Category: Visual

Flash: Unexpected Consequences

Erin Penn

Smoke curled outward from under Mohan’s duster, seeking lungs to fill.

“Who’s there?” yelled the recent vampiric conversion. A silver chain on his ankle limited his movement to the illuminated area of the spotlight. His night vision would not develop for three more nights, granting the watcher effective invisibility. She was impressed he had sensed her entrance, sitting quietly beside the empty rust-stained bowl until she changed shape.

Once the cavern swallowed the last echoing “therrrrre”, the new arrival cautiously drew air to speak. Holding the breath a moment, testing its flavor, she then slowing moved it over her vocal cords to answer, “Emily, Dion’s sire … your grandsire and keeper.”

“Where’s Dion?” Mohan rushed the light’s edge, pacing back and forth with his chain chiming against the stones. He earnestly sought her location, despite the disorienting echo. A useless task as he had not had a chance to develop the skill set; her servants had been under strict order to remain silent during his captivity.  

“Being disciplined.” The vampire elder coldly stated as she moved over the loose overburden and wet tailings, judging the fog’s reach.

Mohan stilled as he processed the information. Living habits clung to him like leeches. His constant movement was distracting, but understandable. Only a week had passed since his removal from the grave; so she forgave him the disgusting habits he was displaying.

“He wasn’t supposed to turn me, was he?” Mohan’s brown curls fell across his forehead as despair hunched his shoulders.

“Awarding our blood to other supernaturals, can have …” Emily paused watching the smoke thicken and reach further into the abandoned mine before completing her thought, “… unexpected consequence.”

Mohan wiped his hands over his face. “Did you destroy him?”

“He is young, less than four decades old. I decided he should be given a chance to learn.” Emily took another breath to continue talking and this time felt the fog fill the corners of her little used lungs. She felt something, a wish to reassure the suffering child, hold him. Crushing the feeling to unfeeling, Emily declared, “You will not see Dion again.”

“But he only did it to save me!” Mohan shouted. “We love each other! Please!”

Whispering a final begging crossed his lips, “please.”

Jealousy, a much more familiar emotion than compassion, ripped through her. She nearly closed to force obsession on the boy. His love should only be for her.

…. Interesting gift, that fog. A little too visible at the moment. But she could already think of a few uses. The fog must be gaining in strength, otherwise her servants would have released him by now.

She would have to take over all care of the youngling. She pushed the bowl of blood she had brought with her across the light’s edge. Again, compassion tried to sneak in as she watched Mohan collapse crying. Tomorrow, after she has cleansed herself and arranged for a means to communicate without breathing his air, she would need to decide if she would let this one live. 

(words 507 – originally appearing at Sunday Fun on Breathless Press 2/3/2013 (copyright of picture inspiring story was unknown); republished in new blog format 1/28/2018)

Flash: One Soul Per

Erin Penn

Image courtesy of FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Rating: Mature

The two girls looked like water nymphs, half-submerged in the bay. “How soon will one of us die?”

Layne frowned. “You should be feeling the pinchers by now. Don’t worry, they only eat dead things.”

Sheep, at least he thought it was the girl with the Sheep constellation tattooed on the back of her nape smiled, “So we aren’t going to have any clothes soon?”

The picture of the two girls naked, with hair floating around them, while chained, had Layne’s fifth extremity lengthening. He adjusted his lower armor to make room. “No, pinchers recognize dead matter attached to living matter and leaves it alone. Only if you dead inside and out will they eat everything.”

The water started to recede, leaving wet lace covering their bosoms and nothing to his imagination. The Keeper of Kaireen’s Sacrifice requested the surviving twin be brought back promptly. Normally those undergoing the Tide Test wore simple white linen. But these two had apprenticed to a lacemaker and wanted to wear their skill on what could be their final day of life. They had spent the day before the Test creating the dresses from new silk and fresh linen, dyed specially for surviving the salty sea. Whichever survived would wear her masterpiece to report to her journeyman position at the lace shop. It was clear the Keeper was proud of both girls, as much as could be knowing one was a monster. Layne did not envy the Keeper his job of raising children and monsters together, never naming either to prevent giving the monsters the power of a name. Only one soul per child birth was given by the gods, and so the question becomes which of a set of twins has the soul and which is a false one. Unwilling to kill a true person without reason, the city set aside the Sacrifice grounds to raise them until they were old enough to be tested.

“We live sister!” One leaned into the other, as hugging wasn’t an option because of the short chains attaching them to a concrete block for the test, while the tide continued to fall back. They kissed cheeks and lips. Hands touched wet legs as if assuring each other that no wounds were hidden by the sea. Turning as one back to their guard. “Please, may we be released.”

Never had both twins survived the Test. But only if one had a living soul would the pinchers not tear her apart in the tide pools.

A new wave, higher than previous, and wind-blown, hit the girls about the shoulders, knocking them over. Layne’s eyes returned to the distant ocean. A storm had rolled in while he had watched the girls. The narrow bay would fill with storm-driven water. Panicked, the girls tried to stand on the cement block they were chained to, keeping their head high as waves returned without the tide.

Tossing aside his spear, Layne ran. He unbuckled his armor and sword before splashing into the water, holding the key in his hand. He quickly unlocked the chains. Sheep made it to the beach, but the girl with the Mare tattoo was terrified of drowning. She fought mindlessly, hardly aware of his presence as her water phobia terrorized her. He finally managed to carry her in and put her down on the sand.

He looked around for the Sheep tattoo, and spotted her as she flung his sword into the ocean. A hand touched his fifth, exposed by the lack of armor, immediately hardening it and freezing him in place. “What…”

“I just want to thank you for saving me.” The girl at his feet rose to her knees. “I really am afraid of the water.” Her mouth claimed his fifth, slowly sucking it deeper and deeper into her mouth until he touched the back of her throat.

He moaned. Barely able to move, he brought his hand to rest on her soaked hair.

“Don’t make him cum sister.” The Sheep had returned. “We have need for his seed if we are to survive.” The girl circled around his back and bit his ear. “And need for many other things as well.” She whispered.

Despite the Mare cupping his balls and her round mouth stroking up and down along his shaft, Layne managed to ask, “How?”

“How?” The woman whispering his ear repeated. “How are we both soulless or how did we survive the test?”

He could only moan a response. Both of his hands clenched the hair of the girl giving him the blow job.

“Enough sister, we need to move him before his fellows return.”

His fifth popped out of the Mare’s mouth. “We won’t own him until he owns us.”

“True.” The Sheep wrapped around his torso and lowered her channel onto his shaft. She squeezed the warm, wet channel around his dick. Already on the brink, he surged into the false woman, his seed spurting into her. “That’s it, give me half your soul.” Her mouth claimed his, and he felt something being pulled unwillingly from him, as much as he willingly gave her is cum.

Once he was spent, the Sheep climbed off him. Confusion clouded his thoughts when the woman instructed, “Take my sister’s hand. You know you want her soon. Don’t let her go until you’ve given her everything you have.”

Layne’s vision narrowed to see only the girl as he grasped her hand. He followed her as she pulled him over sand and rock, his eyes focused on the Mare constellation tattoo on her nape showing between the wet strands of her hair. Darkness chased them as the storm grew closer until he was drawn into a cave high in the cliff face.

Mare pulled him down on top of her as she lay on the stone floor. “To be fair, I should tell you, while there is still some of you left, my savior.” Her hands stroked his shoulders, loosening the last of the linen until he was as naked as an animal. His fifth was refilling with the juices of life, and started prodding the woman’s moist entrance. “You see we weren’t twins but triplets. While one soulless one cannot overcome a true being, two can. The true girl died stillborn.”

Horrified at the secret truth, Layne still could not keep himself from entering her. He pumped into her, feeling the last of him pass into the woman. 

(1,071 words – originally appearing at Breathless Press 10/21/13 for the 9/23/12 Sunday Fun; republished in new blog format on 1/14/2018.)

Flash: And so they meet again

Erin Penn

Rating: Mature

Art peeked out the window of the clothing consignment shop where she worked as she flipped the open sign to close. Drat, the creep was still hanging outside. What had she done to earn her own personal stalker?

She had to admit he was absolutely yummy with his layered blond hair and kicking fog coat, like something out of an English fantasy. His cheekbones could cut bread. He also had the patience of a priest or demon.

She started noticing him in the audience during fencing competition her Freshman year. Art had asked around since he looked interesting, but he wasn’t from campus. Over the next two years, he would show up randomly in classes open to the public, at her favorite pizza joint, and sometimes at the action-adventure movies she loved. All he did was watch from a distance.

Then three weeks ago, the guy changed from someone she saw sometimes in a crowd to a constant presence. Enough was enough. The street was beginning to empty of holiday shoppers, but plenty were still around in case this went south. She closed and bolted the shop door, lowered the gate and locked it, shifted her carrying case, then turned to see he was still leaning against the building across the street.

After checking for traffic, she strode across the roadway taking advantage of the long legs her six foot two frame provided. Up close she discovered the man stood a disappointingly five eight; she had gotten good judging height and reach on the salle.

Crowding him against the wall, she asked “What do you want?”

The man raised black eyes to meet her piercing blue. They looked impossible knowledgeable in the young face. With a sad smile, he replied, “Your future.”

Taking a step back, the woman glanced around again to verify she was still safe in a crowd. “Well, you can’t have it, you perv.” Touching the sword case strapped to her back for courage, “And if I see you around again, I will call the cops.”

“A threat to use governmental structure. Excellent. Not unexpected from a political science major, but you are also a woman of action. I wasn’t certain which way you would go.” His shoulders pushed him away from the way and Art instinctively took another step back. Something about the man screamed power … and sex … she could feel her body getting loose as though she was about to fence or fall into bed with a teammate after a match. His English accent was to die for. “When you call the bobbies, please say my name is Emrys.”

“Do you got a last name so I can Google it and find out all the other women you stalked?”

He shrugged. Her mind instantly presented a picture of the wirely frame he had sported at the spring fair. He had worn cargo shorts and a muscle shirt. Not many muscles, but no excess fat either. A runner’s body. Unfortunately her mind provided the picture sans clothes. 

“First name, last name. I’ve had many names.” He started walking away backwards. “Gregory gave me the last name of Ambrosus; I guess that will do for now.” He turned around and she watched the wool coat getting damp as light flakes of snow melted on it. He stopped for a second. Turning his head around for a second, he said, “But then I guess I should say my first name is Merlinus.” He smiled a totally, ass-kicking, pussy-warming smile before continuing his retreat.

(Word 587 – originally appearing at Sunday Fun on Breathless Press 12/2/2012 (at least tried to, doesn’t seem to be taking); reprinted in new blog format 12/24/2017. The inspirational photo for the prompt was of unknown origin; since I could not verify the copyright, I am not posting it here.)

Flash: The Tower

Erin Penn

Cold mid-December wind stung Priscilla’s cheeks, and froze her chapped lips where she had been licking them. She remained still beside Gregory, holding his hand, waiting for the bus to arrive. Inside she was bouncing and screaming. She didn’t want to put a shadow over their last time together this year, but holding her tongue when every instinct told her to speak was driving her mad. She had been waffling since the morning. At last she could hold her trepidation no longer.

Squeezing his hand tighter, staring at the road, Priscilla begged, “Don’t go.”

Gregory’s brown eyes closed. Thick lashes covered in melting snowflakes. “It’s my family. They expect me home for the holidays.”

“You know what the cards said.” She always ran a Tarot spread before either of them traveled.

Using their joined hands to draw her closer, Gregory engulfed her in a hug. “The Tower is not always a bad card. There are no bad cards, you always tell me that.”

“But this time, … you felt the energy.” She lifted her head to look intently into his face, searching for something. “Don’t pretend you didn’t feel it. Please don’t go mundane on me now.”

His forehead fell against hers. Their breaths puffed fog in the cold air between their nearly joined lips.

*Chaos is fairly normal on Christmas day.* he sent into her thoughts trying to reassure her. Images of past Christmases danced across their shared link.

*It wasn’t life-birth chaos.* The circling maelstrom of worry within her troubled mind would not stop. She sent back the energy vibration they had felt when the card fell into place on the spread, *Crisis –change – disruption – pain*

“It will be okay.” Comfort laced his voice in a way he could not layer in his private, more straightforward thoughts. Her lips were so close his touched hers when he moved his mouth to speak. His right hand, more accurately conveying the fear he felt, knotted in her hair, pressing her head forward. His mouth devoured hers as he sought comfort from and try to give calm to his soul mate.

Tears were streaming down her face when they broke apart. “Please, please, at least let me go with you. You saw, a Queen of Cups could change things. That’s my card. I should go.”

“And lose your job? Miss Solstice with your coven just as you move into primary point?” Threading both hands through her hair to massage the back of her head, he brought their foreheads together. *I will not have the Tower transfer to you.*

Beside them, the bus’ air brakes hissed.

Gregory started untangling his fingers. He had one hand fully free when Priscilla lips pressed together.

“Pl—,” his finger touched her lips.

“Don’t make me deny you a third time my love.”

Ashamed as she was about to require just such an action from him, Priscilla shook her head. “No, of course not.” She swallowed back her anxiety. “Travel well. May the wind be at your back and the sun warm your face.”

“Remain safe. May your garden grow green and your table stay filled.” Gregory gave her one last quick kiss before picking up his backpack and boarding the bus.

(words 537 – originally appearing at Breathless Press 9/22/2013 for the 7/8/12 Sunday Fun –  – The original photo was of unknown copyright so did not put on my site – published on old blog 9/22/2013; republished in new blog format on 12/10/2017)

 

Flash: Death Wish Part 1 – Hair Drop

Erin Penn

Rating: Mature

Pietro leaning against the wall outside disturbed me when I opened the apartment’s door. I was about to go to sleep when I heard the knock.  I hadn’t seen him in two months; he always took off the summer from the gas station – convenience store where we pulled third shift. The boss didn’t mind, as summer had plenty of high schoolers to abuse. I figured he had a gig at the shore, but Pietro was looking far from tan.

How did he know where I live? Took me a moment to remember I had invited him over for my new year’s party. He showed up late and left early since he was covering work that night.

God, he looked yummy. We had started grabbing quickies in the back during restocking; hence inviting him over for a party.

God, he looked awful. I knew I was staring at the shorter man, but he had knocked and I still didn’t know why he was here. I didn’t remember it raining, so why was his hair soaked?

Then a drop of liquid fell from his hair to his white T and formed a bright red spot. My eyes suddenly saw his shirt was covered in the red dots and his denim jeans were more black than blue from something other than dye.

I took a step back to close the door when suddenly he was through it, his bloody hand covering my mouth.

“Shush, shush, shush. I am so sorry. I really am. I am sorry.” He muttered using his foot to close the door behind him. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go and the sun is up. Hell, I am so sorry.”

The squeaky toy kind nearly wrecked the ominous mood; Pietro grimaced as he glanced down. Well, may have wrecked what he was creating – but it added a whole other level of fear to me. I tried to take advantage of the broken eye contact to move away, get his hand off my mouth. Anything so I could scream or fight.

“Quiet.” He said and the word echoed through my head cutting off my voice just as the scream was about to break away. Looking again at the toy, he asked “Are they here?”

I nodded as tears rolled down my face. I kept trying to back away from him.

He slowly inhaled as he cornered me against the couch. How had I never noticed the man didn’t breathe? “Where will you like them to be taken?” he asked as he pushed my six foot frame onto the soft surface.

I refound my voice. “Don’t hurt them. Please don’t hurt them.”

“They will be safe. Where do you want them to go?”

God, I should have made a will. But a convenience store income isn’t exactly something you think about dividing. I forgot my most precious possessions also needed assignment. “Not their mother. Please keep them away from their mother.”

He looked at me in the eyes again, his pupils expanding to fill the white. “Any other family?”

I shook my head, unable to look away. His eyes were like a bird’s. A baby bird with its constant hunger, mouth gaping. An adult bird, who remembered that constant bone deep hunger. I wanted to feed it. I needed to feed it. I adjusted my legs as I grew hard. Looking into those black eyes, I knew much of the blood on him was his. He was hunger itself.

”Just take care of them.” I panted as he approached dragging his hand up my leg, over my boxers and finally to my neck. “And don’t ever let their mom have them.”

“I will do what I can.” He swore just before he bit down.

(words 624 – originally appearing at Sunday Fun on Breathless Press 11/25/2012 (photo for the prompt of unknown origin so not copied); republished in new blog format 11/26/2017)