Fallen Angel

Today I looked in my inbox and found our challenge:  pick one of the opening lines from the contest from last week, and use it in a story.  We can’t use our own.  So, I’ve picked out Rebecca Shuttleworth’s and I hope you like what I’ve done with it.

Plummeting, Daria closed her eyes and resigned herself to the fall, concentrating only on the effort of becoming lighter, weightless, free.  The force of the freefall from the aircraft was terrifying however she felt as though she had done this all before…

Somehow…

Somewhere…

Her hair pulled off her face and her clothes flapped out behind her as she pulled her body tight, arms out to her sides – as though she was on a crucifix – felt the wind stop as she hung in the air for a moment.

And in that tiny moment in time, she felt as though something happened to her… something amazing she had never experienced before.

She was no longer falling.

She was flying!

Daria felt and heard feathers around her shoulders moving… flitting around her shoulders… and yet couldn’t see them.  Only a moment ago, was falling in fear and now?  Now, she was floating through the air effortlessly.  A smile crossed her face as she relaxed and let this happen, let it take over… how many times in life does this kind of thing occur where you control your surroundings?   Not much!

A gunshot shocked her!

It came from above!

The hi-jackers who had taken over her twin-engine, grabbed her from the cockpit and shoved her out without a parachute were trying to kill her!

She didn’t have time to think as they shot again and a sharp pain in her shoulder made her roll, causing her body to fall like a stone to the ground!

Daria woke on the ground in the middle of the highway.

She should have been dead.  But she wasn’t.

“What the hell?” she sat up, looked around just in time to see an eighteen-wheeler screaming towards her!  She raised her hand up and a shining light emanated from her whole body as she closed her eyes for a moment and then found herself on the side of the road. 

The truck had stopped nearby and driver was standing next to his cab looking at her, “Exactly how did you do that?”

“I was…”

“In the middle of the road a few seconds ago.” He said, “And now you’re here.” Then he frowned, “And where did you come from?”

She looked at him, then looked up to the sky, “I don’t think you’d believe me.”

“I’ve seen some really strange things behind the wheel of that thing.” He said, “Try me.”

She pointed up into the fading sky, “I was pushed out of the plane I was flying… I was hi-jacked.”

“We have to get you to a hospital.”

Two days and a myriad of tests later, Daria was given the all-clear from the doctors.  She sat in her room and looked at herself in the mirror as she got dressed, wondering how she came to fall from a plane thirty-five thousand feet up and didn’t have a single scratch on her.

“Hi.” The familiar voice of the nurse said at her door.

“I’m wondering how I survived the fall.” She said.

“We all are.” She walked in and closed the door, “But I have your X-Rays back and there’s something strange on them.” She pulled out the films and put them onto the light box on the wall and switched it on, “You have something engraved into your bones.”

Daria took the films down slowly, “Shit.”

“Do you remember anything happening on the way down?”

She laughed, “Yeah, I was shot at and wounded.”

“Where?”

“Left shoulder.”

The nurse turned her around and looked carefully, “You have no such injury.  Are you sure you took a bullet?”

She nodded, “Yes, I remember pain and how fast I fell after it hit.”

She nodded, “Okay, so you should have more injuries or…”

“Should be dead.” Daria looked back into the mirror as she pulled her dressing gown from the hospital closer around her body, “But I’m not.”

“Do you feel any different?” the nurse asked.

“No.” she lied.

The next morning, Daria was released to go home.  Her parents picked her up and took her to her Grandmother’s house; which she had inherited and now lived in.  She spent the day out in the garden looking at the flowers; just staring at them before going into her studio and writing in her journal about what happened to her that day:

‘17^th, April, 2014… I came home today.  I’m at my place.  It’s strange, as though I’ve never been here before.  I don’t know where anything is… and yet I’ve lived here for over a decade.  I don’t know what’s wrong with me.  But today, I was out in the garden and I found the flowers talking to me.  They whispered to me the secrets of the galaxy.’

Daria looked down at the page, “I’m going crazy.”

“No, you’re not.” A voice said behind her.

She turned to find a man in a suit in her studio.  He walked up to her desk, moved the book she had written in closer so he could read it, “Wait, that’s private.”

“No it’s not.” He said, “I found you, Haniel.”

“Who?  I’m Daria.” She put her hand out to him and he awkwardly shook it, “Who’s Haniel?”

“The Archangel who has been protecting you since you were young.  Now, things have become a little more…” he gazed out the window toward the house, “… complicated.” He looked back at her, “Haniel has given you her Grace, thus making you an Angel and she’s out there somewhere.”

“So, what am I?”

“That’s what I’m here to find out.” He said, “I’m Raphael, a friend of Haniel’s, and you are to come with me now.”

The Return of the Opening Line Contest

Chuck has made the Opening Line Contest return to our blogs and his.  This time, there's a book in the prize bucket and so, I thought to jump in and enjoy this one... in a creepy way.

So, what do you think?  


The blood was on my hands from the moment I saw her at the bus stop to the moment I kissed her that night and began to remove her clothing; yes, she was my next victim they’d never find.

Alexander's Blade

Life can be hell... let's face it, for some of us, life is Hell.  So, Chuck Wendig's Flash Fiction Friday this week is for us to write about just that:  Life is Hell... well, our version of it anyway.  My version of it is what you're about to see below.  Enjoy!

“Here, take it.” He offered his blade to me – again – as he always did at the end of each and every damned day I’ve been here.

“No.” I was exhausted from his torture.

Alexander had sliced and diced me and my soul a million different ways today as I laid on his rack, while I screamed in agony.  And he enjoyed every single moment of it… as my blood poured onto the floor…

…as my bones snapped and cracked under his hands…

… as I was taken apart while my heart and mind was still intact…

Then, as the day drew to an end, I was put back together by him with a snap of his fingers, his mouth pulling up the side of his face – that snide, shitty smile I wanted to burn off his face in a second, but knew I couldn't.

“Okay.” He nodded, “Back to your chamber, arsehole.”

Tomorrow was another day of the very same thing.

But you see, time moved differently here than on topside – you know on Earth where you guys are living, where it’s peaceful.  You get to see the sun come up in the mornings.  You get to hear the birds singing and plants grow.  You get to eat fresh fruit and vegetables and have weekends and Christmas and eat chocolate and … well, live in a world where you can believe in being safe.

Here, I’m never safe.

I can’t run away from Alexander.

I know, I’ve tried to a number of times, and he’s found me each and every time.  He knows every corner of Hell and knows all the hiding places, all the passwords and who to bribe, with what and where I’d go to try to vanish… yep, he’s been here that long.

When he knew my butt was coming here, he actually volunteered to torture me.  Yeah, we go a long way back… he bullied me big time on Earth, and now he rides my soul’s butt in Hell.

How shitty can ya get, eh?

And after he pulls me apart forty ways from Sunday on his bloody, hideous blood and guts-covered rack, and he’s had his fun with me, he snaps his fingers and I’m whacked back together again and I’m forced to remember what he’s done to me for his own amusement.  And he offers me an internship… to take over torturing souls in his place.  To take up his shining, sharp blade and be his apprentice – to do his job as he watches over me – so I am always in his debt.

I always say no.

I’ve been here for fifty years (that’s five months for you guys) and I always say no, and he sends me back to my chamber where I never get to sleep, as there’s nothing comfortable about the place.  There’s no bed, nothing to sit on, no window to look out of and no peace… there’s always somebody having a screaming fit about something.

And if that’s not keeping me awake, I get visitors who are demons who look like people I’ve loved… like my Mum or my niece… just to confuse me and make me feel horrible and have nightmares when I do get the odd two hours sleep before that dim light of dawn filters through the halls and I’m dragged back to Alexander’s rack and my day starts over again.

In Hell, I’ve noticed I don’t eat anything… all there is to do is endure the torture Alexander hands out.  And this shit goes on for another thirty years before I find myself sitting there on edge of his rack, naked, covered in blood and hearing him laugh at me yet again as he asked me, “Here, take it.” And his blood-stained hand holds out that razor sharp blade to me yet again. 

The temptation is there.  I bowed my head as tears came easily, “No.”

His finger pulled my chin up to make me look at him, “Take it.”

“No.”

“Aaah, but you’re tempted.” He grinned.

Climbing off the rack, I stand ankle-deep in human remains, “Of course I am, I never will.”

“Why not?”

“Because, Alexander, no matter how much you torture me, I believe I will get out of here.” I turned and walked away from him, no longer ashamed of myself.

“Get your arse back here!” His voice thundered in his workstation and suddenly I’m strapped back onto his rack again, “Well, if I haven’t broken you by now, we’ll do double time.” He raised his hand and the shining blade began to slice my flesh again.  The pain felt as new as it did on the first day as my howls of pain echoed around the room; joining the choir of other souls of Hell.

I woke in my chamber.  My wounds were still healing.  Alexander must have lost control, I’m not sure.

“Well, you’re still alive.” A voice said at the door, “I’m thankful.”

I tried to move, but my injuries were too extensive, “Oh dear Lord, help me.”

“I heard your prayers, and I’m here to raise you from redemption.” His voice whispered in my ear as his hand touched my shoulder…

…as my wounds healed…

…as I opened my eyes and …

… woke in a hospital bed with a man next to me; the same man who was in Hell.

“Who are you?” I whispered.

“A friend.” He smiled.

“I saw you in Hell.”

“Hell is relative… everyone has their own private type.” He replied, “Yours was very real…and I had to help you out of it otherwise Alexander would have killed you.”

“How do I thank you?”

He handed me a blade, “Don’t give this to Alexander… he’ll be looking for it.”

“So, you…?” I looked down at my hand and found a tiny sword pendant in my hand, put it around my neck, and pushed it under my shirt.  This thing looked totally different in Hell.  I looked up and found the man gone, “Exactly who was that?”

A doctor walked into the room, picked up my chart and looked at me as he sat down, “Hi, Angela, my name is Alexander.  I’m here to help you.”

The Djinn's Spell

This week's Flash Fiction challenge is about 5 words... Chuck's got a list at his Terrible Minds blog... I picked out Topaz, Foxglove, Acid, Djinn and Hermit... and look what happened to those words in this story below!

“I don’t remember much, just …” I looked out the window, “…it was complicated.”

The cop opened his notebook, “Try to remember what he looked like.”

I closed my eyes and images of all kinds of things flickered across my vision, making me feel sick and I opened them again, catching my breath, “I’m sorry, I can’t right now.” I took in a deep breath and could have sworn I smelled sewer, and yet I was sitting in a hospital bed.

“Okay, no problems.” He smiled, closed his book and walked out.

I sniffed again and the awful smell of sewage was stronger.  I covered my mouth, “Oh, god… that’s awful.” As I blinked, my world flickered and was replaced by a darkened warehouse where I was being held captive by a man.  He walked down a hallway near me just out of sight.  I remember he had a Topaz ring on his right hand. I swallow thickly, “Help me…” dammit I’m weak!

His tattooed face was in mine as his hand is raised, his voice murmured, “Sleep.”

I’m back at the hospital and it’s morning and the nurses had just brought in breakfast.  They are nice and saying I’ll be leaving to go home.

What the hell did I just see?  I didn’t say anything about it otherwise they’d keep me here.

When I arrived home, I found Foxgloves in our garden in bloom.  They were so pretty. As I walked past them, I stared at them. I never remembered them being grown here… or ever seeing anything like them flower in our garden before.

“Hey, you okay, Symone?” Mum asked from the front door, “They’re just Foxgloves, we’ve had them since you were born.”

I touched the flowers and nodded, but it wasn’t all right, “I’ll be inside in a minute… the hospital gave me cabin fever.”

“Okay.” She smiled taking my bag inside.

I looked across the road and saw a man.  He appeared out of place here… as though he knew something about my place here.

That it was wrong.

The moment we made eye contact, I could smell that warehouse again, and I began to walk towards him, as he did toward me. A car went by and he disappeared… and I was left standing looking at nothing on the footpath.

I was in the wrong world… brought on by something creepy.  If this was an acid trip, it was a horrible one and I wanted off.

I wanted out and off of this acid trip now.

Somehow I end up places and have no memory of how I get there.  One minute I’m at home, the next I’m at uni.  Even though I’ve never been to uni – as it was one of my dreams and I never had the scores, I’m there with friends.  They’re all laughing and I’m sitting there feeling unusual… and some of them know it.

“Hey, listen, Symone, we know you’ve been out of it, but you’ll be okay.” They keep telling me this.  I don’t believe them.

It’s time to find out what the hell’s going on… and who was that man?

Time passes and I’ve noticed that my clothes are never clean.  I’m not sure why this is.  It just seems that the world is moving on without me and I’m stuck in the same outfit of a pair of jeans, Bruce Springsteen Concert t-shirt and sneakers; which is just getting torn and filthy.  And even when my world shifts around and I’ve gone to the library at the university, I have often found myself back at home.

Whatever this thing is doesn’t want me knowing what it is or where I really am.

“You’re Symone, right?” his voice asked.

I look up from the park bench.  It’s him – the man I spotted across the road from my house.  My voice got stuck for a moment, “Yes.”

“You’re stuck in a place that’s not your own?”

“Who are you?”

He looked around, “I’m trying to remember… but I …” tears fill his eyes, “I only know who you are.”

“You’ve been looking for me, right?”

“Yes.” He nodded.

“Then, help me.” I reached out to him as he did to me, but he flickered and vanished… a whimper escapes my throat, “No… please don’t leave me.”

Robert showed up at the warehouse.  Yep, this the was the place his sister vanished after a Bruce Springsteen concert three days ago.  He recognised her car not far away.

He walked inside with his silver blade dipped in lamb’s blood at the ready.  He had to save his sister and another dude who had been missing for the same length of time as her… actually the other guy was a dude she had begun dating.

He found them both side by side.  Hands tied above their heads by the wrists; and IV pushed into their corroded artery.  They didn’t look good at all, “Oh fuck.”

Then, he smelled it – Foxgloves.  The damned thing was around… and very close.

He spun and caught the Djinn in the chest with the blade, shoving it hard through the ribs, hearing them break and crack as he used his body weight to throw the demon to the floor and watch the icy blueness fade from its eyes and tattoo that had unfurled itself around its arms disappear, as though it had never existed.  Robert twisted the knife hard to make sure it was dead, “Now…” he turned as he stood and a hand with a bright blue light engulfed his vision, “What the…”

“Sleep.” A female voice whispered.

Symone sat in the park as Robert approached her and sat next to him, “I tried sis… but they have me too.”

Tears blurred her vision, “We’re just hermits in our own little world then?”

“Yeah… until they kill us,” he looked up at the sky, “, well out in the real world that is.  Then, it’s a matter of time before the authorities find our bodies.” He comforted his sister, “Where’s that guy you were dating?”

“I haven’t seen him in a while.” She sniffed against his shoulder, “What does that mean?”

“It means …” he sighed, “He’s dead, sis.”

“But my clothes are clean now.”

He looked at her, “That means you are too.”