On A Lovely Little Cruise

This week, the Flash Fictions come back! Yep, I've been working my own prompts myself over the last few weeks. Well, this one is about a horror holiday. Mine went in a totally different direction... I've never been on a cruise, but my folks have.

enjoy.

1^st, January – I’m having a wonderful time on this cruise that my folks insisted I took. Despite having a slight case of sea-sickness and paying through the nose for the injection to get rid of it, I’m going well. My best friend, and lover, Dennis, came along with me and we’re having a wonderful time. The sea breezes are just perfect. The food is top knotch and our rooms are above the waterline, and we have a Queen Size Bed and a little balcony overlooking the lower decks. Yep, we forked out extra money for the best.

This is going to be the best holiday ever!

4^th, January – Oops! I haven’t been writing in here as often as I had hoped. We’ve been island-hopping and totally enjoying ourselves. I’ve been on so many places and loving the local culture. Dennis has been by my side the whole time and has made sure we got back to the ship an hour before we left the docks.

And there’s some lovely news we’d love to share! Dennis proposed to me! Yes! We are engaged! We’ve known each other for five years and now we’ll be organising a wedding when we arrive home. I can’t wait!

11^th, January – Some strange things have happened since my last entry. Our ship has taken a different route than what it was supposed to. Instead of Vanuatu then onto the Cook Islands through New Caledonia, it’s heading up into Malaysia, away from its usual route. We haven’t seen the Captain at his table in the past three nights and the nightly entertainment has been really, … strange to say the least. Instead of show tunes by a Tony Bennett look-alike, they’re playing Turkish and Russian music where men sit on one side of the room and women on the other. This is strange. And if you’re married, you sit at the back.

20^th, January – Last night I was dragged from my bed by the hair and Dennis was forcibly removed from my room as some people held me against the wall at gunpoint. I was too scared to say anything but cry as they took him out into the hallway and beat him until he was unconscious calling him names. Then…

24^th, January – I couldn’t finish my last entry because I had to go and be sick. I can hardly move because after they beat Dennis (I don’t know where he is by the way), the three in the room gang raped me… shit… I feel so dirty. And they keep calling me slut. But they’re calling all the women that who are either single or engaged; and they’re taking us away to … oh shit… I don’t know what to do.

30^th, January – I’m being held prisoner in my room with three other women and a young girl who’s barely out of her teens. She’s either mute or in shock but she’s stopped talking. The other women are too scared to talk too much about what has been happening and I’m wondering if the Australian government knows this ship has gone missing off its route. We haven’t seen any television or listened to the radio since the change in the route; and this worries me. I haven’t seen Dennis either. I wonder if he’s still alive.

7^th, February – I’m not sleeping. It’s dangerous to do so. Us women take shifts in standing guard over each other – particularly the girl – so we can be ready for them for when they come for us. We know that the ship has stopped moving because we can’t hear the engines anymore. But we don’t know where we are. It’s 3am and I hear footsteps in the corridor…

17^th, February – I’ve been at the Australian Consulate for three days. Two days after the ship went off course, the Australian Government knew something had gone wrong and took steps to make sure to keep the passengers safe. Unfortunately, not everyone on board was found alive. Dennis and I have been inseparable since we docked in Singapore. How we got to be so far off course was due to us being boarded when we made a supply run at some point in New Caledonia… but they’re not exactly when.

Actually, Dennis and I have decided to get married here at the Consulate. We don’t want to be apart any more than we have to be… not now we’re expecting a new little somebody in our lives. I was sick over the last few days because I had morning sickness – and that wasn’t seasickness either. I’m about a month and a half along; we’re so blessed something good came out of this horror.

You've Got Mail

I watched 'The Lake House' the other night and thought to write a story similar to it... well, kind of. I've been trying to write something like this for a long time; and this time I think I got it right!

enjoy!

The day was stinking hot when Tammy moved into the house she inherited from her agent and friend, Brian. They weren’t close, but he had gotten her her start in the publishing industry; and he didn’t have any family. He had never married or had any children. But he did buy some great pieces of land with houses on them. In his Will, he gave what the immediate family thought were worth something; and gave her the house down by the river.

It looked like something out of a Thomas Kinkade painting, but it appeared as though it hadn’t seen anyone to look after it in over a decade. As she pulled the old set of keys from her pocket, a car drove up behind the moving van and the real estate agent got out.

“Hi.” She walked over in her suit and heels, “Are you sure you want the house?”

“Yeah. My lease is up soon and I don’t want to share house anymore.” She said, “I want to have a place and space of my own.”

The agent cringed, “But this place is a dump.”

“You’re a real estate agent. Aren’t you supposed to sell these places?” Tammy asked.

“Yeah, but really, Brian bought this on the spur of the moment.”

“I find that’s when you can make the best decisions.” She smiled and walked up to the building to open the front door.

From the first day, she started receiving mail – and she hadn’t told the post office where she was living yet. There was a letter from a man welcoming her to the neighbourhood.

‘Dear Neighbour, welcome! My name is Ben. I live across the river in the other cottage. I noticed you were moving in and would like to come and say hi one of these days. Just leave a letter in your letter box to let me know when I can come and I’ll do just that. Yours neighbourly, Ben Cross.’

She smiled and wrote a quick note to him immediately, ‘Dear Ben, Thank you so much for your lovely letter. So nice neighbours still welcome each other! I’ll have the house straightened out by the weekend. So, do drop by on Saturday afternoon. Tammy.’

Tammy busied herself with her new house, her next book and started cleaning up the garden as well; and Saturday came just as quickly. During the week, she and Ben swapped notes on a constant basis. She found out so much about him through his wonderful penmanship and yet, wondered why the paper smelled like pipe smoke.

Then, the day came. She had been out to the local store and bought some food just for that Saturday afternoon visit from Ben.

However, he never showed up.

‘Ben, what happened? Did you get busy? Tammy.’

‘No, I was there. But you weren’t. I was about to ask the same about you. Ben.’

She frowned at the piece of paper as she stood by her letterbox when the postman walked by, “Miss Tammy Kramer?”

Looking up, she smiled, “Yes.”

“Boy, do I have some mail for you!” He gave her wad of mail and three cards, “You have to collect the rest at the post office.”

“Okay.” She smiled, “Hey, do you know Ben Cross?”

His eyes slowly met hers, “I did, yes.”

“Did?”

“He’s no longer here.” He turned away and walked to the next house down the lane, leaving her with her thoughts.

Tammy walked inside, put the mail on the table by the door, grabbed the car keys and drove into town to collect the rest of her mail. On her way there, she thought to drive around the long way to see Ben’s house.

But there was no house on the other side of the river.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” a voice shouted at her from the other side of the road.

She spun to find an old man standing in front of her car, “Hi. I’m looking for Ben.”

“He’s no longer here.” He snapped.

“People keep telling me this. But I want to know why.”

“Why would you want to know?”

“I’ve heard of him, that’s all.”

“He died last year in a house fire.” The man turned and walked down the road, his face twisted and bitter.

Tears filled her eyes, as she climbed back into her car, started it and drove into town, collected her mail and back home almost without saying anything to anyone. When she arrived home, she Googled Ben and found out how he died.

“Oh, my god… he dies tonight last year… at 10pm.” She looked up at her clock and found it was 6pm; plenty of time to write him a letter and warn him about what’s going to happen. To stay away from his place for that night and, ‘…meet me at my house on 23^rd, July, 2016 at my letterbox. I will be waiting. Please don’t go to your place… it’s going to burn down at 10pm. Trust me, because I love you. Tammy.’

She rushed outside into the night air, pushed the letter into the letterbox, put the flag up and waited next it.

She waited for the next four hours.

Tammy was sitting against the stone wall crying when she heard a car engine coming around the lane. She checked the time. It was a little past 10pm, and scrambled to her feet. Last year’s Mustang pulled up outside her house and a man – who looked very much like a younger version of the postman – stepped out of it.

“Tammy? I’m Ben.” He pulled out of his coat pocket a letter and smiled, “I’m not sure how this worked, but I received this letter a couple of years ago while I was living at this address to meet you here… but I had only started living across the river about three months before you moved in. Your letter to not go home on the day of the fire saved my life.”

“Where did you go that night?” she asked.

“My parents’ house.” He smiled, “I think you may know my Uncle, Brian. I believe he was your agent.”

The Garden

I got an idea tonight for a flash fiction and just ran with it. I hope it worked out just right. 

enjoy.

It was my responsibility to protect…

…to guard…

…the garden, and I couldn’t even do that.

Now, I’m here. I’m locked away in these large cells, left to rot for thousands of years – so long now that Humans have never known who I am. My name has been scrubbed from the records; and most of the Angels have never met me.

Father trusted me the most to care for his fledglings – the new Humans – of his new world he called Paradise and he left me to make sure nothing evil entered through those sacred gates. Most of all, I had to guard that tree: The Tree of Life. Now, what a tree! I’ve never seen anything like it. And yet, when the whole thing collapsed, I was blamed by all and imprisoned.

Nobody wanted to know my side of the story – especially not Father – and yet no matter how I told it, it seemed that I was at fault. Lucifer’s little pets were always the dreaded evil of all. Why wasn’t I warned he’d try to tempt me? Or was I supposed to be stronger than Father designed me to be?

I will never know.

But I have time to think. After all, I’m not alone; and yet nobody will pass the time of day with me because of my crime. Yes, this makes me the longest serving inmate… and so long I’m here, I will stay here without parole, because my crime was unforgivable.

In case you missed the hints about who I am: my name is Gadreel. I am the Angelic Guard who let the serpent into The Garden of Eden.

I destroyed the world as you know it.

If there’s anyone to blame for how Earth has turned out, don’t blame each other. Don’t blame your politicians. Don’t blame global warming. Don’t blame war, famine, rising oceans or the extinction of species… 

Blame me… if I hadn’t let the serpent into The Garden – allowing evil into the world – you’d be living a very different life right now.

Gadreel – remember my name, for I am to blame for it all going to Hell. 

Just Before Sunrise

Chuck has had insomnia lately... something I battle with on a regular basis (also known as being a nightowl). So, this week's challenge is to write a story about insomnia... this was fun!

enjoy!

It’s not easy being a person who lives on just four hours of sleep a night. I haven’t been able to sleep on any more than that for over twenty years – and no matter what the doctors have tried, they can’t seem to pin point it.

But after going to a neurologist, they think they’ll be able to help me have a full-night’s sleep. So, tonight is my last sleepless night ever… well, I hope.

“Now, there’s no promises that this will work. But it’s worth a try, okay?” the youngish doctor smiled, “And after all these years of not being able to sleep, I’m sure we’ll be able to pinpoint exactly why you’re not able to sleep through a new method of going back through into your primitive brain; which through my research holds your oldest memories from anything that might be holding you back.”

“Doc, I’m willing to try anything to get some sleep.” I sigh, “It’s not that I don’t want to sleep, it’s just that I think I’m missing out on some good health benefits from a good night’s sleep.”

He smiled, “And you are.” He rose from his desk, “Now, come on, we’re ready if you are.”

Artificial sleep isn’t the same as real sleep. But they had to put me under Twilight; this is where you’re not completely under, but can be woken easily and you recover better and faster than you would if they put you under completely – besides, they needed my brain to be working of its own accord and not off in la-la land.

I woke in recovery in restraints, “What the hell?”

A cop turned, “Shut up.”

“I don’t understand.” I said, “I just woke from a brain operation. I need to know the results. Can they fix my insomnia?”

The cop ignored me.

Another doctor approached my cubical, looked at me, referred to his file and turned to another cop, whispering in his ear, then turned back to me, “Do you remember anything from when you went under Twilight?”

“No. I went to sleep, and woke up in these things.” I looked at the restraints, “I don’t understand why I’m under guard for.”

The doctor nodded curtly, “Okay. Your neurosurgeon is dead.”

“What?”

“You killed him.”

“I was asleep.”

“No… you weren’t.” he said pulling up a metal stool and sitting on it, “You were put under Twilight. But you didn’t stay there. You woke up and became another person… you…” he looked down for a moment before continuing, “You…” his eyes were filled with tears as he tried to talk, but couldn’t.

The policeman touched his shoulder, “I’ll do it.” He whispered, “It’s okay.”

“He stood no chance.” He handed the folder to the cop as he rose and left the room.

The cop turned and looked at me as he dumped the folder onto the table at the end of my bed, “You seriously have no idea what you did?”

“No… like I said, I was sleeping.” I glanced at the other cop who had his back to me, but his head was down, looking at his shoes. My eyes moved back to the first cop at the foot of the bed.

“Okay.” He sighed, “You don’t sleep because when you do, you become another person.”

“We all do.” I said, “In our dreams… but I don’t dream because I don’t get that far into my sleep cycle; that’s what we were trying to fix.”

He nodded, “I understand this. But when they were looking at your primitive brain to find out what was holding you back, they unintentionally let somebody out.”

My gut turned cool, “What?”

He looked over at me and took a step back, “Um… what time is it?” he glanced down to his watch and started to sweat as he grabbed the folder and moved toward the door, gesturing to the guard next to me, “It’s time to leave.”

“We were told to guard him.” He turned and looked at me, then back away, “What the…!”

As the door slammed shut, I looked up at the clock above it to find it said 4:45am – just before sunrise. I was so damned tired. It was time for me to sleep. My breathing slowed down and I thankfully felt as though I was going to get some rest; but I wondered why they were so scared of me when I was just tired.

Sirens wailed as I ran along the river’s edge in the darkness of the night, as the sun’s last glimmer vanished below the horizon. The delicious coppery taste of blood lined my mouth and stained my hands, darkening my fingernails to an almost blackened state.

But I felt as though I was so filled with energy – with go-go juice – that I couldn’t be stopped, even if I wanted to!

The reflection of a shop window freaked me out and I stopped and looked at it…

“No… that can’t be me.” I stared into a mirror which was part of a display inside and found a distorted, tortured scarlet face staring back. The clothes I had taken such pride in choosing the day before – expensive clothes – were shredded and hanging from my body, soaked in blood, “Oh my god… what did they do to me?”

“Who?” a voice asked behind me.

I turned and found three cops with rifles leveled at me, “What happened?” turning back to the mirror, I watched tears leave clean streaks down my face as it – and my whole body – changed into the form I was so accustomed to, “Who did they let out?” but I knew who as I spoke… and didn’t want to know anymore, “Kill me. Please.”

“No.” a man said to my right, with a slight German accent, “You are somebody of interest to us. We wanted to bring you in alive.”

“You know who I am?”

“Of course we do, Dr Jekyll. It’s Mr Hyde everyone keeps on meeting on a rather unscheduled basis.” The man said as he walked from behind the wall of armed police.

“And who the hell are you?”

“I’m Abraham Van Helsing.” He smiled, “I may be old, but I’ve been searching for you for a very long time.”

“How are you still here?”

He smiled as he approached me, “That, my friend, is a very long story. One I will share with you on the way to our final destination.”

The Missing Body

Chuck has got us seeding ideas. This week he gave us a choice of 5 he's chosen or we could go onto the Randomise site... I thought to be lazy and pick one from his selection. I chose #2: A Dead Body Goes Missing.

Man, did I have fun with this or what?

enjoy.




I’ve been waiting for her for a day or so and she hasn’t shown up at the meeting point. I went back to where the party was, and the police have done a great job cleaning up the mess there… including taking away any of the bodies left there.

This include hers – damn!

This means she’s in the morgue and I have to go and get her before they cut into her.

I find my way there and try to look like I work there. I’m not sure if I’m succeeding – but I get past a few security personnel and a couple of doctors – then I find a room full of bodies with toe tags and all covered over.

None of them make me hungry – they’ve all been dead for hours and are completely finished. But I can smell a new one’s come in and the coroner is looking her over.

Donning the lab coat and grabbing a clipboard, I walk into the next room where the man is starting to examine my girl on the slab. She’s been stripped down, bathed and readied for an autopsy.

He looks over, startled that somebody’s come in, “Oh, hi! You must the new guy.” His mask shifts as he smiles behind it.

“Yeah, the new guy. Paulie.” I lie, and almost put my hand out to be shaken and realise the man is wearing gloves, so I wave instead, “She new?”

“Yeah, came in with the massacre at the university across town.” He puts down the scalpel and picks up her clipboard as I put mine down on his desk, “Here are her details, so you’re up to speed. I won’t start until you’ve read it.”

I open the metal board upwards and look at her name, age, address, hair colour, eye colour, blood type… all of this I knew because I’ve been her friend for years. Only recently have I asked Celine if she wanted to join me in my world – and she said yes. But changing her was more difficult than I thought.

We should have done it in the privacy of my house – or hers – not at the university; where everything could go wrong…

…and did.

What happened there wasn’t my fault. I forgot about the ravenous hunger after the change and couldn’t control her as she destroyed almost every human in sight at the party across from her dorm. I was foolish; and my sire ordered me to do something about her; as she’s turned rogue – and they’re dangerous to the public.

I turn to the coroner to find Celine awake and standing behind him smiling. The metal clipboard clatters to the desk with the others there as I grab the man and pull him behind me, “Celine, you don’t want to be killing anymore.”

“But I checked her pulse, she’s dead.” He whispers.

“Yeah, she doesn’t have a pulse – just like I don’t have one.” I mumble.

“What? You don’t have what?” he asks.

Ignoring him, I concentrate on her, “Celine, you’re in danger… look around at this place. They were going to cut you open and kill you.”

Her eyes wonder around at the cold slab, the doors, the hygienic tools and the bright overhead lights, “This is a morgue… what the fuck am I doing here?”

“When you were knocked out at the party, they thought you were dead, and brought you here.” I say, “Remember when I said that if we were ever separated to meet me in the main quad outside the library? Well, you didn’t show, and I went back to find they had cleaned out the place.”

“They?”

“The police.” I reply, “And honey, you killed them all… all of those people at the party.”

“Who knocked me out?”

“I did… I forgot about the hunger you feel after the change. I tried to help you, but you were surrounded by food.” I can smell the coroner’s fear intensify, “I really need to get you out of here.”

She nods, “The smell of the dead is strong here – and he stinks of the dead.”

I put out my hand, “Come on, we’ll get the hell out of here.”

After Celine gets dressed and takes off her toe tag, I wonder what to do with the coroner. She suggests killing him, I’m against that; seeing he’s just doing his job.

“I don’t want any trouble, I’ll give you ten minutes and pull the alarm.” He says, “After all, you both let me live.”

She smiles, “For now…”

I grab her hand and pull her out of the place, down the back halls – which are now empty – and outside into the cold night air; but not for long. I can hear the dawn coming. We have to find a place to hide for the day.

This isn’t how I wanted her first day as a vampire to be.

As we are walking back to my place, I notice a television reports saying that a body has gone missing from the morgue. The coroner is being interviewed by a reporter just outside the building and he says: ‘I’m not sure where it went. I stepped outside for a moment to take a phone call, when I returned it was gone from the slab. I’m afraid that creepier things have happened at the morgue.’

“Creepier things than us?” Celine whispers in my ear as a wad of newspapers slaps onto the curb nearby. On the front, the headlines read: ‘Body Missing From the Morgue: The Undead Walk Amongst Us!’

I kneel down and undo the strap from around the pile, grabbing the top one, as the newspaper man comes out, paying him before I leave, “Jeez, this got out quickly.”

“What do you mean?” she smiles.

Celine didn’t get it… she just didn’t understand what she had done and who she was to the public right now. As she turns the corner, I pull a large knife I had grabbed on the way out of the coroner’s rooms out of my jacket pocket and…

I step out of my shower as the news on the television interrupts a movie I had turned on when I arrived home.

“It’s been a gruesome day here in the city. First the massacre at the local university on Friday night, then we had a body go missing from the morgue on Saturday morning. And now, that body has been found in an alley only blocks away from the morgue.” The reporter looks as though she’s going to be sick, “Oh, this is a horrible day. I can’t go on, turn the camera off.” She turns away as tears fill her eyes.

“Well,” his voice says from the recliner, “It looks like you got her in the worst fashion possible.”

“Yes.” I reply, “And I loved her.”

He rises from his comfortable seat and walks to me, giving me a fatherly look, “Rin, you’ll be fine. Now, can I have my knife back?”

Speechless

It slipped Chuck's mind to do 'Flash Fiction Friday' last week. So, I thought to have a go at doing one myself. This week, I'm not well. I have Laryngitis... yep, I can't talk to anyone for a while and have a nagging cough to boot! So here's a story based on my illness. 

enjoy.

“I’m afraid to say, but you have Laryngitis – it’s a slight case – but I don’t want you talking to anyone or leaving your house for anything for the next three days.” The gruff-looking doctor said as he typed on the keyboard.

I couldn’t believe it.

After going to the class reunion, I thought my ticklish throat wasn’t anything to worry about – but waking up without a voice yesterday was horrible. Mum was worried sick about me; and urged me to head off to the doctors today.

So, there I had it, I wasn’t allowed to be anywhere near people, not allowed to talk and so there goes my singing career in my shower. My life is going to become very quiet if I can’t answer the phone; which gives screening my calls a whole new meaning (yeah, I screen them for telemarketers – but then, I’ll have to get onto Facebook and tell my friends that I’ve lost my voice – again! – and to either text me or talk to me on messenger on Facebook… thank the Gods for that invention, right?).

I arrive home, follow my doctor’s orders and don’t talk to anyone. But the cough it horrible… I sound dreadful. It’s just the irritation of the virus that’s attacking my vocal cords; and it feels horrible. So, I make myself some nice Green Tea and settle in with a book for the afternoon… yep, this is a good time to catch up with my reading.

After I’ve made dinner, baked up the best batch of scones I’ve ever made in my life (why is it that this happens only when I’m sick), whipped some fresh cream up with a whisk and settled in to watch a movie, I hear a noise outside that doesn’t sound like a possum.

Out of habit I pick up the phone. Exactly what am I going to do with that? I’m not allowed to speak – not that I can get any sound out anyway. So, putting down the phone, I picked up the waterproof torch and my mobile and sussed out what was going on.

I didn’t need the torch, I could see from the darkness of my front door that somebody was trying to break into a car in the parking lot. Opening my phone, I called the police and waited for them to answer just as I turned the torch onto the would-be burglar.

At the soft sound of somebody talking, the man turned around, “Who the fuck are you?” he blurted holding a metal bar in his right hand.

I stepped back, shining the torch in his face and the phone down by my side, facing out, so the police could hear him.

“What? You stupid?”

I shook my head.

“You’re not talkin’ so you must be.” He snorted.

The phone said something and I heard it hang up. Damn. They probably didn’t hear anything going on. I hesitated just before I turned and ran from him towards my house,  pulled the door closed (locking myself out) and kept on running along the darkened unit complex.

“Come here you bitch!” he shouted, his footsteps approaching from behind.

I still had the torch on and I used it like a baton, swinging it up and down, shining it everywhere to get people’s attention – but the shit thing was that nobody came out of their houses.

I redialed the police, this time I’d talk to them.

“Hello, fire, police, ambulance? Which one do you need?”

My voice was almost non-existent as I ran and cold night air invaded my lungs, “Police. Hurry!”

“Okay, just a moment.”

“Don’t have a moment…” I said, “Don’t have a voice.”

“Okay…” I heard him say and another took over, “Logan Police, how can I help you?”

“Being chased. Kingston Road. Inside unit complex… near fire station next to Puma. Hurry! I’m scared!” I panted then started to cough as I came to the pedestrian gate and dropped the torch to press the button to get out. But…

…as I turned, he was there…

…blocking it!

“Whodja call?” he asked.

I shook my head.

“Why don’t you speak?”

A coughing fit caught me and I curled up on my side, sitting on the ground. Still I shook my head.

“What the fuck is wrong with you!”

I found ‘Notebooks’ on my apps on my phone, pulled up a new page and wrote ‘Laryngitis’ on it, ‘Can’t talk’

He smiled, “Well, then, you wouldn’t have been able to call the cops then?” he raised his arm with the bar, ready to strike me hard.

I shook my head as tears welled in my eyes; my gut turning cool… I felt sick at the idea of what he was going to do to me.

Behind him, one of the tenants from unit 1 came out slowly from her car port and placed metal object on concrete to let a car in. As the car came in, two people walked in after it… these two people walked straight up behind the man and grabbed him, “Drop it!”

“She would never have said anything! Not after I’d beaten her.”

The cop shook his head, “Dude, you’re the one who’s sick – and I mean in the head.”

Blind Target

Chuck has us starting this week's story with a knock at the door. It took me a bit to sort out how to get my story onto the screen - I knew what I wanted to write; but the way it was getting there was going to be difficult. 

Enjoy.

It didn’t take long for Lisa to get to the door, “I’m coming! Hang on!” she walked up to it with confidence – even though she hated receiving visitors – and opened it as much as the chain would allow, “Hello?”

“Hello Miss, we were wondering if you were interested in having a Foxtel connection?” a young man said.

“No thank you, I can’t afford that.” She said and closed the door, sliding the deadbolt across. She stood there for a moment, relieved she didn’t have to talk to them too long; yes, she knew there was another one there.

“Fuckin’ bitch didn’t let me say much.” The first one who spoke said.

“Hey, some of them are like that. They know what they want in life and Foxtel television isn’t part of their lives.” The other said, “Let’s just move onto the next person.” They moved away, but not before the second person commented, “And if you’re going to take everything personally, you’re not the person for this job.”

A few days later, something bashed onto her front door and Lisa’s dog barked, but Thunder didn’t leave her side until she urged him to stand up and check it out with her.

It was brick.

Puzzled, she picked it up and threw it to one side; out of the way of the path; meanwhile, Thunder stood in the doorway of the house.

From across the road, the young man who had knocked on Lisa’s door trying to get her to buy Foxtel – and took it personally – was watching. He noticed something strange about her: she didn’t watch where she threw the brick and she was slow going back into the house.

“She’s blind.”

“So, how has your week been, sis?” Courtney asked as she unpacked the groceries on the counter of Lisa’s kitchen.

“Not bad.” She smiled, “We had Foxtel people come around and try to push it onto me and the neighbours.”

Mark cleared his throat from the kitchen table, “Are you sure?”

“Yes… oh… that’s right, you work for that company.”

“We’re not door-knocking anymore around here. That stopped six months ago.” He replied, “I’ll call the police and let them know.” And walked into the hall to use his mobile.

“Thank you. When you lose your sight, you lose track of time.” She said.

“And what’s that brick next to your door?” Courtney asked.

“Somebody threw it at my door the other day.” She said, “Thunder barked but I think it was because the sound scared him more than anything else. But when I tossed it to one side, he was really alert in the doorway.”

Mark came back into the room, “Yeah, they’ve had six or seven break-ins around here in the last week – all people who have disabilities and all people who said no to the Foxtel connection.” He sighed, giving his wife a concerned look, then looked over at his sister-in-law, “Lisa, I don’t want you staying here on your own anymore.”

“Hey, the car accident wasn’t my fault… I can do a lot of things on my own.” She smiled, “And I still have my gun.”

“Which anyone can use against you.” He said.

Courtney hissed, “Mark.”

“My fire arm could easily have been used against me when I was a cop. What’s the difference now?” Lisa asked.

“You can’t see your target.”

“We’ll see about that.”

A week past before Thunder woke Lisa in the middle of the night, whimpering that something was going on. The last time this happened, he had caught a burglar picking the back door lock and all she did was turn on the back light… the dude had left his lock pick in the lock when he took off. Lisa thought that was hilarious.

But this time, it was more urgent.

This time, Thunder had started to jump onto the bed and she knew she needed her gun.

She grabbed it as she climbed out, slipped her feet into her loafers and felt the chill of the air around her as she walked quickly and quietly to the door. Thunder stayed by her side – being an ex-police dog who had become her guide dog, he knew to stick by her when they were working; and to him, this was them working.

A smash and tinkle of glass was heard from downstairs… footsteps crushing the glass after they unlocked the door, snapped the two chains she had on it…

…Lisa breathed slowly waiting for them at the top of the stairs in the darkened corner where they couldn’t see her.

Thunder’s warm body by her leg was comforting to her – more now than ever because he was her eyes – and she could feel his body tense; thus showing they were going to come upstairs.

She readied herself for an attack as the scent of the cheap cologne from the young man invaded her nose before he was up the stairs.

Thunder growled.

Lisa took aim right in front of her and pulled the trigger.

She heard the exhale of air and his body collapse down the stairs. But she couldn’t relax yet… because Thunder was still tense.

There was another one in the house.

“Where are you! I know you’re here… no use in hiding. I’m a cop and so is my dog!” she shouted.

“Aaaww, crap, lady… you’re blind…”

“Stay where you are!” another familiar voice shouted, “Put your gun down! On your knees! Don’t move!”

“Thunder stay.” She said grabbing his collar as she slid into the corner of the wall next to him, “Good boy… we’re a good pair.” He turned and licked her cheek, “I love you too, you big softy.”

“Is anyone here?” a voice called up the stairs.

“Yeah! My name is Lisa. I’m an ex-cop.”

“Lisa Battley? Man, I heard about you and Thunder. That was no accident. Somebody wanted you out of the way.” He knelt down, “Good shot you took there.”

“Thanks.” She smiled, “And these two bozo’s?”

“They came back to finish the job.”

“So, what now? Seeing I’m not out of the woods with this really?”

“Protective custody.” He replied.

“Oh… yay. If being blind isn’t bad enough.”

The Tattoo

This week, Chuck has us writing about maps... now this could be any type of map on the face of the planet. Mine? Well, mine is interesting to say the least. 

enjoy!

She awoke in the hospital bed with tubes running in and out of everywhere and panicked! The machines near her bed began to beep loudly and nursing staff rushed in as they pressed buttons and watched her carefully.

“Mary, it’s okay.” One said to her – even though that wasn’t her name, “We’ll just remove this tube from her throat. Now, take a deep breath and cough as you breathe out.”

The last of the tubes were removed and there was just a cannula in her right hand for hydration. She hadn’t said anything to anyone because her throat hurt like hell; even the exercises they gave her had hurt her throat too much. The food in front of her was all mushed up and she didn’t really feel like eating; just the smell of it was off-putting, so she pushed it around the plate until it went cold and the nurse came in and noticed she hadn’t eaten anything.

“Not hungry? Well, I’m not surprised.” She moved the table on wheels away from her, “But I know your name isn’t Mary either. It’s a name we give people who come in without any identification; it used to be Joan, but here we don’t like that name – in case you die. It’s rather depressing and offputting. So Mary is more positive.” She took the tray away and left her alone.

Days passed and Mary was in the day room looking out at the rain while the television blared some soap opera to the people in their wheelchairs and the other visitors.

Mary never received visitors; and the hospital wondered why.

But Mary spent her days looking out at the rainy days which turned into clear nights when she slept – something the nursing staff noticed just recently. But seeing nobody came to visit her, nobody knew who she was and she didn’t know what had happened to her, she was kept at the hospital until she was well enough to be on her own.

The halfway house wasn’t exactly something she pictured herself in, but it was a good enough place. There was a man who ran it, a curfew at night and she could lock her door. He watched her as she walked in with a tiny suitcase and the clothes she wore and that was it.

“You don’t own anything else?” he grunted as the stale stench of cigars permeated the room by the front door.

“No.” she whispered.

He looked outside, “Dammit, it’s pouring and it was sunny before.”

She glanced out the window, “I’m sorry.”

“Woman, it’s not your fault.” He handed her a key, a set of rules which were photocopied and grabbed her suitcase, opened it and looked through it, closed it up and handed it back, “Sorry, have to make sure you don’t have any weapons.”

She took it off him, “Where’s my room?”

“Top floor. I gave you a room where you don’t have share seeing you don’t have a criminal record, the hospital didn’t think it fair you have to share with ex-cons.” He sighed as she ascended the stairs and the hospital administrator stood there with the man, “Mary, eh? A weird name for some chick you’ve never seen before. And no last name?”

“No… but she does have this.” He handed him a print of a photo, “It’s a tattoo on her back… we can’t make heads or tails of it.”

The man looked at it, frowned, turned it around and around, “Which way is up?”

“We don’t know.” He said, “Thought you being an ex-cop you’d know some people who knew what’s going on.”

Her room was on the third floor, at the end of the hall. It wasn’t a big room – but then, she didn’t need a lot of space. Tall windows overlooked the small town she had landed in six weeks before with no memory. Mary… “No, not that.” She closed the door and put away the small collection of clothes the Salvation Army had given her in the wardrobe, “My name isn’t Mary… it’s not the name of His mother.” She looked out as the street lights came on and she pulled up the large window, leaned out and let the rain fall onto her face. However, instead of wetting her skin and hair, the water from the skies energized her, causing the tattoo on her back to begin to illuminate a bright white and her wings to unfurl from her shoulders; their brilliant light filled the room.

“What in almighty God are you!?” the man’s voice shouted through the light.

She turned from the window, from the rain, realising now she forgotten to lock the door to her room, “My name is not Mary.”

“Well, no shit Sherlock!” he shaded his eyes from her brilliance, “What is that tattoo on your back?”

“It is my mark; it is to remind me who I am.” She said as the wings folded away behind her shoulders and the light disappeared, making the room dark again, “I am a messenger of the Lord; and I am on the run.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

She smiled, “I escaped from prison up there, and I’m a wanted criminal… but with this mark on my back, it’s going to be hard to hide – especially seeing I cause it to rain wherever I go.”

“What is that mark?” he asked.

“It’s a map.”

He rolled his eyes, “Of what?”

She looked at him as though the answer was obvious, “Of Heaven.”

Wiz Bang Love!

Chuck's prompt this week is interestingly hard... I had to think about it. 'It starts with a Bang!' There's so many different types, styles and ways a Bang happens... and this is my interpretation of it.

Our fingers touched as we sat on the lounge the Sports Channel showed the boxing and I noticed one of them was a leftie, saying he’d win… and BANG!... the emotions, the feelings we’ve had for each other over the last decade – since the last we dated (tried to date) came rushing back like a tidal wave.

It was intense… 

...we could feel it fill the huge living room as our shoulders moved toward each other and our palms pressed hard… 

...the warmth of his hand in mine – wonderful it finally felt to know he likes being this close to me.

His brown eyes connected with mine and he smiled, “Hey…”

“Hey you…” I smiled back leaning my forehead against his, his right hand touching my cheek softly, gently… oh… I’ll never forget that first caress of this man I’ve admired from afar and yet didn’t have the courage to approach – to tell him I really, totally, absolutely…

He tipped my chin up with his fingertips and…

We were out of breath…

Our emotions finally being realised about each other… our unrequited love…

The boxing had finished and there was a fishing show on. The left-handed boxer had won all four rounds; just like I said he would. But the Sports Channel is just a noise in the background as we…

… stare at each other on the lounge… holding each other close, not wanting this moment – this day, this afternoon – to finish.

My phone rang. I ignored its distant annoying Queen song (‘It’s A Kinda Magic’) in my bag right next to me… as the world of his living room and his rental house vanished and our little universe that was us – the one that began with a BIG BANG of its very own – was all that existed… for now. He watched me as my phone dinged that a text came through (which I ignored as well), “We’ve known each other for how long?”

I smiled, “Over a decade.”

He smiled too, as though what I did was contagious, “Yeah, and whenever we tried to get together… it was never the right time.” We untangled ourselves from each other and he played with my hands – my nails being a fascination to him as he glanced over, “Oh, fuck it, let’s date. If we wait too long…”

I smiled, “…we’ll be two old farts in a nursing home not knowing who’s who and wishing we’d done this sooner when we do know each other.”

He laughed kissing my right hand, “Yeah!”

The sun was bright when he finally walked me to my car… yes, mid-afternoon.

I had arrived in the morning…

I had opened the car door, tossed my jacket and handbag into the passenger side and pushed the keys into the ignition, then turned to see him smiling, “What?”

“Nothin’.” He pulled me close, kissed me gently, softly again, “You’re beautiful.”

I didn’t know what to say, so said nothing except pulled him closer, “You’re handsome.”

“Oh come on…”

I looked up at him, “I mean it.”

He smiled again, leaned down and kissed me more.

Wiz Bang! I’m in love!