Diamond’s Tuition

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The photographs looked nothing like her.

Snap!

The creeper photographer began snapping from lower angles.

She fixed her hair in one of several smudged mirrors surrounding the half-empty loft.

The photos looked nothing like her. Which was a good thing. She never gives photographers or agents her real name. To them, she’s Diamond. In case she ever ran for political office. In case she married a megachurch pastor. Everyone everywhere had a doppleganger somewhere in the world. Her’s was Diamond.

She straightened her back. “This good?”

The photographer lowered his camera towards her thighs.

“What now?” She asked.

“Nothing.” He Glared at her over the camera lens.

“Yes?” She snapped. “I’m getting tired.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, be faster please.”

The money he offered was going to pay off her tuition for the semester. And, though he was inches shorter than she was in flats, he was three times her size in girth. She needed to watch her tone.

The photographer approached her.

She forced a smile. “Done?”

“Yeah….” The photographer nodded. “Almost finished.”

The photographer’s wore an aromatic musk was something she expected from a tall, coco flavored Wall street hottie with muscles and a full head of hair. His aroma created conflict between her eyes and nose. A stout, balding man with a stretched out wife beater should smell the opposite.

The photographer reached for her vest.

She immediately pulled away. “Excuse me!”

“It’s classy…”

“You mean pornographic?”

“Nothing like that.”

Creep…

“These will all be tasteful shots.”

She left her stool. “Yeah… right.”

Slimeball.

“I didn’t mean to alarm you.” The photographer put his camera aside.

She scooped her clothes from the photographer’s unfolded futon and marched towards the door.

I’m an idiot.

She didn’t deserve a doctorate. Nobody in their right mind would agree to enter a strange man’s warehouse apartment to take semi-nude photographs for a blog she’d never heard of.

“Five thousand extra.” The photographer offered.

She turned to see two columns of dollar bills on his kitchenette counter

“Towards your college debt, Ms. Thompson.” The Photographer smiled.

The stack was tall. Thick. Greener than green.

“How many shots?” She asked.

“A dozen,” He replied.

“Too many.”

For too little…

“Only need three to publish.”

“The other nine?”

“I’ll delete.”

She returned to her stool.

“Panties remain.”  She opened her vest. “Hurry up.”

“Okay…” Photographer waved his hand. “Just need you to move your-”

She moved her arms to expose her breasts.

He snapped several photos. “That’s great.”

Doesn’t feel great. 

He lowered his camera.

She covered her chest. “What now?”

“One sec.” The photographer took off towards his room.

He could be back there gathering rope and electrical tape.

“I don’t have a sec,” She called.

The photographer returned. “Batteries died”

“Five minutes, I’m gone… I’m serious.”

“Got it.” He set his camera. “You ready?”

She exposed her breasts. “Yes, sir.”

“You’re doing wonderful.” Photographer inched closer.

She side-eyed the camera.

Wait… He called me Ms. Thompson… I never told him my name… 

The end

Sleep In Peace

Sleepinpeace

Sleep in peace, brave warrior.

Lay your weapons and burdens aside.

Accept peace and remain in it, knowing you fought well.

Against impossible enemies. Against fate.

You protected me. Loved me.

Now it’s time to become one with me. Become me.

And I promise you.

You will never know death In my embrace. Only eternal life.

As you sleep you will exist as the flowers.

The trees.

As the pollen in the air.

As rain, hydrating the soil. Fueling and resurrecting life.

And one day –whence this planet dissolves– as the dust scattered among the stars.

Sleep well. My love.

 

(Sleep in Peace My Dear Sister, Rhea)

 

Fleeting Tale (Vol. 2… a.k.a. mandatory weekly update volume whatever).

Notebook

He found nothing about life funny. Or beautiful. Or remotely enjoyable.

He sank lower in his seat.

Well, there was his wife, and his many unpublished writings. That’s Beautiful. Enjoyable.

My writings suck. 

“Then you have negative fourteen to the…” His algebra professor droned while slowly fading out of existence.

Can’t be me anymore. Must be better. 

He slapped his nose.

It was a nasty habit. An indication that anxiety was about to overtake his already turbulent mind. Like a spider-sense but for obsessive compulsive writers who lack charisma and self-confidence.

He checked the time.

Forty minutes?!

He sank lower.

 

 

Fleeting tale (Unedited Short vol 1)

Windows

He stood from his desk and walked to the window.

It was sunny, but deceptively cold. His toes were cryogenically frozen in his shoes- and will outlast him long after his death.

He thought of how much wife says he’s good. Had the potential to be something. Thought about how much she hated his short sentences. 

He threw on his jacket. Grabbed his two cameras. Powered down his monitors.

May never succeed, but I have to try. I owe it to them. To her.  

Exhaled.

He’ll walk about. He’ll deeply reflect. He’ll continue to create and to work, despite fear.

Oh Mother

He sulked. Protruded his lips. Stared fiery daggers into the cute young woman preparing Mother’s cheeseburger at an elderly turtle’s pace.

Past midnight. Should be home. In bed. But Mother needs help moving. And fast food at an ungodly hour. Sucked being the favorite. Favorites do the heavy lifting. Physical. Emotional. Lifting. 

“Appreciate you.” Mother said.

He smirked.

“Want anything?” Mother asked.

Yes. Sleep. Freaking tired. 

“Nah,” He answered.

Mother bit into a stale-ish looking fry.

“Good?” He asked.

Mother nodded. “Thank you, son.”

He smiled. “You’re welcome.”

Mother’s smile offset some of his saltiness. Some… Not all.

Yawn.

Hungry.

 

 

 

 

The Upside I

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Zay promised to never look back. Or down. Only up. At the perfectly capsized city in the clouds.

Clearest skies on record since the mirror world –The Upside– emerged from the smogosphere, according to Templar meteorologists. Its the divine sign he’d been praying for. Do what’s necessary. Take flight. For Shalewa.

He pumped the burners.

Balloon ascending. Turbulence. Thinning oxygen.

Flying a hastily built helium-craft composed of antiquated parts from abandoned shipyards was high-risk. Highly illegal. Suicidal. Still… far safer than returning to the Seminary.

Shalewa tiptoed to peer over the edge. “Is that heaven?”

He gently pulled Shalewa back. “Just another city.”

“Mommy and daddy there?”

“Possibly.”

Mirror versions, but their parents nonetheless.

Shalewa smiled. “Great.”

His sister was smart for her age. Much brighter than he was.

Chilly. Temperature dipping.

“Will we feel upside down?” Shalewa asked.

“It’ll feel like normal.”

Or so he’d heard from Solomonic diplomats who’ve visited the Upside.

“But then, our city will be the one upside down,” Shalewa said.

“Correct,” He replied.

“Interesting…”

Rising doubts… They’re breaking laws and risking lives to meet strangers. A selfish, dangerous plot. But… Shalewa deserves better. She needed parents, even if they’re doppelgangers of the ones they lost.

“Are versions of us there?” Shalewa asked.

“Maybe,” He answered.

Shalewa bit her fingernails. “What if they hate us?”

“They wont…”

“But what if?”

Zay felt for the pistol with the disintegration rounds hidden in his belt.

Then we’ll have to replace them…

He pinched Shalewa’s nose. “Don’t worry.”

Michaela’s Price

Angel sketch

They summoned me early…

Humans gathered in the city square. Visibly frightened but with an unmistakable resolve in their eyes.

They offered me no praise, nor sacrifices they’ve owed me.

“You no longer want immortality,” I concluded.

I wasn’t the creator, but I protected them as such. And unlike my mother– the creator, I was conflicted. Caught between virtuous duties as a cosmic being, and obligations I bestowed upon myself when I shielded them from extinction.

“We’re grateful,” The Governor declared. “But we can no longer offer you our children.”

I was not mother. My power required Life for life. An expensive, but unavoidable cost. Draining my own cosmic well could be catastrophic for all realities.

“You’ll be erased,” I warned.

Governor wiped tears.  “We understand.”

They chose offspring over immortality. Perplexing.

“Are you certain?” I asked.

Governor nodded.

I summoned swords. “Worship me.”

“Okay…” Governor’s face ashened. “Michaela.”

‘Michaela”…  the embodiment of mother’s wrath. The sword with dreams of being a shield.

My protective seal appeared above the city.

I wished to give, not take life. But they left me no choice.

I raised a sword to the exosphere. Let it simmer in the hellish heat before cleaving the seal with angry force

My seal shattered on impact. Mother can see them now.  The city and everything in it, turned to dust.

Damn you, mother. 

I felt rage. Sadness. Guilt.

Brother was right to rebel.

“Mother!” I slashed gashes in reality. “Show yourself!”

I leveled my swords at Heaven.

 

Baby Tongue

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It scorched layers off his Lingual Papillae.

A mere thirty seconds for the microwave to bubble his mac and cheese into molten lava.

He gulped water.

Efforts… futile. Tongue screaming.

“You okay?” She smirked.

“Hot,” He replied.

“Seriously?”

“Yes….”

“Baby tongue.”

“Hush.”

“Want milk, baby tongue?”

“No…”

He had warm cranberry juice. No need for milk, ice, or her debilitating jabs.

He blew on his bowl before eating another forkful of her macaroni.

“Tasty?” She asked.

Nicely crusted…. perfectly seasoned parade of cheeses. Brilliance in a bowl.

Spectacular.

The best he’d ever tasted.

“Its okay,” He answered. “I’ve had better.”

 

 

 

 

Joshua’s Moon

crescent-moon-watercolor-painting-silver-blue-gray-abstract-half-moon-art-print-joanna-szmerdt

I approached Joshua with caution.

We were in a twenty floor high rise overlooking the FDR Drive. Joshua was having an intense episode and dangerously near an open window.

“Where’s Joshua?” I discreetly pulled the syringe from its case.  “Can you get Joshua for me?”

“He’s resting,” Joshua calmly answered.

“Wake him.”

Joshua faced me. “No.”

My son’s illness had returned with a vengeance. The prescribed medicines were useless. Ineffective.

“Why not?” I asked.

“It hurts him to say goodbye.”

My stomach turned. “Goodbye?”

“He perceives what’s at stake.” Joshua sat on the window sill.

“Slow down, honey.”

“He understands sacrifice.” Joshua pointed to the moon, revealing cuts on his forearms. “I must take his body.”

Not this again, I thought.

“What happens if you take it?”

“Joshua goes wherever things go when they cease to exist.”

“He’ll die?”

“I’m unsure if nothingness is akin to dying.”

Now’s my chance.

I snatched Joshua from the window and pinned him to the ground.

“The earth is in peril.” Joshua didn’t struggle. “I’m the planets only hope.”

Nothing behind his eyes. The boy talking was not my Joshua.

I injected the needle into his arm.

Warmth immediately returned to Joshua’s eyes.

“Mom?” Josh whimpered.

I squeezed him tight.

“No!” He ripped away from me and rushed the window.

“Joshua!” I chased Joshua to the window.

The view of the sky weakened my knees. Impossible.

The moon. Crumbling to pieces.

“Why didn’t you let me go?” Josh asked with tears in his eyes.

Assassins Curse III:”… slippery edge.”

Biting lips

Part I Here

Part II Here

She licked the venomous gloss from her lips. Swallowed hard.

It’s done. Now it was her turn. To die. To set herself free.

The negligee she wore was literally to die for. Red and glossy all over with a candy coated sheen.  She was a heartshaped box of chocolate wrapped in a silk ribbon. To die for. 

She smirked.

The perfect outfit for the perfect night.

She admired the full Red Moon– shades lighter than her silk negligee. She admired the shining constellations. Tracing them with her fingertips. Admired the post-midnight darkness spreading illusions of clean, shimmering Rose City harbors. She knew better.

“Proud now, mother?” She laughed as she dried tears.

One kiss. One taste of her poison. Widows orgasm. Slow agonizing death in a lipstick dispenser.

She’d taken vials of his blood. A sweet chaser for her champagne and deadly venom she concocted for him.

She longed for the power to resurrect the dead. So she can disarm him again with her pleasure. So she can reintroduce him to the worst agony. Over and over again. For several goddam eternities.

She finished her aged champagne. Tossed the bottle over the railing.

“Fuck!” She screamed into the watery abyss below.

His face. Etched into her nightmares. Her wrists.

She took years preparing body and mind for him. Advanced degree. Martial arts. Gun ranges were her sanctuary. The men she fucked. Women. The countless people she killed. Mobsters. Assassins. Law enforcement. Friends. Her innocence. Her humanity. Parts of her capable of feeling love. She murdered them all. For him. And all it took was a simple kiss. She wanted more. Needed more from him. There had to be more.

She climbed over the bridge railing. Tightroped along the slippery edge.

Murdering him was supposed to release her. Free them from purgatory. But slaying the demon only blackened her void.

Turbulent waves below. Sharp concrete slabs from broken platforms blanketed by waters.

She’d condemned herself to hell. Their faces were fading. He’s rotting but still robbing her of everything. She’ll jump. She’ll shatter on impact. She’ll drown and see their faces clearly once again.

The memory of his body turning cold made her lip quiver. Warmed her pelvis.

She gripped the railing. Clasped her eyes.

The sound of the crashing waters a hundred feet below piqued memories of the spa where she ended his life. Of her breasts pressed against his slender, muscular frame.

She trembled.

I… hate.. you… 

She parted her robe. Parted her lower lips with her fingertips. Slow, deep circular motions to spread the wetness running down her thighs.

Her one-handed grip on the rail was slackening.

She bit down hard on her bottom lip as her body erupted.

“You… took… Everything… from… me.” She moaned.

Fwoop! A sharp pinch on her neck.

Warmth vanished. Replaced with arctic cold. Rage. Dizziness.

She faced her assailant.

“My love.” He withdrew the needle from her neck.

“You!” She jerked away from him and lost her grip on the railing.