Tag: Family Dynamics

Flash: Labor

Erin Penn

Natalie gripped Kryler’s hand so tight, he felt bones move out of position. Finally, the contraction released and his wife’s quick panting filled the room. Grabbing a tissue, he moved to the head of the bed to dab her sweat-covered face. If he could take the pain from her, he would. Instead he did what every man has ever done, offer external support while covering all his internal worry.

Their daughter was coming too soon, nearly a month early after weeks of spotting. The doctors had sentenced Natalie to bed rest for most of the final trimester to reduce stress, and discovered instead her levels went through the roof.

When her job first found out she was pregnant, they pulled her off the fast track and moved her into the mommy track.

Not officially.

But the Spanish classes, they had been underwriting. Poof. So, sorry, budget cuts. Strangely no one else was removed from the tuition program. The mentoring program changed her mentor to “better suit her personality.” The vice president with whom she lunched weekly was assigned a new protégé and Natalie’s new support person was a manager in the customer service department where he worked. Wasn’t even the best customer service manager, but the one restricted to nights because there was less to screw up. The one he worked under.

His ball-busting, type-A, inferno of ambition stormed into HR and nailed the director to wall. All her privileges were restored within hours. Her vice president, reassured of her dedication, was leveraging a special project for her to head as soon as her maternity leave was over.

Bedrest had pulled her away from the moving and shaking. And she stewed. The doctors eventually relented and let her work half-days in the office, if he drove her in, and the balance of the day remoteing in. Her stress levels dropped to manageable levels.

Her breathing took on a regular pattern.

“My fireball.”  She was the most beautiful, bravest, incredible person he ever known. He leaned over and kissed her, barely brushing her lips from his upside down position.

Natalie smiled weakly. “You really shouldn’t have turned in your resignation yet.”

Always figuring the best angle, the best benefit. He shook his head at his wonderful wife. “Two weeks notice. Gives you time to recover and then I will be home with the baby.”

“You sure you want to stay home? I’m sure we could get your mom to sit.”

Walking back to the side of the bed, Kryler removed the ice water glass the nurse had dropped off last time she passed through the labor room from the bed stand and placed the straw on Natalie’s lips. “I’m sure. We just about have Rodger’s Retrieval ready, and the guys already are bouncing ideas for our next game around. Can’t wait to start animating it. Trust me. Between the game and the baby, I will not be bored.” He smiled at her confidentially.

Suddenly her eyes grew round. Dropping the glass, Kryler nearly missed the surface of the stand. He pushed the glass until it was balanced.

Natalie’s hands unerringly found his as another contraction took her.

He looked at the clock as she screamed in pain. Too long. Had she been in labor too long? He had no reference.

(words 549 – originally appearing at Breathless Press 9/9/2013 for the 5/20/12 Sunday Fun (original picture of unknown copyright, so not copied here); republished in new blog format 2/25/2018)

Flash: The Antichrist’s Big Sister Blog – Part 3

Erin Penn

Hey all. I’m back.

Sorry to take so long – the final year of high school has been a whirlwind.

First, I would like to thank the message board for all your suggestions about how to function in my unique family situation. Everything from stocking up on marshmallows for the Apocalypse to what to expect when my brother comes into his powers was awesome.

I especially want to thank all the support I got about confronting my father, the judge and even step-dad.  The non-stop “You Go Girl” was, for lack of a better adjective, awesome. I am flattered that several people used my example to throw off some of the really bad situations they were in. I didn’t set out to become an inspiration. And truth is, having read the circumstances some of you gals, and guys, were in, my complaining about my situation is like the meme of the first world problems crying woman going “I tried to spread cold butter on my toast … and the toast ripped”. All I can say is my telling Satan I will cut off his balls makes you stand up to evil where you live, then more power to you. You gals, and guys, rock – and good luck.

Second, $exy$hi#. No, you can’t have the two phone numbers I got. But I showed Troy your comments about what you want to do with the guys, demons, whatever. (I think I will go with whatever from now on – everyone down with that?)  He recommended two other whatevers that step-dad did not introduce me to. I have set up a temporary email address which I am going to post in the “contact me” area. Shoot me an email with your contact information, I will forward the information to them while also providing you their information at the same time. Then I am going to delete the temp e-box and get out of the picture. And, no, $exy$sh#, I do NOT want to know what happens. Reading about your plans was bad enough, informative, but harsh. I is only eighteen. You are a sick, sick girl and I think you are going to have lots of fun.

Anyhow, business out of the way.

Troy.

I know, new name. Yes, not his real name.  Really not suppose to share his real name, he is one of step-dad’s minions. No relation to the happy, bouncing yellow minions from Despicable Me, except their boss knows everyone’s names, fart guns are acceptable forms of entertainment, parties every weekend and lots of gluttony involving ice cream, … and well, I guess whatevers are very close to the minions in Despicable Me.

Anyhow, Troy. (sigh)

He has been hanging around the house … a lot.

He was not one of the entertainers step-dad offered up on my birthday as a gift. Troy is much too busy actually doing work for the horned one. Himself is not one to deprive himself of good help – actually bad help – someone really, really good at bad things.

I haven’t been home as much. Which is good, because I am not doing too well standing up to Troy’s flirting. Cripes, the man can handkiss. It feels really weird the first time, but the whatevers don’t change manners fast. Or maybe they do. They are good at blending.

But they know a good thing when they find it. Hold a woman’s hand, slowly lift to your lips keeping eye contact the whole way, lightly – oh so lightly – brush your lips against the knuckles, wait for her to breathe again, never losing eye contact, wait a second so she is not sure you are finished, then either kiss the fingers again, rotate the hand to kiss her palm, or lower the hand before releasing. Never release the hand before lowering and, never, ever break eye contact. Vary so she never knows what to expect so she keeps eye contact trying to see the intent in your eyes. Troy’s eyes are green, with a rim of gold right before the pupil. The right iris darkens to a deeper green towards the edge than the left one. His pupils always expand, covering the gold when he makes a decision to kiss my palm. His lips feel like a brush of roses on my hands.

Is it hot in here? It’s hot in here.

Anyhow, working lots of hours. A good thing. Been at the Scottish Hamburger joint doing my final sentence in the fast food industry. Hopefully next year I will be a college intern. More on that later. Mom says the chances of my beginning major, English Literature, being my final major is like nil. She says to get as many of the liberal arts requirements out of the way until I find what I really want to do.

Personally I think me being a reporter would be awesome.  Step-dad is torn. Again, that whole seeking the truth thing. On the other hand, reporting will make me an observer. Which sets me up for the not getting in the way of the end of the world. I will just write as the world burns. I mean, like any reporter, I hope my words will change the world. But I got enough of a cynic in me to realize the chances of that are slim to none.

Except you gals and guys have already shown me my words can change things. Maybe need to rethink the pessimism, and also whether being a reporter will let me do my job as the Antichrist’s Big Sister.

Mom doesn’t think I’ll be happy. Being a reporter. She is all big on happiness since marrying the horned guy.

Again, respect my mom’s choices. My step-dad is light-years better than my bio dad. The horned guy makes her happy. Heck, we are even expecting AC (antichrist) number two shortly. Sometime in December.

Go figure.

My bet for delivery date – when does winter start? Any takers?

Oh, oh. I got into a college. I think I told you that, right?

Got the letter right after my birthday, so maybe not. Out of state. Best media and news reporting college in five states, plus. Far from my bio dad, plus. Bigger bill for him to pay since I don’t get in-state grants, extra plus. (Yes, I have verified he has sent in the first semester’s payment and it has cleared the bank.) Far away from the bad influences of step-dad and his minions, plus. Far away from mom and Billy, neg – big neg.

Far away from Troy. I don’t know.

We talked all night last night on the porch about my move, my job, his job, my future. But not our future. He even gave me glimpses of his past as I fell asleep on his shoulder. I don’t think he realized I was still awake … he just kept talking. Comparing the starry night sky to things he had seen.

I don’t know what to do about Troy. Long distance relationships aren’t good. Relationships with whatevers aren’t good. Look, don’t want advice on this one, not yet. Still need to think things through. Life is going to change.

Off to pack. Only a month until the off-to-college roadtrip. AC’s Big Sister signing off.

(words 1,207 – first published 4/9/2013; republished new blog format 1/21/2018)

 

Flash: Unloading

Erin Penn

Image courtesy of FreeDigitalPhotos.net

The noise of a thousand bodies in a small space quieted as the ship doors opened to reveal the immigrants new home. Non-canned air slipped in on hot wind, replacing human stink with the unmistakable odor of sulfur. Human noses inhaled deeply the pungent scent, glad for something new to smell after so many days in transit. Bright natural light rushed to fill the corners of the room as the doors widened enough for the ramp to be deployed.

Clarence huddled mid-way in the masses with his family. The trip had indentured them for ten years labor. More likely twenty years for him and Monique to cover the costs of Grandpa and Nanna’s trip. They were young and could suck it up. Food and other living expenses were going to keep the family down for a generation. Still, they had gotten out of the ghetto.

He waited for the other shoe to fall. He figured he wasn’t about to step into Eden. Others might buy the brave new world bit the recruiters sell. But there had to be a reason why they recruited in the slums and not in the colleges. Someone needed to do the work before brains arrived.

The people at the front stepped back seeing their new home. A few started wailing and cursing.

His dad and Gramps pushed the crowd back from the women on one side, Clarence stepped between the family and the mob on the other. Lincoln, a young man and his pregnant wife who had befriended the family on the trip out, helped him. On this new world they were going to be family too. That is if the company allowed it.

Yelling started in the front, and the side walls started slowly moving inward, forcing people off the ship. Nothing for it but to leave, although a few people fought the issue. Idiots, like a company is going to pay to haul bodies out here and allow you to turn around to go back.

Bridges burnt, Clarence and his clan stepped onto their new planet.

(Words 343 – first published 5/30/2013; republished new blog format 1/7/2018)

Flash: Death Wish Part 2 – Nothing Fits

Erin Penn

Image courtesy of FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Rating: Mature (Language)

The shower’s water and my blood were fighting each other as they ran down the drain. Water trying to follow natural forces and move one way, and my very unnatural blood running counter to how the world should work. The red froth gave me something to stare at in the shower other than my friend’s shampoo and his kids’ bath toys. I wished I still had tears to cry.

Rod’s was the nearest place I could think of.  Hell, it was the only place I could think of that they wouldn’t know.

I don’t know why the Philadelphia Court attacked. I certainly had no fucking clue why they would be angry enough to hire hunters as cleanup. Shit, I am only five … well four – five in at the equinox … and not even my creator shared anything with me.

I should have run somewhere else. Then Rodrigo would still be alive. His kids would still have their dad.

… and I wouldn’t be saddled with a death wish.

I could hear the bitch cackle. And I deserve every snide remark my creator would give me, if she had survived the attack. Which she hadn’t.

I tried to erase the picture of her head flying towards me as I was frozen by fear. But … shit … having a lover’s head hit you square in the chest does reactive the run-like-hell reflex.

I had been taught to calm prey down first. Control them. Get them to the point their only desire to please me. I had blanked Rodrigo’s memory of my feeding off of him plenty of times. Why not tonight?

Instead I talked to him! Hell, I apologized! What was I doing?

And now I got a death wish.

I twisted the nob and the water stopped. The pink foam would eventually make its way down the drain.

Rod’s towels were more thread then cloth, but they worked well enough even if none of them matched. It’s not like the water wanted to stick to me.

I moved quietly down the hall to his bedroom. Maybe something would fit me. He had over six inches and fifty pounds of muscle on me, not counting about twenty pounds of comfortable, as my mom put it.

I had been turned when I was eighteen; happy graduation – hoped you enjoyed your summer, because it is the last one you are going to get. Still hadn’t got my full growth.

Hated them. I was taught not to turn anyone before twenty-five. Just easier for the Made to blend long-term. The only reason anyone gave me for the early turn came from Al who said they needed a daywalker. If he wasn’t just tormenting me, then they broke their own rules to make me. I figured I was minion then toast, and nothing they did to me showed different. Going out in daylight HURTS … but then so did staying in the Court. Working Elias’ gas station actually was a reward in my book, even though it was far beneath the rest.

In the end, the daylight saved me. The younger you are, the less the sun affects you. Nature isn’t completely out to get you. An hour past dawn in July, and I could still run outside and keep running for a good long time. 

To my friend’s home. Well, hovel … I looked around the large closet where he had put a mattress. But whatever … he had a place. Better than me at the moment with everything from the Court gone.

The one bedroom was dedicated to his kids. Damn, he loved them. Talked about them constantly at work. Feared for them, leaving them home alone at night while they slept, keeping them feed, wondering if child services would come.

The few shirts and pants hanging over the mattress were all too large. And idea nibbled at me on how to hide and deal with the death wish.

 … The death wish

Why couldn’t have I played with him until his only thought was to please me? I’ve done it before. Then the death wish ends up being having mind-blowing sex, and that is really easy to do since people can get really off when they die. But I was so hungry and hurt.

I heard my creator’s laugh again. No excuse. She had taught me on my first kill just what being caught up in a death wish gets you. Sip – never kill except on the anniversary – and then only after getting the prey prepared. I’ve killed only five times, two in training and three anniversaries.

I pulled on one of the faded Mr. Mart shirts. Behind me I heard movement. For a second I was paralyzed again. They found me.

Then a slight mew of a child’s sigh and I realized what was happening. The children. It was about ten, so Rod’s after-work nap would be soon ending for what he called the ”las guerras de comida”.

I cracked open the hall door to look at the triplets. Two identical boys and one angelic girl just beginning to stretch and twist out of dreamland.

And I knew.

I had to do it. I began to pull Rodrigo’s form about me. I had until my anniversary in September to wear it. Looking like him would let me hide in plain sight. The others would not expect me to take care of three kids. But function follows form, and memories and actions would pop up while I wore his shell. I should be able to do this. I already knew his job.

I shrugged my shoulders and the shirt settled on my new frame. I strode back to grab some pants.

So this is what tall feels like. Very cool.

… I would also have time to figure out why the hell a sane man rather have a vampire take his kids than their own mother.

(words 985 – first published 11/28/2012; republished new blog format 12/17/2017)

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)