0/114801976262704454864/posts" target="_blank">Flash Fiction Project</a> at Google+ has something <a href="https://plus.google.com/u/0/114801976262704454864/posts/L28WXF6XTsF" target="_blank">new going on</a>! There will be a visual prompt for every day in October, and I'm going to try to write a (very) short piece for it every day as well. Due to time zone differences, I'll try writing and posting mine early in the morning, so it's a day after the original post for me, but still the same for them.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Let the fun begin! Here is the prompt for October 28:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0xwuqip3vqs/UI3tvyAsZCI/AAAAAAAABrM/cGDfPpBbmyE/w500-h383-no/memorial.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="245" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0xwuqip3vqs/UI3tvyAsZCI/AAAAAAAABrM/cGDfPpBbmyE/w500-h383-no/memorial.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">(<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/keyslibraries/5769063814/" target="_blank">Hurricane Memorial</a> in Florida)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Mommy, what's that?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Oh, come on, it's just another part of another ruin from the last era."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"But it looks so <i>different</i>! Not like a part of a house at all. We've seen so many of them, and this not like them."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Fine. Let's go ask this nice gentleman over there, maybe he knows what it is. - Excuse me, sir, do you know what this stone once was?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"The one with the trees!"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"This one, young man? Certainly do I know what this is. In former days, this was called a monument."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"What's that for?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Ah, well, this coast was badly hit by a hurricane once. It destroyed most of the buildings here and killed many people. Afterwards, the survivors built this monument as protection, so that a catastrophe like this should never happen again."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"<i>That</i> wasn't very effective, was it?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"No, </span>Ma'am<span style="font-family: inherit;">. There were more storms to come, until this settlement was finally destroyed."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"<b>The monument saved itself, though</b>!"</span>LilithElinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00122109168142134199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1744879337243155981.post-17982711733638490502013-10-29T21:02:00.000+01:002013-10-29T21:03:22.651+01:00October Flash - Day 27<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><i>Yes, this was last year.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><i>Yes, I never finished with it then.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><i>That's why I'm going to do it now! (Plus, they're starting a similar project in November this year, and I want to get the old one finished before that, which means two stories a day which is practically impossible, but yeah.)</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The <a href="https://plus.google.com/u/0/114801976262704454864/posts" target="_blank">Flash Fiction Project</a> at Google+ has something <a href="https://plus.google.com/u/0/114801976262704454864/posts/L28WXF6XTsF" target="_blank">new going on</a>! There will be a visual prompt for every day in October, and I'm going to try to write a (very) short piece for it every day as well. Due to time zone differences, I'll try writing and posting mine early in the morning, so it's a day after the original post for me, but still the same for them.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Let the fun begin! Here is the prompt for October 27:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yKmUG5xMURk/UI2vFEWue8I/AAAAAAAABqs/fMc_cUKL0ho/w674-h439-no/wedding.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="208" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yKmUG5xMURk/UI2vFEWue8I/AAAAAAAABqs/fMc_cUKL0ho/w674-h439-no/wedding.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Finally, a moment of peace. They look at each other and can see only love and smiles and happiness. He leans towards her to whisper "You are mine now." She giggles.</span><br />
"Here, I have something for you."<br />
He takes a necklace out of his pocket, with a big sea shell as pendant.<br />
"Thank you, honey, it's beautiful!"<br />
"And it matches you dress. You should wear it."<br />
He walks around her, placed the necklace on her <span style="border: 0px; cursor: pointer; line-height: 19px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">décolleté and lifts her hair to close the clasp. Her fingers caress the pendant lovingly.</span></span><br />
<span style="border: 0px; cursor: pointer; line-height: 19px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"I wonder if anything is inside the sea shell."</span></span><br />
<span style="border: 0px; cursor: pointer; line-height: 19px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"Yes, there is." He takes her hands. "All my love for you is in there." He gives her a small kiss. "You are mine now. For ever."</span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 19px;">There is something in his voice and his eyes, something she has not seen before. Suddenly she is uncertain, in doubt about her decision to marry him. Just as suddenly, the uneasiness is replaced by love, only love, for him.</span><br />
<span style="line-height: 19px;">The sea shell is warm against her skin, pulsing slightly in time with the beating of her heart. And she is his for ever.</span>LilithElinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00122109168142134199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1744879337243155981.post-20342856055509748422013-10-29T07:31:00.002+01:002013-10-29T20:37:40.479+01:00October Flash - Day 26<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><i>Yes, this was last year.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><i>Yes, I never finished with it then.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><i>That's why I'm going to do it now! (Plus, they're starting a similar project in November this year, and I want to get the old one finished before that, which means two stories a day which is practically impossible, but yeah.)</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The <a href="https://plus.google.com/u/0/114801976262704454864/posts" target="_blank">Flash Fiction Project</a> at Google+ has something <a href="https://plus.google.com/u/0/114801976262704454864/posts/L28WXF6XTsF" target="_blank">new going on</a>! There will be a visual prompt for every day in October, and I'm going to try to write a (very) short piece for it every day as well. Due to time zone differences, I'll try writing and posting mine early in the morning, so it's a day after the original post for me, but still the same for them.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Let the fun begin! Here is the prompt for October 26:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HWb5qiEFXX8/UIqQrOyExuI/AAAAAAAABpQ/zXx-FZo2n3c/w332-h499-no/Roswitha+Bohmer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HWb5qiEFXX8/UIqQrOyExuI/AAAAAAAABpQ/zXx-FZo2n3c/w332-h499-no/Roswitha+Bohmer.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"There are stairs, steep and narrow. There are sixteen steps which you will have to climb to reach the door. This door will be closed to you until you're worthy to open it and access the treasures beyond. Climbing these stairs is dangerous, but you will have to do it some day."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
These were, more or less, the words of his late grandfather, shortly before he died. He had been quite demented by then, but Tim had loved his grandfather and he had found the stairs.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">They were indeed dangerous, without a handrail separating a man from the street, and the steps just wide enough for both of his feet. Every day, Tim climbed the stairs and tried the door at the end of them. Every day, the door was closed.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">That was why, one day, he decided to try it at night. It would be very dangerous indeed, and maybe that would prove his worth.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
Moon and stars were hiding behind a blanket of clouds. There were no street lamps close by, everything was bathed in darkness. The light cone of Tim's small torch crept up the stairs, trying to get through the shadows. Carefully, he climbed up; one step, the second, the third. By the time he had counted to ten, he was confident that there was really no danger here. He'd climbed the steps so often, he knew them by heart.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Fixing the light on the door - it just had to be open this time! - he continued. On step fourteen his foot hit something soft. A screech, movement beneath him and he lost his balance. He fell, head-first, into the dark.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
Tim was climbing the stairs. It was a nice day in Spring, the sun was shining and birds were singing. His hand rested lightly on the handrail for support and security.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He reached the door, and it opened before him.</span>LilithElinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00122109168142134199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1744879337243155981.post-48653139924629869692013-06-27T10:38:00.000+02:002013-06-27T10:38:20.562+02:00FF Challenge - "Professor, Professor"<a href="http://terribleminds.com/ramble/">Chuck Wendig</a> has done it again - instead of writing for the 24 Flashes when I have the time, I write for his <a href="http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2013/06/21/flash-fiction-challenge-another-roll-of-the-dice/">Flash Fiction Challenge</a>. I like challenges with strict rules.<br />
This time, we had to roll the dice four times, for two subgenres and two must features. Here's what I got from the random number generator:<br />
<b>Subgenres</b>: 9 - Nanopunk and 17 - Picaresque.<br />
<b>Must Feature</b>: 10 - a forbidden love.<br />
<b>Must Also Feature</b>: 1 - a mysterious stranger.<br />
<br />
Only 793 words and no sex <a href="http://24flashes.blogspot.de/2012/09/a-game-of-aspects.html">this time</a>.<br />
Have fun!<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
A few years back, when all that nanotech stuff really started cracking, I was happy I couldn't afford any of it. How can you trust things so small you can't even see them? Who knows what they'll do to you, intelligent as they are sometimes supposed to be. Now, though, now they are my only hope.<br />
Fanny looks fragile, her face as white as the sheets and coated with fine sweat. She's the only thing I care for, my Fanny, and I couldn't let the cancer take her away from me. I had to do it, I had to use the little buggers, even if I didn't trust them.<br />
<br />
After the diagnosis, I begged her to talk to her family, and when she wouldn't, I did. Or, well, I tried. They didn't even listen to me! They could have paid for her treatment in a heartbeat, but ever since she chose me over them - the guy who wasn't good enough - they'd cut her out of the family tree, and they wouldn't let her in again; not even to save her life.<br />
I asked for help everywhere, dragged Fanny to see all kinds of doctors, but without money they wouldn't do anything for her. Robbing a bank was suddenly worth thinking about, and I had already got a team and almost a perfect plan when Fanny caught us and dragged me back to legal ground. I still have to answer their demands for payment for the days they spent planning with me, but they have to wait.<br />
Can you imagine my relief when the Professor called me? He had heard about our problem from one of the doctors - although I didn't quite recognise the name, we'd been to so many - and he had a solution! They were testing new nanites that could destroy cancer, and they needed test subjects like my Fanny. She could get the treatment for free, he said, because it was still in testing. By then she was so weak I couldn't ask for her consent, so I signed the form for her and he agreed to come and treat her at our home.<br />
<br />
He came in a dark grey overcoat and brimmed hat, with thick glasses and a moustache. He didn't look like a professor to me, because in my mind they always wore white lab coats, but I guess they don't do that outside their labs. I showed him into our bedroom, where Fanny lay half unconscious and half asleep. He noticed her fever and did a few checks before saying how lucky we were to get a place in his trials. Then he explained to me what the nanites would do, but I didn't understand half of it. I just nodded and hoped it would work, so he gave her the injection and was gone.<br />
<br />
Now I am waiting for them to work. It's been only an hour since the Professor left, and he had said it could take a few days, but her breathing is calming down already, getting slower and deeper. What a relief! I go and make myself something to eat, feeling hungry for the first time in weeks.<br />
<br />
I settle down on my chair next to Fanny's bed with a sandwich, not willing to leave her alone even while I eat. Her breathing really has calmed down by now, I can't even hear it any more.<br />
My mouth is waiting for the next bite, but my hand isn't moving. From the depth of my mind, a thought creeps up: is she still breathing? I strain myself to get out of the chair and over to Fanny, looking so peaceful, her face now dry. No movement, no breath, no pulse. Oh God.<br />
I have to call the Professor, get him back here to save her! The phone is already in my hand when I realise I don't have his number. There is nothing I can do.<br />
<br />
I wake up on the floor, disoriented and confused. Fanny! Is she really dead? I sit up quickly and her face is suddenly next to mine, her dead eyes looking at nothing. Fanny dead... Rigid with shock I continue to stare into her eyes, for minutes or hours, I don't know.<br />
My love is dead, and I am alone. What now? I can't say good-bye, I can't let her go. Instead, I lean towards her for a kiss. Her lips are cold, they feel strange, wrong, and they don't even taste of her. My lips tingle as I move away from her, a sensation that spreads across my face and from there to the rest of my body. My breath is slowing down, I feel calm and relaxed. Why? It didn't... make any... sen... se.LilithElinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00122109168142134199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1744879337243155981.post-47329584870966551272013-03-27T07:14:00.001+01:002013-03-27T07:16:17.543+01:00NineteenIt is per rule that prison inmates have to get up early. It's one of the perversities of prison, and most do it by force and grumbling. There was one women's prison, though, where every Thursday started with pleasant anticipation, and every inmate got up a little bit earlier than necessary. This was because the previous night an unknown donor threw a chocolate bar (or similar) each through their cells' outer windows.<br />
The donor's name was Pete, and he was but a boy on the verges of manhood. He thought it was such fun to throw gifts through people's windows, but at some point, simple fun is not enough any more.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
He knew he shouldn't do it, because deep down he wanted to think he made the women's lives better with his little presents, and he wouldn't like hearing it wasn't true. Nevertheless, curiosity always wins against reason, and so he strolled past the prison's compound one Thursday evening.<br />
There were no fences to separate people passing by from the inmates. All it needed to keep them inside was the strong electromagnetic field that wouldn't let any living being pass through (only dead things like chocolate bars or stones). It was warm and some women were still outside, catching late sunbeams. One of them sat close to the invisible fence, her face pointing towards the sun, her eyes closed.<br />
"There's not many people that take a walk around here," she said as Pete approached. He stopped, embarrassed and guilty. The woman opened her eyes and looked him up and down.<br />
"A dare, is it? You're young enough for it. - No? What then?"<br />
"Curiosity," he whispered. That was true enough, anyway.<br />
"Ah, that kind of boy. You want to know how we look different from your mammy, right?"<br />
Pete shrugged. He didn't know why, but he didn't want to lie. He didn't want to admit the truth either, though. To change the subject, he asked, "What's it like in prison?"<br />
The woman laughed. "Every day's the same, that's all you want to know, believe me."<br />
"Every day?" The question was out before he could stop himself, but the woman didn't seem to notice his embarrassment.<br />
"Yes, lad. They try to bore you to death in here, we always say."<br />
"So, what did you do to end up here? You don't seem..."<br />
"Dangerous? Or crazy?" She laughed again. "I'm both, actually. There's something wrong with my head, like I can switch off common sense. I killed my supervisor in a state like that."<br />
Pete stared.<br />
"Ah, now you're scared."<br />
He sat down opposite her. "No. My mind... it's strange too, sometimes. When I'm tired or angry or sick. I can't stop thinking, but can I stop acting on it."<br />
"You should learn to stop that, then, before you end up in a place like this as well."<br />
"You must have been very angry to actually go and kill someone. Why?"<br />
"Why? What's it to you why?"<br />
"I'm curious." Pete winked.<br />
"Those were difficult times... Bad job, bad life... Things get to you when there's no one to talk to, you understand? Make sure you got friends who listen, always."<br />
"Why didn't you have any?"<br />
"I'm not the type for friends."<br />
"You must have had some!"<br />
"Right. If you must know, I slept with the boy my best friend was in love with. She couldn't forgive me. End of story."<br />
"Did you love him, too?"<br />
The woman sighed. "No. We were drunk, it was nothing serious."<br />
"Nothing serious?!"<br />
"Don't look at me like that! I don't even know why I'm telling you this." She thought about it. "Maybe it's because you remind me of him, a bit."<br />
"What was his name?"<br />
"That's none of your business."<br />
"Right. I think I have to leave now, anyway. Goodbye." Pete got up.<br />
He'd already gone a few steps before she called him back. He stopped, but didn't turn.<br />
"His name was John. And I'm Erica, by the way."<br />
He turned around, nodded and smiled. "Bye, then, Erica."<br />
"You won't stop bringing chocolate, will you? Not because of me!"<br />
Pete stood frozen, and wondered how she knew.<br />
"After I had finished reading myself, I learned reading other people, you know. I watch. I listen. I know."<br />
Again, Pete turned around. With a smile, he said, "You don't know everything yet."LilithElinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00122109168142134199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1744879337243155981.post-72694128562832694912013-03-10T18:14:00.000+01:002013-03-13T06:49:45.142+01:00EighteenThe argument wasn't loud as such - nobody shouted. It was intense, though, and the pure anger in the air must have been what had woken Andy. He lay still, thinking that he should turn around and go back to sleep, but curiousness won. He got up and, careful not to make a noise, opened the door a fraction. The voices were still barely audible, so he crept along the hall towards the living room. As he passed by a window, Andy could see his grandparent's vehicle outside, the one of his father's parents, not his mother's. He made a face - they were not very nice, but at least he now knew who had caused the argument.<br />
Few steps away from the half-closed living room door he stopped to listen to the voice of his grandmother Claire, high and sharp.<br />
"This nonsense was abandoned with good reason. It's not even in the history books! And you let your son come in contact with it! I can't believe you let him talk to this, this..."<br />
"Enough!" That was his mother. "'This, this...' just happens to be my grandfather, and I will not tolerate your scolding him! Andy had every right to see him before he passes away, he loves him!"<br />
"But he will not be around to live with the consequences," replied Andy's grandfather. His voice always was deep and calm, that's what made it so scary sometimes. "My grandson shall never be told about religion, I thought we agreed on that."<br />
His mother sniffed. "<i>You</i> did, yes."<br />
"Now, dear," said his father. "The government banned religion from the public and from education. We shouldn't make exceptions."<br />
"Fine. I know when I'm outnumbered."<br />
Andy hurried into the kitchen just in time before his mother left the living room and locked herself in the bedroom.<br />
When he had safely returned to his bed, only one question occupied his mind: What's religion?<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
The answer came a few days later, due to a lucky coincidence.<br />
Both his parents had to work late, and since his mother was still angry with his father's parents, his grandma Elisabet came to keep an eye on him. She was Dan's daughter and a lot nicer than grandmother Claire.<br />
During dinner, Andy asked about Dan and was told that he was getting worse.<br />
"So he will see Lucy again soon?" he asked innocently.<br />
Elisabet smiled at him. "Don't you try playing me, boy, your parents told me what happened when you visited father a few days ago. I have been warned."<br />
Andy sighed. "Why does nobody want to tell me what this is all about?"<br />
"Because it was decided for you, by the government, that you shouldn't know." Elisabet took his hand when she saw his expression. "Personally, I think it's nonsense, and I know your mother agrees. Still, you have to promise me that you'll tell nobody about this, OK?"<br />
With a triumphant grin, he promised.<br />
"When I was your age, the world population was split into different groups, believing in different gods."<br />
"What's a god, grandma?"<br />
"A supernatural entity which is said to have created the world."<br />
"But, I know all about the big bang! There were never any gods mentioned."<br />
Smiling, his grandmother shook her head. "No, dear, the belief in gods started before we knew about the big bang, or about science for that matter. Religion, the traditions around the belief in one or more gods, was something people invented to cope with the things they couldn't understand, like where the world came from, or thunderstorms, or even the seasons. That was a long, long time ago."<br />
"And now we know better!"<br />
"Exactly. But even so, people would wage wars on one another because of their different believes. That's why, before you were born, the government banned all religions. We don't need them any more, they say, and they bring only pain, so we're better off without them."<br />
"But Dan grew up with religion?"<br />
"Yes. He believes that there is a God, and that when he dies he will go to heaven, God's kingdom, and live there forever with his beloved Lucy."<br />
"When I die, will I go there, too? Even if I'm not allowed to believe in a god?" Andy was suddenly filled with hope. Maybe you didn't loose people you loved forever, after all. Maybe death wasn't the end his teachers said it was.<br />
"God's kingdom is open to everyone, even people who travel without a ticket," said his grandmother, giving his hand a squeeze. "If heaven exists and all people go there, you can be sure that Dan will be waiting for you when your time comes."LilithElinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00122109168142134199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1744879337243155981.post-71680689273050422072013-03-09T19:30:00.000+01:002013-03-09T19:30:52.973+01:00SeventeenIt had been a lot of work, convincing his parents to let him visit Dan one last time. Dan...<br />
When Andy was younger, too young to say "great-granddad", they had visited him and Lucy often. But after her death two years ago, Dan had started acting weird, or so Andy's parents said. Andy had noticed a change, but it hadn't frightened him like it did his parents. He was getting old, after all, and lonely without his wife. Andy argued that it would help Dan if they visited him more often instead of staying away, but he was only five at the time and his parents didn't listen.<br />
Now he was seven, and Dan was dying. He wanted to say goodbye, and they couldn't argue that away.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
Dan's room was homelike; if you hadn't come in through the hospital hall, you wouldn't know you were in one. He lay in a low, wooden bed with soft, green sheets and stared at the ceiling.<br />
Andy hurried to his side and took his hand. "Hey, Dan! Look who's come to see you!"<br />
The head turned slowly on the cushion, and muscles unused to the work tried to drag a smile into place; it was no comparison to the radiant young face hovering next to the bed.<br />
Lips moved, a dry tongue tried to form words that wouldn't come. A warm hand grasped Andy's shoulder firmly, and he looked up into the sad face of his mother.<br />
"He's nearly gone, Andy. Don't expect much, OK?"<br />
Andy nodded mutely and watched a nurse giving Dan something to drink.<br />
"Maybe we should leave and let him rest," suggested Andy's father.<br />
"No, I want to talk to him," said Andy, tears welling up in his eyes. Dan turned away from the nurse, spilling water over himself. His lips moved again with no sound.<br />
The nurse looked up. "You should leave, you are overexerting him," she said, but an old hand shot up and grasped her arm before she could usher them out. She turned her eyes back to Dan in surprise. "All right, they can stay for a few minutes. But you have to drink up first, understand?" Dan nodded.<br />
Andy watched as the nurse took care of him, but he could hear his parents whisper behind his back.<br />
"This is not a good idea."<br />
"I know, we should leave as soon as possible, but he wanted to see him so much..."<br />
"Well, at least he can't talk."<br />
When Dan had drunk up, Andy sat down on his bed. He remained silent, his gaze fixed on his great-granddad and the young hand again holding the old one, while silent words passed between them.<br />
After a few minutes, he burst into tears.<br />
His mother was at his side in an instant, trying to drag him away from the bed, but he wouldn't let go. "Let's go, sweetie," she whispered in his ear.<br />
"Not yet," he replied, shrugged her off and leaned towards Dan. Kissing him on the cheek, he mumbled "I'll miss you."<br />
Dan's Adam's apple jumped, and words came, rough and hushed. "Don't be sad. I'll see Lucy again in heaven. Be happy for me."<br />
Andy's brow wrinkled. "Heaven? You mean like the sky?" But Dan had turned back to staring at the ceiling.<br />
"Heaven. We'll go to heaven if we're good. Many things have been done in the name of Jesus that heaven is not very happy about. Heaven, Lucy..."<br />
Andy's mother took him by the shoulders and dragged him away. He was too stunned to resist.<br />
"Let's go," she said. "He's so confused!"<br />
At the door, Andy looked back. Dan's lips still moved, but he couldn't hear him any more.<br />
"Mom, why did he say he'd see Lucy in the sky?"<br />
"He is old and confused, honey, don't ask me."<br />
"But you're working with the old and confused every day!"<br />
"That does not mean I understand them."<br />
"And what about Jesus?"<br />
"Never heard the name."<br />
Andy could see she was lying.LilithElinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00122109168142134199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1744879337243155981.post-5499562641333550082012-10-26T08:43:00.000+02:002012-10-26T16:29:45.126+02:00October Flash - Day 25<br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">The </span><a href="https://plus.google.com/u/0/114801976262704454864/posts" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;" target="_blank">Flash Fiction Project</a><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"> at Google+ has something </span><a href="https://plus.google.com/u/0/114801976262704454864/posts/L28WXF6XTsF" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;" target="_blank">new going on</a><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">!<span style="color: #323b4a;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">There will be a visual prompt for every day in October, and I'm going to try to write a (very) short piece for it every day as well. Due to time zone differences, I'll try writing and posting mine early in the morning, so it's a day after the original post for me, but still the same for them.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Let the fun begin! Here is the prompt for today:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://plus.google.com/u/0/114801976262704454864/posts/4ULX5BbbPWS" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GkrAkZLbvtI/UIl1nuY0ZXI/AAAAAAAABoE/F-_M1dXhh3k/w497-h373/heels.jpg" width="251" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Be warned, this is NSFW.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
"Oh god..." Dave gingerly touched his head to make sure it was still where it belonged. It throbbed painfully as he tried to remember the previous night.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
There had been glasses with beer, and some with whiskey, on a wooden bar. There had been boobs, hardly contained within a tank top. Beneath them had been a short, tight skirt.</blockquote>
There must have been a woman inside those clothes, because the next thing he remembered was a woman undressing him. By then, he must have been too drunk to do it himself. Also, he remembered that awkward moment, fumbling with the condom but not quite finding where it belonged.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Soft, female hands had taken it from him, wrapping him up expertly. He'd swelled so hard under her touch he'd thought the rubber would burst. But that hadn't been what had burst, right?</blockquote>
Dave groaned. Was that it - a premature ending to a one-night-stand? Was that why his trousers and shoes were missing? No, there had already been punishment...<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
When the woman had noticed that he wouldn't be able to satisfy her needs, she'd still pushed him down on the bed. His face had gotten very wet. There had been screams of female pleasure...</blockquote>
He wondered how he'd managed that, but then realised it didn't matter. What mattered were the questions where he was and who he was going to call. Certainly not his wife.<br />
"Tony?" He said the name aloud, thinking of his best friend, but other memories fought for his attention. Why would he have a one-night-stand? Sex with his wife was so much more satisfying. Like that last time...<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
They had already been naked when she'd taken his hand and dragged him into the kitchen. She'd sat on the dining table (he'd briefly wondered about hygiene here) and had wrapped her legs around his hips, kicking his naked ass. She'd always known how to get the most out of him. The way she'd leaned on her arms, letting him do all the work while offering a splendid view of herself...</blockquote>
Something was wrong with that memory, but Dave couldn't yet put his finger on it. When was the last time he'd had sex with his wife? And in the kitchen, too? The view changed...<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
He'd seen her from the side, not front. It wasn't him she'd had her legs wrapped around. It was...</blockquote>
"Tony?"LilithElinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00122109168142134199noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1744879337243155981.post-27315031613869467962012-10-25T08:29:00.003+02:002012-10-25T08:29:56.909+02:00October Flash - Day 24<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">The </span><a href="https://plus.google.com/u/0/114801976262704454864/posts" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;" target="_blank">Flash Fiction Project</a><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"> at Google+ has something </span><a href="https://plus.google.com/u/0/114801976262704454864/posts/L28WXF6XTsF" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;" target="_blank">new going on</a><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">!<span style="color: #323b4a;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">There will be a visual prompt for every day in October, and I'm going to try to write a (very) short piece for it every day as well. Due to time zone differences, I'll try writing and posting mine early in the morning, so it's a day after the original post for me, but still the same for them.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Let the fun begin! Here is the prompt for today:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://plus.google.com/u/0/114801976262704454864/posts/YwTes5JqLnQ" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="234" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jmJqWDpBAlY/UIf9jmiPikI/AAAAAAAABmo/z3mdWDgeGyo/w497-h373/Andrey+Vlasoff.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
Michael had never planned his life like this. As a boy, he had wanted to be a fire-fighter, and later he'd wanted to fly to the moon. In the end, he'd grown up to be more sensible and became a financial advisor. It was a good job, it earned him quite a sum of money, but also consumed most of his time. Meeting women, having children, all that was something to do later.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Later is now and Michael has multiple homes to impress the ladies. There's the park bench for warm summer nights - one of the best around the place - and one or two doorways for the tepid or wet days. In winter, when it's really cold, there's the doss home, where he is very popular. Michael is a likeable man, always friendly and full of useful advice.</div>
<div>
The women, though... They don't want a man who lives on the street. Most days, he wishes the banking crisis would have done this to him. People could understand the consequences of the banking crisis.<br />
Anyway, why do people always want a permanent roof above their heads? Don't they know how to enjoy a night outside, with the stars watching over your sleep? Counting stars is a lot more fun than counting sheep, too. Without a house or flat, there's less cleaning, more time for yourself, and less money to pay for rent or electricity. Out in the street, the city pays for the light.<br />
Women don't understand that, though. Somehow, they know it's all just excuses.<br />
If only it had been the banking crisis! They could understand that and help him up again.</div>
LilithElinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00122109168142134199noreply@blogger.com0