Un-Stuck

He couldn’t tell if his eyes were opened or closed. The darkness pressed so hard against his lids that it created a gnawing at the back of his brain. He had no idea where he was. It smelled of dampness mixed with rotting flesh. A sticky warm liquid poured from the corner of his mouth and the only sounds were the drops of blood against the floor. The taste of copper settled deep into his tongue. Phone. He tried to reach for it, but his wrists were bound behind his back, pulling at the skin and burning the flesh. Someone called. She called, he thought. But things weren’t making sense. Bite sized memories flashed through his head, a red lantern, a cat, a pistol colliding with his jaw. They found him. They knew he was sneaking around, and the Russian woman heard his phone and that’s when he met the side of her gun. A new wave of dread flowed over him. There was no doubt that they were going to kill him. No one would be on the way to save him. And since he didn’t get back, those men watchin...

My heart was beating a mile a minute. No woman has ever said anything like that to me and I definitely never thought I'd ever hear it said to me. I've always kept it straight laced, never strayed from the beaten path, and always took only calculated risks if I ever took them at all. This woman, this… incredible, beautiful, uncontrollably sexy woman just struck a cord in me I never knew existed in my entire life span to this point. I had to say something, I had to sack up and find my grit. But the words wouldn't come to me. I was stuck in utter awe at this moment. She began to kiss me so deeply and passionately. I could feel her thighs grip me harder and her soft moans and purrs were sending my heart into flutters. I pulled back and managed to get out a sentence. “By the time I'm done with you, you'll only belong to me.”  She narrowed her eyes at me and cracked a wicked smile. “Good,” she said softly, “I can't have it any other way.” Her smile grew bigger an...

The scrubbing was running her fingers raw, but there was more blood under her fingernails than she initially thought.

As the last column fell, I raced towards the Titan, blades in hand, ready for my birthright.

His fist collided with the wall beside my head. “Listen, bitch. Forget what you saw or next time my fist won’t miss.” His words were low and dangerous. After seeing what he had done to the girl before me, I would have been stupid to think it was an empty threat. It was strange to think that this was someone who had captured the hearts of every seventeen-year-old in our school. I could see the allure. The dark curly hair, light green eyes, a dimpled right cheek and something enticing about the way his lips formed around his words. But what no one mentioned was that when you got up close, there was a mischievous glint in his eyes, a wicked twitch laced into his smirk. He inched his face closer to mine, pushing his lips so close that the slight stubble on his chin pricked my ear. “Got it?” He whispered. He smelled like rain and cigarettes. It overwhelmed my senses, clouding my brain. “Yes,” I whispered back. Instant shame flooded my face. How many girls had he done this to before? How man...

Why would I fight it? She's impossibly beautiful and her presence is incredibly intoxicating. I found myself just walking towards her without question and it felt so good, so right, so perfect.  “That's a good boy” she purred, “Let's sit in the living room and chat about all the wonderful things that might be going on in your mind.”  My mind was racing at that moment. She turned to lead me to the living room and I couldn't help but steal a look at her from behind. An hourglass figure. Tight hips that trailed into a very plump ass and toned, slender thighs. My type by a mile. The Raven hair stretched down here back to the top of her butt, sides shaved with swirling, glyph like designs across them. Sharp facial features work almond shaped eyes. Her feet were narrow and cute and so graceful the way they naturally arched as she stepped one after the other.  She took her seat, or should I say, she flowed into it and tapped the cushion next to her. “Sit with me M...

It was the last one she had taken in a long list of antidotes used to try and escape a realm so unbearably difficult to handle.

The olive oil was the first to spill when grandfather began to change.

Winters in Iowa were bitter at best. In a state that constantly got mixed up with Idaho and Ohio, where nothing much happened, and everyone wished they lived somewhere else, all roads seemed to lead back to Des Moines. She had been standing outside in the blistering cold for 45 minutes. The train was late. Would it be too much to ask for all the stars to align just once in her life? She pulled out her phone and quickly calculated the time difference. She wouldn’t make it there until well after midnight at this rate. Fitting that when she finally decided to give into her mother’s pleas and buy a ticket, the train would be late. It was the perfect opportunity for her tear up the ticket, hail a cab and go back home. Home. It took over a month to find it. Once she got on the train to escape or start new, depending on whose side you were on, she had no plans. She walked out of the station with a backpack and a duffle bag and spent the first night on the streets. It was right before Christma...

Droven: Um hey, hi, I’m kinda in a rush to get back to work. Smooth bud. Real smooth. Maera: Well, which way are you headed? If it’s the same direction, we can split it. Save some cash. Oh hell her smile is insanely beautiful. It’s so full and her lips are just… Maera: You good baby? It’s cold outside ya know. Gonna keep a girl waiting or are we splitting this cab? She’s still smiling, so you haven’t totally screwed this up yet Droven: I’m heading uptown. If you are then we can share this cab for sure. Ok, ok, getting there. Steel those nerves buddy. Maera: Perfect! Scooch over and let’s get rockin. My heart is about to leap out of my chest. How can a woman be this beautiful. The silence of the last two minutes have been killing me. Come on brain, give me something to talk about,dammit! Maera: Hey, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry if my friend was kind of rude back there. She can be a total bitch some days. So they definitely noticed I was eavesdropping on the ...

He had to keep running even if it meant that his heart would explode. If he didn’t make it, there would be nothing to go back to. He didn’t need to be told twice. The marks were still there from the first time and that was more than enough to keep him going. He moved his way through an intricate maze of poorly lit back alleys, making sharp quick turns around dumpsters and broken skids. The cold night air burned something fierce in his lungs, setting them on fire as the cobblestone pathway sent shocking sensations up his ankles, rubbing his knees raw. Just a little further now. A red lantern on a black shop door signaled the turn a couple meters ahead. After that, he had to look for a trash bin with a cat graffitied on it. There was a vibration coming from his pocket, amplified by the quietness of the alley. It would be her, wondering where he was this late at night, not knowing that someone was keeping eyes on her, just in case he fucked up, didn’t make it in time or bailed like a cowa...

“He’s looked over here a couple times you know, might as well make him your next victim ha ha” “Oh my god, shut up Vara” the one with the raven, long hair said to her friend as she continued with her snickers. They noticed me staring. I mean, it was hard not to. She had this look about her. Her makeup was dark but hints of reds and pinks lined out her almond shaped eyes perfectly. And her voice was angelic. Corny to say, I know, but man was it ever true. Her friend started up again, “You know he’s not going to come over here and talk to you right? He doesn’t strike me as the type Maera.”  Maera? Was that her name? I’ve never heard a name like that before. Fitting for her though, she suited something mysterious and exotic like that. Oh hell listen to me, sounding like a bad romance novel and I’m the villain with the drawn out inner monologue. “You don’t know that Vara, you don’t even know if he’s actually staring at us.” “You,” her friend interrupted. “Not us, you. Maybe M...

It was her hair, always her hair, that got him first. It didn’t matter what she was wearing, or what perfume she sprayed on. It was whether it was down or up, curly or straight, because by that extension he knew which one of her he’d get before she said hello. But don’t get him wrong, there was something about her fingers too. Slender, long, and delicate as they traced tiny pictures onto his chest. She was always warm after a cold day. A well deep enough that he could keep pulling from and she never emptied. But something in the way her fingers wrote invisible poems against his skin kept him tethered to her. Drifting away only to come swinging back. He could read her, every gesture, expression, every sigh. The way she bit her lip when she was alone meant she was insecure, but the way she bit her lip when she was talking to a man meant she was interested. The brief stutter in her sentence meant she was caught off guard and the small crease in her brow meant she was annoyed by that. He ...

Another long day for the books. Man am I getting sick of these. Ah well, gatta pay those bills one way or another I guess. I’m almost home sick with how much time I have been spending away from Neko. I have to make it a point to take more time off and spend it with her. I hope she understands that I am trying. Better hurry home, I don’t want to spend another minute in this bloody office. I’m not very fond of this drive anymore either. I’m thinking vacation time. We haven’t visited our spot in a while and it is high time we cut loose and just got some time to ourselves. I’ll pitch that idea to her when I get in, hah, like she would say no to a couple weeks of us getting the lead out in our home away from home. She’ll be thrilled. I’ll tell the bossman I need the time, at least they’re good about that sort of thing. Easy traffic and home sweet home. Check that text from her real quick before heading in. Hmm. “Doors open babe. Just come up.” Ah she must be drained from the day and doesn’t...

An overwhelming smell of burning flooded out through the open windows, but from the outside, the house looked fine. There were no signs of flames licking the sides of the wooden frame, or sound of fire eating the floorboards. There was no heat pulsing out through the windows against his face, but he could hear the fire alarm blaring from within. A quick radio message told him that his crew was clear to enter the premises, so long as they were on their guard. It didn’t come in clear if the house was empty or if someone was trapped inside. Swiftly, they made their way in, trying to ignore the assault the alarm and smoke raged on their senses. It smelled like thanksgiving gone wrong. Overcooked and left to dry out before being used as a candle to fragrance the whole place. He motioned for his crew to split. Two to the right, to what looked like the back of the house, toward the hallways leading to the bedrooms. Two to follow him, through the living room toward what smelled like the kitche...

“One ten ounce steak, greens, potatoes, and a Jello chocolate pudding. Eat up.” Well, here it is, I guess. Smells like how I r’member it. Lets see if those beans taste like mommas. Yup. Not even close heh. I figured it wouldn’t but eh, a man can dream can’t he? Excuse me, but can ya’ll grant me a water? Ah, thank ya kindly. I am parched. I can’t remember for the life of me when the last time I had a good steak was. Ten years ago? Yeah just about. It was at that kinda fancy place over on the west end. I remember that place. Meal looked similar to this one but smelled better and damn did it taste so good. Ate it alone, as I did most of my meals, but ya know, I prefer it that way. ‘Less talkin’ and more eatin’ as my pappy used to say. “Chin wagin don’t catch much food do it?” Heh heh, no it don’t papps. No it damn well don't. Hence why I’m living in my head with this chat. That gent in the blue ain’t gonna give me no words, and I gatta tell ya, I ain’t fixin to get words from hi...

Words fell from his mouth like smooth, warm honey, slow and lazy, coating us in tales of great adventures, love stories, epic tragedies, and worlds of magic. He knew the power of a first sentence, piercing us through our cheeks, reeling us in and keeping us hooked. On a hot summer afternoon, with full bellies and content smiles, he beckoned us over to his spot on the back porch, overlooking the pond. “Once I found a message in a bottle, but not where you would have expected.” His eyes glossed over as if he were transported into another world, far off from summer holidays and crickets chirping in the tall yellow grass along the sides of the house. “You see that pond over there,” he motioned, shifting his eyes over our heads and onto the pond he and grandma said was there before we were born. “That’s where I found it.” “No way!” said Ben, “Messages don’t float in ponds,” he added matter-of-factly. I swatted at him. We never interrupted grandpa. There wasn’t any time to talk. ...

I could smell her… That foul stench of rot and decay. That potent and familiar smell of the undead was one I would never remove from my senses, no matter how strong the tonics. The entire stretch of the hallway was bathed in that horrid odor and yet, I still found myself creeping closer and closer to my goal. Each step echoed softly along the slime soaked walls, my hands trailed along to keep my balance firm and my bearings locked. The darkness would swallow one in an instant, fortunately for me, my heritage gave me the gifts to be able to pierce the darkness somewhat and traverse it without the need for torch or flint. I knew I grew closer, every step down the wretched hallway underneath this castle, to my one goal. Vaal’Una, the Witch, would die tonight. That horrible, horrible smell… That festering notion in my mind kept my pace slow to a crawl, however. “What if she has yet to change fully,” I asked myself aloud against my better judgement. No, I thought better, she is gone f...

An echo of wind glided through the house ruffling the curtains and pushing little sleeping heads further under their covers. It was typical for the floor boards to creek in a house that old. It was typical for it to groan, shake with the wind and shrink with the cold. Someone was calling her name. Hollow whispers caressed her ear, luring her to get out of bed, follow them down the stairs, past the kitchen, along the back wall to the cellar door. To please let them out because it’s been so long and they’re so restless and hungry and want to play, just play. A great gust of wind pushed against the brick and a shriek of pain came from beneath the stairs. The floors protested and groaned under the strain and she snuggled deeper into the covers grabbing Louise, her stuffed bunny rabbit, close. Her brother’s breathing was deep; he could sleep through anything. He never heard the voices. They didn’t call out to him like they did her. It made him think she was crazy. All the chocolate sh...

My Dearest Alicia, I miss you. More than the words in these letters can ever say. It has been months since I've had the chance to bed down and write to you and know that I am sorry for that, my love. I find myself drifting to thoughts of you every passing moment and I take solace in knowing you are safe at home over the pond with our little girl. How is our little song bird? Is she well? Growing up and doing well in school? Does she miss me as much as I miss her cherubic face? I do hope she does. You both are always missed and thought of fondly while I do my utmost to navigate these horrible times. Do give her all my love and tell her that her father will be home soon to have that tea party with Mr. Teddy and the Bunns. Tell our little girl I love her and when she feels scared, to look at her dancing nightlight lamp and remember that we will always protect her from everything that would ever do her harm. The war is moving Alicia. We have crossed into Germany, or Austria, or so...

The point of this blog was to unstick myself. Find an end to the drought that has dried up the plot well. But the actual point is that writing is not just a hobby, not if you want it to feel right. It's a way of life, something that should be ingrained in your soul, creating an electrical current that sparks every time your fingers hit a key or wrap around a pen. With all the recent changes in my life, wonderful at best, there's a disconnection left in its wake. I grabbed nearly all of my roots and planted them in foreign locations, surrounded by different climates and atmospheres. I've gotten rid of my constants and lost all forms of routine. But as they say, this is growing up. Growing up. Never would I have thought that growing up meant losing a part of you that used to be an essential part of your essence. Leaving it untended to and unnurtured meant leaving something so necessary to your core. But it's a slow reaction. Other distractions come in, take place and ...