#AtoZChallenge: Grayscale

He walked along the ashen road. It was always the same road. Lined with tall, drooping trees that had leaves the color of tar and slate-colored trunks. It was a narrow road, winding, and without end. At least, it felt that way sometimes. He had been walking the road every morning and every night, in search of a new life that he might never find.

Glass, steel and cement. Those were the components of her prison. She sat in the same chair and her fingers tapped away on that same silvery keyboard every day, its keys streaked with grease. A wide window yawned in front of her, affording her a panoramic view, but it was little consolation. All she had to look at was more of the same. Glass, steel and cement.

It was a city full of strangers, huddled together yet isolated. They shambled between home and office, from one square building to the next. illuminated by the rays of the pale morning sun but devoid of any warmth. Once, it had been known as a city of dreams, but the only dream anyone had anymore was to not die alone.

He walked into the city, feeling his neck grow stiff as he stared up at the towers looming above him. They dotted the skyline, reaching for the heavens with no sign of gods. Many roads spread out in front of him, winding and crossing over each other. He kept walking, as he had always done.

She tapped keys with mechanical precision, bathed in the glow of the screen in front of her. It was her sole companion on long days, her friend and her family, staring at her in silence as the world danced across its face in a mess of words and images. She looked out the window to ease the strain on her tired eyes. It was the same view of sprawling skyscrapers. But something was different.

He approached an intersection and looked up at the shining tower in front of him. It was identical to the others with its glassy exterior and angular design. But there was something different about it.

Somewhere on the path between heaven and earth, their eyes met. In her eyes he saw the ocean, a roiling sheet of blue and green. In his, she saw the desert, golden brown and stretching into eternity.

His lips curled into a smile. She put her hand on the glass, as if to catch the rays of sunlight filtering through. It felt warm.

WEP February Challenge: Heart’s Desire

A new year of challenges hosted by the wonderful Yolanda and Renee of Write, Edit, Publish! The first theme of the year: Back of the Drawer.

As the name suggests, the prompt is all about what a character finds at the back of a drawer. Love? Riches? Horror? Who can say?

Presented for your reading pleasure, here’s the tale of a thief called Len, who once stole the biggest prize of all: the love of his life.

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“Whatever you do, don’t open the top drawer.”

Mal had been very insistent about that. The top drawer was to remain untouched. She wouldn’t say why, and Len knew better than to badger her for answers. She kissed him before he left, holding her lips to his a second longer than usual. If she said to leave that drawer alone, he’d damn well leave it alone.

It was a simple job: break into Mal’s old apartment and retrieve a few items from her bureau. Dob, her drunken pig of an ex-husband and former partner, would probably be out with his floozy of the week, so there was little chance of running into him. Of course, he’d probably have a few people posted around the roofs and balconies, just in case. Still, it was no big deal for Len; getting past security was his specialty. Some reconnaissance, a little sneaking around rooftops and a couple of chokeholds took care of Dob’s crew. No sweat. All he had to do was hop onto an adjacent balcony to get to Mal’s building, then find the right window. But before he could jump, there were footsteps. He’d missed one. The guard emerged from the stairwell to find his partner knocked out and Len standing at the edge of the roof.

The guard pulled out a gun. Len broke off part of an antenna. A bullet shot through the air, missing Len’s neck by inches as he twisted and dove to the ground, flinging the antenna piece. It hit the guard square between the eyes, knocking him off balance. A running jump, a flying kick, some punches, some blocks and one karate chop (not necessary, but fun). It was over. All clear. Len hopped over to the next building and found his window.

Breaking into the actual apartment would be a lot easier. Dob was paranoid but sloppy: his locks and latches didn’t put up much resistance against Len’s deft fingers. He opened the window as quietly as he could and slipped inside. Len was standing in Mal’s study, which Dob had converted into some sort of gaudy trophy room. Many of Mal’s things were untouched, though, including her bureau, pressed up against one corner of the room. Len went over to it and unlocked the drawers. All except the top one, just as instructed. He took out some papers, all stapled together. There were also some folders, Old photographs. One very particular photograph that Mal definitely wouldn’t want Dob to keep. A journal. And her favorite knife, thin curved blade and an intricately carved bone hilt. Her name had been engraved on it, in a language that many had forgotten. That was all. Job done.

As he was getting up, a voice in the back of his mind asked why Mal had told him to leave the top drawer. What was the big secret, and why did she want it to stay with Dob? It didn’t matter. None of Len’s business. He would take Mal’s things back to her and then they could start their new life together. Simple as that.

The voice wouldn’t let up, though. What was the deal with that drawer? Len grunted impatiently and looked at it, really looked for the first time. It was different from the other drawers. Same faded green wood, but an elaborate golden border. Even the knob was different, molded to look like the head of some weird animal. Len could feel the hairs standing on the back of his neck, like they were trying to pull him away. Whatever was in that drawer was bad news, that much he could tell.

But what if he just got a peek? He wouldn’t take what was in there. Just look and lock it up again. Dob wouldn’t know. Neither would Mal. The job was still done and Len would still get paid. What was the big deal? He was standing over the desk, thumb tapping a frantic rhythm on its weathered surface. Just one peek. For curiosity’s sake. Len smiled. Curiosity. It killed cats. But Len was no cat.

He put his tools to work, picking at the lock of the top drawer, but nothing happened. He couldn’t get the damn thing to open. He couldn’t find a latch or a bolt or a way to make that lock go click under his fingers. A voice in his head again, but a different one. A woman’s voice. Soft. Sultry. Soothing. And click. The drawer was unlocked. Len was surprised, but relieved. One little peek. That’s all he wanted. He grabbed the drawer handle. It felt so warm in that cold, cold room. Like it was alive. Len hesitated. And then he pulled. The drawer slid open with a groan. Len peered into it, holding his breath, then letting it all out in one little whoosh. Empty. The drawer was empty.

Len laughed. Mal had made an ass out of him. All that spooky junk about locked drawers and it was empty. He was about to close it when he saw a shadow near the back. There was something there. The drawer wouldn’t open any further. Len craned his neck to get a better look but he couldn’t see anything except shadows. He reached inside and felt around. Felt something small, squishy. It was a heart. Mal’s heart. It glowed bright red, pulsating slowly under his palm. Somewhere across town, Len knew Mal felt her chest tighten. Why was she leaving her heart with Dob? She hated the bastard. Unless she didn’t.

Len closed the drawer and locked it again. He could still feel its pulsing rhythm along his hand. So that was it. Mal belonged to him now, mind, body and soul. But he knew where her heart truly lay. Len climbed back out the window and made his way to his car. He wished he’d never opened that damn drawer.

Word Count: 986

13 Tales of Terror: In Her Eyes

In her eyes,

I see love.

I see longing and desire and passion.

We are lovers, young and eternal,

Two hearts with one beat.

In her eyes,

I see bliss.

New beginnings,

Our dreams shimmering into reality,

Souls linked by two rings.

In her eyes,

I see fear.

Gray creeps along a golden horizon.

Our youth slips away,

Lives shift in different directions.

In her eyes,

I see pain.

A storm rises in the distance.

Our love is a faded photograph,

Finding color in another’s arms.

In her eyes,

I see rage.

A broken ring, an unforgivable betrayal.

Our world has crumbled in my fingers,

Both on a road with only one end.

In her eyes,

I see death.

A knife blade flashing in the dark.

My life bleeds out one drop at a time.

As darkness approaches,

Hate is all I see

In her eyes.

13 Tales of Terror: Bound

A striped blue sweater.

That was Ben’s first memory of Anna.

A striped blue sweater, alternating between dark and light shades, with a turquoise collar. It was a couple of sizes too big for her, making her look like a little girl in her sister’s old hand-me-downs. But Anna loved it.

All these years later, the colors had faded. The fabric, which Ben remembered as soft and fuzzy, was rough in his hands. He worried it might crumble if he held it too long, but he couldn’t put it down. Not just yet. It was the only connection he had left to her.

Ben and Anna had met in college. He was a freshman with dreams of becoming an English teacher and she was a junior with a passion for chemistry. Their classes were on opposite ends of the campus and they didn’t have any friends in common. The one place where their paths did cross was the library. It was there that he had seen the girl in the blue striped sweater hurrying off, her library card still sitting on the checkout desk. He returned the card and she thanked him. That one exchange turned into a conversation. That one conversation turned into several, and before they knew it, they were going out for dinner.

Ben remembered that night well, including the stunning purple dress Anna had worn. She had torn one of the shoulder straps a couple of years ago, but she still kept the dress around. It was somewhere near the bottom of the pile, still as vibrant as the first time she’d worn it.

Many more dinners followed, along with other outings. The picnic where she’d worn the polka dot dress, the beach trip with the yellow sarong and blue swimsuit, the graduation dinner with the gray gown. Ben picked up each in turn, feeling the fabric knot itself around his fingers, twist around his limbs. He fought the encroaching numbness in his extremities and picked up the box. Inside was Anna’s wedding dress.

They were married on a crisp autumn day, when the leaves were turning but the air was still warm. Anna looked resplendent, shimmering in the late afternoon sun. Ben could still feel the warmth on the dress. He half expected to find his hand circling Anna’s waist, for her to turn and smile at him as he whispered his love to her. Instead, the dress wrapped around him, squeezing his ribcage.

Two years later, Anna gave birth to a son. Daniel was so beautiful, swaddled in a blanket the color of the summer sky. As Daniel grew, there were birthday parties, school functions and family vacations. Gray streaks crept their way through Anna’s hair, but her clothes were as vivid as ever.

Ben remembered the indigo shirt Anna was wearing, in stark contrast to her silver mane, when she collapsed. From that point, she was reduced to lifeless hospital gowns until the end. Dark blue veins climbed along Ben’s neck, bleeding out of the shirt in his hands.

It had been six months since Anna’s passing. Everyone urged him to move on with his life, to keep Anna alive as a memory rather than dying alongside her. Finally, after many discussions with Daniel, Ben decided he was ready. He put all of Anna’s clothes out in the living room, to be donated or sold off. But each article of clothing was a memory, and memories weren’t so easy to erase. Ben was struggling to breathe as the clothes tightened their grip on him; his lungs were collapsing. The sleeves of Anna’s sweater wrapped themselves tightly around his face, and Ben closed his eyes.

***

“Dad?”

Daniel’s voice floated through the hallway.

“Dad? Are you there?”

“Danny…”

He walked into the living room and looked around.

“Dad?”

There was no response, but he noticed someone sitting in the armchair facing the window.

“Oh, Dad, there you are! I’ve been looking for – ”

Daniel stopped as he reached the chair. His father wasn’t sitting in it. There was just a pile of his mother’s clothes, stacked all the way up to the headrest.

 

Three Line Tales: Blossom

Photo Credit: kazuend

Twin rosebuds bloomed into a flowering smile.

So ended the long winter of their relationship.

Spring had come at last.

Written for Three Line Tales: Week Twelve.

 

Three Line Tales: Maelstrom

Photo Credit: Charlie Harutaka

The sea loved him as much as he loved her,

So she pulled him deep into her heart,

And never let him go.

Written for Three Line Tales: Week Ten.

A to Z Challenge: Unsaid

 

Una wanted to tell her husband that she was tired of being taken for granted.

She wanted to tell him that her heart no long beat as rapidly as it used to when she was around him.

She wanted to tell him that she knew about the waitress at the diner, and the girl from the New Year’s Eve party. He was sloppy about covering his tracks.

She wanted to tell him that she had strayed as well (though she’d done a better job of hiding it) and had been enjoying the company of one of her colleagues for almost two months now.

She wanted to tell him that she loved their daughter dearly, but it wouldn’t be enough to hold their marriage together.

She wanted to scream at him, to curse at him until her voice turned hoarse, to let out every frustration she’d dealt with for the past 12 years.

But Una said nothing.

When her husband came home from work, an hour after she did (she knew why), she greeted him with a dutiful smile and a perfunctory kiss.

She let him wrap her in a constricting embrace, her body trained not to recoil from the stink of booze on his breath.

And without a word, she plunged the cold steel blade right between his ribs.

A to Z Challenge: Soap

 

This is the story of Sybil St. Clair, heiress to the vast St. Clair publishing fortune. Her father, Gerard St. Clair, is the owner of several newspapers, magazines, two new channels and a website. Her mother, Virgina St. Clair, passed away when Sybil was a young girl. A despondent Gerard threw himself into his work to cope with his loss, leaving Sybil to be raised by their family butler Clarence and housekeeper Mrs. Finchley.

On the eve of Sybil’s 15th birthday, Gerard met a beautiful young woman named Tabitha. Within months, they were married, and Tabitha, who wasn’t really the maternal type, begrudgingly accepted Sybil as her stepdaughter. Whatever helped her hold onto Gerard’s fortune.

Sybil kept a distance between herself and her stepmother while yearning to be closer to her father. But, she also had to navigate adolescence and school life at the Frampton Academy with her two best friends, Allison Davenport and Deirdre Holliday. Plus, there was her unrequited crush on Kyle Barlow, future inheritor of Barlow Hotel Group. Sybil had fawned over him for almost five years now, but in spite of some nudging from her friends, she never said anything to him. And perhaps she wouldn’t get her chance, thanks to the arrival of the new exchange student from Switzerland, Gretchen Friedman.

Gretchen wasted no time in climbing the teenage social ladder to become the most popular girl in school. And of course, she dug her claws deep into Kyle’s heart, so that Sybil became nothing more than a shadow to him.

Tabitha, meanwhile, was growing increasingly impatient. Along with her brother Talbot, she agonized over the fastest way to take over Gerard’s media empire. A skiing accident? A poisoning at a charity benefit? Perhaps a boring old home invasion? She knew she had to think of something fast. Sybil was becoming a woman, after all. At last, Tabitha formed a plan. A car crash. Simple, but so very effective.

And so it came to pass. Gerard St. Clair was involved in a fatal car crash. Sybil’s entire life was upended. Clarence and Mrs. Finchley did what they could to console her, but it was no use. Tabitha put on the guise of the dutiful widow. Gerard’s funeral was attended by hundreds, from extended to family to friends to old business associates. And there was another unexpected guest. Gerard’s estranged twin brother, Jerome.

It had been twenty years since Gerard and Jerome had last spoken, yet there he was, paying respects to his dead brother. That wasn’t the only reason, of course. He wanted his share of his brother’s inheritance. And more…

Who will win in a clash between Jerome and Tabitha? Will Sybil ever tell Kyle how she feels, or will she lose him to Gretchen forever? Will Deirdre ever solve the mystery of her haunted mansion? Will Clarence be rescued from his alien abductors?

Stay tuned to find out!

A to Z Challenge: Memories

 

Melissa walked into the small back room and sat down on the single chair in the center of it. She could hear the proceedings from the other side of the curtain, the auctioneer jabbering away while trying to draw out the highest bid. She ran a hand through her sandy brown hair and wondered if this was a good idea, if she really wanted to get rid of it all. But it was something that had to be done. She couldn’t carry it around with her forever. From what she’d been told, there was no shortage of buyers.

The sharp bang of the auctioneer’s hammer snapped her out of her thoughts. The previous sale was complete. An old man walked in through the curtain, his shoulders slumped but a faint smile playing on the corners of his lips. He walked past Melissa without noticing her, as if in a trance. She’d been warned about that happening for a few hours after the sale, but the end result would be worth it. Or so she hoped.

Another bang as the auctioneer got everyone’s attention to introduce the next item up for bidding. Melissa stood up, smoothed the creases on her dress and walked onto the stage. There was a podium on one side where a skeletal man in an over-sized brown suit stood surveying the crowd and twirling a small hammer between his bony fingers. His neatly parted silver hair suggested an air of refinement that was offset by his unchanging rictus of a smile and hungry eyes. She turned away from him to see that the room was packed, but she couldn’t make out any individual faces.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” The thin man began in a sharp voice that belied his frailty. “Allow me the privilege of presenting Miss Melissa De la Cruz, 34 years of age, a music teacher and avid film buff, formerly engaged to a Mr. Darren Robson.”

Melissa felt a knot form in her stomach on hearing his name.

“Alas,” the auctioneer sighed, shaking his head in an exaggeration of sadness but still smiling. “Mr. Robson was killed eight months ago in a car accident.”

There were a few murmurs from the audience.

“Miss De la Cruz was devastated, of course. A truly tragic loss. But life must go on, ladies and gentlemen. We cannot carry the burden of our memories with us forever. And that is why Miss De la Cruz joins us today, so we may help her lighten the load. But first, let’s hear what’s on offer.”

The man motioned to Melissa. His smile didn’t extend to his hungry, pale eyes.

She stood there for a moment, unsure. She could hear the breath of every single person sitting in the auditorium, waiting for her. Her fists clenched and unclenched as she debated over how to begin, over what to tell them. And then, she began.

Melissa recounted her first meeting with Darren, when he had dropped off his younger sister for singing lessons. He was a handsome young man, but there was something about him that clicked instantly with Melissa. And she clicked with him. She told the room about how Darren would always show up just a little bit early to pick his sister up so he could hear Melissa sing, and how he’d hang around for a while afterwards discussing his sister’s progress and pretending to know anything about classical music, just as an excuse to talk to her.

The words were pouring out of Melissa now, without pause. She remembered the first time he actually asked her on a date and the blush that crept up her cheeks when she accepted. Her first date with Darren ended in a rainstorm on the way back to her apartment. They laughed and splashed around the wet streets until he dropped her off at her front door. That one date had sealed the deal for them; they knew they would be together forever. She practically choked on the words as she said them. Darren’s jokes, his quirks, his hobbies, his vices, she remembered them all. After a few months of dating, they moved in together. A short while after that, on what seemed to be a routine dinner date, Darren went down on one knee and held up a ring. Melissa’s life was going to change forever. And on a slightly warm spring afternoon,  it did. That was the day she received a phone call and had to go identify Darren’s body.

The room was completely quiet. Melissa took some time to compose herself, dabbing at the tears that were rolling down her cheeks. She resumed her story, her voice a broken whisper. She talked about Darren’s funeral and the empty, meaningless weeks that followed. She had lost her passion for singing; it was just noise to her. She was afraid to drive, not for fear of dying, but for fear of bringing loss to someone else. Darren was with her always, in her heart and in her mind. She loved him more than she’d ever loved anyone, but deep down, she knew she needed to let him go. And now was the time for it.

Melissa stopped and broke down crying, unable and unwilling to stop herself. No one else in the room made a sound. They merely watched in fascinated silence.

“Alright then, ladies and gentlemen,” the old man said, in an infuriatingly cheerful tone. “There you have it. Our next item on auction is ‘Memories of Darren Robson, from first meeting till the present day.’ Place your bids!” He licked his lips, eyes darting around the room as frantic shouts erupted from the crowd, eager to win.

Melissa was vaguely aware of the buzzing around her as she stood on the stage, staring ahead with red-rimmed eyes.

At last, the hammer came down. Somebody had won.

A middle-aged woman from one of the middle rows bounded up to the stage, beaming. The auctioneer shook her firmly by the hand and led her to Melissa. The woman wrapped her in a tight hug, still smiling.

“I’ve never been in love,” she said in a soft voice. “But I’ve always wondered what it would be like, even if it didn’t last long.”

The woman gazed into Melissa’s eyes, seeing Darren’s reflection in them. Melissa could feel herself growing lighter. All the grief and the rage inside her was gone, as if it had been lifted off her like a veil. She returned the woman’s smile, which seemed to be fading, though she wasn’t entirely sure what she was smiling about.

She stepped back a bit unsteadily and looked around the room. She felt happy, happier than she’d felt in a long time. The auctioneer put a hand on her shoulder.

“It’s done, Miss De la Cruz,” he purred gently. “Your item has been sold.”

She blinked, trying to jog her memory. “My item, yes. I’m glad.”

The old man guided her off the stage. Before leaving, she turned to see the woman standing with a hand over her heart, her cheeks glistening with fresh tears. Her smile was fainter, but not completely gone.

“Is she alright?” Melissa asked.

“Oh yes, she’s fine. She’s just remembering a loved one.”

Melissa nodded and walked away, through the curtain and into the back room. It must be nice, she thought, to love someone so much that they never leave your thoughts. If only she could love someone like that.

The auctioneer thanked Melissa for her time and she thanked him for helping her with whatever it was she had come to sell. Still smiling, Melissa walked out the door. It was a beautiful sunny day, and she had so many new memories to make.

WEP Valentine’s Challenge: Forever

Yolanda and Renee of Write, Edit, Publish have put forth their first writing challenge for this year, based around Valentine’s Day. The challenge is to write a fiction or non-fiction piece in 1000 words or less. So without further ado, let’s get right into it.

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John couldn’t believe it was Valentine’s Day already. How time flew.

It was one of the most important days of his life. The day when he and Marnie had decided to take the next step in their relationship.

John adjusted his hat and walked along the same street where he had taken so many moonlit strolls over the years, hand in hand with Marnie. He smiled. The city had changed so much over the years, but it was still beautiful at night, pulsing with life and vitality. The both of them had had many wild nights together, painting the town red.

They were inseparable, always with their arms around each other. Her sing song laughter echoed in the evening air, replaced by ecstatic moans as the night went on. His thick, stubby fingers would comb through her dark tresses, caress her pearlescent skin, trace the contours of her sanguine lips. She in turn would let her spidery fingers roam over his rough form, from his scruffy brown hair to the slight bulge of his gut. The passion they shared could scorch the world, but that wasn’t all that they had.

Marnie was one of the few people, perhaps the only one, that truly understood John. The both of them could spend hours engaged in the most idle conversation, or simply watching the world go by in complete silence. They were content to simply exist together, two bodies and minds joined as one.

John’s footsteps grew a little heavier as he walked away from the city, towards the small hill that lay on its outskirts. He paused before the iron gates at the foot of the hill and took out a small package from his coat’s inner pocket. He opened the package carefully, removing the wrappings to reveal a single, blood-red rose. With a sigh, John walked through the gates.

He hadn’t expected his romance with Marnie to end as abruptly as it had. Though perhaps he should have. They had become too reckless, drawn too much attention to themselves. With the number of people that had gone missing in the wake of their nightly escapades, it was only a matter of time before a hunter showed up in town. John and Marnie hadn’t been concerned. They thought they could handle things. But they were wrong. The hunter was cleverer than they had anticipated. He laid the perfect trap, and they fell for it.

John knelt down and placed the rose on top of an unmarked gravestone. Marnie had made the ultimate sacrifice so that John could escape. This was where she rested now, though he wondered if she’d found any peace. He patted the stone and started to walk away. All good things came to an end, he thought.

His jaw clenched.

But this wasn’t supposed to.

John walked out of the cemetery and back to the city, running a finger along the bite marks on his neck, still as fresh as they were 150 years ago. Eternity was too long a time to be spent alone.

Word Count: 509

Unlucky in Love

There was a young man named Vance,

Who was desperate for romance.

He wooed a young lass,

Who was a witch alas,

And left him eternally entranced.

The Return

The mountains loomed like sloping giants against the dawn sky. The air was brisk, a light breeze causing a whisper to run through the trees as they shook in anticipation.  Camilia walked to her usual spot on the grass, the same spot where she had said farewell to Godric so long ago when he embarked on his quest.

Everyone had given up hope. He was dead, they told her, and she should carry on with her life, leaving him behind as a fond memory. Camilia didn’t listen. In her heart, she knew Godric would return one day. That goodbye had not been their last.

Camilia wrapped her shawl tighter around herself, keeping her sapphire eyes fixed on the horizon. One morning, she would see a rider silhouetted against the sun, charging towards her on his snowy steed. He would stop and dismount, armor glinting in the morning light. Slowly, he would bow, mustering as much grace as a knight could. He would remove his helmet to free his mud-colored locks and smile. Her Godric.

As the sun climbed over the treetops, a shadow appeared in the distance. A horse and rider. Camilia gasped. As the horse galloped nearer, she waited for it to emerge from the shadow to reveal its gleaming white flanks and silvery mane. But it never did. The animal that was charging steadily towards her seemed to be made of the shadows itself. Likewise, the rider was clad in obsidian armor unlike what Godric wore. The horse stopped in front of Camilia and looked at her, its eyes like twin lumps of coal.

The rider dismounted and took a step toward her. She wanted to step back, but stood her ground. She could hear his breath, metallic and heavy, from behind the helmet. He removed it slowly, revealing a gaunt, ashen face and raven hair. He bore little resemblance to the young man that occupied her heart, but she knew that this ghoulish apparition had once been Godric.

He had returned, just as promised. Even Death could not prevent that.

Godric smiled lopsidedly and she allowed herself to embrace him. His armor and his skin felt like ice. She could feel the coldness emanating from his body and enveloping hers. Her breathing grew shallow and she closed her eyes, clinging tighter to him. He had returned to take her. And now they would be bound together forever.

20 Tales of Terror – Day 15: Haunted

  
She haunts me.

I see her face, jade eyes framed by raven locks, and I yearn for her.

The sight of her ruby lips curving into a smile would make the most arid desert blossom with life.

I remember the touch of her pale skin, like velvet. I can never forget the way she laughed when my fingers caressed her face. I would give anything to touch her again.

But I cannot.

Our love will only live on as a memory now.

All I can do is watch from afar as she walks by. She has a new life ahead of her, while I am doomed to wander the world, forever restless.

Forever haunted by memories of my life.

Story A Day Challenge – Day 30: Removing Thorns

Here it is at last, the final tale in the 30-day Story A Day challenge. Now, the total tally only comes to 29, as Day 12 went missing. But I’m confident it will resurface soon.

Jeff stepped out of the office elevator deep in thought. He started walking toward the parking garage when he noticed the little flower stand at the side of the building. All of his doubts cleared up at once. He immediately decided to buy a dozen roses for Karen.

He had already plucked out a single rose from a flower arrangement that had been delivered to his office that morning. That one would be coated with the fast-acting toxin and placed on the outermost layer of the bouquet, where Karen was sure to touch it. After Jeff ‘found’ Karen’s body, he would remove the offending rose, leaving her with a perfect dozen and no clues about how she was poisoned. It was perfect.

Jeff paid for the roses in cash and walked to his car, practicing his grief-stricken reactions.

Story A Day Challenge – Day 27: Loser

David was frantic. He had managed to lose the lovely diamond necklace that he’d bought for Cindy. How could he be so stupid? He’d imagined how her face would light up when she opened the box, how she would likely burst into happy tears and shower him with hugs and kisses. And more, later on.

But then he went ahead and misplaced the box, complete with the cute little card he had attached to it. Where was it?

“WHO THE HELL IS CINDY?!!”

David buried his face in his hands. He was really hoping his wife wouldn’t find it first.