Tag: blogbattle

Derelict – #Blogbattle

BlogBattle is a weekly short story challenge in which participants write short stories using a single word for inspiration. You can visit the BB’s blog to find out more about it: Blogbattle: Inspired To Write.

This week’s word is Derelict.

Derelict

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Genre: Dark Fiction

The smell of his sweat repels me. The sweat-soaked hair under his arms makes me want to gag. They touch my cheek even when he doesn’t move. But I can’t let this repulsion show on my face. I have no strength to fight with him anymore tonight.

I love him, I remind myself for the thousandth time tonight. I love him. It’ll all get over soon.

I turn my face slowly and look at his face trying to understand what’s going through his mind. He looks shabby and I miss those days when he used to shave and take bath every day (or every other day at least.) He’s turned into someone else entirely. Someone I don’t know. Someone I don’t want  to know.

He laughs at something making an animal sound that starts from his stomach and vibrates in his throat. Sitting this close to him I can feel it when his laugh rises from his belly and comes out of his mouth like he’s throwing up, spittle flying in the air.

I feel his rough stubble on my forehead and try to wiggle out of his suffocating half-embrace. He looks at me annoyed and tightens his grips. He looks at me for a minute before smirking and turning back to the TV.

I can feel the remains of his stale breath on my face. I exhale deeply and try to calm down my nerves. I love him and deep down somewhere he loves me too. 

I try to console myself, but when I think about what he’s become I can’t stop the tears from welling up in my eyes. And in that moment I hate myself. I begin to loathe what I’ve done, regretting the decision of leaving Ben and Adam for this bastard.

But I will not run away this time because this is what I deserve for leaving my baby and my loving husband behind.

***

Please note: This is a work of fiction. 
Any resemblance to any person or thing is purely coincidental.

Evening Tea – #Blogbattle (Jessie #5)

BlogBattle is a weekly short story challenge in which participants write short stories using a single word for inspiration. You can visit the BB’s blog to find out more about it: Blogbattle: Inspired To Write.

This week’s word is Tea.

Evening Tea (Jessie #5)

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Image Source: Pixabay

Genre: Contemporary Fiction

 

I set my cup of tea down on the table careful not to spill it on the white cloth beneath it and, taking a deep breath, I say after gathering myself, “It’s not as easy as you think, Mom.”

“But it is,” She puts her cup down too and leans forward in her seat, “Look, Jess, I know the past year has been really tuff on you – first the accident, then Rick’s affair and then this,” she waves a hand at my belly and continues as if she’s not talking about her only daughter miscarrying her 6 weeks old unborn child, but simply making an observation about a filthy sack full of crap.

Looking at me she sighs heavily and continues, “But sweetie this is not how you deal with your problems. You can’t just take  a break from your life and isolate yourself.” Adding more sugar to her tea, she continues, “You need to keep yourself busy. These things are not that significant dear. look at the bigger picture.”

When I start to protest, she raises a hand and continues her lecture, “All I’m saying is at least try to do something that’ll keep you busy and help you to get your mind off of such things.”

The clinking noise of her spoon makes it difficult for me to maintain a straight face. I start tapping my feet first slowly, then intensely and try to sound nonchalant, “And what exactly do you mean by ‘such things’?”

She looks up at me and furrows her brows for a second and then reclaiming her calm exterior she says, “You know what I mean, your accident, Rick’ betrayal, the baby and your failures on the whole.”

Unable to contain my anger any longer, my voice rises a notch, “My failures? What the hell do you mean by my failures?”

She sips her tea calmly and after patting her mouth with the napkin she says, “I didn’t mean to offend you, Jessie. It’s just a manner of speaking.”

The patting of my feet grows so intense that it starts to hurt me, “Seriously, mom?”

“What?” she says shrugging.

I pick up the spoon next to my cup and start pouring sugar in my coffee not wanting to fall for my mom’s sick game.

“Say something, Jessie. I came all the way here just to talk to you and this is how you treat me?”

I stop pouring sugar in my cup and tighten my grip on the spoon’s handle,”Stop it, Mom. Please. Just stop it!”

She sits straighter, making it clear that she disapproves my tone and says, “No, you stop it, Jessie. You need to face it. We both know that you’re blaming yourself for Rick’s affair. So say as much and be done with it. You can’t feel guilty forever.”

“No, that is so not the case, Mom. I’m not guilty of anything! He cheated on me not because I wasn’t good enough for him, but because he is a worthless piece of shit who doesn’t know what loyalty is. So please don’t go there because that’s really not the case.”

“Oh, but I know that this is exactly what’s troubling you.”

“Oh, so now you are what? A break-up specialist?”

“Well, considering my experiences I think you can call me that.”

Unable to contain the storm brewing inside me I look at her and fixing her with a glare I say gritting my teeth, “Stop it already. You’re doing it again.”

“What am I doing?”

Giving up, I get up with a jerk, pushing the chair behind me, and throw the napkin on the table, “Nothing.”

“Don’t you stomp off in front of me Jessie. I am your mother.”

I stop in my tracks and turning around I try to bite back the words that form in my mouth, but knowing her as well as I do, I let the words out of my mouth, “You’re again getting it all wrong, Mom. And that’s why I was trying to avoid meeting you in the first place. You just love assuming things. You don’t even try to find out what’s really wrong. All you know is to make others feel miserable for all the things that are going wrong in their life.”

“No. That is absurd!”

“Yeah? Well, tell this to someone who hasn’t spend 20 years of their lives living with you under the same roof.”

“That’s enough. I’m leaving.”

“Good for you. And please don’t bother checking up on me after today, because I won’t be staying here anymore.”

She gets up from her chair and throwing her purse over her shoulder she says, “Why? Is this place not good enough for you now that I know where you are?”

I shake my head and release a long breath.

“At least tell your old mother where she can find you in case if there’s an emergency or something.”

“Well, you won’t be calling me in any kind of emergency if you knew where I’ll be.”

She turns around and looks me in the eyes, “Where are you going, Jessie?”

“I’m going to Dewar.”

Her mouth falls open and she turns red. Throwing her off guard this way, even for a minute, makes me feel so much better. She quickly regains her cold composure and narrows her eyes at me as if I’m a 4-year-old girl, “And might I ask where will you be staying?”

“With dad.”

She studies my face for a long time and then quietly makes a beeline for the door but before leaving, she stops abruptly and turns around, “Goodbye, Jessie. I hope you have a great time with your father.”

She spits out the words so ferociously that it feels more like “Rot in hell with your father,” which, I think, is exactly what she wanted to say.

***

You can read the previous parts of Jessie: Story About A Girl series here:

  1. Baking A Pie (Jessie #1)
  2. Ruined Dreams (Jessie #2)
  3. The Sting (Jessie #3)
  4. Autumn (Jessie #4)

NOTE: This is a piece of fiction any resemblance to any person or place (living or dead) is purely coincidental.

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Clicked – #Blogbattle

BlogBattle is a weekly short story challenge in which participants write short stories using a single word for inspiration. You can visit Blogbattle’s blog to find out more about it at Blogbattle: Inspired To Write.

This week’s word is Photograph.

NOTE: This is a piece of fiction any resemblance to any person or place (living or dead) is purely coincidental.

CLICKED

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Image Source: Pixabay

Genre: Horror

I place my digital camera – Sony Cybershot – lightly on the rough wooden surface of the coffee table next to me and crouch down to pick up the books from the lower most levels of the bookshelf. I see Needful Things, Grownup, Catch 22, Catch Your Death, Pet Sematary, Cell, Clifton Chronicles series and several other books sitting nicely stacked against each other.

There’re so many books that it’s past time we got a new bigger bookshelf. Ugggh… How many times will I have to argue with Dom  to get the damn thing? Looks like I’ll have to do it myself.

I shake my head in frustration, huffing a frustrated sigh, and pick up half of the books stacked against each other in the second last level, and gently keep them on the floor beside dozens of other books that rested harmoniously on the cream colored marble floor in lazy heaps.

After putting the remaining half of the books, from the same level, on the floor beside others, I grab my camera and take a few pictures of the books that I just kept on the floor. This is my way of keeping a tab on the books I have. Easy and hassle free.

I press the ‘preview’ button and check the pictures I just took, and that’s when I hear a loud thud from the other room.

What the hell?

I keep the camera as it is with preview window open back on the coffee table facing away from me and go to the bedroom to check.

As soon as I enter the room I feel a cold current of electricity run through my body in a matter of a split second. At it felt like electric current to me. The hair on my arms and legs rise and I stand at my place dumbfounded. I shake my head to get back my bearings and discarding it for a shuddering I enter the room.

The first thing that I notice is that the bedroom, somehow, seems unnaturally placid. I mean there’s obviously no one here, still it feels quaint to be here right now. Trying to ignore a strange feeling rising in the pit of my stomach I look around the room to find everything in order. There’s nothing misplaced or fallen on the ground.

Honestly, I was expecting to see the pile of folded clothes on the floor as I knew the window next to it was open, but when I check, the pile is sitting neatly where I left it in the morning next to the window.

Where did the sound come from? 

Maybe the noise came from the kitchen or outside and I mistook it for the bedroom. In spite of my gut telling me that the noise came from the bedroom, I drop the matter thinking it might have been Tom, the street cat, or some squirrel running around outside the window or maybe a bird or something else.

I return to the study room and make my way to the bookshelf on the right-hand side wall. But as soon as I lower my head to see the floor, I find everything scattered on the floor.

What the fuck?

All the piles of my books are lying on the floor as if someone kicked them. More than a few pages of my once neatly bind books are lying around scattered about the disheveled books. After a few seconds of shock, I notice that most of the books are not only just scattered around the floor, but are torn apart.

My heart starts beating fast thinking about who could have done so. My anger flares up in an instant and I start cursing, Tom, who visits me every now and then. I’m sure now that it is his doing.

It has to be!

I sit down on the floor, picking up the torn books carefully, one by one, trying my best to control the tears welling up in my eyes and that’s when I hear it.

Click.

My head snaps up to look at the camera, sitting on the coffee table just where I left it, but instead of facing away from me it is facing at me. My heart starts beating fast but I try to tell myself that I might have kept it like this in the hurry to go to the bedroom, or maybe Tom did it… but I know it’s not possible. I remember clearly how I kept the camera when I left

Click. Click. Click.

I freeze at my place and before I could even blink, a cold shiver runs through my body again. Just like before.

I muster all the courage I could and get up from the floor, not taking my eyes off the camera. Its lens looks like it’s staring right back at me, daring me to see what it has captured.

My heart thumping loudly in my ears I take calculated steps towards the wooden coffee table and my camera. Sweat starts dripping down from the sides of my head and the hair on my neck start to rise as I get closer to the camera.

I stop, just long enough to quickly glance around the room, as if to make sure there’s no one around. I feel completely jittered and my throat starts to feel dry.

I start to rethink the entire situation. Maybe it was my imagination playing tricks on me? Maybe it wasn’t a click that I heard, but some other noise from outside? Maybe Tom is still inside the house trying to find food in the kitchen and making all these noises there?

Or maybe I’m just freaking out?

Click. Click. Click.

I immediately look at the camera and notice that it has shifted a little from it was a minute ago.It is a little sideways now. But how in the hell is it even possible?

I hate to face it, but I guess there’s something around.

I try to back away from the camera carefully, one step behind the other. But just as I reach the place where I was sitting, the clicking starts again.

Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click.

I turn around and dash for the door. As soon as I’m out the room I shut the door behind me. I try to catch my breath but the frantic clicking noise makes me feel dizzy. It’s getting more and more urgent now…

Please, someone, stop it!

Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click…

I cover my ears with my hands and run towards the bedroom. Entering the room I close the door behind me and bolt it shut. I wipe the tears and sweat off my face and feeling increasingly hysterical I pat my pockets searching for my cell phone. But then I realize that I left it next to the shelf on the floor in the study room.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I sit on the bed and try to steady my ragged breathing. I wait for a few heartbeats to let the feeling of nausea pass and then start thinking about a way to go outside and get my phone back. Dismissing the idea, I look around the room frantically in hopes to find something. Anything.

And that’s when my eyes land on the pile of folded clothes neatly sitting by the window and there, under the bright light of the sun, my eyes land on the camera sitting on top of Dom’s light blue shirt, facing towards me.

And right then, I hear the sound that’ll haunt me for each and every waking second of the rest of my life.

Click.


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Weep A While Longer

I’ve decided to participate in Rachael Ritchey‘s awesome weekly prompt- BlogBattle. I came across it through a very dear friend’s blog- Phoenix Grey. You can visit Rachael’s blog to find out more about #blogbattle- Writing Rachael Ritchey

BlogBattle rules:

  1. 1000 words max
  2. fictional tale (or true if you really want)
  3. PG (no more than PG-13) Content – let’s keep this family friendly! (this week will be difficult, I know. That’s a somewhat violent word! Remember, use your imagination. 🙂 )
  4. Your story must contain the word(s) from the theme and/or be centered around the theme in a way that shows it is clearly related
  5. Go for the entertainment value!
  6. Use the hashtag #BlogBattle, put a link back to your #BlogBattle Short Story in the comments section of this post, and/or include a link to this post in your own blog post (it creates a “ping-back” which will alert me and our friends to your #BlogBattle post)
  7. Have fun!

BlogBattle is based on the concept of one-word prompt writing. This week’s BlogBattle word prompt: Feather.

Here’s my entry for this week:

Weep A While Longerspring-1228678_1280

Genre: Dark Fiction

I open my eyes and the brightness surrounding me makes me squint. It’s white everywhere. Where am I?

I try to push myself up from where I’m lying expecting a hard ground beneath my body but it’s too soft to be mud or leaves. I immediately pull my hands away and turn to look what lies beneath me. Feathers – crisp white and tiny.

Sitting up I smile at myself grabbing a hand full of delicate feathers that are lying all around me. There’re so many that this place is looking white from roof to roots.

I blow the handful of feathers in my hand and they rise up in the air as if they have a life of their own. And just as those lovely feathers start to come down, I hear a giggle from behind.

For a second my heart stopped beating. No, it can’t be. Is this a dream?

I look around me at the feathers. Of course, it is a dream. I get up slowly trying to decide whether I really heard Mike’s voice or was it just my imagination. My whole body is moving slow as if moving fast will wake me up for real and I’ll lose this beautiful dream missing a chance to see Mike.

I hear his giggles again. This time I turn around so fast that I almost loose my footing. And when I look at the other side of the room, I see the most beautiful sight in the world- Mike sitting in his crib, waving at me and giggling.

Tears start running down my eyes as I run towards him. I feel as if I’ll explode with all the joy that is bubbling inside me. I reach out with my hand seeing Mike trying to get up holding the bars of the crib.

I’m running towards him, but then I realise that I’m still far away from him.

I try to run faster, and faster, to the point where my feet loose footing several times. I get up and run again, the dark cloud of panic settling over my heart.

“Mike. Don’t worry sweetie. Mommy’s coming.” I’m screaming like a mad woman now. But I’m nowhere near Mike. It feels like I’m still standing at the far corner of the room where I woke up.

I stop and look around to figure out a way to get to him before everything fades away- like it always does. I get down on my knees and frantically try to crawl through the feathers lying on the ground, trying to make my way to Mike.

A fog starts to settle in the room and now I can’t even see Mike clearly. “Don’t worry, Mike. mommy’s here, sweetie.”

I try to run again, but it’s of no use. I try to see through the fog and after a lot of trouble I’m finally able to see the outline of his crib. But what I notice nearly stops my heart. I can’t see him anymore. Slowly the fog starts to lift up, just the way it settles without any warning. And the scene in front of me knocks the wind out of me. Mike’s crib is empty. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no.. this can’t be happening again. No, no. Please, no! Mike, Mike! Come to mommy Mike. Mommy is here to take you with her.”

But there’s no sign of him or his sweet giggles.

I slump down on the ground among the feathers and stare at the empty crib in front of me. And all of a sudden I hear Mike’s sobs coming from my right.

I turn to see where he is, but instead of my sweet Mike I see a lot of feathers… and a big red patch soaking through them. And as the realisation dawns on me, I know that I’ve failed him again. Blood- my Mike’s blood. And here I am, witnessing the death of my 1-year-old child for the hundredth time.

***


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