She loved his voice. The way it sounded. The way it filled the room. Mostly the way it made her feel as its sound wrapped(more…)
Maybe tonight things would be different. The magic had picked up with the storm. It was almost palpable in the air. Maybe Gabrielle could really be the Ice Queen after all. She thought of Rick and their good times. The snow slowed its pace. The rumbled of truck caught Gabrielle’s attention. Its sloppy maneuvering and aggressive speed were enough to tell Gabrielle that it was going to be one of those nights. She watched as the truck came barreling down the street. The fear of the unknown mixed with the memories of other nights causing Gabrielle’s chest to tighten. Her throat felt constricted. She closed her eyes as the snow came billowing onto the porch. She tried to chuckle at the thought that it was trying to give her a hug. She couldn’t laugh. She knew too well what was going to happen. Gabrielle opened her eyes and watched as Rick clipped the corner of their driveway. She heard his slurred trail of screamed obscenities from the porch. She watched as his anger transformed his face from drunk and lax to red and harsh.
There was a grave chill in the air. It ran down Bonnie’s dress wrapping itself around everyone of the little, invisible blonde hairs that covered her body. It was easy to forget that the human body was covered, or supposed to be, with little fine hairs to provide sensory context and feels. It didn’t help that women especially were trained to not have body hair, causing most of them to suppress the fact all together. As Bonnie made her way through the graveyard toward the church, there was no way should could forget about her body hairs as they all stood at attention brushing against her clothing. If she hadn’t been witnessing the events her eyes were locked onto, she wouldn’t believe it was happening.
Dr. Daniel Stewart left his home on the morning of February 2nd and headed to work. He wasn’t going in to see patients, just had to pick up a few files from his office and check in with the part-time bookkeeper, part-time receptionist, Ana. She had been doing an incredible job, he was hoping she would change her mind about doing only part-time work and take on a full time position as office manager. She seem reluctant every time he mentioned it. He had a feeling there was something she wasn’t telling him, but he didn’t push it. As long as she kept doing the caliber of work she was doing he could deal. Dr. Daniel was in and out of the office in an hour and forty-five. He was right on schedule for his next stop. Running into the watch shop on Main Street, Dr. Daniel noticed a beautiful woman admiring a rather stunning necklace in the window. The woman blushed as he nodded his head at her and entered the store. He quickly picked out a name brand watch – purchased three of them – and the necklace the woman had been eyeing as he arrived. In his mind it was always good to keep a nice piece of jewelry on hand.
Over the years, I’ve proven myself to be a bit of an unofficial handwriting expert-hobbyist. It’s somewhat of a party trick. Tell your subject to write the following poem, a poem of my own invention, “The goblin quickly erupts picking up his zax, after the jerk waiter served him decaf coffee.” It’s a little lengthy, but people are usually distracted by its corkiness than to tear it apart. Most people go up in arms that “zax” is a made up word. It’s not. It’s a noun. Look up the definition if you don’t believe me. The crazy thing is through this party trick of mine, I’ve accumulated dozens of writing samples that look nothing like my own. With some additional information I’ve been able to open a store credit card here or there, made a withdrawal or two from bank accounts, but up until recently I hadn’t had enough samples to put into motion my greatest plan.
He watched as the top of her head bobbed up and down with the movement of her hips and arm. The top of her lower back rising up more and more as her head pushed further down into her bed. She didn’t masturbate every morning, just like he didn’t usually have jobs us this way. When he did, he liked to stop by. She how looked, if she still had some of the same morning habits or if those had changed over the course of time as well. Her hair color had changed. It was darker now, but so was the weather. It was colder, in color and temperature. In the summer her hair was lighter and warmer, like the sun and the sand at the beach.
She wasn’t quite sure how she got here or exactly what she was saying, but she was sure she was drunk. She heard the words, “stay, away, me, masturbate, you, me, right, wrong” and then she stopped listening to herself. Or maybe she had stopped talking. She felt something soft and rough, smooth and edged. She felt the graininess of pores. She felt like she was going to throw up. She felt the temperature change as she returned indoors from outside. The warm air, versus the cold.
I almost feel bad. I opened this email to compose my thoughts to you, and instead I’ve done nothing but talk about this bitch from the coffee shop who has desecrated the integrity of a true writer and certain percentages of humanity. Not that I’m a true writer. Having a slew of published short stories and a free online blog, does not make someone a true writer. However, it does make my judging her a little more appropriate, and adds a whole new level of humor to her private phone conversation being loudly spoken in the middle of a coffee shop. By no means am I being hypocritical either, I like to do my writing at the library or at your house, which is where I’m supposed to be headed, but I stopped here to get a cup of coffee and potentially a brownie – I heard one of my favorite baristas was working. She always under cooks a brownie and sets it aside for me when she works the morning shifts.