Tag Archives: writing

Love, Short Story, Valentine's Day

Valentine’s Day Discount

4 Comments

I strolled through the supermarket, pushing the cart in front of me. The wheel was broken and it squeaked as I pushed it down the aisles, searching for the discounted candy. The constant squeak of the wheel as I forced it to go straight instead of the cart turning with the one wheel. Of course I would pick the cart with the squeaky, crooked wheel that wanted to make the cart careen down the aisles.

I turned down the aisle that housed all the Valentine’s Day candy, now 50% off, and smiled for the first time since February 1st. For a second, I allowed myself to bask in the glory that was discounted candy, before I looked through the selections.

“Reeces, or a bag of assorted? Bite size or full size?” I debated quietly, while lifting a bag of Reeces Pieces, and another bag full of assorted bite size candies.

“Oh, Mary! What a surprise!”

I suppressed a groan, and turned toward the voice of my neighbor, Debby. I knew for a fact I waved to her as I got into my car today, so I know she saw me leave. Did she leave the house five minutes after I did this morning? Follow me here?

Debby had the perfectly straight, blonde bob; her makeup was flawless and looked natural, but I knew her makeup routine took an hour. She was wearing skinny jeans, not mom jeans like she should be wearing, since she had three kids and still looked like a high school cheerleader. Her purple sweater had little red hearts all over it. I tried my hardest not to roll my eyes at her tacky Valentine’s Day sweater. I swear I tried, but its possible my eyes rolled. Just a little.

“Deb, what are you doing here?” I made my lips move in semblance of a smile, but it probably looked more like a grimace.

“Oh, I forgot the boys have a game on Friday, so I need to pick up some groceries for Saturday. They always have friends over the next morning,” she smiled, her perfect white teeth gleaming. Then she looked over my outfit, which consisted of a hoodie with the Egyptian goddess Tawaret, and black yoga pants with black converse, and then she looked at the candy in my hand. “Oh, honey I’m so sorry. Yesterday must have been really hard for you. I should have come over and seen you.”

I forced another smile.

“Actually I was fine. I’m just here for the discounted candy.” I laughed slightly. Awkwardly.

“Oh yes of course. I just meant, you know, that you’re single now. So a day all about love must be really difficult. If you need anything you just come right on over. Ok, hun?” Before I could thank her and try to escape the conversation, she pat my arm and kept talking. “Now you listen to me, Mary. You will find someone ok? Someone better than Joe. Do not even think about him and his new girlfriend. I heard they’re having a baby now, did you hear that? Anyways, don’t even think about them.”

She kept talking to me but I tuned her out. Yes, my ex-husband was a cheating scumbag, it was the day after Valentine’s Day, and we broke up last year on Valentine’s Day. Yes, I was wearing yoga pants when I so obviously was not doing yoga. I was not depressed, my life was not over, I was just trying to buy a bag of assorted bite size (“fun size”) candy for half the price it usually was.

I.
Was.
Fine.

I had mourned the loss of scumbag, as I usually called Joe in my head. I had cried that he left, cried that he was a lying jerk, cried that he gave another woman what he told me he didn’t want. I cried about it all, and I grieved the loss of someone in the house with me. But I was done grieving the loss of someone I didn’t miss.

I was happy he was out of my life because now I could live my life. I could go and find someone who wasn’t a jerk.

In fact, I went on a date a couple weeks ago, but nobody seems to care about that. We were going out again soon, but we just didn’t want to date around Valentine’s Day because there was so much pressure to have someone on a day that was created by the greeting card companies. We both thought it was stupid.

Debby was still talking to me, her mouth was still moving, but I still was not listening to her. I just put the candy down in my cart, next to my purse. I opened my purse and grabbed the gun and pulled it out, pointed it at her head and shot her. Right between the eyes. She was annoying anyways. I put the gun back in my purse, and went back to debating on what candy I was going to buy. I heard people milling around me, I heard them wondering if they should call the police. But I didn’t care. I was going to buy my damn candy and no one was going to say anything about it.

I did not care that Debby was bleeding out on the floor, that her blood had started to pool around her head. I did not care that the blood would eventually run and might soak my sneakers. I was tired of caring what Debby said, or what she did, or even if her blood stained the bottom of my sneakers. I just didn’t care!

Debby wasn’t the only one either. My whole town, though it was small, would see me and want to talk to me about Joe, his new girl, their new baby, the baby they had when we were still together, how was I feeling?, had I spoken to Joe?

It got old. Really. Old.

“Hon, you gonna get your phone?” Debby’s voice brought me out of my day dream, and I reached into my purse to grab my phone. I looked at the caller ID before putting it away.

“Telemarketer,” I said with a little smile. Debby just smiled her perfect, Stepford wife smile.

“Oh, I didn’t know they had cell phone numbers. Anyways, I have to go finish shopping. You come over anytime, ok, hon?”

I nodded my head as she walked away, and I blew out a breath. I put both bags of candy in my cart with a muttered fuck it.

I bought two bags of candy.
I was single.
But most of all, I was happy.

I was happy being single, and not in a relationship with someone who was comfortable. I enjoyed dating. I enjoyed having my house to myself. I was living life again for the first time in years, and I didn’t need someone else to make my life complete. Sure, sharing my life with someone would have been nice; but I wasn’t going to settle for second best. Not again.

Joe-shmoe. I was fine. I would continue to be fine. Hell, I may even be better than fine. I was not going to let the scumbags get me down.

And I was going to eat my damn candy.

Dahlia, Drama, Love, Murder, Mystery, Short Story, Uncategorized

Dahlia

Leave a comment

Dahlia sat with her back straight in the chair. Not blinking or moving. Her long, voluminous black hair hung down to her backside, curling off the chair. The oak chair she sat in was far from comfortable, which only added to tension to the situation she had found herself in. Across the room stood the love of her life, the man she thought she’d marry and make babies with. She could feel the anger rising in her again about his betrayal, but she swallowed it down. She had decided it would be better to look impassive than to look like the crazy woman he accused her of being. There he stood, looking as perfect as the day she met him, while she sat looking like a frump, forced into the clothes by the situation. God, she hated him almost as much as she loved him.

If only she hadn’t been so naive to think someone as perfect as him could love someone as flawed as her.

She remembered it clearly, the day her heart broke into a thousand pieces and her world turned on its side. It had been early, six thirty in the morning. Dahlia had just finished putting on a tight black dress that emphasized her curves. She put on a little bit of foundation to make her pale white skin gleam a pearly white. A pop of dark red lipstick pulled her look together. Her icy blue eyes just made her look even more innocent in her eyes. By seven, she was out the door, driving to Matthew’s house. The man who held the key to her heart.

She had met Matthew two years earlier at work. They both worked for an accounting firm in the city. His shaggy, dark blonde hair and hazel eyes gave the impression that he would be a surfer, but he was as dedicated to his job as he was to her. They dated for two years, and Dahlia was sure he was going to ask her to marry him.

Until she walked through the door.

When she unlocked the door to his house, she heard a noise upstairs. She followed the noise, walking quietly up the carpeted staircase. She had slipped off her heels when she came into the house, because Matthew was a neat freak. There were many shoes by the front door, so she didn’t think anything of the female slippers sitting besides Matthew’s loafers. A trail of clothing, both male and female, led to the master bedroom. She opened the door to his room, and there he was, with another woman, laying in the bed. Naked. Dahlia’s not sure what sound she made but two pairs of eyes turned her way at the same time. It’s possible she screamed.

“Dahlia! What are you doing here!” Matthew yelled. She started laughing, while tears fell from her eyes.
“Matthew, honey, I came to make you breakfast,” Dahlia said quietly. She couldn’t drag her eyes from the pair on the bed.

Matthew got up, pulling on a pair of boxers. The woman just pulled the sheet up to her chin.

“Dahlia, sweetheart, we broke up,” he said, coming towards her.
“Matthew, tonight is our anniversary. You were supposed to ask me to marry you!”
“We broke up a year ago! Aren’t you listening to me?”

Dahlia didn’t answer. She just turned around and closed the door to the bedroom quietly, locking it. After that she couldn’t remember.

And now these people were saying she killed Matthew and his little whore. But how could she have killed him, when he was standing RIGHT THERE, smiling at her? Smirking at her? LAUGHING AT HER? She was sentenced to death because of him, and they weren’t even looking at him! She was going to die because of him!

So there she sat, with her back straight in the chair. Not blinking or moving. The oak chair she sat in was now unbearable to sit in, which only added to tension to the situation she had found herself in. The man beside her strapped her to the chair, and hooked a machine to her head. And across the room stood the love of her life, the man who had falsely accused her of murdering him. There he stood, looking as perfect as the day she met him, while she sat strapped to a chair in an orange jumpsuit. God, she hated him almost as much as she loved him.

Paranormal, Scary, Short Story

I hear you.

Leave a comment

She sat on the corner of her bed, her knees drawn up to her chest, arms around them. Her eyes were wide open, staring at the darkness of her room. One could almost hear humming coming from her room, but the moment someone opened the door, she would go back to rocking silently.
Crazy, they would whisper as they stared at her.
What is wrong with her, they thought.
She wanted to scream I CAN HEAR YOU! but she never did.
But no one could hear the voices she heard. She couldn’t tell anyone either. It would just confirm in their minds that she was nuts. Certifiable. Insane. Wacko. The list went on and on. But the voices she heard were not in her head. She could hear the thoughts of others. And she knew it was true. It was hard not to answer the questions people had in their head, and sometimes she forgot that they hadn’t asked the question out loud. They would think nasty thoughts, dirty thoughts, despicable thoughts. She wanted to scream I HEAR YOU! but she never did. That was not the worst part.
No.
Not even close.
One of the guests was not what they said they were. She didn’t know what it was. It was passing itself off as a human male, but from what he said in his head, he was not anything close to human.
Tasty humans, he would think as he stared at someone.
Would anyone notice she was missing? he would think about another.

But how could she confront it? It came into her room over and over again, threatening her in its mind.
Tell anyone what you hear and your mother will be the first to go.
Do you want to come play with me?
Do not pretend you cannot hear me, child. I know you can.
She wanted to scream I CAN HEAR YOU! But she dared not to make a move. She just started humming again, to drown out the noises.
It was showing her images now. What would happen if she told what it was. What would happen if she came to it.
I promise you a life better than this.
Come with me, child. You could live for thousands of years.
Just take my hand.
Oh God, it was in her room. When she looked up, she was startled by the handsomeness of the body’s face. She knew it was a lie. She knew he was not human. Was it  even male? Oh God, oh God, oh God. 
“What is your name, child?” the creature asked. It startled her.
She just hummed louder.
He tsked.
“Would it help to know mine? It is Abbadōn. I am Greek.”
“You are the destroyer, the ruination.”
“Ah, you know your history,” he smiled. You could see the demon eyes glowing devilishly. He knelt by her bed. “Come with me. I can make your burden easier to bear. We can destroy things together. Everything and anything.” He touched her hair, her temple, and suddenly she could hear nothing. She looked up at him in wonder, eyes growing impossibly larger.
“Maeve,” she whispered.
He just smiled again and whispered softly “I know.”
She put her hand in his, wanting to go wherever he went. For he was the one who took away the voices. That was all she cared about.
“Ah, darling, we will get along well with each other.”

In a flash, they were gone. Maeve, only 16, would have many names in the future. Apollyōn being one of them. But she would never be seen in her time again.
She would always hear the voices, but she found someone who could take them away.

Short Story

Ice Queen

Leave a comment

They called her cold, the Ice Queen. It was an odd description for someone just shy of 19 years, but an apt one. The young girl only had to look at someone, and her brown eyes would give you a chill. As the Ice Queen made her way through the crowd of the ballroom, young maidens whispered behind their hands.
“Look, she’s here.”
“That’s her! The Ice Queen.”
“What is she wearing?”
“Do you think she knows she looks ridiculous?”
The Ice Queen did in fact, know that she looked ridiculous in the light pink confection her mother had made her wear. But you had to care to fight, and unfortunately she did not. The low neckline showed more cleavage than was the current fashion, the waistline high, just under the bust. Rosettes were placed all around the bottom of the long, full skirt. Her dark brown hair was high on her head, with little ringlets framing her face. She was short, this Ice Queen, only coming up to the shoulders of most of the males of her acquaintance. Even looking ridiculous, she was beautiful. While the women whispered behind their hands, the men stared. Some glared at her form, that she looked like God put her on earth for man to love, but she gave men no more than a curtsy or nod as encouragement. Other men tried to bet on who could unfreeze the Ice Queen.

Alexander Ashton, The Fourth Duke of Westbrook was different from the others that stared at Lady Catherine Brooks. He watched the lady walk through the crowd, with her shoulders back and her head high. Just looking into her eye, one would think there was nothing inside of her, no emotions what so ever. But he knew differently. Tonight, he thought to himself, tonight I will get her to marry me. His eyes followed the lovely form that breezed by the ton as if they were no better then the footman passing out drinks. While others saw a frigid woman, Alex saw only the woman locked behind ice. For the last month, he had danced with her, pulled her outside, went to garden parties lavishing attention on her. The ton was beginning to talk, but he could care less. He had chased his fair share of skirts, but since he had laid eyes on the Ice Queen, he knew he wanted to melt her icey exterior. He had conversations with Catherine, and had cracked the shell she kept around her, but tonight he would peel it all back.

Catherine was walking towards the garden, away from the music, away from the people staring at her. She could feel his eyes on her, but she did not want to acknowledge him. Once outside the doors, she sat down on a bench in the darkness. Breathe, she reminded herself. It seemed to be getting harder, going to these events. She was beginning to feel, and she hated it.
“What are you doing outside, milady?”
Catherine turned towards the deep timbre of the familiar voice. She looked at the tall man that followed her outside. He was taller than most men, standing above six feet. His blonde hair and green eyes made him look charming. The fact that he was always wearing a boyish grin did not help. He made the ladies swoon, and the gentlemen roll their eyes. Anyone he wanted was his. Except, of course, Lady Catherine. Tonight he was exceptionally good looking, with his dark green waistcoat, starch white linen shirt, velvet coat, and breeches. One could tell, simply from looking at him, that there was no padding to help broaden the shoulders, or corset to hide a growing stomach. No, not this duke.
“Is it a crime to come outside for some fresh air, Your Grace?”
“Not a’tall. Thought you were trying to run away, Cat. Couldn’t have that, could we?” Alexander said as he sat on the bench next to her.
“My name is not Cat, and you know that, Your Grace.”
“Course it’s not, Cat.” He just grinned wickedly. He almost chuckled when he heard a growl from the lady. He did enjoy getting on her nerves.
“Was there something you wanted, Your Grace?”
All of a sudden, Alexander’s demeanor changed. He turned fully towards her on the bench, his green eyes glowing with pent up desire.
“You know what I want, Catherine,” but he didn’t give her a chance to respond, to tell him she wouldn’t marry him. His hand cupped her cheek and he kissed her gently. Catherine tried to keep her emotions locked in tight. She could not let this affect her. But she felt herself warming. She leaned into the kiss, her body moving forward of its own volition. Putting her hands on Alexander’s chest, when she wanted to pull him closer, she pushed him away.
“Stop!” Catherine yelled. All the emotions she kept locked in tight, were starting to bubble over. No! her mind screamed, “NO!” she cried, jumping off the bench.
“Catherine?” Alexander asked, confusion showing in his eyes. Slowly, he stood up, never taking his eyes off her. “What is going on?”
“You don’t understand, I cannot marry you. I am unfit! Ruined! A disaster!” The Ice Queen was melting, panic showing in her eyes.
Alex, aware of the guests only ten feet away from them, pulled Catherine further into the garden. Catherine remained unaware of what was happening, her mind whirling.
“Catherine,” Alex said, pulling her into his arms. “Please, just tell me what is wrong.”
“Alex, you make the emotions so hard to keep locked up tight. I can’t handle it,”  Catherine said, laying her head on his chest. God, how good it felt, to be held by him. For the last month, she could go nowhere without Alex being there. She stayed away only because she knew it was dangerous. She would begin to feel, and emotions would choke her until she couldn’t breathe. But here, in his arms, she felt safe.
“What happens, Catherine?”
“I start to panic when the  emotions come. I have to keep them inside, or I can’t breathe. When I’m with you, I start to feel happy, but then fear comes to, and everything I felt when I started locking up everything,” she lifted her head to look at him, tears glittering in her eyes, “I would rather be the Ice Queen, then be seen crying and panicking every time someone makes me sad. It’s too much. It’s why I can’t marry you. You’re going to be a duke, and a duchess has to be a hostess. I could never be that.”
“How do you feel now?”
Catherine took a moment before she responded, to make sure she was completely honest when she said “Safe.”
“Well, how about I make you a deal. You marry me, and always tell me how you feel. If you are ever sad, or can’t breathe from too many emotions, then tell me. We can just leave for a little while, until you feel better,” he smiled down at her at her gasp.
“Alex, you couldn’t!”
“I am the Duke of Westbrook milady. I can do anything I damn well please. If that means never entertaining, and  living a quiet life in the country, making my wife laugh and smile, so be it.”
Then, for the first time in nine years, Catherine began to smile.
“You mean it?” She asked tentatively.
“My dear, the day you said you would rather be in the country then London, I knew you I had waited long enough in marrying.”
“But you love London!”
“Only when you are here.”
“Oh, Alex, I want to marry you so much. Are you sure?”
Alex pulled Catherine closer and kissed her soundly. One hand on the back of her neck, one hand on her waist, he kept her close until she kissed him back. When he pulled away he saw the dazed look in her eye and grinned wolfishly.
“Oh yes, Cat. I am getting a special licence tonight. No way am I letting you change your mind,” he gave her a quick peck on the lips before continuing. “And love, whenever you feel overwhelmed, just come to me. In the middle of a ballroom, in the middle of a garden party, when your parent come over, hell, when my parents come over, just come into my arms. You never have to worry.”

Alexander Ashton, the Duke of Westbrook, pulled Lady Catherine Brooks into the ballroom, and announced to the crowd that the Ice Queen had melted, and was going to be the future Duchess.