Do You Remember?

 

PHOTO PROMPT – Copyright – Adam Ickes

Do you remember that time when we sat in the sand and watched the sun fall beneath the waves?

How about that time we slept beneath the stars…until the June bugs nearly dive-bombed us to death?

Or when we went sledding down the dunes and had sand in our hair for days?

…I still have my scar from the accident…

And if that’s never enough to remind me of you…Well, I still have this goat mask you wore when we got kicked out of the zoo for public intoxication.

You said our love was infinite….timeless…

But now…

You’re gone.


It’s been quite a while, but I’ve finally returned to the fantastic Friday Fictioneers, a group of writers from all corners of the world who write 100-word flash fiction based on a weekly photo prompt (many thanks to the wonderful Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting and to Adam Ickes for this intriguing photo). I really appreciate you reading and hope you enjoyed my little *ficticious, of course* bit of nostalgia here. Please give the other fictioneers a read by clicking on the blue froggy link below!

Happy Wednesday to you,

Adelie

 

 

Washed Away

 

 

 

 

Blankets of tears slam against the window,

 

Alabaster clouds weep for me.

 

No barrier between man and nature,

 

We’re the same suffering being.

 

 

The sun shimmers behind brooding captors,

 

pleading for a softening smile.

 

I turn away, clutching a silver blade,

 

thunder argues in denial.

 

 

With a deafening crash and blinding flash,

 

my heart floods with devastation.

 

No remedy for this violent storm,

 

embracing my only option.

 

 

A bolt of lightning, I rush out the door,

 

Slick grass dragging me to my knees.

 

White dress clinging, a body done breathing,

 

pain streams into rivers and seas.

 

 

Steamy Saturday: No Rest for the Wicked

 

Copyright- Artfully Aspiring

Copyright- Artfully Aspiring

*Note: This is Part Three of a continuous Steamy Saturday series. Please visit Part One and Part Two to ensure ultimate steaminess.*

The subtle movement of the bed pulls me out of my sleep, as Mitch lies down next to me. I keep my eyes closed and struggle to keep my breathing shallow. I’m sure he’s too decent of a man to try anything while I’m sleeping, but I partially wish he wasn’t.

The screams of my body, aching for his touch, go unanswered. Eventually, I accept the reality that he fell asleep as soon as he hit the pillow.

But then I feel the slight bowing of the bed as he rolls on his hip, moving closer to me. Though we’re not touching, I can feel the heat of his body filling the gap between us. My pulse quickens, and I suddenly feel the jolt of energy to make the next move. Before I can, his arm encircles my waist. Mitch pulls me against him, and there’s a frenzy of excitement in my body, making it impossible to suppress a smile. He buries his head into the side of my neck. The stubble on his chin tickles me, while his sultry breath invigorates my tender skin.

You need to wake up,” he murmurs softly into my hair. I press myself into him further, fusing every curve of my body to his. “Come on, Abby,” he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. I giggle under my breath and intertwine my fingers around his.

Abby, we’ve got to move!”

My eyes shoot open, and Mitch is standing by the door, with the black bag in his hand. My heart drops. I scramble off the bed and try to pull myself out of the dreamy fog. I look down to see that I’m still fully dressed, shoes and all, and I suddenly feel incredibly gross.

Can I shower, at least?” I quickly comb my fingers through my knotted hair.

Not here.” He grabs me by the hand and pulls me against the door with him. “A couple of them just walked into the motel office,” Mitch says in a hushed voice while scanning through the side of the window.

How could you see them?”

They can change into practically any form, and right now, they’re humans so they can track us easier.”

What do we do?”

Well, I’m guessing they’ll get the guy to rat on us, one way or another, and we don’t have enough time to book it to my bike, unnoticed.” He looks back at me, his eyes steady. “They’re going to ambush us.”

So, we’re just going to let them?”

He grabs me by the hand and takes me to the bathroom. “You need to stay in here, and I’ll take care of them.”

Can’t I help?” Is all I manage to ask before Mitch closes the door between us. I hear heavy scraping across the floor and then a thud against the bathroom door. The fact that I’m barricaded-in answers my question. With nothing else to do, I lean against the door to listen.

Nothing but subtle clicking and metallic popping sounds, as Mitch loads whatever weapons he’s kept hidden in the bag….And then, silence. Though I can’t see him, something between us tells me he’s collected and prepared, and that comforts me a little.

The crashing glass and splintering wood rip through the silence. Instantaneously, gunfire pierces my ears. I jump and trip backward into the shower. As I slam into the porcelain, I hear a pause in the chaos. Then, heavy footsteps approaching the bathroom. The ground shudders as the dresser separating us is shoved to the side. I press myself further against the wall and reach to pull the shower curtain closed, but I know it won’t save me.

Mitch!” My voice trembles and cracks.

The doorknob violently shakes, and my eyes lock onto the little button in the middle, praying it doesn’t give way.

Mitch…Please!” I scream, tears streaming down my face.

I watch as the knob loosens, weakening with every rattle. And then a heavy force slams against it. Two more gunshots just outside the door and then a strange sizzling.

Abby, unlock the door!” Mitch yells between labored breaths.

I gain stability in my quivering legs before running to the door. As soon as hit the button, Mitch pulls me out with one arm, wrapping it around me and pulling me through thick smoke. All I can see are the several writhing bodies sprawled across the room and the morning light guiding us outside.

My lungs fight for oxygen as we run to the bike. Mitch promptly sits me on it and intently straps on my helmet. I want to help him, by my fingers refuse to move, and my trembling lips refuse to speak. He presses his hands against my cheeks, as his eyes dart across my face.

Are you alright?”

I part my lips, but nothing.

Abby?” His voice waivers.

Mitch’s eyes widen, as his hands frantically pull-off my helmet and slide to the back of my head. The soothing rubbing of his fingers as they examine my skull enlivens me. My nerves begin to weave back together.

Yes,” I murmur loosely.

His hands jump to my face again.

Are you ok?”

I nod my head.

Alright, you’re riding up front.” He slides me to the front of the bike before sitting behind me. Mitch places my feeble hands on each of the handles before pulling a combination of switches and levers and placing his strong hands beside mine. We fly out of the parking lot and harshly turn onto a main road. My body jolts around with each bump until Mitch slides further into me and presses his thighs against mine. I feel secure, but I also feel…

Abby? Abby, stay with me! We’re almost there,” his voice cuts through the rambling of the bike.


I hope you enjoyed this week’s Steamy Saturday. I posted it a bit early because I’ll be gone for the weekend, while traveling across the state for my first 5K since my significant running injuries last fall. So, while I may not respond to your comments promptly, I truly appreciate them and would love to hear your input!

Keep it steamy,

Adelie

*P.S. In case you’re wondering, I’ve decided to use personal photographs for Steamy Saturday posts from this point on. I wasn’t finding the photos I was looking for online, so I decided to take matters into my own hands. I am by no means a model, so take it easy on me! Also, these images may not be reproduced or redistributed, not only because it is my body and my property, but because no one wants to see that! 😉

 

Up in Flames

 

PHOTO PROMPT Copyright -Mary Shipman

 

It’s a great fixer-upper…perfect for newlyweds,” the realtor chimed as I scribbled my signature.

With naivety and honeymoon smiles, my husband and I gazed at the crumbling castle that we vowed to make our kingdom.

Only two weeks later, I came home with paint and paste to find him drilling something other than the floorboards.

There comes a point when you can only repair something so much.

Despite his praying and pleading, I knew there was no way to restore this to its original beauty.

No more wasting time with tools.

 

With gasoline and a lighter, I make my final improvement.


 

I truly appreciate you taking the time to read my contribution to this week’s Friday Fictioneers, hosted by the magnificent Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. I’ll keep this short, because I’m sure you have better things to do than read my blabbering- like checking out some other stories from fellow fictioneers!

Eternally grateful for your love and support,

Adelie

Steamy Saturday: On the Run

Copyright- Artfully Aspiring

Copyright- Artfully Aspiring

I don’t know about you, but it’s been a while since I’ve steamed up my Saturday- a month-and-a-half to be more specific. It’s been rough, but I think the chaos has died down enough to let the steam roll in again. In case your memory is a bit fuzzy, please visit the first post of this Steamy Saturday series. And if you’re new here- well, you don’t have much catching-up to do!

 

 

I clutch his jacket tighter with every bump and curve. He’s driving fast, and I worry that the moment I lose my grip around Mitch’s sculpted body, I’ll fly off the back of the bike and into the claws of whatever might be chasing us.
After following the shoreline of Lake Michigan for nearly an hour, we finally slow down as we turn into a small motel with a faded wooden sign that reads, “Whispering River Motel.” Without saying a word to me, Mitch parks and climbs off the bike. I quickly follow him into the main office. He speaks with an older man behind the desk, who’s warily glancing at the license and credit card Mitch hands him. Meanwhile, I pull my drowsy gaze across the lodge-inspired wallpaper and to a rustic, bear shaped clock that tells me it’s 11:33 pm.
Okay, so maybe we were riding for more than an hour…
Anxiety trickles into my blood as I realize that, wherever I am, I’m a great distance from my home…with a man whose last name I have yet to learn.
“Alright, Mr. Glazebrook. Will this be a standard room or the lovers’ sweet?”
“Standard with two beds,” Mitch quickly responds while tapping his fingers on the desk.
“All we have left are single beds, sir.”
“That’s fine.” He slowly exhales, but it doesn’t relieve the visible tension from his body.
“Here ya go,” the man says while handing a single key to Mitch. “Room thirteen, the last one on the right.”
Before we walk to the room, Mitch returns to his motorcycle and grabs  a small black bag from the hidden compartment. As we walk into the musty motel room and turn on the flickering wall sconces, Mitch promptly closes the door behind us. He tightens all three locks and then glances through the curtain at the nearly empty parking lot. After a few seconds he turns to face me, his furrowed brow softens a little.
“How are you?” His eyes are on mine, but I know his attention is elsewhere.
“I…I’m fine,” I cautiously reply while sitting on the edge of the bed. He slowly paces around the room as if he’s searching for something.
“Look, it’s been a rough night. You should get some sleep.” Mitch walks to the other end of the room and pauses at the large window, looking out into the woods behind us.
“Aren’t you going to tell me what the hell happened back there?”
Still facing the window, I notice the back of his head slightly pivoting as he peers between the trees. “There’s not much to say at this point, Abby.”
“What are you talking about?” I burst up from the bed and approach him. “We almost got killed…by things we couldn’t even see. You blew up the bookstore, for heaven’s sake!”
He quickly turns on his heel and, placing his hands on my shoulders, pushes me away from the window.
“We’re not much safer here than we were back there, alright? You need to sleep while I figure out what the hell to do next.”
“I thought you said this was your life. Why don’t you have a plan?”
“This life is too sporadic to allow for planning,” he snarls. I sit back down on the bed and watch as his skin reddens, his veins surface, and his pacing quickens. “You think I knew they were tracking me? Like it was my plan to get you in the middle of all this?” He runs his hand through his hair before tightening it into a fist. “Any other time, I’d be fine. But now that you’re here, it makes my job a hundred times more difficult. Not only do I have to find out what the hell is after me-us, but now I have to watch both of our backs.”
“Sorry I’m such a burden,” I snap, “Just take me to a bus station, and I’ll get out of your way.”
Mitch stops in his tracks and takes a deep breath before sitting next to me.
“Look,” his voice softens, “I’m not behaving like I should, and I’m sorry for that. Thing is, I wasn’t lying back at the bookstore when I said that anyone that get involved with me and this lifestyle always gets hurt. It’s hard enough trying not to get myself killed.”
“Okay, then I’ll just go home, and you won’t have to worry about me anymore.”
“That’s the thing, Abby…” He turns to me with a look of defeat. “You’re already in this. The second they saw us together, they branded you with a kill tag. Not just them, but all the other wretched things out there have just added you to their hit-lists. There’s no compromising or exceptions. Once you’re a target, they won’t stop until you’re dead.”
My stomach drops as I realize the deadly reality of everything. This isn’t just some fantasy or weekend fling. My fate is marred and in the hands of a complete stranger. Everything that I thought was myth and fiction is now a haunting possibility. Shivering, I wrap my arms around my stomach. Seconds later, Mitch takes off his jacket and places it over my shoulders.
“Am I ever going home, back to my regular life?”
Mitch doesn’t respond. All that’s to be heard is the faint squeaking of the wooden motel sign, swinging back-and-forth in the evening breeze. With nothing left to say, I move to the head of the bed and slide beneath the covers. Mitch turns off the light and sits in the chair beside the window, still facing me.
“You can sleep in the bed too,” I mention, noticing the faint glow of the street lamp accentuating his stoic features, which I strangely find comforting.
“I’m going to keep a lookout and determine our next move.” His eyes scan the parking lot before returning to mine.
“You’ve got to sleep sometime.” I worry that my persistence is exposing my desire for his body to be next to mine.
“I will when you’re safe.” I know there’s nothing left of this discussion.
“Alright…Goodnight, then.” I close my eyes and replay this awkward, yet intense, sequence of events with this mysterious man. My heart sinks as I settle in to this cold, lonely bed. I’ve always been independent, but this is a rare time in my life where I could really use some support. But then I remember that I’m nothing but a liability to him.
As I drift off, I peek between a sliver of my eyelids.
Mitch’s gaze drifts across my face, the hurricane in his eyes now turned calmed waters.

 


 

Thank you so very much for steaming up your Saturday with me! To be honest, I had to de-steam this post a bit to make next week’s even hotter! I truly hope you enjoyed this, and I hope your weekend is filled with steam, spice, and everything nice!

En Gedi

Happy Friday to you! I’m so excited to finally publish this lyrical poem. Over a month ago, I was challenged by a fellow Friday Fictioneer, Kent Bonham, to write a poem, based on a love story that took place at the oasis, called En Gedi. Furthermore, Kent sent me a link to a song titled “En Gedi,” whose tune I had to match with my lyrics. First off, I was (and still am) sincerely honored that Kent thought I had enough potential and skill to pull this off. It meant the world to me to be taken seriously as a writer and to be challenged to further develop my skills. However, with this honor, there was a significant amount of stress. First off, I didn’t want to disappoint Kent and humiliate myself with subpar writing. Secondly, if you’ve read my “Please Forgive Me” posts, you’ll know that May was one hell of a month for trauma and stress, so even after it all settled down, it took me some time to clear my head and get back in the game. They say, “Better late than never,” right?
So I really do hope you give this a read, and your feedback is always appreciated.
***But wait, there’s more! I’ve included the link for you to actually download the song from which this was inspired. So I strongly urge you to listen along with the poem, so you can get the full experience! 🙂

En Gedi

En Gedi
Once I saw your emerald eyes across the way,
What I knew as life had dulled beneath your shine.
Your melody made it impossible,
To leave this world without your hand in mine.

And when you spoke, each sacred word I cherished,
Fearing someday that’s all I’d have of you.
For En Gedi was all that would endure,
After hearts drowned in dead seas of blue.

En Gedi, En Gedi, an oasis of eternal love.
En Gedi En Gedi, where my angel graced before she rose above.

En Gedi, En Gedi, had I known what the waters foretold,
I would give my life for her to blossom old.
I would give my life for her to blossom old.

Days are long and bereft of any purpose.
All that remains are the dark tides of regret.
Footprints of your life, stolen by time’s greed.
Your pure essence, I refuse to forget.

The ocean holds all the tears I’ve shed for you,
And En Gedi weeps for you as well.
There’s slight comfort, knowing you’re in heaven.
My despair has nearly damned me straight to hell.

En Gedi, En Gedi, it gave life to us, then seized it back.
En Gedi, En Gedi, it drained color from my heart and turned it black.

En Gedi, En Gedi, had I known what the waters foretold,
My love would still be mine to have and to hold.
My love would still be mine to have and to hold.

Thank you so much for reading this, and I really hope it wasn’t too much of a disaster, being that I’m a poetry novice. It’s ridiculous how many times I’ve rewritten this, completely from scratch, before I came up with something I was finally satisfied with.
A special thanks to Kent, for believing in me and giving me the opportunity to better recognize my strengths and weaknesses. I apologize that my personal issues and perfectionism led to a bit of procrastination, and I hope I didn’t stray too far from the original story. This is just where the multiple attempts led me- What a journey this has been!

My deepest gratitude,

Adelie

On the Lam

 

PHOTO PROMPT Copyright-Ted Strutz

The bloody bandages reluctantly tug and tear, as Dr. Goldstein peels them from my skin.
Liberated from the mummy wrap, my pores drink in the musty office air.
He holds up a tarnished mirror, revealing a face whose only resemblance to mine are the wary green eyes.
“They won’t recognize you.” Beaming, he admires his handiwork before glancing out the window. “You’re going to miss the boat!”

I hustle down the stairs and to the dock.

Peering over my shoulder, I board the ferry.

Sedated by the blaring horn and salty breeze, I silently vanish from my family, the mafia.

 


 

Thank you so very much for giving my Friday Fictioneers story a read. Every week, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields (“The Boss”) inspires her clan of highly imaginative fictioneers to sharpen their skills with 100 word flash fiction stories. You’re more than welcome to join the fun- our family is always looking for fresh meat. Please click on the link to see the handiwork of my fellow mobsters!