Struggling to write
Afraid you have ran out of words
Even worse,
ran out of important thoughts
Procrastination
Life has got in your way
of writing
Jealous of those who make it
look so easy
Procrastination
Blaming everything and anything
for stopping you from writing
Worried you only write well
when sad
Needing inspiration but not
wanting to force it
Did I mention procrastination?
Below is a short story I had some fun writing this afternoon following a prompt: A killer places an ad for a victim. And finds one.
Enjoy 🙂
There were three knocks on the door. Loud but slow, hesitant. Jeremy ran to open it. Disappointed to find a young woman standing there.
“May I help you?”
“Em..” She mumbled, clutching her book bag that looked huge around her petite frame. “I’m Jordan.. we spoke-“
“Jordan? Sorry this must be a misunderstanding, you’re a –“
“A girl.”
Her long blonde hair framed her rather plain face. “Well, yes. I was under the impression from your emails you were a guy.”
“Your ad said you were looking for a male. I knew if I said I was a girl you wouldn’t reply. May I come in?”
Jeremy looked beyond her, to see if any of his neighbours were about. He moved to the side and she brushed past him. The scent of strawberries followed.
“You have a lovely home.” She went straight towards the book shelf. Her fingers ran across the spines. He watched her in silence. “Voltaire. This a first edition?” Her eyes lit up.
Jeremy smiled. “Is that a question or statement?”
She giggled. “Sorry I’m a bit of nerd.” She put the book back in its place.
“Look I think there may be some confusion. In my ad I was looking to-“
“To kill someone.” She said casually as she picked up trinkets on the mantelpiece. “Me.” She looked around and laughed at Jeremy’s horrified face. “We’ve been emailing for two weeks about it. About when, how…” She moved towards him.
“Yes. Well I thought you were a man.”
“Does that matter?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“How old are you?”
“19.”
“I think you should go.”
“Why?”
“Because this was a mistake. A joke.” He forced a laugh. He walked towards the door opening it. She stood still in the middle of the living room, dropping her bag with a thud. “Please, you should go.”
“No. We both know what you wanted to do tonight. Just because I don’t have a penis shouldn’t matter. Unless.. that’s what you’re into?”
“No!”
“Then it shouldn’t matter that I’m a girl. You want this. And so do I.”
“You’re just a kid. Why-“
“Because I don’t wanna be here anymore.” She looked down to the floor. “And I can’t do it myself.”
“Is this a set up?”
“No.” She looked up at him, hopeful.
“You should go.” He gestured out the open door.
“It can be.” She didn’t move.
“What?”
“We had a plan. I have transcripts. Of you describing in detail what you were going to do to me. The cable ties so I couldn’t stop you once fight or flight set in. The points you would hit with your knife to cause a quick death. What you wanted to do with my body after. The cutting, exploring, learning.”
“Listen –“
“No you listen. We had a plan. And if you don’t go ahead with it just because I have tits then the first place I go after here is to the police.”
Jeremy laughed “And what? Tell them you want to die? They’ll lock you up in psych.”
“No. Tell them I spend my free time trying to catch pervs on Craigslist and that I stumbled upon your ad. And went along with it to catch you out. There are cyber vigilantes all over the net. I’d be just another one.”
“You fucking bitch.”
“Yes. And I’m a determined one. So either a, you can get arrested, or b, you can kill me so I don’t leave here and rat on you. And if you’re doing b, you might as well go ahead with the plan.”
They stood in silence for a moment, staring each other down. Jeremy cracked first and slammed the door. She smiled.
“Wonderful.” She went to her bag and pulled out a bottle of wine. “I guessed you were a red guy, was I right?”
Jeremy sighed. “You’re crazy.” He went to the kitchen and got two glasses. She followed him in.
“That’s what they say.” She poured as he checked all the blinds were down and the back door was locked. “I do have one extra request.” She handed a glass to him.
“Oh yeah, what’s that?” He took a gulp.
“I’m a virgin.”
He choked on his second gulp, red dripping down his chin. “What?”
“I’m a virgin. And I’ve made my peace with dying. I don’t want to live in this world anymore. I don’t want to suffer. But I can’t make peace with not experiencing one of the most fundamental aspects of human nature. So…”
“Are you kidding? You want me to fuck you before forcing me to kill you?”
“Firstly I’m not forcing you to do anything. I gave you two options. And is the thought of having sex with me really that repulsive?” She folded her arms uncomfortably, giving her small breasts the illusion of being full. He looked at her. She wasn’t ugly. Just not attractive. Her hair was a boring shade of blonde. She wasn’t someone you would remember.
“I just don’t think it’s a good idea mixing business with..”
“Pleasure?” She picked up her glass, inhaling. “I’m not frigid. I know how to please a man. I just haven’t had the opportunity. I can assure you it would be memorable.” She leaned in and kissed his neck softly. She put her hand down to his pants. “Your body is already agreeing with me.”
He gulped back the rest of the wine and moved past her. Pouring a second glass, he nodded. “ OK, fine. Fucking Craiglist man.”
She took the bottle and sat down on the couch. “Come. We can start once we finish the rest.”
“First lesson in being sexy for a man, don’t stick to schedules.” Jeremy sat next to her, sipping. She lifted her leg on to his lap, her dress revealing her porcelain thigh.
“So, why did you place the ad?”
“I’ve had thoughts for a long time. They’ve become more frequent lately.”
“Have you ever?”
“Some animals. It was never enough. Why did you answer the ad?”
“You made an interesting proposition.”
“You know what I mean. Why do you want to die?”
“The world is a horrible place. It’s hard to see past the darkness.” She placed her glass on the coffee table.
“What about your family, friends?”
“This isn’t a therapy session.” She stood up and began unbuttoning her dress. It fell to the floor, revealing her equally plain body. She climbed on to his lap, her small frame seeming to feel heavy on him. She started to undo his belt. He moved his hands to stop her but realised they weren’t moving. Her body started to wave in front of him. His head fell back. She grabbed him by the jaw to make him look straight ahead.
“First lesson in being a killer, don’t post a fucking ad. A lion doesn’t plant himself in the middle of the herd and expect to be successful.”
“What?” He slurred, his eyes falling on the coffee table to the full glass of wine. “You psycho bitch.” His head fell back.
“That’s what they say.” She stood up, putting her dress back on. She felt for a pulse. Nothing. Grabbing his hair she cut a tuft of it and put in a small plastic bag. She poured the remainder of the wine down the sink and put the bottle and glass in her book bag. She headed to the door then stopped. She walked to the bookshelf and grabbed the Voltaire placing it in her bag. As she closed the door behind her she met a couple on the road walking their Collie. “Good evening.” She smiled to them both. “Oh, good evening.” They chimed back. When she got home she took out the plastic bag. She pulled an A4 hardback from under her bed. Flipping through dozens of pages to the next blank one, she taped the hair to it.
“Welcome to the six o clock news. A 30 year old man who had been found dead in his home two weeks ago, was poisoned. Jeremy Dalton had been discovered by colleagues who grew concerned when he had not shown up to work for three days. Police are exploring all lines of investigation. Some of the man’s neighbours said they came upon a woman leaving his home on the day he was last seen alive but have not been able to give an accurate description on her. ‘She was young, blonde, thin. We didn’t really notice her until she spoke to us. We paid no mind until after Jeremy had been found. She wasn’t very memorable, you know.’ There were no other witnesses and police continue to investigate but the case seems to be hitting a dead end.”
A good day – not because everything is positive but because today you won’t let the negatives win.
A good night – one that turns into a good morning. Crawl into bed while birds are chirping.
A good sleep – one filled with dreams that will make you wake up smiling.
A good breakfast – because it really is the most important meal.
A good dance – even if you can’t dance. Especially if you can’t dance.
A good idea – one that makes you say “woah”, that scares you a little. But go with it, and don’t let anyone stop you.
A good book – one that makes you think, makes you feel. One that takes you to another world. If you can’t find the book, write it.
A good chat – with your mother, lover, the old friend you haven’t seen in years. Make the call, send the text, write the letter because you lost the number. Just have the chat.
A good cry – because sometimes you just need to. So open the wine and throw on The Lion King, because sometimes you just need to.
A good lesson – because big or small, we should all learn something new everyday.
A good life – One you are happy with. That may contain mistakes but look what you have learned from them.
A good soul – Don’t be the reason for someone’s unhappiness. And if you are, say sorry – and mean it.
Today, you can be who you want and make of this day as you wish. Just make it a good one.
We kept the texts they sent us.
Declaring their love.
Showing off to our friends. Giggling.
Home alone we would read them back. Smiling.
The women before us kept the letters.
Keeping the physical proof for when the spoken words became nothing more than a memory.
Using them to torture ourselves.
To bring ourselves hope.
The power of your words.
The brutality of your indifference.
The night was crisp. Her heels click on the wooden deck as she runs. To where, she is not sure. There is no way off. No way out of her predestined life. She reaches the stern, a dead end. But as she looks out over the water she wonders, is it? Grabbing the railing she lifts her dress, as red as her name suggests. She steps up and is on the other side before she even gives herself times to think. Holding on she looks down. The water violently thrashing below. She thinks how easy it would be to just let go.
Looking up into the darkness she thinks of the life she is leaving behind. Her future ahead. She shakes silly thoughts from her mind, slowly turns around. She climbs back over the railing before anyone notices. She walks back to her state room. Finding her mother she tells her that she will no longer be marrying her suitor. That she wants to go to school. Find love. She repeated herself until her mother actually listened. Accepted. The next morning however, her fiance did not take it as well. As he shouted and argued, she sat calmly, listened. When he was finished she thanked him for everything and left. When they docked she followed her plan. Got a job as a secretary. Went to night school. She built a life for herself and her mother. Not as comfortable as they once knew but it was hers. Then she met William. He showered her with love but allowed her the freedom to be herself. They married in Summer, welcoming a baby girl the following Spring. They spent Sundays in the park. Her loves arm wrapped around her as they watched little Emily playing. She smiled at how content her life had become.
Her hands clinging tight she couldn’t move the curls that had now fallen in front of her face. Her body had begun to shake from the night air. She knew neither her mother or fance would ever accept her refusal of marriage. This was beyond her, Mother would say as she reminded the seventeen year old of her duty. She would get them out of the financial strain they found themselves in. Restoring their social status. Erasing the shame. She climbed back over. Tidied her hair. Wiped the tears that marked her face. When she got back to the dinner table she resumed her place between mother and future husband. “You were gone a while.” It was more question than statement. Her fiance looked at her, his black hair combed back. Tuxedo perfectly neat. “I went to splash some water on my face, I don’t feel so well. Perhaps I’ll head to bed.” “Wait, we’ll be finishing up soon. Don’t be rude.” So she sat. Smiled politely as the men made remarks they thought were funny. She buried the feeling. OF dread. OF escape. Convinced herself of how happy they would be once they made it to America. When their new life began. Her rich, comfortable life. Parties where she would only waltz. Dinners where her meals would be chosen. Her life that would not be her own. Even now, is not her own. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath.
The inhale hurt her lungs. She looked down at the waves once more. Her knuckles white from gripping so tight. No way off. No way out. She exhaled slowly, her breath a cloud of relief in front of her. And she let go.
Silence. Nothing but the wild waters beneath.
Minutes later, a young man crossed the deck. His tartan coat, worn, as open revealing his brown braces beneath. He lit a cigarette, brushing his blonde hair from his face.He peered over the railings, watching the trail of waves the ship left behind. He was going home. He flicked the butt overboard and walked back to his third class cabin.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This piece was part of Tales V Tunes and the words I had to use were “rose” and “offer”. The title of this piece is:
What if Jack didn’t offer Rose a hand?
I hope you enjoyed it.
Breath. Fire. Both crucial to man’s survival. Yet one can give life, while the other can take it back. And yes it’s true that fire has been an important step in evolution – Darwin himself said fire and language were the two key ingredients to humanity. There is not a single documented tribe on this planet that doesn’t cook it’s food. I suppose it’s one of the things that separate man from beast.
But just as we use fire for good, we use it for evil – and the contrast is terrifying.Home is the fire crackling on a winter’s night. Fire rushing through forests destroying thousands of homes in minutes. Waves of orange, turning shades of green, to greys and black.
A fireman is a hero but a man with fire is deadly. Sometimes the line between good and bad is blurred. If you google firemen starting fires, there is result after result. Their reasons? Overtime. To show off their skills. Hero complex. I’m sure a percentage are even sociopaths and pyromaniacs. Speaking of which, did you know that of the five impulse-control disorders, pyromania is the only one that involves one of the four natural elements?
Man discovered the control of fire – not fire itself. As much as he’d like us to think. There is evidence of fire over 400 million years ago. Humans, have been around a hell of a lot less than that. This discovery was to improve life. Man used fire to feed his family, bring warmth to his children and light to his community. But like everything else he has abused it. Using it for his own selfish reasons. To create fear and pain.
Just some of the torture techniques that involve fire: Branding, boiling, rat torture, or the brazen bull. This bull was usually made of bronze and hollow. The victim was put inside and a fire lit underneath it. The best part? The bull was built so his screams were amplified. His lasts breaths sounding like a bull bellowing.
Someone. One of us, thought of that. Another famous one. Burning. Man feared woman so used fire to silence her. Man has taken every element and used his twisted mind to find new and fun ways to create pain. Perhaps another thing that separates man from beast.
But mess with fire and fire will fight back. Hard. If you google fires in Ireland the page with the seven most known: Pearse St, Stardust, Noyeks, Cavan Orphanage , Carrickmines, Drumcallagher and Central Hotel Bundoran, total 158 lives lost, about a quarter children. And that is just our tiny little island. We don’t have enough time for me to list the tragedies of the world.
Earth, water, air and fire. The four components of nature. Abuse one or all of them, and she will rise up in all her fury to teach us. Don’t be so arrogant as to think we are in control here. Nature is always in charge.
Why do you think we call her Mother?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This piece was written as part of the Tales V Tunes tour. The words I had to use were “breath” and “fireman”. I hope you enjoyed.
Below in bold was the intro we had to use for our story, hope you enjoy.
The four children huddled together on the station platform. At their feet were two old fashioned suitcases. The tallest child, a girl, kept looking around her. Her eyes darted back and forth: two ice blue pools in a small white face.
“Stop looking so terrified Paprika! We are going to have a wonderful time.”
My mother shouts at me from across the platform. She’s at the service desk getting our tickets. Her long bead necklace hit off the desk as she bends over to flirt with the attendant. I’m not scared. I’m trying to make sure no one I know sees me.
“Paprika, will our new home have a TV?” Little Finnick looks up at me hopeful. His friend from school had a TV and he had been dreaming of one ever since he saw it.
“No Finnick, Mother says it’s one of the ways they put messages in your head. Sorry.” I replied as I shifted Saffron from one hip to another. His hope fades. Poppy stood close to me but didn’t speak. She never did. We were heading to Donegal. Our last house was in Cork but it wasn’t our home. I’m not sure we ever really had a home. Or ever will. Mother was walking back over to us. Her long floral skirt skimmed the floor. Her wild red hair swayed as she glides. I hate wearing these skirts. Every other fifteen year old girl is wearing a mini skirt or jeans. I can deal with the mocking but I worry about the others. They’re too young to understand all of this. They haven’t had to deal with Mother and her problems for as long as I have.
“Oh Finnick, Poppy. You are going to love our new home! It has a big field for you to play in. We can even get a cow! Live off the land. No more processed foods. No more poisons going into your bodies. The government won’t know how to find us. We will finally have peace.”
It was time to go on board the train. Mother grabbed her cases and disappeared ahead of us. I shifted Saffron one more time and lifted Poppy up to my other hip.
“Ok Finnick, I need you to hold on tight to my coat pocket. Do not let go no matter what.”
We got on board and finally found Mother sitting in the last carraige. She was talking to a Steward, her hand lightly pressing aganst his arm. A couple of minutes later he came back with some juice boxes and sandwhiches. She didn’t give him any money.
“Is daddy going to come visit?” Finnick pipes up. He’s trying to open his juice box. “Oh yes. We will write to him and tell him our new address.” I take Finnick’s juice and pierce the straw through. I hate when she says things like that. Finnick hasn’t seen his daddy in almost two years. Since he got tired of Mother’s dramas. I haven’t seen my own father in almost ten years, for the same reason.
The train starts us on our new journey. Mother says it’s a fresh start. Different this time. But that’s what she said last time.. and the time before that.
The hard rain soaked through her cardigan, seeping into her skin. She stood on the corner, asking herself what to do next. She cursed herself for not grabbing her phone. “You didn’t have time to grab your coat Maggie, never mind the mobile!” She reasoned. She wondered if he’d be asleep soon. The last whiskey taking affect. Perhaps the surge of adrenaline would keep him up. Waiting.
“You should have just kept a closer eye on the pork!” She muttered under her breath. She thought of going to Jo’s. It was only a thirty minute walk but she couldn’t handle the ‘I told you so’ right now. Jo never said it but she could always tell what her big sister was thinking. Besides, she’d make her stay the night, which brought it’s own problems. Maggie had no uniform for work which meant coming home in the morning. The hangovers were worse than the night before. He hated Jo, and he knew that’s where she would have been. Knew that was the only place she could have gone.
Maggie caught the eye of a woman at the bus stop but quickly looked away. She knew she must have looked mad. The woman wore a pant suit, her giant umbrella shielding her perfectly preened hair. Was she going home to shouting? Maybe she wasn’t married. A woman all about her career. No one to report to each night. Maggie dreamed of that life for almost ten years now. No dinners to be made. No sour taste of whiskey on top of her in the mornings. Being able to stretch out in bed. Suppose she could do that the nights he didn’t come home. Why did she stay? She stopped asking that a long time ago.
The wind had begun to choke her. She could feel the stares from the passing traffic. It was time to go home. She walked back the ten blocks, her shoes squelching. Half way, she passed their local park. It was small, only one set of swings for the children. She smiled to herself as she thought of the many Sunday afternoons they spent here. She would make a nice picnic for them. He would read the paper out loud while his head rested in her lap. She loved listening, running her fingers through his hair. My God he had a beautiful head of hair. Jet black. Once upon a time.
She stood at the park gate, looking at the beginning of the storm’s results. Rubbish was strewn everywhere, the swings going wild. A thick branch, about two feet long, broken clean off a tree had landed by the gate. Bushes were almost pulled up from the root. Chaos. She carried on. No point in delaying the inevitable. She trudged those five blocks, fighting the gale with all her might. Children were pointing from the cars now. She didn’t care. Just get home.
She barely had the door open when she heard the chair drag along the floor. She ran up the stairs. “Where the hell have you been?” The slurring began, rising in volume. “I’m getting my uniform and going to Jo’s. Do not try to stop me.” Her voice trembled from the bedroom. “Oh no you’re not. I don’t want that bitch knowing our business.” The stomping started on the stairs. As his foot reached the last step, she swung the branch as hard as she could. He stumbled for a second, before falling back. Landing awkwardly near the bottom.
“Frank?” She called over the banister. Nothing. He didn’t stir. She stood there, the branch still in her hand, shaking. “I..I told you not to stop me..”
She tapped her nails on the table, glancing at her watch. The restaurant began filling quickly. The band was setting up. She put her hand up as the waiter tried to approach her again. He scurried past, dropping the menu like a ninja. A menu. Did he think she was here alone? That she was stood up? Not this time. He promised her he’d be here. That he was finally going to tell his wife. She grabbed her coat and stormed out.
It only took her fifteen minutes to get to his front door. She peered in the kitchen window to see if he was home. That’s when she saw him. Placing the chain around her neck and a kiss on her cheek. She screamed. They both jumped, looking out at her, terrified. He ran to the door but she ran on to the road. Wheels screeched. He held her close, called for help. She smiled as her eyes closed one last time.
She tapped her nails on the table, glancing at her watch.
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