Flash: Escaleras de Muertos

Photo by Tony Hernandez on Unsplash

She swore the stairs reached higher the longer she lived in the walkup. Maria straightened her ancient back, catching her breath at the second landing. The bags in her left hand dragged, pulling downward, encouraging her to turn around and never leave the ground again. The right hand gripped a cane. If she didn’t need it, if she could make it to the corner store on her own, she would only need to make the trip every other day.

She was getting too old to make this trip every day.

Only two more flights to go.

Turning the corner on the stone landing, she started the next bank of stairs. One tread, two tread. Move the cane. Only 34 more steps to go.

“Maria, we need to talk.”

The kindly voice sounded above, echoing on the ancient stones of the stairwell. Steadying herself by leaning against the wall, Maria looked up. Step by step, first seeing shoes, then finally a handsome young woman above her in Dia de Muertos makeup. Squinting, Maria reevaluated her initial assessment of makeup on a face to make it look like a skull.

“Hola.” Maria’s voice shaky as a function of age, not facing Death. “Do I have time to put away the groceries?”

“I think you have climbed enough stairs for this lifetime.” Death stood and skipped down the few treads separating them. Offering a hand, white bone but looking soft and sturdy, she asked, “Shall we? You have some friends waiting.”

(words 248; first published 5/26/2019)

Flash: Docility

Photo from freedigitalphotos.net

Rating: Mature

Staring at the horizon, Giorgio sunk onto the heated rock he had scaled. Dry, scentless air needled his tongue as he inhaled. Desolate desert and cloudless sky revealed no life but his own, barring a few reptiles bathing in the sun. His abandoned sedan remained below, the sole tie to humanity and civilization in the vacant vista. Its tan color only delayed conversion into an oven. The forsaken landscape ripped from his mind the meaningless thoughts of his tedious job and tiresome acquaintances, the irksome bills and insipid conversation which ruled his mundane activities.

The top was the perfect break point. A transition between civilized docility and feral reality.

The world was laid out at his feet. He could see everything, know everyone, … defeat anyone.

The return trek from the ravine over the high rocks was never as gratifying. Trite deadlines always dragged him away. He admitted to himself, he loitered. Prolonging his time with her until the last possible second. Fortunately, verifying his surrounding was only essential going in.  

Confident no one had followed him, the man shouldered his pack. Some rubble ricocheted down the steep trail as he stood. He slapped his hands together removing the grit embedded in his skin. Blinking against the unforgiving sun, one last survey assured Giorgio. He could go to the secret place.

The twisted path touted no breezes and soon Giorgio’s bangs dropped stinging sweat into his eyes. The ravine floor was in perpetual shade unless the sun hovered overhead like a nun with a ruler during parochial school. Being close to eleven during daylight savings, the Solar Goddess was beating the ravine unmercifully. Later, the north-south ravine would huddle in sacred shade and lick its wounds, waiting for the forgiving Moon to come alive.

For now, Giorgio trudged from overhang to overhang, robbing seconds of shade for the local denizens. His linen shirt adhered to his back. The hike from the only safe decent into the ravine to his secret place exceeded four miles. Recreational tourists gave up long before where his end-goal was located. The trek was worth keeping her secure.

A rockfall disguised the seam in the ravine walls. Not visible from either direction now, Giorgio had discovered the cave as a youth. Spring rains had tumbled the beneficial camouflage sometime between his youthful ranges and his adult hunts. He would never have found it again without the blazes he had left. Once again he thanked his youthful self for forethought.

He leaped over three loose rocks in the path. A quick glance verified a similar telltale on the other side had not moved either. Sniffing the air revealed no lingering smell of smoke or other alien scents. Satisfied no one had visited, Giorgio removed his pack and sidestepped down the seam.

Two switchbacks later, the narrow passage opened into a cave slightly larger than his college efficiency. How he wished he could offer her a palace, or at least the house his seven-figure income allowed him now. But until she learned, until she was under control, the cave was the only safe place for her.

A series of mirrors brought in outside light, revealing a chained naked woman. The gouged ground marked the limits of her tether, just a foot shy of the entrance. Her wrists were bruised and bloodied from the manacles. A blonde tuff of hair covered her private area, matching the massive golden curls covering her torso. Her hair flowed over generous breasts, past her slim waist. Pale skin lent an air of frailty.

She had bathed. Just for him. Using her precious water. Something she had started to do since summer began. She knew he liked her clean.

The bottles of water were lined up against the wall. Seven empties, three still filled, and two others with urine. Again something his clever girl had started of her own violation. The smell in the cave had improved considerably.

The woman watched him hungrily as he changed out her empties for new water from his pack. He carefully laid out seven new packages of food, confident she had the disciple to open only one per day. Giorgio wished he could visit her more than weekly, but each visit brought a risk of revealing her before she was ready.

He heard the chains clink as the woman approached. She lightly touched his shoulder. Good, she was becoming better. When he first brought her here, she threw herself at him – all nails and teeth. She had no control, was barely more than an animal.

Turning, Giorgio smiled as she tucked her head until it nearly touched dirt. She no longer played dominance games with him. Staring contests had required him to beat her. He dared not give an inch for her sake as well as his.

“Sir, I am happy you are here.” A soft soprano offered.

Her voice danced along his nerves, hardening his dick. Goddess, how he wanted her.

 How he needed her.

From the first moment he saw her, he knew he had make her his despite the danger. He couldn’t bring himself to offer her a choice. Giorgio knew he couldn’t handle it if she said no. He had to have her. She was still a little upset he had forced her. Taken away her choice. But she was coming around.

She wanted him. He smelled her musk as her pussy readied for him.

He lifted her chin, words landing on her lips before he claimed her mouth. “As am I, Tala, as am I.”

***

He left regretfully as the cave grew gloomy hours later. The sun no longer bounced into the cave indicating it was past time he left.

He did not want to leave her in the cave, so far from him. Having her beside him would make civilization’s inanity bearable. But she wasn’t ready.

She still didn’t understand the limits. He could not bring her back to the city until she did.

Her passion during their mating was all he had hoped for from the moment he first decided to claim her.  Nearly made him think she understood; she could be safe if he brought her back to his house.

But then she asked him not to chain her ankles before he left. That told him she still wasn’t ready.

He quickly climbed over the rock, pausing only a moment to watch the pregnant moon rise. Two more days until the full moon. Seven moons since he had bit her. Tala had to know by now the wrist manacles where not strong enough hold her wolf form.

(words  1,098 – originally appearing at Breathless Press 9/5/2013 for the 8/26/12 Sunday Fun; republished new blog format 5/12/2019)

Flash: Crawling

Digital art from freedigitalphotos.net

Crawling. Zebedee hated crawling. Winged angels should fly, and if they couldn’t do that, if they had legs, they should at least be walking.

His wings brushed the unseen roof again. It kept getting lower and lower. Something had to be an illusion. Either the endless white Lucia transported him to or the ever-shrinking box. Which sense was lying to him, touch or sight?

Neither the rough and splintered distressed wood floor of the club nor the thick silk plush hand-knotted antique Persian carpet underneath the pretend throne where Lucia reigned from were revealed to his ultra-sensitive fingertips. Only endless nothing. White above, white below. A nothingness unlike anything he had experienced before. The only thing he felt was the roof lowering onto the thousands of feathers capable of gauging air pressure, wind, and dozens of other datum needed when flying. The only feedback letting him know he still existed somewhere. Claustrophobia swallowed half his reason.

A whisper.

He heard a whisper.

A clink, laughter, mocking laughter.

Had he been transported at all?

Was he crawling around Lucia’s nightclub with her mob watching? He, Zebedaios, avenging angel? On hands and knees before that rabble?

Only he wasn’t an avenging angel anymore, but a protecting one.

Avenging angels only needed sight, to see miles in a dive, and touch for flying. All other senses were neglected for these two all important ones. But when Zeb had been assigned to Earth … to Dawn … he had been remade. Something Lucia, in her Fallen state, had not experienced.

She may be able to manipulate senses she understood, but the other three senses gifted to him for his new responsibility may be beyond her magicks.

And the demon-witch would not pass on the chance to torment Dawn while demeaning Zebedee. Dawn would be here, somewhere, if here was a place covered by an illusion. Dawn, the human he was tuned to. He should be able to hear her. Smell her. … taste her … no, not that … that thought leads to the Fall.

Hear. Ignore the white, the crushing non-roof. Only concentrate on hearing, however foreign that might be. Ears used to only hearing the rush of winds or the screams of battle search for … a muffled grunt, anger, … very angry. Dawn’s eyes would be sparkling.

That way. Who was near her? A scuffle with weight to it. Baal. Then Phil would be to the right.

Positive he was no more naked, defenseless, than he was in a No-Place, Zeb took the leap of faith normally reserved for humans and jumped forward to where his charge was.

The spell shattered around him and people scattered as he crashed through sycophants toward Lucia’s throne where Dawn was prisoner.

He had given up many things when he volunteered as a Guardian, but his Sword of Vengeance was not one of them. And, unfortunately on many levels, neither was his pride.

And they had made him crawl!

(words 492; published 4/3/2014; republished new blog format 5/5/2019)

Flash: Simile Comparisons can be Real

Photo from freedigitalphotos.net

Elijah staggered up the steps. Once on the Victorian wrap-around porch he dragged off his sweat-soaked T-shirt and heaved it in the hamper his mom kept outside for his use. He flopped onto the wicker bench beside the hamper to unlace his work boots. Propped against the white picket railing, he delayed, gathering strength to bend over.

Mowing lawns in August was rough, but brainless. Some days the mindless work made him long for school to restart. Get the brain cells sparking. Even high school lit class sounded like paradise two days ago. Today, the monotonous activity kept him moving.

Moving. He needed to move.

Hoisting his left foot onto his right knee, Elijah tackled the wet grass-stained lace. Broken dirty fingernails dug into the sticky Gordon knot. Eventually the heavy boot thunked on the porch. A sodden once-white sock flew in a high arc, landing in a splat beside the hamper. The newly lightened foot floated to the wooden slats.

His jeans had a hole, above the knee. Elijah started at it a bit poking his finger in the opening.  He would need mom to patch it. Mr. Taggert didn’t like his team to look ratty. Team … I guess two people would still count as a team.

Other foot.

Task completed, and five pounds lighter between the shirt and boots, Elijah stood. The breeze was picking up, turning the hot afternoon chilly as it dried his sweat. Shivering, the teen debated taking off his work pants before going in. His mom hated him tracking grass clippings in the house.

“What’s up homey?” a voice said unexpectedly, breaking into his thoughts.

Elijah jumped. Spinning rapidly, he saw his best friend since fifth grade stepping onto the porch. The turn combined with exhaustion, physical and emotional, left him dizzy. He leaned against a nearby pillar for support, while his overdressed friend waited for him to regroup.

The tux looked great on Matthew. But then Matthew, from his wavy black rock-star hair, to the perfect cleft in his chin, had always looked good.

Naturally muscular and agile, Matthew had made the football team freshman year as linebacker. Elijah preferred track, but relented to Matthew’s friendly taunts to be a wide receiver under the condition Matt take up shot put. Which meant Matt had ended up with football AND track scholarships on the table waiting for him to finish his senior year and Elijah got a lot of bruises from being tackled.

“Gotcha!” Matt reported as he bounded over. Seeing Elijah still depending on the pillar for support, his skin more ashen than bronze despite a day outdoors, Matt got concerned. “Dude, are you okay? You look like you have seen a ghost.”

Elijah swallowed and licked his lips and swallowed again, trying to get the spit up to talk. “I have, bro. Haven’t you read the obituaries today?”

“What?” Matt shook his head.  “Have you ever known me to read the paper? You have the freaky parents still getting the morning paper delivered.”

“Matt, you missed work yesterday. I thought you had cut out for the beach or something.” Tears streamed down Elijah’s face. “Your parent found you dead, an aneurism or something.”

Matt laughed. “Stop messing with me, Dude.”

Elijah slammed his hand against the wooden pillar. “Oh God I wish I was. … Mr. Taggert let me off early so I could shower and go to your viewing tonight.”

“Dude, stop it. You’re scaring me.” Matt tried to grab Elijah by the shoulders to shake sense into him.

Elijah had stepped back quickly to avoid being touched, so only the tips of Matt’s fingers passed through Elijah.

“I’m sorry. I can’t do this.” The teen ran to his front door, banging open the screen. “Not again.”

Behind him, his best friend stared at his fingers in shock, waving them back and forth a moment. He laid his hand on the railing and gently pushed it through.

“Shit.” Matthew squeezed his hand into a fist. It felt solid. Matthew inhaled, trying to kick start his thoughts. He blinked. “Wait, what did he mean by ‘again’?”

(words 685 originally appearing at Breathless Press 6/27/13 for the 4/1/12 Sunday Fun – I have modified the final 3 paragraphs; republished new blog format April 28, 2019)

 

Flash: Red Mug

Image courtesy of imagerymajestic. at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Rating: Mature

“So, coffee?”

Jeffrey passed Amanda the red mug.

Two burning gulps later, a semblance of life entered her eyes.

“Should I just start the second cup now?” he offered, moving to take the white pod out of the coffee maker.

Resting her elbows on the sandstone-marbled countertop between them, Amanda whispered, “You are a god.”

“Not yet, but there is still time. Mocha or espresso or,” Jeffrey rubbed a hand from mid-chest to his six-pack, and hinting going lower “straight black.”

Smirking, because amusement, let alone laughing, took energy she did not have after the New Year’s party, Amanda finished the mug and pushed it back to her friend and surprise lover. “Espresso next.”

“Then, we talk.”

Amanda shook her head, leaning forward afterwards to hold the forehead. “Then mocha, then talk. Maybe.”

“How much did you drink last night?”

She waved her hand back and forth trying to erase the thought from the air. When Jeffry placed the refilled cup in front of her, she grabbed it with both hands, immediately quaffing the near boiling liquid. Jeffrey switched out the pod again for the mocha and refilled the water tank. She pushed the red mug his way a second time, and he provided the nectar of life for the third time.

This time she tasted the liquid. “Oh, god.” Miraculously, beside her hand appeared four aspirin. She tossed them back and took a snip to wash them down. “I said, you are a god, right?”

“Yep.” Jeffry poured himself a bowl of cereal and added milk, betting Amanda wasn’t up to smelling food cooking for a few more hours. This wasn’t the first time she overindulged at his New Year’s party. It was the first time they were both drunk enough to forget not to have drunk sex; she had stayed after, like she had every year since they met four years ago at a work party one Christmas and he randomly invited her over. She hated how trashed his place had been that first year, and stayed to help him pick up the debris after everyone left.

Amanda worked upper management somewhere in Europe most of the year, coming home during the holidays since the offices were closed but having no one to come back to. Her loose ends matched his pretty well for the holiday season in recent years, being an army brat and his parents and younger siblings located somewhere in Asia this deployment and his older siblings scattered throughout the world, so Amanda and he had become once-a-year friends and party crashers.

Somehow this year they started skyping outside of her holiday vacation. Why? Right, Toni had punched through a wall last year, missing her ex by a mile – but chasing the jerk off, and Amanda wondering how the remodeling and assault changes had gone.

One thing led to another and, well, here they were.

“Human yet?”

She shook her head, but it didn’t like it would fall off this time. “Troglodyte, but human may be possible by lunch. We can’t all be gods.” She pushed the red mug forward again.

“Another, or will you be vibrating?”

“Let’s do a decaf this time, something smooth, and hit your patio.”

Jeff grabbed a green pod of his favorite roast, adding a breath of his hazelnut cream when it finished perking, and passed it over.

Silently they padded barefoot to his deck. After clearing one of the mosaic tile tables of the bottles they didn’t touch the night before, because of the … distraction, they sat down to admire his mountain view, pulling their thick robes around them against the January chill. Amanda tucked her feet up onto the chair lip, stuffing the excess of the robe around them for warmth. Since the robe was Jeffrey’s, and he had about ten inches on her five foot four inches, she had plenty of cloth to work with.

He admired the snowscape, carefully not staring at his guest, though a couple other peaks called to him from where she huddled. Another dusting had fallen in the night; combined with the wind, the tracks and forts from last night’s snowball fight, everything now softly rose and fell in mounds.

“Last night,” she stated, baldly.

“Yep.”

“Great sex.”

“Yep.”

“I’ve not had anything in a year, you clean?”

“Yes.” Thinking about the last holiday season, that would mean, let’s see, Bentley from accounting. “Sorry about not using a condom.”

“I found them in your medicine cabinet this morning; they were all expired.”

“Most likely,: Jeff chuckled without amusement. “You don’t need condoms when masturbating.”

“Do that often?” She took a sip of her steaming decaf.

“Enough to keep the plumbing working.” He shrugged, settling back into the webbed chair.

“It worked well last night.”

“Yep.” He finally looked over at the brunette. “But I had some very nice inspiration.”

The blush started between the V of the robe and climbed to her ears, the joys of being white. The red path tempted him to follow it with his lips, as the plumbing reminded him it really, really liked to be used in the morning.

“Thank you.”

“So clean is good.” Jeff cleared his throat. “Leaving the next question; I am not snipped, and we didn’t use a condom.”

She made a face. “Yeah, that could be an issue. I’m normally on birth control, but forgot it would lapse during the holiday so I didn’t pick it extra before leaving for the states. I’ve been off for seven weeks now.”

“You want to get a morning-after pill, just in case?”

“Do you want me to?”

Jeff smiled at her. “Not unless you want to. I’m cool to raise a kid.”

“With me?” Her eyes, previously stilted against the snow glare opened a little.

“Or without, if you just want to carry and dump. I know you really love your career. I wouldn’t mind a kid but haven’t found anyone yet.” He turned his body to completely face her. “On the other hand, I like you and think we could be adults about it.”

She stared into the red mug for a while. “I’m getting up there in age.”

Jeff nodded, understanding. While he had technical expertise, landing him a six figure income at a young age allowing him to live his dream, she had been plodding and career climbing for a long time, and pulled in nearly fifteen years his senior.

“I’m game to play roulette.”

“Promise to keep me informed.” He pulled one of his hands out of the robe sleeves, offering her a pinky.

A laugh exploded from her, and she put down the mug. Offering her pinky in return, they crossed digits. “Promise.”

“Now about that godhood,” he growled, lowering his voice a register pseudo-seductively.

“Are you suggesting you want to double-down on the wheel?”

His smile crafted in response to the question was meant to send shivers up any heterosexual female spine. “Maybe, but also I want to taste you sober, sweet cheeks.”

She leaned forward to kiss his broad lips. Coffee and hazelnut mixed with Fruit Loops and milk; he reached a hand back to pull her closer, opening his mouth. She responded by transferring over to his chair and opening her mouth. Her hands dug into the robe and started stroking his chest.

Pulling back a little, Amanda asked, “So what do you think?”

“Delicious.” Jeffrey pushed her off his lap for a moment to stand. After opening the glass doors, he lifted her up into her arms, letting her wrap her legs around him. “But I want a meal, not a snack.”

The nibble beside his ear whispered, “I think we got time for a feast.”

“A feast,” he groaned, laying her on his bed, glad to make it that far this time.

“Gods should have feasts.” Amanda opened her robe. “I’ve got two days before the return flight.”

(Words 1,314; first published 3/17/2019)

 

The complete Red Mug series:
3/17/19 – Red Mug
3/24/19 – Green Cheeks
3/31/19 – Copenhagen Blue
4/7/19 – Clear Glass
4/14/19 – Gold Bands