Mid-Week Blues-Buster Week 2.27

Welcome to the Mid-Week Blues-Buster Flash Fiction Challenge, Year 2, Week 27.

NaNoWriMo is over, so we’re back & ready for a fresh round of indifference!

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 MIDNIGHT Pacific Time on Friday. You read that right. Pacific Time.

This week’s song prompt comes courtesy of indie rocker Lee Ranaldo.

The tune is… “Waiting on a Dream”. Here’s the link; http://youtu.be/sBxqkM0-Zf0

This week’s Judge is the Mortuary Mama herself…. Ruth Long!

The challenge opens the moment you read this post and runs through MIDNIGHT PACIFIC TIME on Friday December 5th.

Now… Go Write!!!

Posted on December 2, 2014, in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. 6 Comments.

  1. Stars (Waiting on a Dream)

    From his perch atop the city, it seemed he could see the entire world.

    Below, electricity wreathed the ground in a geometric web of light, winking and flickering in the frigid cold, like a supercharged network created by a techno Jack Frost. Twinkling gold lit up the entire spread of community; interspersed with blinks of red and green ruling the roads, and swathes of neon crawling throughout downtown.

    The docks rose in the distance, towering cranes, great shadows on the horizon and the harbour lights danced on black water. The river snaked like a python, like a dark chasm amid the lights and city sprawl, and moved silently through the urban spread until it flicked its tail and faded into the glow on the horizon.

    He stared intently at the mathematical placement of roads, intersections and buildings, at the strings of lights that threaded the cityscape, before casting his eyes heavenward and releasing a sigh.

    Stars glittered and the moon hung in the indigo sky like a silver marble.

    He laughed inwardly, his lip beneath his whiskers curling lightly. He shivered and blew into his cold, weathered hands as the dark sky and dotted galaxies sneaked through his coat. He turned his attention again to the metropolis at his feet.

    As he drank in the view, he shifted his weight on the park bench and pulled his camel skin coat close. The city had been his for a while, just a while, just enough to make a name for himself, but there was more to life than fame, and more to this city than cold, twinkling lights. There were better things than your name in lights, better things than hard, gold statuettes, better things than this.

    He had no regrets, but she’d been gone for a while, and he missed her.

    He liked hearing his name on the lips of others, but no voice beat hers. He adored the cheering of the fans, but her smile was worth more. Oscars shone on his mantelpiece, but no accolade was as soft and satisfying as her sweet kiss.

    “I’m coming home, sweetheart…” The words barely left his lips, but they whispered in the raw night air and warmed him.

    For a few moments his rheumy eyes wandered the city, remembering, and finally came to rest on the small patch of grass before him. He recalled the young girl kneeling there, staring down across the city in wonder, before leaning over to kiss him. He closed his eyes to capture the moment.

    The night wind blew across the city, and up the hillside, chilling his bones and messing his unruly white hair, and he smiled. “I’m coming home…”

    Snow began to fall. Soft, thick snowflakes slipped from the sky and grey clouds gently moved across the hillside. The morning would come and the city would slumber beneath a blanket of white, and a lone runner, atop the hill, would alert the authorities to the snow-covered mound on the bench. Blue lights would ride up the hillside, despite the snow, and headlines would be made, but it wouldn’t matter to him, because he’d risen far above the cityscape, far above the snow – and had returned home to the stars and to her soft, sweet kiss.

    (541 Words)



  2. I came to with the taste of vomit in my mouth and the smell of a sewer in the air. Guess I hadn’t gotten lucky last night. Some broad probably did, by virtue of not ending up in bed with me. I rolled over, but I didn’t open my eyes. Not yet. But I was tired of kissing concrete, and it was morning, after all.

    Aw fuck, my head hurt.

    I needed to pee, and despite smelling like an outhouse, now that I was soberish, it seemed wrong to just let it go, so I cracked open my eyes and pulled myself to my feet, using the crumbling brick wall of wherever the hell I was as support. Vertical, I found a corner and emptied my bladder, scaring the hell out of some bum who probably looked better than I did and a rat which had been – aw, shit – gnawing on his foot. Suddenly, I needed to vomit – again – leaving more delicacies for that rat and its friends, and took off for less disgusting pastures. So to speak.

    This place was a shithole. This street, this city, this whole fucking planet. Not that I was any better. But at least I wasn’t with her.

    Dammit. Godmotherfuckingdammit. I wasn’t going to think about her today. That’s why I was out until – sometime – drinking the foulest stuff I could find. Last night wasn’t about fun, it was about obliterating today, and I couldn’t even do that.
    Something buzzed in my pocket. Huh. I hadn’t been mugged, even though I’d been asking for all manner of atrocities to be perpetrated upon my person last night, as much of an asshole as I was being. I pulled the phone out.

    12 pm – Angie and Rick’s Wedding

    Fuck me, did I set an alarm? Why would I set an alarm to see her marry that rich lawyer douchebag?

    Goddamn, she was probably getting dressed right now. Slinky underthings, a dress which showed her off to the world, but which kept the best secrets just for him. Her friends tittering about tonight, when he’d take them off and she’d make that face, the one which said you’re my whole world, and then they’d fuck all night. She’d be lying, of course. That’s what she did.

    Maybe I was thinking I should show up and do one of those movie things, where the loser runs into the church and professes his love, and the chick would dump her fiancée in front of the whole world and her mom and God and run off with doofus. That would totally work.

    Maybe I was going to show up and pop caps in their well-dressed asses. Did people still talk like that? Fuck, I didn’t even own a gun.

    My phone buzzed again, and I thought about hurling it at the wall, then thought twice about it and looked at the screen. Hell. What the fuck was she calling me for? I swiped my thumb over the screen angrily and punched the speaker button. “Rick? Rick? Where are you? Are you okay? Please, Rick, we’re all waiting for you!”

    Ah, shit.

    522 words


  3. It was 3 AM on a Monday morning. The sun wouldn’t be up for nearly 3 hours, but Beverly was wide awake. She listened carefully to Lawrence as he snored to make certain he was sleeping. Once she knew he was in dreamland, she slipped out of bed, pulled on a robe and house shoes, and slipped out of the bedroom.

    “Thank God the bastard’s asleep,” she headed toward the shower. She closed the door to the room, locked it, slipped off the house shoes, then let the robe slip off her shoulders to the ground. She studied herself in the mirror. Her breasts were still good, not sagging yet. Her stomach was still flat. Even after the two kids. Her legs were still lean, no dimples of fat, not muscle-bound.

    “I’m still a sexy bitch,” she smiled. “Gotta stay that way.”

    She turned on the shower, turned the hot water up, she wanted a hot shower to wash away the feel and smell of him. The more soap, the more suds, the better. “The things I have to put up with.” She wished she could wash him out of her brain cells, her memories. Instead, she had to deal with the memory of having sex with him.

    Sex she didn’t want to have. God, it was awful to suck him off. Awful to let him get behind her, and bang away. Awful to have to moan, and groan, and pretend it turned her on.

    The hot water felt good on the back of her neck and shoulders. She tipped her head back, into the water, let it soak into her hair. Her favorite shampoo made such a rich lather. It cleaned her hair so thoroughly, left it feeling so alive. As she washed the lather out, she held her head under the running water, let it flow down her back.

    “Another day I’ll take a nap while the kids are at school, and he’s at work.”

    Him at work. That’s what it was all about. Keeping him happy. Keeping him at work. Keeping him making money. The more money, the better. Beverly needed money to buy the things she wanted. Her phone, her car, her clothes. It all cost money.

    And he made plenty of it.

    She’d worked hard to find him. Harder to get him to marry her. Harder to keep him. All she wanted, really, was his money. She didn’t really want him. Or his offspring. Boys. Brats. Just like their father.

    So, she had to screw him a few times a week? That wasn’t so bad. He always passed out after he finished. She always waited while he made his run to the bathroom where he pissed, then washed himself. “I wish I could wash everything away as easily as he can.”

    She checked the clock on the bathroom wall. “Damn.” It was time to dry off, get back in her robe, head downstairs, and start breakfast for fatty and his boys. She knew not to put anything on under the robe. It was all part of keeping him happy. Keeping him at work. Keeping him making money. More money. For her.

    It wouldn’t be long before she could afford that dress she wanted. All silk. God, the way it felt when she ran her fingertips across the material in the store. Another month, and she’d have enough to buy it.

    As she feared, just inside the front door he had to kiss her goodbye and let his fingers find their way between her legs. “The things I put up with to get what I want,” she thought as visions of that dress danced in her head.

    Greed stood in the corner of the room and laughed. He loved every minute of the torture Beverly put herself through every day. Just to collect a few meaningless trinkets. “That old saying’s so true, dear. You can’t take it with you when you die.”

    He whispered in Lawrence’s ear, “God, you should really fuck her face tonight.”

    Then he laughed for hours, because he knew, Beverly would do whatever it took to get the next item on her list. Why, she’d even sell her soul.

    695 Words


  4. Blood Curse

    He paced back and forth at the back of the alley under the green and pink of a neon sign. She had to show up soon. The half cast blood curse would drive her mad with psychic noise. He checked his watch yet again. He did his best to stay clear of coven turf wars but Tara was his best friend’s little sister. She was an innocent, wrong place wrong time. But that didn’t change what had to be done. Marco stopped his pacing just as she turned down the alley and headed towards him. She was weaving a bit and finally put one hand out to steady herself on the icy bricks of the alley wall as she stumbled towards him. He caught her just as she was about to fall.

    “Tara. Why did you wait so long?” She was shivering with fever and terror. When she finally lifted her face he sucked in a breath of shock. Her face was covered in bloody scratches. He gently pulled her hands into the light. She had done the damage to herself.

    “Oh mija, your brother will never forgive me for this. I can’t help you unless you ask me.” He pushed her away slightly and tilted her chin up so their eyes met, the garish neon washing over her shredded skin.

    Her eyes were wild with fear and confusion, “I can’t shut them up. I can’t make it stop. I tried, I tried, I tried but it doesn’t stop. I can’t shut them up. Can you? Can you kill me? It’s got to stop.”

    Marco didn’t think that after so many years of walking this earth that anything could even scratch his heart, much less break it, but this trembling woman in his hands was about to do him in.

    “No Tara, I won’t kill you. You have to ask me to help you. Do you want me to help you?” He felt like a bastard for doing it but he shook her hard trying to get her to focus on him rather than the screaming he knew was filling her mind.

    Finally for just a moment she did focus, she saw him, “Marco! Oh my god, Marco help me please.”

    Finally. That was all he needed. He leaned forward and licked the blood from her face. He pulled her tight to his body as the curse flooded through him. His power grabbed it, shaped it into a river he could direct, into a fully formed curse. As it scoured through his blood he flipped open the top of the ruby ring he wore on his middle finger revealing a small stainless steel needle. He stabbed it into his palm. He pressed his bloody palm to Tara’s mouth forcing his blood into her.

    “These are the secrets you need. These are the dreams you flee. Blood to blood, dream to dream, curse to curse. Shackled to life, death you won’t see.”

    The curse exploded out of him and into her. She arched backwards screaming as her blood burned with the power of the curse. And just that fast it was over.

    Marco slowly loosened his hold on Tara. In the cotton candy light he could see that all that remained of her wounds were three vertical scars on each cheek.

    She closed her eyes and whispered, “Now I’m like you aren’t I?’

    Marco sighed, “Yes. I’m sorry. There was no other way.”

    Tears slid down her face, “I will wade through the river of time while everyone I have ever loved grows old and dies. Killing me would have been a kindness.”

    “I know. But that would have taken a kind of courage I do not possess mija. The covens will hunt us down if we stay here much longer. If you come with me I promise I’ll train you to use the blood curse so at the very least you can protect yourself.”

    She pulled away from him slightly and scrubbed her face.


    Then quick as a snake strike she slapped him as hard as she could.

    “That’s for stealing death from me.”

    “Fair enough, mija, fair enough.”

    Words: 690 not including title


  1. Pingback: MWBB, 2-27 | Project Gemini

  2. Pingback: #MWBB Week 2.27 : A Tale Of Greed – Waiting On A Dream | My Soul's Tears

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