Poem: Two Wolves

      This blog is for me that others may read. I spend at least an hour on each prompt then go back and edit it then post it. If I come back to it I come back to it but if I don't then oh well. I have so many stories in my head and get depressed if I don't write something so this is more therapy for me. Enjoy!

"Two Wolves"

In each of us

Two Wolves wage war,

Dominance is what they fight for;

One Wolf is Good,

He's kindness, love, and cheer,

Hungry for joy

No stomach for fear;

One Wolf is Evil,

He's greed, anger, and hate,

Hungry for vengeance 

No peace will ever sate;

This struggle is never-ending,

So please take heed,

The Wolf that wins

Is the one we feed.

Poem: The Watchers

        This blog is for me that others may read. I spend at least an hour on each prompt then go back and edit it then post it. If I come back to it I come back to it but if I don't then oh well. I have so many stories in my head and get depressed if I don't write something so this is more therapy for me. Enjoy!

THE WATCHERS

       Soldiers of Heaven, made from fire and air,
        Who knew Eve's daughters could be so fair,
            To make an angel stumble and fall?
    The Watcher's take flight and answer Love's call;

        The Watchers lonely and filled with lust,
    With their flaming arrows they thrust and thrust,
          Piercing mortal flesh as it perspires,
       Salty sweet the taste of forbidden desires;

    The maidens cried out in pain as well as pleasure,
  Convulsing with curses and blessings of equal measure,
     Twisted and tangled between the sullied sheets,
Like lambs the maidens uttered sad but delightful bleats;

          Flesh bonds flesh, Angels reveled sin,
         Devouring the mortals with carnal grins,
          And after the deed was over and done,
        The Lovers lay naked together in the sun;

       Innocence lost but they basked in a rapture,
    Writhing in ecstasy more bliss they must capture,
    Contorted in agony the Watchers hungered for more,
  They needed gratification it scorched their very core.

Writing Prompt: "Buried Alive Reversed"

     


        This blog is for me that others may read. I spend at least an hour on each prompt then go back and edit it then post it. If I come back to it I come back to it but if I don't then oh well. I have so many stories in my head and get depressed if I don't write something so this is more therapy for me. Enjoy!

     Write about a character as they finish burying someone else alive. What would drive this character to do this? Is burying this person alive revenge... or punishment?


  Characters: Alaric, Casimir, Simone, and Miles. 

The autumn night was crisp and cool but Alaric was sweating as if he were directly under the summer sun. There was little light except for Miles's flash light. Alaric's back was aching as well as his arms as he piled on every shovel full of dirt into the hole. There was a lump in his throat every time the dirt landed. Sweat stung Alaric's eyes. At least that's what he'll tell Casimir when he gets back. Alaric could still hear Simone's screams. He could hear her nails claw at the casket lid. She just had her nails manicured too. Always afraid to break a nail. She preferred them perfect. Perfect for digging into flesh. A pain but also a pleasure as she reached completion and drove her polished nails into Alaric's flesh. His hot blood mingled with sweat. The scratches on his back a delightful sting. Those nails could pierce flesh but not wood. Alaric could still see her face, Simone's perfect oval face with her indigo eyes that once sparkled with joy at the sight of him now were filled with fear as he closed the casket lid. Those eyes haunted Alaric. 

"Hurry up," Miles called, "I want to go to bed."

Alaric stopped as he held the shovel in a loose grip. If he could get close enough then he could hit Miles over the head, knock him out cold. But Miles had a gun trained on him. A Walther P38 that the krauts used during the war. Miles loved that gun. He killed the Nazi bastard it belonged to. He actually killed him with it. So Miles considered it lucky. It never let him down before. 

"Why not... turn on the radio?" Alaric said in between breaths. "Pass the time."

Miles gave a wide grin that reminded Alaric of a picture of the devil he saw once on a playing card. 

"You think I'm stupid or something?" Miles asked. "I turn around and take this pistol off you then you knock me over the head with that shovel then bury me too along with your whore? I don't think so."

Alaric let out a mirthless laugh, "You got me... but I would have knocked you out then killed you with that fucking gun then re-dig this mother fucking hole, get Simone out then put you in it."

Miles's face creased into anger. "You think you're funny don't you?"

"Casimir always thought so."

Miles cocked back his Walther then walked up to Alaric so they were a few feet away from each other. Miles shined his flash light in Alaric's eyes making him squint from the brightness. Alaric could still see the anger in Miles's shrinking blue eyes.

"Yeah he did...," Miles said, his voice shaking from anger, "you were the court jester always making the king laugh. His loyal dog. You thought that made you special huh? You could do anything you wanted and the boss would just pat you on the back. Just give the dog a whack on the nose with a rolled up news paper and that would be it." Miles walked up closer, his Walther inches from Alaric's forehead. "But you see you went sniffing around the boss's girl. Simone was Casimir's bitch. This time...," Miles gave an evil laugh, "you're not getting away with it this time. You shit the bed my friend and you know what happens to the dog that shits in the master's bed?" Alaric's eyes were like stone.

"Casimir wants me alive," Alaric threatened in a low whisper.

"Yeah... yeah he said that..." Miles had a glint in his eyes that Alaric didn't trust. He never trusted this weasel. "But if you went for my gun then I would have no choice but to shoot you. I needed to defend myself."

"He'd never buy it," Alaric spoke with absolute calm. 

"Oh yeah?" Miles said with disbelief, "and why's that?"

Alaric stood straight up, a tower of boldness to Miles's small stature. "Because if I had gone for your gun then I would have killed you and delivered your corpse to him." With all his strength Alaric struck Miles hard in the groin with the top end of the shovel. Miles doubled over groaning in pain. Alaric went for the gun but the bastard wouldn't let go of it. Alaric began wailing punches but they weren't as hard as Alaric would have liked them to be. All that digging had tired him out. Miles managed to punch Alaric in the face. Alaric staggered but still held firm onto the gun. They struggled in a dangerous tug of war that would end with one of them getting a bullet in the stomach. If Alaric had his knife then he could just stab Miles but Casimir had taken his weapons.

"You little f--," Miles growled through his teeth but most of it got lost in grunts. Alaric summoned all of his strength to help him push the barrel towards Miles. Suddenly a shot rang out. Both men stopped struggling. Miles and Alaric looked at each other in shock for a moment. Then Miles keeled over clutching his stomach, covering up a bleeding wound. 

Alaric got up and took the gun that Miles dropped. He stood over the man who gurgled something incoherent. Without mercy Alaric shot Miles full of holes. The shots rang out leaving a disturbing echo then silence. Alaric holstered the gun in his pants then managed enough strength to take up the shovel then proceeded to remove the dirt that piled on his lover.

Writing Prompt: "Love Sight"

Write about a character who was born with the talent to see "threads" connecting people who are meant to be together, like the strands of fate. Explore the mind of this character. And, worst of all, what would this character do if they saw a thread connecting them to another person?

Characters: Callum, Freya, Tate, Ryce

I once heard this myth about a red string of fate that ties one to their soulmate. Sounds romantic doesn't it? That is if you believe in that sort of stuff. After thousands of years people still believe in that story while they dismiss all other things as myth. Thank you, Science. But science could never explain what I could see. I was born this way. I was born with a "sight" my grandmother would say to me. She was a fortune teller. One of the best actually. I could see like she could; see the "red ties of fate" that connected two people. This red string started from a person's heart then stretched to their soul mate. It's kind of annoying really. Do you have any idea what it's like to see those strings everyday? I used to think that I would trip over them whenever I walked out to the city streets. But still it's a living. I make serious money as a match maker. A friend told me that it was because my name was after a love goddess: Freya. It's fate. Well if you ask me, Fate is bullshit. How is it that I can find everyone else's soul mate but my own?

"Freya?" I was concentrating on my steaming cappuccino watching the cream and cinnamon mix together to form a special pattern. It looked like a leaf. "Freya! Earth to Freya." I felt a finger press against my forehead. I lost my train of thought and looked up to see my best friend, Tate staring at me with his sparkling blue eyes. 

"Jesus, Freya, it's like you were on another planet," he said. 

"I'm fine," I took a sip of my cappuccino. The hot liquid burned the tip of my tongue. 

"Maybe you should blow on it," Tate suggested with good humor. "Or maybe you should have gotten the passion fruit iced tea like me?" Tate took a gulp of his cool tea.

"I have a long flight ahead of me and I want to be awake," I explained.

"Ahhhhhhh," Tate made a mocking noise. Tate could always make me laugh. As far as gay friends go, Tate wasn't your stereotypical gay man. He preferred sports to theater, which he would say was: "A gay pride parade with musical numbers."  

I gave him a small punch in the arm.

"Hey, hey," Tate said quickly, "you'll make me spill my tea all over my sports jacket! This is Armani."

Scratch that, like most gay men Tate had a sense of style. Tate took on a more somber tone, "Does the coffee help when you see those red strings you keep seeing?"

"Duh," I took a tiny red mixer and began stirring my coffee. "I see them every where." I looked around the coffee shop to see those red puppet strings all around me. I felt trapped in a web with no one to pull me out.

"Funny how red used to be your favorite color," joked Tate.

"I never said that," I pointed out.

"You loved wearing those red dresses and red shoes," Tate pointed out.

"Why do gay men always remember what a woman is wearing but never a straight man?"

"Because straight men are too busy imagining what a girl looks like naked."

"Or which Victoria Secret bra she's sporting," I laughed. Tate could always cheer me up. 

"So you still going to the family farm this weekend?," Tate asked.

"I have little choice," I sighed, "my mother insisted."

"I guess your dad took a turn for the worst?"

The only reason I would ever visit my family again or worse speak to my mother again was if there was a death in the family. That hour was fast approaching. 

"It's become life or death," I said.

I looked down at my watch and saw that it was time to leave for the air port.

"I need to catch my flight," I got up and took one last sip from my scolding coffee. Being burned is a rude wake up call but the caffeine was giving me the courage to walk away from the glamour of New York City to the humble banjo of Cedar Falls. 

"Tell Ryce I said hello." I said.

Seeing red strings that only you can see every where you kind of get used to them but at times I still feel like I'm going to get tangled or trip over someone's string. I imagined so many times being caught in that web, tangled in the glowing tendrils about to choke to death. Tate once asked me that if I could see the red ties of fate that find a person's soul mate then where was my soul mate? Could I even see mine? Yes I do. My string comes from my heart like it does everyone else's does. But fate as I said before was bullshit; a cruel bitch that likes to screw with your emotions. 

We landed around 8 pm and I was so jet lagged that even those uncomfortable chairs looked like soft comfy beds. But I had to move forward. I would have preferred a car service. I insisted on a car service but if you knew my sister, Enid, you would know that she never took a "no" for an answer. She likes to show up personally to show support. 

It wasn't long before I heard Enid's squeals of delight. 

"Freya! Freya!" Then before I could look up I felt my baby sister's arms around me. How could she sneak up on me? She always had a lithe step although she wasn't so lithe these days.

"Oh my god I'm so happy you came! Look at you! You're so gorgeous!" I took a step back breaking away from Enid's strong yet loving embrace so I could breathe again. 

"Look at you..." I touched her swollen stomach and felt the creature inside kick at my touch. The miracle of life. At least that's what everyone else calls it. For me it was just another puppet on a string. Better it died in the womb than having to suffer such a life. I moved my hand away afraid my evil thoughts would transfer to Enid's womb.

"7 months in," Enid said proudly. She caressed her stomach as she did every living thing she loved. We had a puppy litter once and Enid couldn't stop hugging and kissing them. I felt sorry for those puppies. I thought Enid would smother them. 

"Dad will be so happy to see you," Enid said ecstatically. "It's been what? Two years with no word at all?" 

I was choosing my words carefully. Kind of exhausting. I said, "Busy match making. Trying to bring families together can make you forget your own ironically enough."

"Yeah your business is so successful," Enid said, "your gift really raked in the dough."

"Gift? Never thought to call it that."

"Well you're here and that's what matters," Enid took my hands and held them gently. For a moment I saw my baby sister again. That wide eyed wobbly legged babe that followed me around like the very puppies she smothered with love. I discovered that lost feeling of sisterly affection until...

"Honey?"

When the person you're meant to be with is in the room your string gets shorter. I saw my string shrink as I saw Callum, Enid's husband, my brother-in-law came closer. Our hearts linked with our strings. My heart jumped into my throat. The world seemed to halt. Callum looked at me with those smiling eyes of his. Those olive green eyes always made me tremble. I put my hands behind my back trying to discreetly rub the cold sweat off of them. 

"Hey, Freya," Callum spoke in his warm honey voice, "it's been a long time."

"Yeah... yeah it has..."

Before I could utter anymore awkward words Callum walked up to me and his arms enclosed around me wrapping me in a warm blanket of security. I sheepishly hugged him back. He still had that Old Spice smell. I took it in, savoring the sense, saving it to memory. I could feel his heart beat one with mine.

"I missed you," Callum whispered.

It was then I saw Enid. She was smiling but there was a question in her eyes. I suddenly let go and quickly pulled away from my moment of bliss. Callum's eyes dimmed. I regained my composure. 

"Well," I said with a makeshift smile and cheery attitude that would never get an Oscar, "let's get moving I'm anxious to see how dad's doing."

"Yes...," Enid shrugged off her doubts and became the naive lovable sister again. "He'll be happy you're home."

I practically sprinted to Enid and began walking with her. Without even being told Callum picked up my suitcase and followed a good distance behind to give us some space. I could still hear his every breath over Enid's rapid chatter about the family. I was here to see my sick father but I knew Callum would be there. It was then I suddenly felt so stupid. I shouldn't have come back. Those old wounds feel fresher than ever. 

Writing Prompt: The Sound of Winter

          Writing Prompt:

             What does winter sound like?


         Winter is a whisper, an empty howl. It is deathly silence. Lifeless. Summer, Spring, and Autumn are a rush of noise but winter is when the world grows quiet. The world is asleep beneath the frozen blanket of white. Jack Frost's whispers are a lullaby and with his kiss you shiver as you feel a sheet of ice on your skin. It's as if the world is dead. Persephone has gone to her husband Death to his underworld realm and Demeter retreats to mourn. The world is bereft of joy. The green world encased in the white world. Winter is a lone howl, a desire for company. A call for solace. For someone to hold them in the dark and dreary. Winter is to sleep alone with no one beside you. It is sleeping atop a grave with the ghosts. No song of joy only a melody of misery to hum me to sleep where you dream of rainbows and laughter. 

Writing Prompt: "Lust Has No Mercy" Poem

   Write something based on one line:

Lust has no mercy.

"Lust Has No Mercy"

Lust has no mercy,

It is a beast never satisfied,

It is a ravenous hunger,

A thirst never slaked;

It is a biological need,

A need to feel flesh on flesh,

To feel warmth and bond

Or to corrupt and manipulate,

To twist and cause pain;

Even the Devil himself is a slave,

Lust brings the mightiest to their knees,

Powerful giants brought low,

Cities have burned in the name of Lust;

Often it comes disguised as Love,

Pure on fluttering wings,

Yet once it fires it's deadly arrows,

Your body and soul are seared with the heat;

Lust forges bonds stronger than blood,

It's chains are invisible yet you feel their weight,

Lust has no patience,

It has no time for shame,

It is a beast that will devour all in it's path;

No matter how much you plead,

No matter how much you beg,

It is a relentless dark creature

A creature we all love and despise,

The ever burning flame,

Lust has no mercy,
It leaves you as an empty shell...