Flash Fiction, Microliterature, Microliterature, Passion's Invocation, Psychological Fiction

Gennalise Chalcedony

Gennalise Chalcedony

Gennalise

Shelly was seventeen years and three hundred sixty four days old, a straight A student and the apple of her father’s eye. She donned her school uniform hoping it would be the last time, and thinking, I’m so excited and nervous I could just throw up.

 

 

She wondered how she would lie to her parents. She had never done that before. To focus her mind on less unsettling thoughts, she got up to retrieve her books and spun her head, throwing a wide smile into the mirror with a backwards glance, trying to imitate a movie star she had seen at the theater. Not bad, Miss Gennalise Chalcedony! Not bad at all!

 

 

She called herself by an alias she’d thought of. One more fitting for the big city and the grand  stage. “You know,” she whispered in her southern drawl and winking at her reflection, “for when you’re a big star!”

 

 

She smoothed her hair and tucked some escaped  tendrils behind her ear. She was the picture of innocence as she ascended the stairs for breakfast. Her stomach churned, knowing this would have to be a perfect performance.

 

 

Shelly mumbled her way through breakfast trying hard not to meet her parents eyes. They were always so ebullient in the morning, effervescent with questions about her daily goals. Any other time, she would have felt refreshed and welcomed the attention but this day, not so much.

 

 

She managed to escape their barrage of morning questions, saying her stomach was upset. At least, I didn’t have to lie about that, she comforted herself, surmising, I’ve always been a nice Catholic girl. I never once told them a lie but, suddenly I’m waist deep in lies! God, I no longer need a push broom. I need a snow shovel!

 

 

She rolled her eyes trying to calm her fears and rubbing the bills together for the bus ticket she would purchase, whispering, “I hope you’re right, Mr. Samuel. Smoot but, you wouldn’t be funding my audition if you didn’t have a really good instinct about me. I’m going to be a huge star!”

 

 

 

By Wildfire8470

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© September 6, 2019 at 2:16 AM – All Rights Reserved

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Abuse, Fiction, Flash Fiction, Institutionalization, Miscellaneous, Poetry, Poetry + Prose, Poetry + Prose, Prose, Psychological Fiction, Short Stuff Sunday

Glorious Bird

Glorious Bird

I am a glorious bird

Placed on the windowsill

Where I am free to watch

All that composes me

Everything I am made of

And all that’s bread into me

I am perched upon shelf

Staring out at freedom

Knowing my keeper loves me

Enough to value safety

Over life and deed

So clipped my glorious wings

Leaving me free

To envy in others

Everything that I am

Rendered useless to do and dream.

 

 

By Wildfire8470

© August 18, 2019 at 10:53 PM

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Fiction, Microliterature, Passion's Invocation, Psychological Fiction, Short Stuff Sunday

Killer Reputations

Killer Reputations

F9A6256B-2539-4866-B6F1-35D5CCCF5C2F

Photo from Tumblr 

 

Brindle was all dime store cosmetic allure and overlong eyelashes dwarfing her face, attractive only to certain types of men from the wrong side of the tracks.

Everyone said she was no good, that she would be her own ruination.

She did business on her back, while dreaming of spreading her wings and broadening horizons, but she owed her soul to heroin. She had to have the drug to blur the faces and perversions that  were her survival.

But she dreamed of better things, a better life teeming with love, until she was three months gone and her fate was sealed.

They said she had dried out and gotten her act together; she bore a girl child in a rehabilitation center, still on the straight and narrow, and returned to her home plus one.

But wagging tongues and cold stares finally broke her. Paramedics found her with a needle in her arm.

Her daughter attended the solitary service, watching alone, as they lowered the casket into the earth.

Everyone said she had grown quite beautiful in her late teen years, and spoke in hushed tones of what a shame it was that she had inherited Brindle’s poverty.

She was all dime store cosmetic allure and overlong eyelashes dwarfing her face, attractive only to certain types of men from the wrong side of the tracks.

 

By Wildfire8470

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©March 19, 2018 at 12:17 AM
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#shortstuffsunday #SundayShorts #flashfiction #shortstory #psychological #fiction #human #condition #reputations #prostitution #harlots #history #repeats

Flash Fiction, Passion's Invocation, Psychological Fiction, Tuesday Teasers

Love is Blind

Love is Blind

Price

Photo From:

https://luisspeaks.wordpress.com/2014/11/15/the-reverse-beauty-bias

He didn’t know what it was like. He couldn’t have. He couldn’t have known what his ugliness had done to her. He had never felt anything deeply, never gripped onto the last flicker of a flame, never held onto hope for dear life just to have it coldly snuffed out.

At the time, she couldn’t fathom that this was the work of the same man she’d loved so very dearly. Standing alone in the pitch with tears falling onto a still warm candle, too fearful to let go, Michaela prayed that it might flicker back to life at least long enough to run for the safety of light which, in reality, she knew did not exist.

Barefoot on cold cement, Michaela turned to look hopefully back over her shoulder but was met with the thick, merciless stillness, filled with no hope, no sense of proximity or direction, no stability nor love, and nothing to hold onto, just stagnant suffocating air. There, she stood frozen, with wax candle growing cold in her hands as she slipped to the floor shivering.

Michaela was naked, stripped of pride, belief, love and trust. Daniel had thrust her into empty, echoing aloneness because she had given all of herself. Now her everything was gone. He had turned his back on all of it, relegating her to the icy vice-grip of nothing else in her world that mattered as much.

Not a soul knew that she was locked in a basement below ground. No windows would save her come daylight. No one; no family nor friend, no love was coming to her rescue. Solitary penalty, she thought, as hope spilled down her cheeks.

A chill slid up her spine seizing her throat and a distant scream split the air, growing louder and more intense, until it surrounded her. Michaela twisted her neck turning to look and hoping her eyes would adjust, but then remembered how she had come to this moment, in this solitary place, and realized that the screaming came from her.

Michaela dropped the candle and sobbed into her hands. She wasn’t prepared for this. This will be certain death. The though registered like she had ingested a gallon of molten lead gone cold. She curled upon cement wondering how long it would take, how long she would endure the torment of starvation, isolation and black vacancy.

Even dying, little piece by little piece, isn’t as horrible as knowing how much I loved and invested in the one who sentenced me to it. How long until I die for this sin, she wondered, and then implored the Heavens, screaming on her knees, “Exactly what is the price for blind love? I trusted my heart”!

She pictured him now, laughing among friends, with self-righteous indignance, speaking as though she deserved to die for this; for the crime of believing in Daniel and loving him more than life. “Love is blind,” she whispered into the stillness.

Michaela knew that his friends and acquaintances were equally enamored, albeit differently. They too had no idea that the good man they accepted in the warmth of friendship would someday reveal himself; the monster inside would make itself known. Maybe they will be the ones to discover my bones here, she thought, knowing they would only meet the same fate.

Having worn out the last of her will, she closed her eyes, whispering into endless nothingness, “Now I lay me down to sleep”…

 
  

by Wildfire8470

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© April 29, 2018 at 10:37 AM

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Tags:  Tuesday Teasers, flash fiction, blind faith blind love, horror, allegory, unrequited love, murder, death

Fiction, Passion's Invocation, Psychological Fiction, Writing Wednesdays

Foretold

Foretold

 

Fortune-teller-victoria-frances-15942351-500-394-Lavinia

Photo attributed to:

http://www.rebecasaray.com

 

My future was never more unsettled. My fiancé had suddenly changed his mind and my parents died this year. The only family I had was across the continent and it felt like my personal world had spun off its axis.

 

I needed solidity and clarity; something to anchor myself to that would get me through a future too fraught with perilous unknowns. Though I was terrified and didn’t want to know, I had to know who or what my solid rock would be. Where is my safe port from the storms, I wondered.

 

The cloying question grated on my last, raw nerve until I was forced to do something dire. It was the only option left to me. I had to go see the gypsy witch. It was said she would read a fortune in exchange for cash, but only if she sensed desperation.

 

Lavinia lived on the outskirts of town, shrouded in mystery and spoken of in hushed tones of gossip at the grocery mart or any other place where town folk tended to gather, though Lavinia was never one of them.

 

From time to time it did strike me as peculiar and I wondered why she was never seen out and about, though I had not given it much thought until now. She’s certainly as human as any of us, I thought. Doesn’t she buy groceries or go out to do anything? I wondered, but it didn’t resolve my unease.

 

Every October the whispers would start. Mothers readied their children for Halloween, ensuring perfect costumes and a plentiful supply of candy, but steering their kids clear of the Victorian house with turrets hugging the town’s northern border.

 

I pressed the last of my paycheck into her palm wondering if she would know just how desperate I was, while she fondled her crystal ball. Glaring up at me she spat hatefully, in a thick acid-tinged Romani, “There is no love and no marriage in your future,” though I had not yet screwed up the courage to ask. “You shouldn’t be here,” she stated insistently, as she clawed my elbow to escort me back to the door. “Don’t come back here again”.

 

With that, Lavinia nearly shoved me out of the house and bolted the latch immediately. It was the sound of finality and the beginning of my foretold future; people pushing me away, slamming doors in my face, no love, no marriage, no children, no life, no one and nothing!

 

For a long moment I stood there, frozen in shock and terror, until indignance tunneled to the surface and won out. I pummeled the door she had just thrown me out of, screaming, “Lavinia! Lavinia, you answer me! I can’t leave, I have no answers! I paid you for answers,” but no answer was forthcoming. She ignored my presence as well as my pleas. I no longer existed for her.

 

I knew it was the beginning of the end. She did, in fact, answer the question I came to as, even without having to voice it, I silently berated myself and gathered my wits about me to begin the journey back to my empty house. I decided to walk in the bracing October air, grasping at anything that might discredit her when tears of impotence stung my eyes and spilled down my face.

 

I stifled a gasp at the echoes of laughter emanating from a nearby home while I descended into the hell my life had just become. The future is settled now, such as it is, I have the answers I no longer wanted and instantly regretted receiving. I will live in the sort of exile that Lavinia knows all about, I realized, and then ducked into an alley and wept.

 

 

 

By Wildfire8470

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©September 1, 2017 at 12:48 AM

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#flash #fiction #self-fulfilling #prophecy #dangerous #women #dangerous #women #writingwednesday #writingwed #diverse #ownvoices

 

 

 

 

 

 

Flash Fiction, Passion's Invocation, Prostitution, Psychological Fiction, Saturday Studs

Mandy Lynn’s Fantasy

mandy-lynns-fantasy

 

They met in a chat-room for adult role play. She had just come of age and was craving the attentions of a real man. Not any of the boys in my peer group, she thought, with Joffrey in the back of her mind. Her every fantasy had come to life in him and though they had not met, she was certain she knew him through and through.  

 

Mandy Lynn felt that she had come into her own, right here and now, but she longed to touch him and consummate what they had begun. Joffrey had broken through her defenses as no man in her life ever had. He worked at it and for it, solely set on allowing her to bare all, so she knew that Joffrey truly loved her. She could feel it from thousands of miles away.  

 

It had taken a year but, Joffrey had worked tenaciously to break through her walls and to her amazement; Mandy Lynn let down her guard. Slowly she began to reveal her secrets and show a little skin; a bare shoulder first, then cut-off shorts hiding a black garter belt hooked to stockings, then a see thru negligée. Finally, he feasted his eyes upon her nubile, feminine form.

 

The lighting was perfect with shadows falling in the exact right places. He smiled in the darkness watching her features on his camera and snapped pictures she knew nothing of. He was intent on finding out just how far to push her and when to loosen his grip, all without ever breaking contact. He would save that for his ultimate weapon.

 

He memorized her features, etched into mind almost indelibly now; her soft lips smiling at him or parting to laugh at his jokes, her wide-eyed innocence and the curve of her hand twirling a lock of hair nervously, not knowing what to expect of him. Joffrey imagined her perky breasts, taut thighs, and tight, sweet, little ass, while he played at being a gentleman.

 

She had never roll-played before. She’d never even taken an acting class but she knew he was genuine. When he finally invited her to meet in person, Mandy paused for only a fraction of a moment but realized her instincts true. She knew Joffrey to be a very good man and readily accepted his invitation.

 

Mandy Lynn left Freeport Florida taking a leap into a future she could only dream of prior. She knew Joffrey was charming, a gregarious temptation with a warm and engaging personality. She ached to know if his arms were the perfect match she had imagined.

 

Every night, after chatting online, she closed her eyes to imagine the warmth and safety of his strong arms around her, the feel of his large hands exploring her, revealing her most intimate secrets, kept only for him. He would kiss her gently, increasing pressure gradually until she let him devour her and wanted him all the more.

 

Upon arrival of the much anticipated cab which would carry her to the airport, she couldn’t understand the knot in her stomach, or a sudden uneasiness that assailed her. She chalked it up to nerves and climbed into the taxi.

 

Their first week together was magical. Mandy Lynn leaned into a lamp post for strength. Retrieving a photo from her skirt pocket, she stared hard at the picture she had kept for years; a picture of the last time she was still that innocent.

 

In the second week Joffrey had stripped her of money, decent clothing, and withheld affection, food, and everything necessary for survival. He put her out to work the streets, under threat of bodily harm, and let his buddies trade her like so much chattel, and now I am a whore, she realized knowing she could never go home again.

 

For the millionth time she stared at the photo she’d kept of those days, wondering how she’d never suspected that the man she was so certain of was actually a woman-beating pimp, but couldn’t summon tears, knowing they would freeze in the biting wind, only to begin again in the depths of her broken heart.

 

Disclaimer:  Any resemblance to persons living or deceased is strictly coincidental.

 

By Wildfire8470

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© October 01, 2016 – 02:04 AM

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