Creative Writing · relationships · Uncategorized

Fiction Friday Challenge: Yassss, I Stomp Spiders, Girl

spiderweb
Image of spiderweb by Tuur Tisseghem

 

Synopsis: Yona confides in a new bestie about her philandering boyfriend and learns no one is ever who they seem to be.

“So tell me again what happened?” Melody crossed her legs over her bed and flipped back her now short cut bobbed blonde hair.

I started from the beginning, feeling piping hot anger all over at what Otis did to me.

” I came home early—”

My phone vibrated against my  thigh, cutting me off.

Melody shook her head at the phone in my hand. This will make ten calls Otis has made now.

Don’t pick up the phone. You know that he’s only calling because he’s drunk and alone.”

I shut off my phone before continuing with the sad details from 48 hours ago.

I don’t know why I’m torturing myself. Reliving those moments of arriving at Otis’s apartment after my Zumba class off campus. I was excited about our Taco Tuesday since I burned off enough calories to replace it a little.

Instead of knocking, I finally used the house key he had copied for me, and as soon as my gym bag hit the plush carpet, I heard squeaky bed noises upstairs. There was music playing too, but not too loud.

I close the door firmly.

That was when the noise kicked up in crescendo and I hear the unmistakable keening of a satisfied woman.

I stomp up the steps wishing to God I had my switchblade. I will just have to use my knuckles instead.

Otis bursts from the room. I catch a glimpse of a long, creamy thigh hanging off his bed, rear-end high up but face down.

He slams the door and comes fully out, he tries to reason with me.

I smack his face so hard the print of my hand lingers crimson on that fine face of his.

I try my hardest to get to the door and see the chick who has replaced me so I can hit her as well but Otis, along with a string of apologies from his fat lips, picks me up like I weigh no more than a pamphlet, and carries me downstairs kicking and screaming.

Once he sets me down, I stare at his ripped body and black military cut hair. He was so beautiful.

And so not mine anymore.

“Yona…” He pleads.

I hold up a hand. “Save it. Just. Save it. I’m tired.” I run from his apartment. He calls my name.

The only thing I could see in my mind, was a female’s a red overworked butt with a black spider tattoo on the lower back.

I drove off to nowhere and somewhere for a whole damn two days. They went by in a panoramic blur: I drank in bars(I’m 21, okay?), I remembered partying, talking to dudes, passing out then waking up in someone’s car.

A stranger brought me to campus in my own car. Some dude who I remember crying on his shoulders and who kept telling me “It will be alright. It will be okay.” The scent of Doublemint gum and Irish Spring still lingers in my foggy mind.

As soon as he dropped me off last night, I puked out my guts and sorrow, showered and passed out.

I was asleep until Melody walked in from her English Lit course.

The only person I can put all this junk story on was the prissy, super smart Melody who proclaimed she hated all men.

When I was done telling her my sob, drunken story, she shook her head in sympathy.  “You’ll find a new man soon.”

Her phone pinged and whatever she saw on the screen, caused her eyes to bug out and the phone ended up slipping to the floor with a hard thud.

When she leaned over the bed to get it. I saw the spider tattoo with its long webbing…dark and mocking.

Inched its dark webbing deep into my murderous heart.

No way there would be two girls with the exact same spider tattoo…

I sigh. Dammit.

I tried to make it one more year without getting locked up.

“Melodyyyy?” I say in a sing-song voice. “Did I mention the description of the girl who slept with my man?”

Melody sat up holding her phone with visibly shaking hands.

I cracked my knuckles, rotated my arms and shoulders.

At least this way, I will get a more effective workout…

Copyright© 2017 Erica Jean Smith

**Thank you for reading folks! As usual, please share and subscribe to this blog if you like what you read! It is all about building a connected group of readers who also enjoy writing. Head over to Marquessa’s amazing blog for more Fiction Friday prompts as well!

Advertisements
Creative Writing · writing

Fiction Friday Challenge: The Shape of the Sun

Life-of-Pix-free-stock-photos-sunset-sea-light-mikewilson
Image of sun over water found on Pexels.com

 

 

Synopsis: A blind man questions the validity of his life in his darkest moment yet. Until a kind voice reminds him of something so true, it is a fire to his soul…

My story may never get told. It will lump in with the rest like pieces of unleavened bread. Perhaps written down on parchment and washed away at sea.

But I met him.

It was on a very hot, incredibly dry day and I sat on a stone with a heart as heavy as said stone.

An outcast. In every sense of the word. As a man, I knew I must work, provide for a family(I had none) and be a commendable person of society- but who can do that in the dark? Who can do that without love?

On that dry, hot day. I contemplated something heinous. I contemplated asking for a sword to stab into my gut or kindly asking a stranger to permanently place me in darkness. Since I lived there as a blind man anyway. What difference can it make?

I heard the footsteps. The crunch of sand, before a gentle voice spoke. There were more voices. Some ridiculing me and telling the kind voice to leave me be. But he stayed.

“He must have done something wrong. He has sinned!”Screamed the voices. “And look at the whiteness of his eyes! Is he the devil?”

The kind voice, I did not hear for a moment. Then he said something so fair. So sweet and true. So true, it was not of this world.

He told the others. “This man, nor his parents did any wrong. He is blind because he was fashioned for my Father to do this miracle.”

“Who are you?” I ask.

“I am the Light of the World.”

I heard him hack up something from his throat—-Spit. Then he asked someone to pass him a stick. He told me he was mixing his saliva with earth and will pack it onto my eyes.

I remember clamoring up inside. The brutal beatings, the fights I got into, nearly being pushed into a pool of water to drown. My heavy heart…

Now someone wants to place spit on my eyes.

I did not believe in Miracles. Not in some magical person who can heal. Although I heard the stories. Even if he could open my eyes. I was man born into darkness. What will I see? What do people look like? What is earth? The shape of the sun? Will I know and run around frightened?

I feel cool mud cakes being slapped onto my eyes  and Ah! It hurt. It burned like a million fires into my skull and then moments later a cooling sensation sizzled.

“Do you know where the Pool of Siloam is?” The kind voice asked me.

“I do.”

“Go now and wash it off there, Celidonius.”

It’s funny how people say now how faith as a mustard seed moves mountains. It is now in this life that I realize faith plays a huge role in anything, however God can do what he wants. I was a tool. An example of what can happen outside of the natural realm using natural elements. Funny, eh?

I did as instructed that day. Rinsed off my eyes, slapping cold water on my face, and before me was movement. This coolness is called moving  water. The bright disc in the sky, our sun graced the world like a gold finger laying on top of the water, and there was movement in the sky. Animals. Flying ones my mother told me about.

Later after the naysayers accused my healer of being the devil, I stood by the same pool and the kind voice asked me if I believe in the Son of Man.

I turn to him, the heavy lead of my heart my doubting heart becomes softened. His skin was same as mine. Some may say Jasper and his eyes were dark opals which shined brighter than the sun.

“Lord, in your eyes, I’ve found the missing pieces.”

I truly have. Enlightenment is like being pregnant and finally giving birth and letting out the joyous burden. It is a kindling for your soul and your mind and all my worries, my parents, even me being born blind finally made sense. It took no words. No needing to attend the synagogue to debate with the Pharisees and Saducees for Scroll answers.

My Lord looked on me kindly. It was all I needed.

Eyes. Jeweled windows of the world and still so many are left in darkness.

Copyright© 2017 Erica Jean Smith

*Thank you all for reading this. It demonstrates perfectly how someone can you love you back from the depths of darkness. Please read and share! Head over to Maquessa’s blog to join in on the Fiction Friday fun!

Creative Writing · Flash Walk Fiction · relationships · Romance · writing

Betrayal Has a Name-Conclusion

A Woman's Face
Photography of woman’s face by John Rocha

Betrayal Has a Name: Conclusion

My problem is that I always feel something is there, even when I’ve lost it. My leg. My beautiful leg Jonathan always groped and tickled, just right under the knee- is now gone. I am told to be grateful I still have my piano fingers. But I have no leg and I am in awful pain.

Alista pushed herself up in the bed, just as Patsy, Jonathan and Coby walked into her room. In that order. Her mom, Patricia Michaels stood up, erect, dignified. Nodded at each friend briefly. “Please. Make it short. She needs her rest.” Adjusting her heavy pewter coat with white fur lining the hood, Alista’s mom walked out the room. Her heels clicking hard. The sound of importance and success. Alista only hoped to be like her someday. Unaffected by life, taking charge as problems come.

“Hey baby,” Jonathan leaned down. Kissed her lips gently. She couldn’t feel it. Her lips were too dry and cracked. Noticing her discomfort, he poured her some water from the pitcher on the side table and added the short, tiny white straw. “Drink.”

She sipped a little as he stroked her hair, telling her he missed her and asking about her health and did she dream of pianos.

Meanwhile she caught the faint surprise on Patsy’s childlike face. That brown, beautiful face of a cherub. But her eyes held a shine. Tears. “Oh, Alista!” She came over and leaned down on Alista. Patsy’s soft body smelled just like Jonathan’s arm. Baby powder and Dove soap. “Hi! Are you okay? I am so, so sorry!”

“I miss my leg.” Alista said. “I would borrow yours, but you have incredibly short, turtle ones. I’ll manage.”

“Still find time to crack jokes, huh?” Jonathan stepped back from Alista as Coby narrowed his eyes at everyone. Alista waved her hand. She knew Jonathan hated how she picked on Patsy. Ever since high school Patsy was just easy to like and tease at the same time. She couldn’t help it.

“I have to. I’ve been in an accident on my way to perform.” She took Coby’s offered hand. He kissed the back of hers.

“You are a perfectionist, Sweetheart.” Coby’s handsome pierced face and blue eyes shone with affection for her. Alista loved her childhood friend. Suddenly she wish they could start that band he’s been meaning to put together.

But Alista wanted to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. Jonathan’s eyes usually soft for her, were now hard. With concern or…something else?

Patsy appeared skittish as usual. Such a shy kitten. But Alista could see clearly that Jonathan was protective of their little friend.

“When I said break a leg,” Coby began. “I was only joking.”

“You know I always took your advice.”

“How does your body feel? I mean. Are you going to be alright?” Patsy asked her.

“What’s crazy is I think I feel my leg.”

“What?” Patsy asked touching the railing. “What do you mean?”

“Phantom limb effect I believe. Remember in psychology class? When the teacher talked about losing a limb but still having the feeling that it’s there?”

“Oh, yeah.” Patsy and Jonathan said at the same time.

“Anyway,” Alista ran her hand down the severed limb part. Grateful the blanket was covering her. “It may be gone, but I still feel it.” She paused and sat her cup down. “We lose something and still feel it is there. Now it hurts more now that it is gone, than if I had it. Doctors said it had to be done.”

“Wow,” Patsy bit her bottom lip. “It had to be done to rescue you from worse hurt you know.”

“Yeah. You wouldn’t be with us, otherwise.” Jonathan shifted, placed his hands in his pockets. “It must be done.”

“I keep thinking,” Alista sat up even more. Slightly grimacing as everyone leaned in closer to hear what she had to say. “I keep thinking, maybe if they could have left it on. I can walk on crutches you know?”

“You would still suffer,” Jonathan offered. “Why have something that is crippling you. Why would anyone want that? Plus, you are here. You needed to be cut out from that car.”

“You sound insensitive. Why would anyone want their leg cut?” Coby interjected.

“No one wants it,” Patsy glanced at Jonathan’s face. “But if something is not working or if it can rescue you from a world of debilitation and pain. Why keep it?”

Alista shook her head. Coby suddenly took her hand again while Jonathan’s remained in his front pockets, but his eyes still loved her. In whatever form it was conveying. It had to be love.

Yes, it was still there.

*************

Copyright 2017 Erica Jean Smith

*If you have not already, please read the interesting first part of this story. Then check out more amazing quick tales via this blog! Your likes, comments and shares are all appreciated!

Flash Walk Fiction · New Adult · relationships · writing

Betrayal Has a Name(a really short story)

A Woman's Face
Photography of woman’s face by John Rocha

 

Patsy swung the door open hard. Not caring that it banged against the chalky, white cheap wall of her studio apartment. Not caring that some friends and family were eyeing her with strict concern. She took herself out of there and fast needing to be the first to reach her friend Alista.

“Wait,” a firm touch and clasp of his warm hand, grasped her elbow as she tried to take that last step. Jonathan’s eyes roved over her body. A tingle broke through her, beginning from her arm where he touched her and pooled in her belly. Where warm, illicit feelings stirred.

She removed his hand quickly with a pop of her hand. “What do you mean wait?” She spat. “Let me go to her. She’s my friend.” Every word was enunciated, hard. Like each nail driven into wood. Meant to close the deal and seal the truth.

But they were both liars and Patsy knew this bone deep.

Now it was Jonathan’s turn to frown. He looked at the short, cute girl wearing the gray pullover hoodie and whose sweatpants never looked better on another girl. Her body was perfect and her small face even more perfect. Her lips always begged for his kisses. How is it that I ignored this girl in high school? Not only is she incredibly hot, but so sincere. “I think we passed that line two days ago- don’t you think?”

Patsy bit her bottom lip. Even had the decency to look nervous and guilty. She looked up at Jonathan. His eyes, were trained on her lips. Now she remembered. Never did he look into her eyes when they would all hang out together. He always looked at her lips. And when she spoke, he always backed her opinions. Her, Alista, Jonathan, and Coby were the best of friends since high school.

Jonathan dated Alista, the pretty pianist with the big, chocolate eyes. He dated Alista all four years of high school.

High school was over now.

Now, they were deciding on college, jobs, and ultimately if there really was a pot of gold at the end of relationships. They both knew they shouldn’t hurt Alista anymore. Alista has been hurt enough. By her family, this sudden accident and now this…

“We have to see her. She is at the hospital. I’m done with…with this.” Patsy crossed her arms over her small breasts, watching as Jonathan licked his lips.

What have they done?

What have they done?

Jonathan wrapped his arms around her. Not caring who may see them. “I told you before,” he whispered. “And I’ll say it once more. You have always been the one for me. Maybe if we tell Alista the truth, it won’t be as hard for her to take later.”

Patsy shoved him hard and made it all the way to her car door and was about to pull it open when once again Jonathan’s arms wrapped about her. She forgot how fast he was, being a former track runner and running back for their high school football team.

Her phone buzzed.

His rang- had a stupid ringtone.

Both rang at the same time.

She pulled hers out of her pocket. Alista’s cousin’s face bloomed all over it, causing a knife to stake its way into her chest.

Jonathan showed her his screen. Alista’s mother was calling him.

It is moments like these where it is inappropriate to think of the late day showers with Jonathan’s muscular, powerfully built body pressing hers into the cool tiled wall, grunting, groaning, praying her name aloud.

Or in the morning, with her body spooned with his. Excited and tortured by his teasing lips.The cries of near pain and ecstasy as Patsy realize he was indeed a very, very experienced lover which caused her to nearly lose her voice. Probably one delicious reason Alista stayed with him.

The reason Patsy should have left him alone.

“I want you, Patsy. Let’s tell them the truth.”

Cold prickles marched down her neck like ants. “I don’t want to take this call.” She swallowed. “I don’t want to tell any truths.”

“It could be bad.” Jonathan agreed.

This time it was just his phone buzzing.

Alista’s mom again.

*************

Stay tuned for the conclusion on Friday/Saturday! For more short stories visit My Flash Walk Fiction Page!

Copyright 2017 Erica Jean Smith

 

Flash Walk Fiction

‘Seaweed Eyes’, A Brief Autumn Romance(Flash Walk Fiction)

 

**Below, you’ll find a very brief Autumn romance fit for readers of young adult fiction, love, and general literature. I hope you like this treat and feel free to comment and share. I will update the last part sometime this week**

seaweed

Seaweed Eyes

Part 1

Hoping against hope, I sit on grandma’s swing, under the shady tree, the large one I used to be afraid of as a child until one day I saw a beautiful, emerald caterpillar undulating on its branch. The tree couldn’t be all bad if beautiful creatures took up residence there.

I swing my feet out, my church shoes looking like horse hooves and kicked back and forth, my long legs were spindly and my shoes kept kicking up the dirt patch, but the sun was warm, friendly and not unbearably hot.

Hoping against hope, I pray he doesn’t show up. Every Sunday dinner since I was ten, he came by with his son. The one with the bowl hair cut, sneaky smile and dingy clothes.

I stop my swinging and finally make up my mind to tell Grandma Olsa.

“Grandma!” I yell into the house. I pull open the front door and hear it scream in protest as I dash upstairs to where grandma was knitting by the window. They look like small hats, for a baby.

“I don’t want Casey and his dad here. I hate them!”

Grandma slowly lowers her knitting needles and turns away from the window. After she sighs she then says, “Dearie. Never say you hate someone.”

“I don’t like them, Grandma,” I whine. Now I feel six instead of sixteen. “That boy is always looking at me, like he wants to eat me. He is kind of chunky.”

“You hadn’t seen him all summer, why worry now Elesa? We go to the same church and his family is in need sometimes. Giving him a free meal once in a while and some friendship is the least we can offer.” Grandma Olsa stands up in a beautiful, print dress of sunflowers and I admire her long, silver hair which is incredibly healthy and thick.

“Well. Do I have to talk to him?”

“I would like for you to be polite,” Grandma Olsa says just as a firm knock on the door downstairs confirms the worst.

They’re here.

With the house smelling of sweet yams, buttered biscuits and grandma’s briskets memories of the last Fall sweeps through me and I feel a kind of nostalgia come over me. Last year’s cinnamon raisin cookies, the large green Christmas tree with lots of presents under them.

The unopened presents mom and dad will never see.

I take the steps one at a time slowly, not excited about seeing the dark haired Casey and his thick shouldered giant of a father.

Grandma opens the door wide and opens her arms wider for Casey’s dad. “Come in fellas! You’re just in time!”

I turn on the dining hall’s lights as Casey’s dad enters.

I keep looking around the man for Casey. Grandma holds the slender yet toned fella next to Casey’s dad.

The boy has his hair in a small bun at the nape of his neck and his eyes are the color of seaweed, framed by curly lashes.

He is mighty fine.

“Elesa. Aren’t you going to hug Casey?”

I swallow hard.

This. Can’t. Be. Casey.

***Story inspired by a great prompt on Pinterest!***

Copyright 2016 by Erica Jean Smith