Tag Archives: short story

Succubus

His eyes followed her as she walked across the room, her hips swaying from side to side. She smiled to herself. She was well aware of the power she held over men. She intoxicated them, they threw themselves into her path. Silly, stupid men.

She wasn’t interested in the man himself. Her heart was quite taken. But he did have something she needed, so she tossed her hair and shot him a slow, seductive smile over her shoulder. Of course he took the bait, grabbing two beers he made his way through the crowd and elbowed his way in to position himself next to her at the bar.

She turned to face him, gazing up into his dark brown eyes. She arched an eyebrow in question. Pretending she had no idea why he had approached her.

“Beer?” He asked as he handed it to her.

The liquid inside was ice cold in sharp contrast to the body heat induced warmth of the bar. Sweat rolled down the outside of the bottle. She reached for the it, the cool iciness doing nothing for her. There was something else she was thirsty for. She tipped the bottle back and drank anyway. Letting the coldness slip down her throat as she eyed the man in front of her.

He was about her own height, with jet black hair and eyes of dark amber, almost matching the bottle in her hands. Those eyes hid secrets, she could tell. Secrets and deep, tangible desires. His need wafted across the distance between them like something physical, something she could reach out and touch.

Setting the bottle down on the bar with an audible clunk, she licked her lips as she gazed up at him, lashes fluttering. It was an art, the chase. The trick was to make them think they were the one doing the chasing. Like an ambush predator, she was camouflaged, she seemed harmless, so the prey drew nearer and nearer, never sensing the danger she presented.

“Thank you,” she said, in a measured tone, betraying neither desire nor rejection. Make him work for it, that was all part of the game. Part of the fun. “What’s your name?”

“Mateo, what’s yours?”

“Jade.” She lied, offering her hand to him.

He lifted it to his mouth, her hand warm in his as he kissed the back of hers. He never broke eye contact. Ah, there was that Latin charm she so loved! She definitely had a type and he hit all the sweet spots. Dark hair, dark eyes, broad shoulders, not more than an inch taller than her. She knew that some women preferred men that were taller than themselves but not her. No, she liked to stand toe to toe and eye to eye with them. Looking up felt too submissive for her. She was definitely all about domination.

“Would you like to dance?” He asked.

“Sure.”

He led her out onto the dance floor where they moved and twirled and it was socially acceptable for him to touch her. Where else was it ok for a total stranger to put their hands on your back, your hips, your shoulders, to pull you in close and press their body against yours?

His body felt good against hers, his hands slid down her back but stopped just a fraction shy of going inappropriately low. She let her body press back against his, just enough to entice him, but not enough for him to be sure she meant it.

Three songs later they left the dance floor breathless and giggling.

“You want to get out of here and go someplace quieter?”

So predictable, she thought. What she said was, “I thought you’d never ask!”

His apartment was also predictable, just what one would expect from a bachelor pad, right down to the pin ball machine in the corner of the living room. But the furniture wasn’t what she was interested in.

Leading him into the bedroom, she let her clothes fall to the floor, the little black dress hitting the ground revealing the thigh high stockings, the garter, the bustier. Yes, she was dressed for seduction.

She watched as his desire grew, lust pushing him onward, never sensing his danger. She was a predator, he was her prey and it would soon all be over. She pushed him back and he thumped down on the edge of the bed, she straddled him, unbuttoning his shirt as she went. The shirt rustled as it dropped onto the bed and she moved onto to his pants. One garment at a time, she undressed him as she leaned in closer and closer and closer.

Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply, the musky, masculine scent sent tremors of pleasure through her. For this one moment, he was her everything, her desire, her overwhelming need, her dinner. The sexual energy rolled off him in waves and at first he sensed nothing as she began to feed, for there was ample energy filling the room for her to feed on.

His desire dried up as the sexual energy disappeared from the room, sucked into her aura. She began to glow and her eyes went black as she soaked it in and drank it down. She followed the trail of energy to its source and continued to drink, deeply, headily, without concern for his sudden terror as he realized his danger. It was too late, she had him, his life force drained out of his body before he could utter the scream that was stuck in his throat.

When the last bit of life force was gone from his body, when she was completely full and thoroughly satiated, when intoxicating warmth of his energy flooded through her body, then, and only then, she let him go and drew back. He flopped lifeless onto the bed beneath her. She licked her lips and sighed in utter contentment as she picked the dress up off the floor, shimmed back into it and casually sashayed out the door.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Threads

Marie had always been able to see people’s futures. Not the way most people imagined it though. She didn’t see specific events; she did not see scenes play out in her head. No, nothing that useful. If she could see certain events, she might be able to give people useful details or advice. What she saw, instead, were threads. Multi colored threads emanating out from people, thousands, sometimes millions of them. Red, green, blue, all the colors of the rainbow were there.

The colors represented different aspects of their life, she had come to understand. Blue for romance, red for finances, green for family, where blue and green intertwined, marriage. She couldn’t even reliably tell how long a person’s life span would be from the number of threads present. Someone could have a short life overflowing with big events and adventure or a very long, boring life with little variance to cause new threads. The number of threads present was not indicative of life span, merely life events.

The only time it was indicative of time left on earth was toward the end, such as when her grandmother had been dying. Every day that Marie visited her, there were fewer threads and the ones left were faded and harder to see. But knowing someone is dying when they are 70 years old and had cancer was not exactly something you needed her gift for. She still couldn’t predict when that last thread would fade completely away.

Her gift was worthless until it was discovered, quite by accident, that she could spot a murder just before it happened.

She had been standing on a train platform, when a commotion caught her eye, an argument. A man in a tweed coat was standing near the platform when a younger man approached him, yelling and waving his arms around. Marie couldn’t hear what was being said, but as the young man got closer to the man in the coat, the threads started to disappear!

She watched, unaware of what it meant, as the confrontation escalated and the threads began to wave wildly, fraying and snapping and evaporating right in front of her. It was like the time during a storm she had seen live electrical lines that snapped, they danced and twirled and sent sparks flying every direction. She stood frozen, not understanding what was happening until the younger man shoved the older one and she watched the last thread snap as the man fell in front of an oncoming train.

It was only after that she realized what the fraying and snapping threads had meant. She had literally watched his future evaporate, getting shorter and shorter as the younger mans anger hurtled toward homicide.

She drew in a deep breath at the memory as she stood shaking outside the Institute. She had never envisioned a career in law enforcement. She wasn’t at all sure she had the temperament for it. But once word of her ability got out, she was actively recruited. She herself was still unsure how useful her gift would be at actually preventing murders. It would only work right before the murder and if officers knew about an attempted murder in enough time to get her there, then what did they possibly need her for?

Well, there was only one way to find out. She glanced down at the paper in her hand, straightened her back, picked up the suitcase sitting at her feet and marched up the steps to the Institute of Psychic Policing.

 

 

The Mirror

She studied her face in the mirror. It was a narrow face, with angels she felt were too sharp. Tipping her head forward, her dark blonde shoulder length bob fell across that face, blue eyes staring intently out at her.

It was a familiar face, yet still she felt out of place. Like she was someone else. Like she belonged somewhere else.

The mirror glimmered in the light. It was so clean, that it looked clear, like it wasn’t even there, like she could just step through it. She knew it was a silly thought, but she couldn’t quite push it away. Reaching out, her fingertips gently probed the mirrors surface. It gave a little.

Startled, she yanked her hand away. Her heart started pounding in her chest, pounding as if it were trying to break right through her rib cage. Taking in big gulps of air, she tried to calm herself.

Staring intensely at her reflection now, she reached out again. Her hand was shaking this time as it made contact with the smooth, cool surface of the mirror. Her fingers brushed the glass and she felt the give again. Summoning all her courage, she pressed down harder this time and her fingers slipped right through the glass!

A gasp rushed out of her as her hand disappeared, up to the wrist, in the mirror. It felt cool on the other side, pleasant. She pushed her arm further in, just to see if she could. She could.

She began to withdraw her arm when something seized it from the other side. She let out a panicked yelp as whatever it was pulled her through the portal.

Darkness engulfed her at first, then a blinding light shattered the darkness as she turned to look behind her. Behind her was a mirror.

She studied her face in the mirror. It was the same face that she’d always had. But somehow, it seemed to fit her now. She reached out to touch the mirror, her fingers finding nothing but solid glass. She watched as her reflection smiled, gave her a wave and turned and walked away.

 

 

The Vessel: Forward

Here is the first part: The Vessel

As she stepped on board, the steps she had just climbed disappeared and the opening in the side of the vessel vanished. She spared only a moment to glance at the wall where a second ago a door had been, a door opening onto Earth, onto the only home she had ever known, opening onto a field where a boy stood, begging her not to go.

That was all behind her now. The past could go hang itself for all she cared. The entire planet could go fuck itself. She was done. Done with men who were careless with her heart, done with society telling her what to do, how to act. She was just done.

Turning back toward the room she was now standing in, she took in the gleaming sterility. Chrome winked at her from everywhere, a large cushy black leather chair dominated the center of the room. The shivering stopped as warmth penetrated her skin, warming her down to her very bones. The cool, autumn chill was gone now. Replaced by a warmth that wrapped comfortingly around her. The sounds of the ships engines were faint, but oddly soothing. Soothing like the rumbling of her father’s car when, as a child, she slept away early morning trips in the backseat.

Catherine looked around the room as sleepiness washed over her. It had been a long day.

Another door slide open in the middle of another wall, a dark hole in a vast sea of gleaming chrome and whiteness. She stumbled unquestioningly through it to find a small bedroom awaiting her. Without an ounce of hesitation, she stripped down to her skin and fell onto the waiting bed, sleep pulling her under before she could even question how the ship knew she was sleepy.

 

Dragon Hunter

The city had burned; there was nothing left but ash. A shadow swept across the landscape as a dragon soared overhead. Ari looked up as it disappeared out of sight over the mountain range. He heaved a great sigh, he had been too late, again. He sheathed his sword and started out to survey the damages.

 

The charred remains of a building scattered when he made contact with the toe of his boot. Bending down he gathered the ashes in his hands, the grittiness coating his fingers, a sharp, tangy smell hit him, flooding his senses. Northern Grey backs probably, judging from the amount of destruction and the size of the one he had just glimpsed.

 

Contrary to popular belief, not all dragons breathed fire. Among those that did, heat was a relative thing. A diamond tailed horned dragon, for example, was all bluster, lots of smoke and fury, very little flame. Northern Greys, on the other hand, were fairly deadly. Very little smoke, a cry as innocent as the bleating of a doe. But their fire burned almost as hot as the sun. Which begged the question, what were Northern Greys doing this far south?

 

Everness had been a large city, a bustling center of trade and commerce. Dragons usually kept a lower profile than this. It was the third city of this size burned to the ground that he had come across in as many months. Something was very, very wrong. Dragons had been hunted almost to extinction centuries ago. Most places he went, they were regarded as fairy tales. The creatures had a vested interest in keeping it that way. So why the unprovoked and frequent attacks on high profile cities all of a sudden? Three large, well known cities, in three months all within the same region. That was definitely going to be noticed.

 

Ari gazed out over the landscape as smoke curled up and climbed into the sky, insects and birds eerily silent. He closed his eyes and brought up his other senses, focusing on the mountain the Grey had disappeared over. He stood in silence as the sun sank down behind the mountains, shadows stretching out across the remains of the city. He was unaware of the passage of time as he used his extra senses to survey the mountain range and what it was hiding. A soft breeze danced through the ruins and night had fully fallen when he finally opened his eyes. He knew what he had to do. It was time for the people to know the truth.

Flash Fiction and Me

I realize that I went about six weeks without publishing anything. Several people pointed this out to me and it made my heart happy to know that people actually look for, read and enjoy my stories! Someone was asking me what flash fiction was, so I thought I’d tell you.

Flash fiction is shorter than a short story. The first flash fiction piece I ever wrote (The Vessel), I wrote before I ever heard that term. I joked with my brother than the story I had written was a short, short story, a micro story or a mini story. Which made me think, was that a thing? So I googled it.

Flash fiction is a thing. It is exactly a micro or mini story. It’s a completed story in and of itself, but well under the word count for a short story, which is 1,000 to 1,500 words depending on who you ask. I had a piece that was either a shorter short story or a longer flash fiction piece. While trying to decide what it should be classified as, I ran across the best description I’d seen. It said that while a short story stood on it’s own, flash fiction hints at a larger story. That decided it for me, my piece was flash fiction.

While flash fiction has a cohesive story and an ending, it often leaves you thinking you’d like to hear more. But it is a completed story in and of itself at the same time. Is that confusing? It simply means that it tells a story, but leaves questions that could lead to a bigger story.

I love my flash fiction. For one, it lets me stretch my writing muscles so to speak. It’s like exercise, keeps me in the writing mode. Or gets me into it. Sometimes it finds its way into larger stories later on, or I end up writing other pieces of flash fiction that continue the story or tell a different part of it, like with The Vessel or Wolf Girl. The main character from The Witch in the Woods became a character in the book I’m writing.

Yes, I have a full length novel in the work as well as several completed short stories. I don’t publish the short stories on my blog (with the exception of A Very Witchy New Year, which I saw as a new years gift to my readers) because I might want to publish them or enter them into a writing contest at some point and most of those things require you to submit work that is previously unpublished. So as much as I would love to share them here, I am waiting in case I decide to try publishing.

My book is a fantasy novel set in modern times in the north Texas area. My local peeps will recognize towns and landmarks in the book. I have so far put 26 completed chapters to paper, over 26k words. I am currently working on wrapping up part one of the book, out of three. So I am about one third of the way done. I started it about two years ago. I had nine chapters down when I left my full time job in May. It’s now September and I have 26 completed chapters plus 3 partially completed ones. That’s 17 chapters I’ve completed in three months. Amazing what you can accomplish when you have time to devote to it!

I have gone back to work part time now but I am committed to getting this book done. When I have a completed, or nearly completed book, I will post the first chapter on here.

I had gotten out of the habit of posting regularly because I stopped doing my writing prompts. Yes, the majority of my flash fiction pieces come from a series of writing prompts I’ve been doing. If I sit down and make myself write every night, sometimes I get much of nothing, but other times I churn out a full short story or a piece of flash fiction and often, once in the writing mode, I continue on to work on my book. I often put something I love to paper on nights that I didn’t feel like writing, until I sat down and just did it. Recognizing this, I am getting back to my habit of sitting down on a regular basis to write.

If I skip a few weeks of posting flash fiction, you can be sure it’s because I’m fully absorbed in working on my forthcoming book. Can’t wait to share it with you all!