#MWBB Week 2.7 : Dear Diary

Friday, 02 May 2014.

I saw her again today. She’s everywhere I look. Everywhere I go. I can’t escape her, and I’m not sure I want to.

I looked. Hell, yeah, I looked. I mean, I don’t think I stared at her. But I looked. I always look. Can’t help it. Have to look at her. She’s beautiful.

Oh, I know she’s fake. Hair ain’t that color naturally. Snow white, except for the six inches at the end, which is sky blue. Hair doesn’t grow that color. She makes it that color. I’ve never seen anyone with that kind of hair. The way it reaches down past her shoulders. Never a single hair out-of-place.

That’s how my eyes find her. I see her hair first. And then, the rest of her. All her curves. I have to look. And I have to find something to occupy my hands, so they don’t want to reach out to touch her. Gods, the stupid things I’ve looked at to keep my hands occupied. I don’t need a $200 network router. Or a MacBook Pro. Or another HDMI cable. I don’t need a three-pound bag of apples, or a box of Grape Nuts cereal. Jesus. Stupid hands.

I can’t help it. I know. She has the best curves I’ve ever seen. She ain’t one of them stick women, like in the magazines. A bean post with bumps. That’s what they are. A skeleton, wrapped in skin, with boobs and an ass glued on. They all look like that. All of them. Except her.

Where they’re all straight, she’s got curves. Graceful arcs. One part of her blends into another part, flows into another part. Every line, every arc, exactly what’s required. I’ve seen them all. The exquisite way her neck and shoulders blend, forming the perfect place to rest my hand. My fingers want to trace that curve. Feel the texture of her skin.

Her fingers. Lord. Her fingers. I have giant, crushing posts for fingers. Scars on them too. From the times I’ve drawn blood working in the yard, or on the house, or the car. I have ugly, utilitarian fingers.

Her fingers are everything mine aren’t. Slim, gentle, graceful. They look like they could carry roses, and not hurt them. Like they could heal a broken heart, gently stitching it back together. Never hurting it, always soothing its pain. My fingers want to slip between hers, and rest there. Find peace there. Find calm. Feel safe.

Yes, she has boobs. She’s a woman. But here’s aren’t overdone. She’s not all tits, and nothing else. Her’s are just right. That size between being not enough to notice, and “How does she keep from falling over?” The size I could rest my hands on. A perfect fit to the way my hands curve when I let them relax. I can’t help but see them. And I can’t help but know, there’s more to her. They’re just another part of her. They fit her. Like Mona Lisa’s smile.

She actually has hips. And a waist. I’ve watched her walk. The way her hips swing just enough left and right as she walks. Hypnotizing. The curves of her hips, and her buns. God. I can’t describe it. I’ve tried. I forget everything. Hell, I probably forget to breathe. I just watch her walk. I stare. I know it.

Yeah. I saw her again today. I hope I see her again tomorrow. Even though I’ll never talk to her. Never smile. Never say, “Hi.” She’s beautiful. A dream. A fantasy.

That one girl you can never have.

I think I’ll go to bed now. And bang the wife. And imagine it was her. Hey. What’s wrong with a little fantasy?

620 Words
@LurchMunster


This is my entry for Year 2, Week 7 (Week 2.7) of Jeff Tsuruoka‘s Mid-Week Blues-Buster flash fiction challenge. Please, go read the other stories in the challenge.

#FTT 23 : This, To Me, Represents Love

“This, to me, represents love.” I held up a dozen cut roses. They had been Valerie’s favorite kind. Yellow in the middle, with red along the edges. I will never forget the day she left. She didn’t say where she was going. She just left a note, explaining she was leaving to find herself.

“Roses?” Helen laughed. “The ancient symbol of love, and beauty.” She looked at the roses. “And they are beautiful.”

Helen was a good friend. I sometimes dreamed of falling for her. But it was always just a dream. I knew it couldn’t happen. She was my friend. And love? Well. All I had to do was remember Valerie.

And remembering Valerie always caused me to hear Dan McCafferty’s voice, screaming in my mind.

“Love hurts,
Love scars,
Love wounds,
And mars,
Any heart
Not tough or strong enough
To take a lot of pain,
Take a lot of pain.”

I knew I’d never fall in love again. I knew I’d never survive that kind of pain again. I could still see holes in my heart where pieces had been. Pieces gone since Valerie left.

“You think they’re beautiful?” I had to ask.

“Yes,” she smiled, and grabbed my hand, slipping her fingers between mine. “But, fleeting.”

“How so?”

“They’re cut. They’re pretty enough now. But in a few days, they’re whither. Their petals will turn brown, and black, and fall off. And they’ll become slimy where they’re in the water in the vase.” She squeezed my hand. It felt good. I squeezed back, enjoying the simple physical contact. Just being able to touch her. Feel her hand in mine. I always found my smile when we held hands.

“Yep. Just like love.”

She frowned, but didn’t let go of my hand. “I know. You’re still wounded from her.”

I had to stare at the roses. I couldn’t look at Helen. Not right then. I couldn’t let her see the parts of me missing. I couldn’t.

I was too afraid. Afraid of what she’d see. Afraid of what I’d feel. Afraid of how I felt about her. Afraid of so many things.

“It’s OK. The roses always grow back.” She smiled again. “Every year, they bloom again.” She put her hand under my chin, and gently lifted it up, looking into my eyes. “Just like love blooms again.”

I handed her the roses. “For you.” I whispered those words.

She squeezed my hand again. “I love them.” She smiled. “And I’m not going anywhere.” She kept looking into my eyes. “I’ve got plenty of time. I intend to wait for spring, when love blooms again.” She let me look away, but kept holding my hand.

“I’ll wait for the roses to bloom again.”

456 words
@LurchMunster


I wrote this for Week 23 of Alissa Leonard‘s Finish That Thought. Please, go read all the creatively shared stories in this week’s challenge.

#ThursThreads Week 93 : It’s Beatiful, But It’s Flawed

The kid looked at his hand, and watched the blood leak from it. I’d tried to warn him, but he hadn’t listened. This was Earth. The world of the humans. Where even the flowers were violent, and dangerous.

I laughed. “Careful, boy.” I pulled a strip of medical tape out of my pocket, and wrapped it around his finger.

“What happened?”

“The humans have a song. Says every rose has its thorn.” I carefully reached into the rosebush, and pulled the stem out into the open. “The song doesn’t lie.” He could see the stem, and the thorns spaced randomly around it. “This is a rose, kid.” I cut the stem, and pulled the rose bloom free, handing it to him.

He studied it. “It’s stunning.”

“Yeah. It is.” I sighed. “Every bit as beautiful as anything in the City of Gold.”

He nodded his head. “Look at the way it’s petals all wind together.” He ran his fingertips across the petals of the rosebud. “They feel like velvet, or silk.”

“They are one of Joshua’s most exquisite creations.”

The kid stared at it. “And yet, it’s filled with thorns.” The kid shook his head. “How? How can this be?”

“This is Earth. Where Lucien and the fallen live.” I looked up at the moon in the star filled sky. “Perhaps Joshua’s greatest creation.” I took a deep breath, and slowly let it out. “It’s beautiful. But it’s flawed. It’s why Joshua trapped Lucien and the fallen here. On Earth.”

250 Words
@LurchMunster


I wrote this for Siobhan Muir‘s #ThursThreads, Week 93. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #ThursThreads. They are good reading.

#ThursThreads Week 92 : Like Hell It Is

“I hear Earth is a beautiful place.”

I looked at the young angel next to me. He bore no scars. The armor on his wings was still polished, and new. He had never been to Earth before. Never faced Lucien’s minions before. Never faced humans before. So, he didn’t know.

“Yeah. It’s pretty enough.”

He smiled. “Tell me about it?”

I kept it simple. “Earth has nights and days. It rotates on its axis. So the sun seems to come up from the horizon every day. And then sink below the horizon later that day. It’s pretty enough. Lots of colors. Pink, orange, yellow, gold.”

“That sounds beautiful.”

“It has oceans of water covering over ⅔ of its surface. Where the oceans meet the land, there are cliffs, and beaches. With rocks and sand.”

“I want to see them. Sunrise, sunset, beaches, cliffs. Can we see them?”

“Yeah, kid. We can see them.”

So innocent. He didn’t know about fear, anger, rage, hatred, bigotry, pride, arrogance, lust. He didn’t know about sin. I sighed. I couldn’t let him go in blind. “There’s something you should know about earth. It’s beautiful, but it’s flawed.”

“Flawed?”

“Ever hear the saying like Hell on Earth?” The kid just stared at me, so I explained. “Lucien and the fallen ones live there. Demons all. Earth itself is not Hell. But like hell it is.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I know, kid. I know. But you will. You will.”

The ship started its descent.

248 Words
@LurchMunster


I wrote this for Siobhan Muir‘s #ThursThreads, Week 92. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #ThursThreads. They are good reading.

 

#FSF : Flowers

Image @ Shepley Imaging (http://shepleyimaging.com). I hope they don’t mind my borrowing it.

You can find the girls people think are beautiful by watching them. It works just like figuring out which flowers they think are beautiful. It’s the ones they keep looking at. Doesn’t matter if they say things like, “That’s disgusting,” or “She’s a tramp,” or even “She makes me sick.” If their eyes keep looking at her, watching her, she’s beautiful.


Couldn’t resist this one. It’s for Lillie McFerrin‘s flash fiction challenge, Five Sentence Fiction. This week, the prompt is Flowers.

Please, go read all the other entries to this week’s Five Sentence Fiction. It’s amazing what creative people can do with just five sentences.

Have You Ever Seen The Rain

I remember that day. Just another beautiful day, with me walking through the roses. I still do that, you know. Walk through that rose garden. Always did love roses. Never could grow ‘em though. Always managed to murder ‘em, for lack of a better way of describing it.

That day was different. On that day, I began to realize, began to understand, how hurt I was. How wounded. You gotta understand. If you’re wounded bad enough. Hurt bad enough. You do things you wouldn’t normally do. Like turn on your friends. Turn on the people that want you to get better.

Yeah. I was hurt that bad. And I’d hurt her ‘cause of it. I’d never meant to hurt her. No. Really. It was a stupid thing to do. And I’ll never forget it. Ever.

See. I’d been banned from the workplace. Couldn’t go to work. Had to sit at home, and wait to find out what would happen next. And I kept seeing these pictures in my head. Where she was talking with them. You know. Them. The people you don’t trust. In this case, one of the program managers. Didn’t help any that during the previous week, they re-arranged the office. Put me in the desk furthest from anyone. So they could watch me.

Paranoid. I know. But, you know. I was that hurt. Been in that job too long. Didn’t leave when I shoulda. Stayed there, ‘cause I thought people depended on me. Thought they needed me. Thought I was helping them keep their jobs. Yeah. I was fuckin’ screwed up. To the point where I thought everything that happened was done to try to get rid of me. Hell, I still think that. Probably always will.

But that morning, I’d written a note to her. And asked her point blank if she was one of them. If she agreed that I should have been banned from the workplace.

Talk about an idiot. Yep. That was me. Died in the wool idiot. Standing there in the roses that day. Catching my first glimpse of how injured I’d become. And how responsible I was for that. How badly I’d hurt myself. I’d told my doc already, “It’s nobody’s fault.” Which was a frakkin’ lie. It was my fault. It was always my fault. Everything that ever went wrong had always been my fault.

She’d written back. “How can you say that to me?”

Yep. Time to take a big damn sword and cut my heart out. That’s what it was. And there I was. Walking in the roses. Wishing I could do just that. Knowing I deserved it. Me. Looking at the roses on a beautiful day. Clear sky. Sun. Warm. And me standing there. Cryin’. Like frakin’ rain was fallin’ from my eyes.

Sometimes, God. I’m such an idiot.

I never meant to hurt her…

 

This piece was written for the 13th Friday Night Write, over on Sweet Banana Ink. There are always great little pieces of fiction there. Wonderful tales that have been shared. Please, go read them.