Miranda Kate’s Mid-Week Challenge : 2019/02/27

Jack took the empty growler bottle from the garage, his mother had used it when his father still lived with them. It had been a way for her to keep some small bit of her sanity. He took the bottle to the kitchen, and cleaned it thoroughly, using dish soap, hot water, and plenty of elbow grease.

He then filled it with water. “Yep. I’m ready.” Next he went to his room, and fished the two goldfish his father had given him out of their bowl, placing them in the bottle. “There.” He sealed the bottle, and proceeded to the garage, where he got his bike.

It was a short ride from his house to the beach. Most wouldn’t call it a beach, he knew. It was more like a short strip of sand surrounded by rocks. Not many people visited it, instead, they visited the much bigger beach a couple of miles south, where the rocks were missing.

It was perfect for what Jack intended.

“Dear bastard of a father. This one’s for you, and all the hell you put me and Mom through.”

Jack parked his bike in a bike rack, and carefully made certain his chain was locked in place. He knew he probably didn’t need to lock his bike in place, that no one would steal it. “Another thing to thank Dear old Dad for.” He remembered learning to hide things from his Dad. So they didn’t turn up missing. Thrown away, broken, sold, whatever. With his Dad, who knew? “If I lock it in place, Dad can’t take it.”

It was shortly past sunrise. His mother was at work. She worked nights. All night. Every night. She had to. It was the only way to pay the bills. Especially since “Dear old Dad” had left, and took all his income with him. “Dear old Dad” was supposed to send money each month. He hadn’t sent a dime. Six months, and not one dime.

The beach was perfect. Quiet. Calm. No people. The sun painted the sky and the clouds in shades of gold. It glistened on the ocean waves, like little diamonds shining in the water. Jack loved to watch the ocean, and the way the sunlight played off the waves. It always calmed him.

He carried the growler with him. The two goldfish swam around in circles inside, oblivious to what he was planning. He wondered, “Do goldfish have feelings? Like people do? Or are they like my bastard Father? Filled with hate, and uncaring?”

He walked to the end of the beach, near the rocks, before he stopped. It was a quiet place. He could sit on the rocks, and watch the ocean, and the sun. And he could deal with his emotions about his father without anyone bothering him.

Jack put the growler on the sand. He laid it on its side, with the top pointed toward the ocean. He knew, if he opened it, gradually, the water would drain out. Not all the water. But most of it. That’s what he wanted.

He removed the growler’s lid, and watched the water pour out. It came out rapidly, at first, until the bottle was half empty. Then it slowed to a trickle. Finally, it stopped, except when the goldfish stirred it up enough to cause more to leak out.

It was glorious. He watched, as the goldfish slowly died from lack of oxygen in the water. They’d used it all. The water had become toxic to them. They couldn’t breathe. They slowed. They stopped moving. They died.

Jack watched them.

“That’s what I think of you, Dear old Dad.” Jack wished he could put his father in a bottle, throw it into the sea, then open it. And let his father drown. Trapped in a bottle he couldn’t escape.

He dumped the dead fish into the ocean. “Good riddance.”

He took the growler home, and put it where the goldfish bowl had been. “So I never forget what you did to Mom, or to me.”

673 Words (So, I went over…)
@mysoulstears


It’s week 96 of Miranda Kate‘s Mid-Week Challenge. You can read about Miranda’s small fiction challenge here. Please, go read Miranda’s short tale this week, and any others that showed up. The tales are always little works of art, crafted with words, meant to be shared, and enjoyed.

Miranda Kate’s Mid-Week Challenge : 2017/04/23

I paused when I saw the feather on the ground, propped up by the rocks. “Daddy? Is Momma OK?” I brushed the hair from my eyes, and looked at the clouds. “She’s safe up there, isn’t she?”

Daddy knelt beside me, “Yes, Abbey. Momma’s safe.” He picked up the feather.

“Is it from an Angel, Daddy?”

“I don’t know, Abbey. I can’t tell.” He held the feather out, stared at it, and then looked at two seagulls as they flew by, right along the beach. “But I don’t think so.” He pointed at the gulls. “I think it’s from a seagull.”

I nodded, slowly. “Is Momma in the fight, Daddy? Do you know?”

Daddy smiled. “I don’t know. I’m sure she’d let us know if she was.”

I took the feather from him. It was soft, like my shirt, but softer. And so smooth. I couldn’t feel any bumps on it. And I’d never realized how light feathers were. I ran my fingers across its length, “But how do Angels talk to us?”

He nodded, and watched the ocean waves a moment, as if searching for something he’d lost. “They can talk, you know.” Daddy took my hand, “Just like we do.”

“Angels can talk?”

“Oh, yes. They can. They talk among themselves all the time.” With me still holding the feather, we resumed our walk along the ocean. “But they don’t talk to people so much.”

I squeezed my Daddy’s hand, “How can you tell if you’ve heard an Angel?”

He didn’t answer for a while, as we walked along, and all I heard was the ocean, and the seagulls. Until I answered for him. “Is that what that small voice is?”

“Small voice?”

“Yes, Daddy. That small voice. The one that’s always right.”

Even his eyes smiled. “Yes, I do think it is.”

“That small voice no one listens to. You know. The one that tells you to do your homework, or put the dishes in the sink, or make your bed. That one.”

He nodded, “The same one that tells me, turn here, instead of going straight when I’m driving?”

I bounced up and down, “Yes, Daddy! Yes! That voice.”

Daddy picked me up, and carried me as we walked. “Yes, Abbey. That voice.”

I held the feather out. “So, Momma talks to me every day, doesn’t she?”

Daddy nodded, and I promised to listen more to Momma. She was, after all, an Angel. And they know how to stay out of trouble really well, don’t they.

420 Words
@mysoulstears


Miranda Kate‘s weekly short fiction challenge is in it’s 7th week. You can read about the challenge here. I’ve enjoyed writing for it every week so far. I never know what’s going to happen when I start to write. I just have to get out of my way, and let the story happen. Please, go read her short tale this week, and any others that show up.

#MWBB – Week 2.20 : Long Snake Moan – A Tale Of Wrath

[Author’s Note : If you can’t handle sex, violence, and insanity, stop reading now, and move on.]

Jennifer stood in her shower, scrubbing herself with soap, making lots of lather. As she let the water wash away the foam, she moaned, “Oh, yeah.” She felt so alive. Every inch of her skin was alive. Every inch felt the water, the foam, the air. She moaned again.

It was three A.M. She was washing off the salt, sand, and him. She peaked outside the shower, to verify her special hairpin was still there, and clean. To be safe, she pulled it into the shower, and let the water run over it again, before placing it on the counter once more.

She felt the water flowing over her, closed her eyes, let her fingers run wild, and moaned, as she remembered her last date with him.

“I want to go to the beach! Now!”

“But, it’s after midnight. It’s closed.”

She kissed him, and ground her hips into him, “Scared?” She pulled one of his hands down and pressed it against her ass. “Think we’ll get caught?” Her hand rubbed his crotch.

To the beach they went. It was nearly 1:00 A.M. They walked along the sand, by the edge of the water. She pulled off her shoes, and walked barefoot, letting the water flow over her feet, between her toes, feeling the sand.

No one was around. She giggled, as she took off her shirt, and tossed it on the sand. Her bra followed, and she made sure he got a good view of her breasts. Her shorts and thong came off, and she added them to the pile. “Time for a swim.”, she splashed through the surf, and headed further out.

She smiled when he followed her, and touched the hairpin hidden in her hair. It wouldn’t be long before she needed it.

When the water was deep enough, she stopped, and kissed him. Her hand found its way between his legs, and her fingers made sure he knew what she wanted. She pushed him on his back, floating on the waves, and moved her head between his legs, for a little while. She knew it wouldn’t be long before she needed her hairpin. Not long at all.

She wrapped her legs around his hips, and mounted him. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her up, keeping himself inside her. She raised her arms over her head, and he couldn’t resist sucking on her breasts.

She moaned, then moaned again, as her hand found her hairpin.

He finished, erupting inside her. “Oh, God,” he groaned, as she pulled the hairpin and sank it’s carefully sharpened tip into his throat, then pulled it free, and sank it in his chest. He tried to fight back, but it was too late.

She pushed his head beneath the wave, her hands wrapped around his throat. She watched the bubbles in the water as he fought to breath. She held him there until the bubbles were gone, and he no longer moved.

She moaned as she finished.

She remembered every detail, as she stood in her shower, letting the water and foam wash away every trace of him. She felt the water flow between her legs, and moaned once more.

Wrath stood next to her, hidden in her shadow, as he whispered in her ear, “Another man who hurts innocent women is now gone. God blesses you, dear child, for all your hard work.” Jennifer smiled, and knew, the next day, she’d continue her work. She’d start another hunt. For a predator to remove from the world. To make the world a safer place from men.

She smiled, and as the water flowed, and her fingers moved between her legs, she moaned.

611 words
@LurchMunster


This is my entry for Year 2, Week 20 (Week 2.20) of Jeff Tsuruoka‘s Mid-Week Blues-Buster flash fiction challenge. Please, go read the other stories in the challenge.

#MWBB Week 2.15 : The Hungry Wolf

Lust loved the beach. It didn’t matter if it was midday, or midnight, the beach was always filled with entertainment. From the hotels to the sand, to the ocean, humans and their self-denial of their animal nature always brought him entertainment. As he slinked along the shaded concrete of the boardwalk, Lust pondered his best course of action for the day.

“Should I play with lots of humans, wrecking random havoc? Should I find a group of humans, and torture them continuously? Perhaps I should attach myself to a single human, and give them a Las Vegas style adventure?”

For a time, he watched the humans on the sand setting up their towels, chairs, and coolers. He particularly enjoyed watching the curvy female humans, in their barely there clothing. “Ah, the wonders of the female mind. Only a human female would scream, ‘Don’t look at me!’ and wear a tiny bikini which leaves nothing to imagine, and screams the opposite, ‘I’ve got it, and I’m gonna flaunt it!’. Perfect.”

He picked out a redhead, in a little pink number. The only things the fabric hid were her nipples, and between her legs, and it barely hid them. Lust watched her spread her towel on the white sand. He knew she was a regular on the beach when she staked her towel to the ground, so it wouldn’t blow around. Then she sat down, leaned back, and pulled out a book to read.

He knew she’d be perfect for his needs that day. He’d stay close to her for a while, and cause havoc of all kinds.

He started with a group of teenage boys as they walked by. The boys were there for one reason, though no one would ever admit it. They wanted to see curvy women, barely dressed, and fantasize about the many things they could do with them.

Lust whispered in the ear of the boy starring the hardest, “this is a good place to enjoy the water, isn’t it?”

“Hey, guys! This looks like a good place!” Sean proclaimed, “Last one in!” and he ran through the shallow waves near the shore, splashing up a storm. The other boys made like the pack they were, and followed suit. Lust had a blast as he listened in.

“Did you see her?”

“Oh, God, how could I not?”

“I wanna eat her boobies.”

“Spread those legs, momma, I’m coming in!”

“I keep hearing ZZTop.”

“Yeah, she’s got legs!”

“And she knows how to use them!”

“I’d let her wrap ‘em around me anytime.”

Of course, they would behave. None of them would do anything, except stare at her, which was OK by Lust. The more they drooled, the better. “Yes,” he thought, “she’ll do for today.”

Another female walked the sand, looking for a place to park. Lust knew exactly what to do. He whispered in her ear, “There’s a place next to her that’s perfect for you.”

“Um. Hi.” Sally shyly spoke to the person on the sand. “Is this spot free?”

“Sure is. Pull up a towel.”

Sally did, and Lust grinned, then he licked his lips, and slipped between them, like a hungry wolf, “I think I’ll try to talk them into a party of their own tonight.” He whispered in Sally’s ear, “Why don’t you comment about those teenage boys.”

Sally sighed, “Figures.”

“What?”

“We’re being stared at.”

“So we are.”

“Don’t you wish they would grow up?”

Her new friend only nodded. “It’s so obvious, What they’re thinking.”

Lust licked his lips and smiled, evil in his eyes, as he whispered to his chosen one, “Why not offer to help with her suntan oil?” Which she promptly did. As she ran her fingers across Sally’s shoulders, and down her back, Lust whispered, “Damn, that feels good doesn’t it?”

Yes, it did. And she let her fingers linger just a bit as Lust pipped in, “Perhaps she can help you with yours?”

She placed the bottle beside Sally’s head, “Would you mind?”

Lust always loved the beach in the summer time. He loved to play his games. They were so very fun.

688 Words
@LurchMunster


This is my entry for Year 2, Week 15 (Week 2.15) of Jeff Tsuruoka‘s Mid-Week Blues-Buster flash fiction challenge. Please, go read the other stories in the challenge.

#MWBB 36 : Howlin For You

Friday night. And I was alone. In my car. Going to watch a movie. With no one. Going to eat a dinner somewhere. With no one. Going to lie on my bed, with my eyes open, staring at the ceiling all night. Again.

That’s not how I wanted to spend my Friday night. I wanted to spend it with her. Take her to a movie she wanted to watch. I’d have even gone to watch one of those love story movies, if that’s what she’d wanted. I wouldn’t have cared what movie. I wouldn’t have seen the movie, or remembered it. I’d have seen her. I’d have talked with her. I’d have sat next to her. Maybe she’d have even held my hand.

But she wasn’t with me. I’d picked a movie for me. Just like I did every Friday night. One movie after another. And I sat through it, wishing she was there.

After the move I’d have taken her to dinner. A real restaurant. With sit down service. Not a pizza place. Not fast food. She liked Italian. So I’d have picked an Italian place. She’d sit across the table from me. We’d talk about the movie. And about work, and school, and our friends. I’d get to watch her again. See the way the light shined through her hair. See the way her hair caressed her neck and shoulders. I’d wish I could put my hands where her hair was, letting my fingertips trace the curves of her shoulders. I’d stare into her eyes, and forget everything. No studies. No projects. No deadlines. Nothing. I’d just stare into her soft blue eyes. And get lost. I’d talk about anything she wanted. For as long as she wanted. And we’d get a desert. And split it. Two spoons, one for each of us.

Instead, I went to Taco Bell. A fast food burrito, and an absurdly big cup of Mountain Dew. I wolfed both down, and got out of there as quickly as I could. I’d learned. If I kept moving, I didn’t notice as much how she wasn’t there.

After dinner, if she wanted, I’d drive to the ocean front. And we’d take a walk on the beach. She’d take off her shoes, and walk barefoot on the sand. And she’d hold my hand. Her graceful, delicate fingers laced through mine. Our palms pressed together. I wouldn’t even notice the ocean breeze, or the sounds of the waves. I wouldn’t even notice the other people there. All I’d see was her. All I’d feel was her hand, holding mine.

Instead, I went home. To my room, shut the door, and turned off the lights. And I pulled aside my curtains, and looked out the window, into the dark. I stared at the stars, and the moon. I knew they were alone. So far from everyone, and everything. The stars couldn’t talk to each other. No one could visit them. Stars were isolated islands in an ocean larger than I could ever imagine. The stars were alone.

Like me.

Without her.

I slept with the curtains open that night. Lying on my bed. Staring at the stars for hours. Until I passed out. I’d done good. I was proud of myself.

I didn’t cry.

546 Words
@LurchMunster


This is my entry for week 36 of Jeff Tsuruoka‘s Mid-Week Blues-Buster flash fiction challenge. Please, go read the other entries in the challenge.

Fall Flash Festival : My Fall

I stood on the beach, watching the waves, wondering how long it would be until I struck the ground again. Like I do every year. Every fall. Sometimes, I think they named this time of year perfectly. Fall. And every year, I do.

It was good to stand on the beach and watch the sunrise. The sun always brought color back to the world. The blue-green, grey, and white of the ocean and it’s waves. The pale blue of the sky, with it’s wispy white clouds. The green and gold of the sea oats. The shades of brown and tan in the sand.

Watching the colors come back reminded me, like all things, Fall and Winter eventually ended, yielding to Spring. In roughly 26 weeks. Spring. I always look forward to that. Fall. I never look forward to that.

As I stood in the dark, before the dawn, everything was a shade of black, or gray. I knew, as the leaves changed from their many shades of green, to their painted shades of gold, yellow, red, and brown, those leaves would fall to the ground. And leave bare trees. All of them, shades of gray. All of them the same.

I knew, the roses would bloom one last time. Defiantly painting themselves in oceans of pink, yellow, white, peach, bronze, and red. I knew those brilliant splashes of color would fade, the petals of each bloom would curl, and fall, beneath the ocean of gray fall always brought.

Already I could feel a nip in the wind, a hint of the biting cold that would grow in the days ahead. That little hint of the coming Winter. The playful nip of cold, like a puppy’s playful nip. A nip that grew throughout the fall into the searing bite of a full-grown, predatory wolf. Hunting every last shred of life it could find. Hell-bent on sinking its teeth in, and crushing that life in it’s jaws.

Fall. That time of year where all hope faded. Where the bottom fell out of my world, my life. Where the ground I’d stood on, the hill I’d climbed in Spring and Summer ended. And I walked off a cliff I never saw coming. A cliff that just appeared. Where the solid ground I stood on simply fell away. And I fell too.

Fall. At least it was named accurately.

There had been a time, not so many years ago, when Fall brought despair. When Fall heralded the return of the demon my depression was.

Until I learned to walk along the beach. In the hour before the dawn. And watch the sun climb out of the ocean, into the sky once more. And watch as the shades of black and grey faded away. And the colors of the world came to life again.

Until I learned to Fall heralds the return of the Camellia trees to full bloom. Their shades of white, pink and red, reminding me the Fall and Winter don’t last. They end. As if the Camellia trees catch me as I fall, and gently place me on the ground.

I knew Fall would grow the demon of depression within me. The darkness of my life would grow, just like the length of each night. But I’d learned. The darkness would never win. So long as the Camellias bloomed in the dead of Winter once again. So long as the sun rose every morning, and painted over the darkness of the night, and brought back the colors of life.

588 Words
@LurchMunster


I wrote this for the Fall Flash Festival, hosted by Eric Martell and Daniel Swensen. Please, go read all the other stories written for the festival. They all show the magic of words.

#12DaysBop : Day 12 – Camping In December

It’s Day 12, the last day of Stacy Hoyt’s 12 Days Of Christmas Blog Hop. The last prompt is the gift of moon. And I’ve always liked the full moon…


We went camping at False Cape every three months. Our first trip was in March. We spent two nights in the park so we could spend an entire day exploring. We saw so many wild flowers just starting to bloom. The trees were just starting to leaf out. Many of them filled with flowers. The Dogwoods were especially pretty. She liked the pink ones best.

In June we’d walked the beach all the way to North Carolina. She’d loved it. Watching the dolphins out at sea. Watching the pelicans fly in their precise formations. Several times, we’d stopped, and sat down on the sand, and watched the sand crabs digging their holes and skittering along the sand.

In September, we watched the sun set into the sound on the west side of the park. And the sun rise from the ocean in the east. We had fun, watching the rabbits forage for food. I lost count of how many deer we saw.

In December. It was cold, but we had fun exploring trails in the park. They ran all the way to North Carolina. We loved hiking together. That night, after the sun set, we took a walk by the ocean. The way the light of the full moon reflected off the waves was stunning. We stopped, and watched the endless waves.

And on the sand, in December, beneath the full moon, we closed our eyes and listened to the music of the ocean.  While she still listened, I reached in my pocket, and pulled out the ring. I got down on one knee, and when she opened her eyes, I asked her to marry me.

She said yes.


Please go enjoy the rest of the stories in the blog hop. There are some really gifted writers out there. It’s well worth reading their work. You can find the other entries here:

The 12 Days Of Christmas Blog Hop, Day 12 – The Gift Of Moon