Mid-Week Blues-Buster Week 30

Welcome to the Mid-Week Blues-Buster Flash Fiction Challenge, Week 30.

This is a flash fiction challenge.  The prompt is a song.  You are not required to write about or even mention the song.  It’s there only to get the ideas moving around in your brain pan.  If you want to write about the song (or the video- it’s all good here) go for it but don’t feel like you have to.

The rules;

500 words, but it’s a slushy 500, meaning you can go up to 700 or as low as 300.

Post your entry right in the comments section of this post.


The challenge starts whenever I post this on Tuesday and ends at 4:30PM Pacific Time on Friday.  You read that right.  Pacific Time.

This week’s tune comes courtesy of Black Rebel Motorcycle Club.
The song is, “Red Eyes and Tears”.  Here’s the link; http://youtu.be/kOdHND_wt0k

This week’s Judge is author, poet, and all around fun person… Jena Roudebush!

That about does it for me. The challenge is open from the second you read this until 4:30PM Pacific Time on Friday

Now go write!!!


Posted on September 10, 2013, in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. 12 Comments.

  1. Believe it or not, I actually started writing something for this!!!   -alex

    get a copy of “the Key to everything” here:http://tinyurl.com/9265qps http://www.alexkimmell.weebly.com @alexkimmellauth



  2. Kicking

    The fan whirred, moving the desert hot air around in the kitchenette. I still couldn’t sleep for shit but at least it was all starting to settle down, or so I hoped. I lit a smoke and saw my hands were shaking again. I was so tired, so goddamned itchy. There was a fly buzzing against the screen over the sink, the sound synching up with the buzzing in my head making my skin twitch like a skittish horse. FUCK! When did this part get fucking over? I was beginning to think my teeth were gonna shatter. It had been seven days…seven days of shaking and vomiting and sweating and freezing. I had only gotten my fucking legs under control a couple of days ago. There’s a reason it’s called kicking. As hard as this was I knew this wasn’t really the real hard part. This wasn’t my first spin on this fucking carny ride. I knew it wouldn’t take too much longer before my body was mine again. But my head…well I’m not sure my head has ever been mine. Even as wrung out as I was I could feel the rage starting to seep up from the outlying edges of my consciousness. That was the hard part, the rage, well in truth the rage was easy, not ripping everything in sight apart because of the rage was hard.

    He asked me to…

    He had an idea of what was hiding under it all, but he didn’t really know. Not that I hadn’t tried to explain but the dope made it hard to be clear. So when he gets back I’ll be clean and fighting with a rage so all-consuming it blinds me most days. I’ll tell him then and hope I’m not wrong about how much he can carry.

    He asked me to…

    You’re probably wondering why, why now, why here? Hell I sort of wonder that myself right now, but no one in the whole fucking world has ever made me feel safe the way that man does. I can’t be the reason he looks away with red wet eyes anymore, I can’t be the reason he drives around at night looking in alleys and behind 7-11’s anymore, I can’t be the reason he spends three days in jail for damn near beating yet another dealer almost to death…anymore.

    He asked me to…

    So if my teeth shatter it will be worth it. If my stomach turns inside out from the retching it will be worth it. If I have to live every single day of the rest of my life turning a blind mental eye to the song of that sweet nothingness it will be worth it. Even if I have to choke the ever lovin’ life out of the bastard who planted this rage inside me it will be worth it.

    ‘Cause he asked me to and this is the only thing he’s ever asked of me…and god help him I’m in love.

    498 Words


  3. On a Day Like Today
    by Stephanie Fuller

    On a day like today, I could get lost in the blue sky and puffy clouds.

    On a day like today, I can hear the birds singing their favorite songs.

    On a day like today, the world feels right.

    I decided a trip to my favorite park bench for some reading was in order. When I arrived, I opened my bright blue messenger bag, pulled out an apple, and a book purchased the day before. The sun shone down on me and my favorite park bench. I was happy.

    As I opened my book, I happened to hear a quiet sniffle. I didn’t think anything of it until I heard another. And then another. Peeking over my book, I saw you.

    Your face was stained with tears, and your eyes were as red as a brand new fire truck. In one hand, you held a phone. In the other, some tissues that have gone past the point of even being useful anymore. I saw you sniffle again as you looked at your phone, shaking your head as more tears fell.

    While I had no idea what was wrong, my heart was breaking for you. Whatever was on that phone had made you feel this way. I wanted to do something, but didn’t know what to do, so I pretended to read my book and steal looks over the top at you instead.

    I wanted to hug you.

    I wanted to hurt whomever had hurt you.

    I wanted to make you happy.

    Instead, I sat: Watching. Waiting. Worried. All for someone I’d never met, would never meet again, and probably would never have met had it not been for this beautiful day outside. Obviously, the heavens wanted me to be here for you.

    The tension I had created in my own mind was killing me slowly. I decided to not be a bystander anymore. I grabbed my bright blue messenger bag and dug around until I found what I was looking for. Stuffed my uneaten apple and unread book back into the bag and stood.

    As I sat next to you, I grabbed the phone from your hand and handed you the clean tissues unearthed from my bag. I weakly smiled. “Hi.”

    You looked at me as if you were hearing that word for the first time, not knowing its true meaning. Taking the tissues, you nodded. “Hi.”

    Never has one word been so overused.

    Never has one word meant so little.

    Never has one word meant so much.

    We sat in silence as you tried to gain your composure. I snuck a peek at your phone and saw a picture of a handsome man. I feel a twinge in my soul. I can only imagine what he did to you. “Is he really worth these tears?”

    Nodding, you speak. “Yes. I love him so much and I thought he loved me. I was wrong. He loves someone else instead.” A new wave of tears burst from their dam.

    Trying to find the right words to calm you, I put my hand on your knee.“This probably won’t mean much from me, but I’m sorry.”

    A giggle escaped your mouth as you wrapped your arms around me in a hug. “You have no reason to be sorry. You didn’t make me cry. He did. Thank you.”

    On a day like today, two simple words made a difference.

    On a day like today, the hug of a stranger felt like the world.

    On a day like today, I was meant to meet you.

    591 words


  4. In her dream she was in a nightclub; she could feel the thump thump of the music in her chest. It was getting harder to breathe the harder it thumped. She gasped as something touched her face.

    Laura opened her eyes. She could just make out a black hooded figure above her. She opened her mouth to scream, but she could only hear the screaming music. Then there was breathing in her ear. A hand trailed down the side of her torso to her leg. Her clothes were still on, but her arms were tied to something behind her. She felt her eyes bulge as she tried to look around her, but it was too dark, there were only shapes.

    Her mind raced. She’d been in her car in the parking lot leaving the campus; fiddling with the CD player. Something had come from behind. Something had covered her mouth. Then there was nothing.

    A whisper, “I’ve been waiting so long my love.”

    A man’s voice; soft and gentle. He touched her face; fingers searching, touching her mouth, pushing into the side of it; metallic taste – dirty.

    She could hear her laboured breaths over the loud drone of repeating lyrics. She shifted. Her ankles were tied. Was she on a bed?

    He continued to whisper. “I have you at last. You’re here. I can’t wait to show you my love. Oh I can’t wait to show you.”

    His voice brought an image; the common room at lunchtime. A conversation. A debate. The boy opposite her slouched back, long hair covering half his face. He spoke in short sentences, gentle tones. Did she know him? What was his name?


    The figure jerked, pulling back out of her view.

    “Is it you Nathaniel? Why are you doing this?”

    Silence. She shifted again, feeling the strength of the ties. No give. Then something covered her face and her attempts to scream were stifled by unconsciousness.

    Laura was shivering so hard she jolted awake. It was raining; she was soaked. It was night, but the sodium lamps were working. The alleyway was empty. The stiffness in her legs as she staggered to her feet told her she’d been here a while. She found her car at the curb, dark and empty. The keys were in the ignition, her purse on the seat. She couldn’t have dreamt it, could she?

    When Laura arrived on Campus the next day she looked for Nathaniel in the lecture theatre. He was at the top, hair hanging over his face. She switched on the overhead beamer and addressed the class.

    “Ladies and Gentleman, last night I had an anomaly; a moment I wasn’t sure was real or whether I was dreaming. So our task for today is to consider, how do we know the difference between reality and dreams? How can we be sure which is which? Give me your thoughts.”

    Hands shot up immediately, including his.

    “Let’s try one at the back. Nathaniel, isn’t it?”

    “Yes, Miss.” The gentle tones were the same.

    “Tell me Nathaniel, what do you think?”

    “Rational thinking and logic, Miss.”

    “Go on?”

    “When awake we can think coherently, we can run our thoughts through a process. In dream state time and events jump about.”

    “Give me a for instance?”

    “Well say something happens, something disorientates you,” Laura went cold. “You have to take the key markers of the event and see if they run coherently, if one things plays after the other or whether they jump about. Like if you were in one place, then suddenly in another.”

    “But there can be other reasons for that, like if you had fallen asleep – or even drugged – someone could move you?”

    “Yes Miss, but is that logical? Is it likely?”

    Laura didn’t respond, jumping to another student and continuing the class. When it was over she busied herself as the students filed out, preparing for the next class. She heard someone singing. A chill ran up her spine as she recognised some words; ‘Red eyes and tears’. She turned and saw Nathaniel. He smiled.

    “Sorry Miss, I love that song. I just listen to it over and over.”

    697 Words


  5. The Purpose

    He stared at the ceiling while reclining in perfect comfort . The pulse of the bass rattled the walls and vibrated his brains. He fell into a trance. Patterns and geometric symmetries, vibrant colors, tracing effects… he could imagine clouds of plasma galaxies, himself lifted and floating, as though he was all-knowing and all-seeing.

    A voice calling out, a sense of danger, a moment of need, pierced through the inebriation. He sat straight up, turned the music down, and threw on some clothes.

    “Going out!” he hollered skipping down the stairs.

    “Wait. What? Where? At this time of the night??” The wife was none too pleased.

    Undaunted, he grabbed his wallet and keys and headed out the door. He was on a mission.

    He lowered the top on his Mustang convertible and adjusted his driving goggles, cranked the stereo and drove off like the madman he’d become.

    His heart raced and thumped out of his chest, louder than the music or the wind coursing through his hair. The traffic was light. Two in the morning was not exactly high time. It would not matter. He was in a hurry. He pushed the speedometer ever higher as he raced along the dark terrain, never losing focus or intensity of purpose.

    He never paused to think. Driven by a single thought, which came to him unbidden while drifting in a trance. Was he mad? Delusional? Perhaps. But he had acted on it before, without any further consideration. He had driven days at a time, without a plan, but with a specific purpose. The purpose was worth his blind devotion. The purpose gave him power. The purpose was his life.

    An hour into transit, the lights of the city grew luminous and divine. He guessed an exit and moved from interstate to city block. He listened for a signal. He searched the tall buildings for a sign. He took a left. Went straight a few blocks, paused, and kept going. He breathed through his nose and caught a scent. He followed, dodging pedestrians on crosswalks and cutting through a few red lights. He felt an urgency. Time was running out.

    He pulled up against a curb in front of a night club, and leaped out over the car door while ignoring pleas against parking there. He marched resolutely up the sidewalk and to the front doors, with the steadfast determination of an ant charging into a termite mound, pushing aside the attendants, bouncers, anyone in his path, making a beeline for the bathrooms in the back.

    In an instant, he was pushing his way into the ladies room, finding the stall, and kicking it in.

    “I’m taking you home.” The words came out before he even saw the girl seated with her face in her hands, crying uncontrollably. He recognized her instantly.

    She barely had the strength to look up. She didn’t stop him as he lifted her into his arms and carried her through the club, its racing rhythms and lights drowning out as she placed her head against his pounding heart. A night of broken promises, betrayal, drunkenness, regret, and hours upon hours locked in a stall — all faded from her mind, drifting into the summer night as he sped her to the safety of her sanctuary.

    When she awoke, she found herself tucked in and resting on his shoulder. He had stayed all night, watching as she slept. The purpose was secure.

    Now, he wondered, how he would even BEGIN to explain this to his wife??

    587 words


  6. Red Red Wine
    by A J Walker

    Jan dropped her handbag and coat onto the armchair and took off her heels before visibly relaxing. She placed her shoes down neatly ready for tomorrow beneath the kitchen worktop, where she grabbed the bottle of wine she’d left out that morning. She plonked herself down onto the sofa and turned the TV in one deft move. Her work night ritual almost complete.

    In the dark a man watched. Entranced. He could feel his breathing shorten. Excitement growing. Quiet.

    A woman on TV was wittering on about something, which washed over Jan as white noise, as the red wine started to seep through her system. Her cat meowed a gentle reminder by the bowl.

    The man smiled. It was close.

    Jan felt her head start to fill, expand and throb. This was too quick. She looked towards the bottle of wine as it pulsed on the table, she couldn’t focus on it, but eventually she managed to grab it. An expensive Rioja – she hadn’t bought it, she wouldn’t anymore as it had been Simon’s favourite brand, she avoided all things Simon these days. Fucking wierdo. She took another slug of the wine before these thoughts sank in.


    Outside Simon smiled. She had drunk his wine. Without asking; without compunction. Easy. It was meant to be. She looked beautiful.

    The room pulsated in reds and greens, flashing images splashed out to Jan who was struggling to feel anything but what was in her head. The woman on the TV then seemed to talk directly to her. She thought someone was singing. The effects seemed more sublime and enveloping with her eyes closed. She tried to keep her eyes open. Simon. Fuckwit.

    Slowly the back door swung open and the cat darted out to the garden. Simon was soon stood over his Jan, stroking her hair.

    Jan sensed some soothing pressure on her head, a soft massage moving the images around her head, manipulating the visions. Then she thought she heard a mans voice: love, death, peace, beauty, eternity. Her visions went bloodier with these words, the images harsher. She shivered and bucked, trying to duck away from them.

    Her face was flawless. She was perfect. Why had she forced him away? They were perfect together, she made him whole. Every moment they had spent together was seared into his head, a hard drive permitting immediate recall of any moment: seaside ice-cream, Paris, that gallery in Vienna, London theatres, that cottage in Northumberland. His head was full of her – of them – and nothing else. They had to be together – it was meant to be. She’d made a mistake.

    Jan was struggling to know what was real. Simon was with her though, she knew that now. Drink this. She couldn’t stop herself. Make you better. The pulsing speeding up. Red bloodier, head banging. Drink this. Feel it flow down, soothing. Flowing through you, filling you, taking you: to Simon.

    Simon stroked her hair, elated, but something was wrong – her hair was a different style and shade, her lips a new colour, she had a nose ring – she wasn’t the same, wasn’t perfect. Simon could see that now. He let go of her head and it flopped back on the sofa, she was dribbling like a disgusting drunk. A red stain spread through the cushion cover, like a sunset blooming across the sky, above an embroidered purple and powder blue cat.

    Jan spluttered and coughed. She could see blood – but that was probably in her head. The sound from the TV had gone, but her head was full of noise. She thought it may have been her heart pumping her thick blood through her, but there was no rhythm – it was inconsistent, first flooding her ears then disappearing in a wash, like a tide pulling back the waves, before crashing back in.

    Her eyes opened suddenly and seemed to be looking directly at Simon. They were blood red and looked terrified, her face in a silent scream. There were tears streaming down her face as he spluttered out something red – which bubbled at the corner of her mouth. Then the bubbles stopped and she slumped. Simon saw her now as she truly was; ugly, disgusting, evil. Or worse, indifferent, average – like everyone else. She was all wrong.

    He looked at his glass of Rioja. He’d made a mistake, they weren’t made for each other. He returned to the kitchen and poured the wine down the sink before dropping the glass in the swing-bin, which briefly revealed a shaft full of wine bottles and chocolate wrappers.

    Simon left the house without looking back.

    There was someone else out there for him: someone perfect.

    (780 words) Misses the italics a little in this posted version – to see it as I mean it to look go to http://zevonesque.com/blog/blog-2/index.html


  7. (This song took me to a dark place, resulting in a story with possible triggers to domestic violence.)

    False Hero

    Stars danced across the night sky as Yvonne’s head spun round. Her boyfriend was drunk, again, and thought she was flirting with guys at the seedy bar she worked at. Physically stunned, she reeled and almost fainted, but he shook her till her eyes until her eyes focused again. He reached back for another punch, spittle and vicious words covering her face between blows. A headlight lit up the onslaught, blinding both people as an engine revved and got closer.

    As the motorcycle pulled next to the couple, a fist shot out, sending the boyfriend to the ground. Disoriented, Yvonne flinched from the cacophony, but no more blows came. Instead, as she looked up, she saw an outstretched hand. “Get on.”

    Whether she had finally had enough, or whether he looked familiar to her, she found her body moving before she was even aware of what she was doing. Throwing her leg over the seat, she pressed her face to a solid back beneath a leather jacket. The motorcycle accelerated out of the alley, leaving the threatening boyfriend in the dust. Wind dried her tears, but her mind couldn’t calm down from all the chaos. Dazed at first, she had no idea where they were going, or who her savior was. The cool night wind tore at her face, keeping her eyes closed as they leaned around turns and drove into the night.

    Sometime later, the bike finally slowed down in front of an old house surrounded by trees. Lights were on, making it look homey and inviting. She got off the bike, and as her rescuer took off his helmet, she recognized him as a relatively quiet regular at the bar. “Maybe this time, I can offer you something to drink.” he smiled as he walked up the porch steps and unlocked the front door.

    Realizing that to be an invitation and seeing nowhere else to go, Yvonne went up the steps behind him. The door opened into a comfortable living room, tastefully decorated in soothing earth tones that clashed with the black leather and metal studs. She’d only seen a place so nice on television, and looked down at herself. Her pants were dingy and dirty from the alley, and her shirt torn from the fight. “Is there some place to clean up?”

    The biker pointed down a hall and smiled. She walked to the bathroom and flipped the light on. In the mirror, she barely recognized herself. Bruises and welts distorted the face looking back, but she washed as much grime off as she could. Coming out of the bathroom, she found him waiting with a pair of steaming coffee cups. One of the cups was handed to her, and her nose was treated to the sweet scent of cocoa. Little marshmallows even floated on top of the thick brown liquid, bringing an unexpected smile to her face. She sat on the couch as she drank the cocoa, knees pulled up in front of her. As the adrenaline wore off, she took stock of the whirlwind that the evening had become. “So, why’d you help me?”

    Before he could answer, though, she started to get very groggy and began to nod off. She fought to stay awake, and between brief dozes, he had gone into the kitchen. Just as she lost consciousness, Yvonne could hear him sharpening a knife as he muttered to himself “Red eyes and tears no longer for you, I fear. No more tears for you, you’ll be with me forever.”

    587 words, @BryantheTinker



    She was fighting them alone, the idiot. There was a swarm of three dozen or more and she was hacking her way through them with a pair of axes.

    He directed the crew to intervene and haul her to the rooftop.

    She fought and shouted throughout the entire rescue.

    He stood over her as the men removed her from the harness they’d used to secure her. “You trying to get killed?”

    She glared at him. “Maybe. What’s it to you?”

    He shrugged. “If you’re that hell bent on dying, I got a passel of kids need target practice and if one gets lucky enough to hit the mark, we can both get what we want. You’ll be dead and I have one less biter to deal with tomorrow.”

    “Just what I need. Another tough guy.”

    He leaned closer and unknotted one of the harness laces. “It’s a tough world, lady. Now, let’s get you out of this and go meet those kids.”

    “What? No glass of water? No tour of your swell facility? No more delightful bickering?”

    His hands stilled. “You want those things, they don’t come cheap. If you’re interested, a sergeant’s position opened up about fifteen minutes ago.”

    “Wow. Way to mourn the dead. Fill their jobs before they’re even cold.”

    He yanked the last knot free. “I don’t have time to take a piss let alone throw a wake for every fallen soldier. I don’t forget their names or faces, but beyond that, I don’t have the time or resources to do much more.”

    “So, that title of sergeant come with food and a place to crash?”

    He nodded. “Yep, but that’s about all I can promise you.”

    “That’s all I need.”

    “Mind if I ask what you were doing out there, running around like biter bait?”

    She turned away, looked out across the rooftops. “Bastards killed the only thing I ever loved. I had to put him down like a rabid dog. Waited until those baby blues bled red before pulling the trigger. Ever since, I got this rage eating me up on the inside.”

    “How long has it been?”

    “A month. Came up out of Grass Valley. Unit of two dozen and a hundred civilians. Couple of kids fell behind the ranks. My guy hung back for them. Lost him, the kids, and fifteen others”

    He ushered her across the roof, through a door, and down a stairwell. “Heard a lot of stories like that. Folks dying while trying to save others.”

    She followed him. “Hearing it and living it are two different things.”

    He stopped in front of a door. “Our quarters.”

    She took a step back. “Oh hell no. I didn’t sign up to be your bunkmate.”

    He sighed. “Soldiers sleep four to a room. You can take McKinny’s rack. Barrios sleeps up top. Alves and I sleep on the opposite wall.”

    “McKinney. That the sergeant you just lost?”

    He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes.

    “Shit! She was more than that, wasn’t she?”

    “She got bit, I shot her, and thirty seconds later, you came running down the street like a kamikaze dust devil. Anyway, wasn’t like I could kiss her goodbye, right?”

    She settled beside him, shoulder to shoulder. “We haven’t even swapped names yet but let’s make a pact, you and me. No more red eyes and tears, okay? Let’s burn those sons-of-bitches down for good.”

    “You got a lot of enthusiasm for a head-case.”

    “And you got a soft heart for such a hard head.”

    He gave her a half smile. “Any idea how we’re going to win this? They’re so damn unstoppable.”

    “Yeah, well so am I and I got no doubt that somewhere in all the arguing we’re going to do, we’ll turn up the antidote to this red fever.”

    “Or die trying, huh?”

    “Nope, pal. We are done with dying. Now, where’s that chow you promised?”

    He gave her a half smile and the ache in his chest eased up a little. He may have rescued her but he was pretty damn sure she was going to be his unrelenting saving grace.

    – – – – –
    692 words / @bullishink


  9. Convictions Overturned

    Nick stumbled through the chaotic streets, barely able to see but firmly convinced he needed to be…elsewhere…and now. What the hell had he been thinking in coming out here in the first place? There were cops..cops dammit…in full riot gear and they had launched enough tear gas grenades to take down half the freakin’ city! What had possessed him to be hanging out with a bunch of unwashed, patchouli-smellin’ dillholes protesting for animal rights of all freakin’ things? He liked eating meat…inch-thick steaks dripping their own blood….pork chops in gravy made from the drippings…if it was treated fairly or nicely was no damned concern of his, right?

    Eyes red-rimmed and tearing, he made it far enough away from the havoc to slump down against a grimy wall and catch his breath. One phone call…one phone call was all it would take and he could be out of this mess. By this time tomorrow, he’d be on a beach somewhere, drinking mojitos and getting serviced by some island babe. Was he man enough to swallow his pride and make that call?

    He’d rebelled against all he was and that was hard to come back from. Born the trust-fund baby of one of the preeminent industrial magnates of the century, he’d never lacked for anything. And yet, he’d thrown it all away over some…hippie bitch. Sunshine was all of the things he wasn’t and, for that reason, she was irresistible. She was simple and earthy. She was enlightened and committed. She had her beliefs and her causes and her movements.
    He had cars and cash. He had parties and events. He had an unrestrained desire for all things monetary and consumable and exploitable. And now, only now, was he beginning to realize how very, very much he missed all of that.

    He liked not giving a damn about the fate of the world. He reveled in the fact he didn’t know where Micronesia was or even care whether people there were dying of diseases he’d never have even the remotest risk of contracting. No, he’d tried sowing his wild oats…tried having his youthful indiscretions…tried experiencing his rebellious phase and he was freakin’ done with all that.

    Rising painfully to his feet, he faced back in the general direction he’d last seen his lady love, rolling on the ground like an animal, bawling and puking and calling his name as he did his level best to get the fuck out of Dodge.

    Cupping his hands around his dry lips, he howled into the night, “Hey, Sunshine! Peace out, bitch, and I’m goin’ home. I don’t love you…I never loved you and I never will love you. I don’t give a shit about baby pandas or genocide or greenhouse gases! I’m goin’ back where I belong and you can stay out here fightin’ the good fight until you’re welfare-drawin’ ass is old and gray. Enjoy your so-called life cause I sure as hell am goin’ back to enjoyin’ mine!”

    His throat raw and burning from the effort, he spat red-tinged bile from his mouth and started looking around for a payphone. Time to get back to the business of leisure.

    525 words @klingorengi


  10. “I’m in love, I’m in love, I’m. in. love,” I sing with the song playing on the radio. And it’s true. I’m in love. I’m in love. _I’m. in. love._

    Which to be honest, is a very strange feeling. I never thought I’d be in love with anyone ever again.

    But it’s a great feeling. An _amazing_ feeling. I relish it. Embrace it, and sing as loud as I can.

    “Red eyes and tears no more for you my love I fear…”

    It probably helps that he’s married.

    It probably helps that we only have fun when we’re together. We dance, we drink, we laugh, we eat. We tell each other funny stories. We make love, we laugh, we smile.

    “No more fear, no more fear I’m in love,” I sing as I drive along the interstate. I don’t even notice the influx of traffic. I just sing, and revel in the endorphins. “Losing sensation for you my love I fear…”

    He buys me amazing, expensive presents. Pretty dresses. Gorgeous diamond earrings. He even made the down payment on this convertible.

    “Losing the reasons to breathe I never lived,” I sing, tossing my hair and zipping between the cars going slower than I want to drive. “I’m losing the reasons to breathe I never lived…”

    We go to cool places, restaurants, clubs, galleries. All the places his wife has no interest in visiting. All the places kids aren’t welcome.

    “These are my reasons the truth is never filled…”

    When he travels, I go along. We lounge in the room’s Jacuzzi and feed each room service fruit and cheese and suck down those itty bottles of vodka. We sit at hotel bars until 3 in the morning, then go back to his room and fuck on the clean, starched sheets, and don’t care that they’re disheveled or covered in our sweat and cum.

    “I’m never filled, never filled I’m in love…”

    Then we leave the mess behind for someone else to take care of, and he goes home to his wife and kids. I go home to an empty apartment, but it’s okay.

    “I’m in love, I’m in love, I’m. in. love…”
    It probably helps that I don’t have to deal with his every-day shit. His wallet on the dining room table. The cap off the toothpaste lid. His dirty underwear on the floor of the living room. Bills. The kids’ schoolwork. In-laws.

    “I’m in love, I’m in love, I’m. in. love.” I slam on the brakes as a semi pulls into the lane in front of me. But it’s too late.

    I hear the frightening crunch of metal as the truck’s back bumper slides into mine.

    I try to correct my trajectory, but…

    “No more kill, no more kill…”

    The world starts spinning, I’m spinning, I’m flying, I’m in…

    469 words


  1. Pingback: #30 – Mid-Week Blues-Buster: On a Day Like Today | The Book Hipster

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