Five Sentence Fiction - 1/30

BEDTIME

The nightlight is on in the bathroom.

I check my closet, making sure there is nothing lurking there.

Quickly now, up onto the sheet and under the covers, eyes pressed tight shut, breath held.

“Are you ready?” asks the voice from under my bed.

“I’m coming out now.”

~~::~~

Reduced to a haiku-shaped tercet

now it is bedtime

all my preparations made

wish i were alone

Five Sentence Fiction - Maps

Five Sentence Fiction 

 

Source

"How much farther is it, Maud?"

"We should be getting close," she said.

They got off their bi-tryke, sat at the roots of a bramblewood tree, and studied the old map.

"Still so far," Glyness said with a longing sigh, "but he swore it would be worth our while"

They remounted the bi-trike and pedaled deeper into the gathering fog.

THUNDER

It's been building in me all day, this gloomy dark brooding mood.

Now the negative ions cluster thicker, swirling a bit, and darker, ever darker.

Here comes another - just like me, he thinks - into my air space.

Rubbing me the wrong way.

"Hey," I say to him, "you want to rumble?"

Five Sentence Fiction  - Thunder

 

FSF - Shadows, plus Carpe Diem - Story Teller

SHADOWS

The damned thing is still following me.

All morning, throughout the day, even at sunset - especially at sunset - sticking to me like a tail pinned on a donkey.

Silent, always so silent, and moving more stealthily than I ever could.

No doubt it's even a better dancer than I, no matter how hard I stomp on it.

So resolute, it never leaves me alone  .  .  .  until I turn off the lights.

~:~:~

mine hides behind me

of the light but not in it

leaves me in darkness

~:~:~

Here's a bonus at no extra charge - a poem my granddaughter Alexa wrote two years ago when she was in the 5th grade.


    SHADOWS

With a shadow by your side
You'll never be alone,
Even down the emptiest street
Of a deserted town,
Down a long, twisted road
Both of you walk together,
With haunting memories
Following close behind,
Ghosts of memories
That will never leave your side.

© 2011 by Alexa

Carpe Diem #181

Five Sentence Fiction - EDGE

EDGE

Metal Sculpture - Onaway, MI - Photo by JzB

It came at me snarling, teeth bared.

I recoiled at the stench - burned meat, sewage, old ashes, sulphur.

So it took me for a craven and reared high above me for the kill.

There is always a soft spot somewhere on a dragon's belly, if you are lucky enough find it.

As my blade pierced it's tender flesh, the scream it let loose was an even worse assault on the senses than the smell.

Five Sentence Fiction

WORDS

Sticks and stones might break my bones, but these can cut all the way to my soul.

When we have them, things aren't going well.

I've heard that one is sufficient, to the wise.
 
Mendelssohn wrote a song without them.
 
You could kiss me to make them stop.

Five Sentence Fiction - Flame

 FLAME

Last night we made love by the hearth.

We clung so tightly, then slept in the embers' warm glow.

Warm, like our love, I thought.

But when morning came she was gone.

In the fireplace nothing but cold, grey ash.

Five Sentence Fiction

CONQUER

Picture Source

My wife burst into the tower chamber and found me naked in bed with the girl I had just deflowered.

While she screamed, calling me and the poor girl, who huddled terrified under the sheets, the most vile names imaginable, I poured myself a large flagon of sweet Dornish wine and sipped it, leaning against the mantle until her rage was spent.

"Klarys," I said, you know I truly love you, but occasionally I get a taste for something young, fresh and tender; and in my time as King, I've learned that when I want something, I can usually have it.

"What I want from you is to make yourself presentable, for you will be at my side tonight, smiling, beautiful, and very much my Queen, when we entertain that disgusting envoy from Braavos, and just now you do look a sight."

I turned to the girl and said, "Sweetling, my wife appears to be feeling neglected, so I shall spend the night in her chamber; but you won't be lonesome: a maid from the Summer Isles will stay with you -- and, mayhaps teach you a thing or two.

Five Sentence Fiction - Empty

Well, I managed to confuse myself a bit.  This FSF entry is inspired by the picture Angela Goff posted along with her FSF entry, and I mistook that for this week's prompt, which is actually the word EMPTY.  Lacking any better excuse, I'll blame it on two glasses of wine.  Here's the picture and my FSF story.

Source

EMPTY

It was a crazy idea for Penny to spend the night in the old, abandoned, empty - well, actually nobody knew for sure what the hell that old place was - with Roger, who she barely knew and didn't even like, but there were drinks involved and a dare from her flighty friends and a double dare, and more drinks, and she was pissed anyway because Brad was gone on a fishing trip, and so shit here they were.

Shortly before dark they pushed the door open on its rusty hinges, found a spot where the floor was relatively clean, and spread out their sleeping bags.

Roger was, if anything, more nervous and upset than Penny, but he was willing to share the sweet heady contents of whatever that stuff was in the flask he brought, so that helped.

When the early morning sun shone full on her face, Penny woke with a start and found herself naked and wrapped around Roger's still sleeping form; and it all came back to her in a rush how she had slipped into his sleeping bag during the night, and how they made love - oh good god three times - and how it was good; really, really good.

She got up quietly, put on her clothes, stole away, and - though they never spoke, or even saw each other again - now, years later, when she thinks of that night, she'll look across the dining room table at Brad and smile.

Five Sentence Fiction - Inspire

I'm very late to this one.  Well, sometimes life aint easy.  But there are still over 13 hours left - so  .  .  .

INSPIRE

When she woke from the dream, Marci felt drawn to her easel.

Usually she would carefully strategize and then sketch out a drawing; this time the paints almost seemed to spontaneously fly to the canvas, as if the brush were guiding her hand.

Eventually, it dawned on her that he hadn't yet had breakfast, so she set the brush down and stepped back for a moment.

Yes - the likeness was almost perfect; she had captured the dreamy beauty of that long oval face, though her eyes weren't quite the exact shade of green.

Now - to get the angle just right on her wing  .  .  .

~  ~  ~  ~  ~ 

Reduced to a haiku

Image from a dream
Brought to life on a canvas
With green eyes and wings 

~  ~  ~  ~  ~ 

Marci's Thread

Five Sentence Fiction - Midnight

A prompt with so many possibilities  .  .  .

It took me back a couple of decades to Marci's childhood, where I discovered this event.   The challenge was to tell of it in five only moderately run-on sentences.

MIDNIGHT

Like many 10-year-old girls, Marci believed in Fairies; and unlike most she had good reason to - so midnight at mid-summer seemed like the best time to go find one.

She sneaked out of the house and ran the five blocks to the little neighborhood park - the perfect place at the perfect time - and just then a connection to their world opened, and she stepped across.

Soon she came across a real fairy, the size of a grown woman with a wing-span at least twice her height, awesome and terrible in her austere beauty, who was not at all happy to see her.

She spoke strange words in her melodious voice, rippling like the fast water in a shallow brook*, but somehow Marci understood their meaning: "Go home child, you were not invited here - and you are not yet ready."

When Marci woke the next morning she thought it might just have been a dream, but years later she discovered it was all true.

 Picture source

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

Reduced to a haiku 

In search of fairies
A little girl at midnight
Is she just dreaming?

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

* It sounded more or less like this:  Mene kotiin lapsi, sinun ei kutsuttu tänne - ja et ole vielä valmis.


Marci's thread

Five Sentence Fiction - Ending

This prompt brought to mind a demented sonnet I wrote several years ago, which coincidentally consists of exactly five sentences.

Source

CELIBATE FATE

For four more weeks she keeps her innocence --

Mere carnal yearning since she was beguiled

Into wedlock with Selene's child

And his twenty-seven days of impotence.

The moon's once-in-a-cycle minstrel song

Called him out to last night's bloody rending,

Announced his victim's grim and grisly ending,

Siren to his lunatic Wulfsarkergang.

A shimmering crystal moonbeam, cold and clear,

Illuminates what never was but always were.

Its gray light casts the sacrifice's setting,

But her blood never flows at his blood-letting.

Her celibate fate follows Nature's whim:

The moon, not she, brings out the beast in him.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I just love the word Wulfsarkergang.  If memory serves correctly, I first found it in Roger Zelazny's novel, A Night in the Lonesome October.  It's the lupine cognate to berserkrgang, the legendary trance-like state of certain bear-shirt clad ancient Norse warriors, which gives us the modern word "berserk."

In this context, Wulfsarkergang is the insatiable predator state of the werewolf - a blood-crazed man in wolf's clothing.

Five Sentence Fiction - Vision

Here are four separate FSF entries [all at no extra charge] on the prompt VISION, for the four main characters in what is either a developing story or a semi-coherent jumble of intertwined vignettes.

 SLUMBER [76 words]

After dinner, Marci was drawn again to the roll top desk.

Almost absently, she opened it and slipped into the heavy oak chair.

Suddenly sleepy, she laid her head on her arms, close to the cubby holes holding some of Uncle Albert's weird artifacts.

She missed the old man, and welcomed the connection the old desk offered.

Soon she drifted off, and in her strange dreams saw life-like visions of [what she thought were] imaginary creatures.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

HOMECOMING [76 words]

When Cheryl arrived home, she checked herself in the rear-view mirror and was disappointed in what she saw: sunken eyes, no make up, hair in a disarray of droops and tangles.

What would Gil think when saw what a mess she was?

But he greeted her with a kiss, and told her she was beautiful.

She ran her fingers through her hair, saying, "That's sweet, I'm a sight."

"No, darling," he replied, "You are a vision."

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

REVELATION  [79 words]

“Yes,” Rob cautiously admits when the bottle of wine was drained and he again stands with Marci gazing on her painting, “I’ve seen visions like this.”

Marci turns him toward her.

"That must hurt!" she says, lightly brushing over the mark on his cheek with her fingers, then her lips.

Then she draws back, eyes wide, as if shocked, and smiles knowingly.

"Rob," she says, leading him into the bedroom, “there are things we need to tell each other.”

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

DEAD RECKONING [89 words]

Gil tries to act normal, but isn’t sure how to navigate his marriage, now that he’s an adulterer.

Is he overcompensating, being too attentive, not attentive enough; how does he act when he isn’t acting?

That night when they make love, Cheryl seems uncharacteristically different in some undefinable way, almost as if she were desperate. 

He really does love Cheryl, but Marci has an allure that quickly became addictive.

He’s sailed into rocky shoals without a chart or even as much as an astrolabe to guide his muddled vision.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

See also here.

Cheryl's Thread

Gil's Thread

Marci's Thread

Rob's Thread

Five Sentence Fiction - Time

For reasons that should become abundantly clear quite soon, I am especially delighted that on today, of all days, our prompt is TIME.

TIME OUT

Marci met The Time Shifter at a small, out of the way club where he played magical jazz piano for tips he didn't need and drinks that seemed to sustain him.

He also worked real magic and, for a while, she thought he might be a god.

At midnight, after he finished off a set of odd-metered Brubeck tunes* with The Unsquare Dance - and she finished off her third glass of Pinot Noir - he walked a long way with her through shadow to a place where time slips along a different stream and the gibbous sun hung just past its zenith. 

They made love there on the soft grass by a waterfall under the sheltering boughs of a weirwood tree, slept entwined, then, as the russet sun stained the late afternoon sky magenta, made love again.

When they walked back into the club, only nine minutes had elapsed.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

As a haiku

Time flies when you make

Love, but if the time is right,

Takes no time at all.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

As a six word story

Love

At times

Can be timeless

 

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

* Dave Brubeck passed on yesterday.  He would have been 92 today.  He was a pioneer in taking jazz to times and places never before explored with tunes like TAKE FIVE, BLUE RONDO ALA TURK, and the simple but not simplistic UNSQUARE DANCE.

My brief paean to Dave Brubeck can be found here.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

This vignette, another part of Marci's back story, occurs several years before Marci and Gil reunite - in fact, before they even met for the first time.

Marci's thread

Five Sentence Fiction - Joy

This is the Joyous moment I've been waiting for.   Continuing from here.

Source

THE JOY OF  .  .  .

Gil empties his wine glass of the last joyous ruby sip, then reaches past Marci to place it on the counter.

Then he puts his other hand on the counter, enclosing her in his arms.

She puts her arms around his neck.

He slips his hands under her blouse; gripping her slim, taut waist.

Her smile is knowing as she takes his hand and leads him toward her bedroom, pausing to whisper in his ear, "Just as I remembered - not so unpredictable, after all."

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

Reduced to a haiku

Alex Comfort laid

It all out for us in his

Book, "The Joy Of Sex"

12/06 Update: Inspired by Laura McHale Holland's entry.

From somewhere without
Or better still, within — joy
Is where you find it.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~ 

 

UPDATE:  Next installment is available here.

Gil's thread

Marci's thread

Five Sentence Fiction - FEAST

This scene was vaguely taking form, but this week's prompt helped to put some flesh on the bones.   This developing story involves four characters, but so far never more than two at a time.  Each character's thread can be accessed from the links in the right hand frame.

Somehow, I almost missed the prompt, and thought we were skipping a week.  I hadn't known of Lillie's illness, and wondered what was going on.  I wish her the best, and am very thankful for the inspiration she provides.

THE BIRTHDAY FEAST

For her 32nd birthday Rob treated Marci to a special dinner at the fanciest restaurant in town.

He wasn't always around, but when he was he always made it special.

And when he wasn't, Gil would sometimes fill in for him, and that - in its own way - was special, too.

But neither of them knew - in fact nobody on this earth knew - that Marci was worth close to 5 million, that she was a mother, and - though this was only her 32nd birthday - that the total chronology of her life spanned almost 36 years.

Marci knew from Rob's reaction to her painting that he had also had some other-wordly experience; and as she gazed at him over her grilled salmon and the iced bottle of Chardonnay, she wondered if maybe - just maybe - he could be the one she would share these secrets with.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~ 

Reduced to a haiku

The birthday lady

And her escort, both with dark

Secrets - can they share?

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

Update:  Phil Hall's entry reminded me of a demented sonnet I wrote a few years back.  It doesn't relate to the Marci story, but it can be construed to relate to the theme.  plus, if I counted correctly, it contains exactly five sentences.

PASSIONATE PRETENSE

Her throat, no longer perfect, but still white,
Invokes the crimson from the sunset glow,
As she awaits the dark - to taste, to know
Carnality incarnate in the night.

       The sun's suffusion stains her skin to pink
       With its last russet bloom, as if she were
       A blushing maiden, innocent and pure,
       On satin sheets where white and scarlet link.

What has her throat to do with being white?
Like thorn and petals torn they two entwine,
But not as lovers do -- instead, to dine
In sweet engagement of an ancient rite.

Her white throat is a passionate pretense
That now, twice pierced, belies her innocence.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

Marci's Thread

Five Sentence Fiction - Business

Today's prompt is BUSINESS, which gives me an opportunity to explore a bit of Marci's back story.

See "Unraveling the Threads" in the right hand frame if you want to keep up with these characters.

BUSINESS

Marci was a sophomore majoring in art when she met H. Bradley Tallemond, benefactor of the school and patron of the arts, at a student exhibition.

After 30 years of marriage to the former high fashion model he called "The Ice Queen", Brad was more than ready for a woman one third his age, and at 19 Marci was a prime and compliant target: their courtship was quick - she was in his bed that same night.

He loaned her $10,000 to devote to an IPO he couldn't legally touch, and within 6 months she had not only paid back the loan but was $137,000 richer.

Her part of the bargain was that he could have her whenever he wanted in any way that he wanted, and for the next few years he called on her two or three times a month, meanwhile guiding her investment decisions in up and down markets.

By the time he died in a mysterious boating accident when she was 26, Marci already owned her own gallery and was well on her way to her second million.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

Reduced to a Haiku

 Sex is a form of
Art, a passionate story,

And monkey business.


Or Two

 The art of business,
The business of art; plus, he
Gave her a hot tip

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

UPDATE: Here is a bonus, at no extra charge, inspired by Sania's entry and, in a way, by mine, above.

BUSINESS II

It's a service provided to meet a need.

Customers travel, sometimes great distances, and plunk down their cold, hard (so to speak) cash.

Sounds like capitalism to me.

So explain to me why it is illegal.

After all, is this not the worlds oldest business?

Five Sentence Fiction - Character

This week's prompt made me stop and think.  I've been jumping on Thursdays the last few weeks with a story in my pocket, in hopes that the prompt would fit - and have been pretty lucky.  Of course, with 2 1/2 story lines in progress, I do have some options.

This time, I had a vignette taking form in the dark reaches of my fevered brain, but just now got it set down in print.  I also have two other candidates that fit the prompt in not quite the same way, so this choice was difficult.  Ultimately, it came down to this, because I think the story fits the prompt in a layered fashion, it's freshest in my mind, and I really wanted to stay with Rob a while longer.  Let me know if you think it works.

CHARACTER

I haven't seen Marci in over a month, but when she greets me at the door with a warm kiss and a cold glass of Chardonnay I know it's going to be a good night.

Then, in her living room, I see the picture over her couch, and yes, I also see that it is where that enigmatic half-memory came from - I had seen it unfinished, in her studio several months earlier.

Her use of light and shadow is masterful*, the scene and setting excitingly familiar: those are indeed tiny glowing winged female creatures, and the diaphanous wings and the haunting beauty of that other-worldly face are evocative of, but not quite identical to the one I know so well.

Marci is rightfully very proud of her handiwork; she leans against me and asks, "Do you like it?"

"Oh, yes," I tell her, slipping my arm around her narrow waist, "I like it very much, indeed."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Reduced to a Haiku

Fairy in the frame
So like the one I lust for:
My lady friend's art

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

* I have in my mind an image of this picture that is at once both vague and vivid.  It is in a style very reminiscent of the late Frank Kelly Frease.

Source

  Source

Source

Five Sentence Fiction

CANDIDATE 

Something unseen had drawn me there; I was feeling strung-out and more than a little lonely as I wandered through the deserted park at dusk. 

Off the path, in a cluster of trees to the right, I saw a glowing cloud - maybe an unlikely gathering of fireflies. 

Curious, I approached, and as I passed between a pair of soldier pines it suddenly fell full dark, the world seemed to turn on an unseen axis, and she appeared there in their midst. 

A queen in her court, surrounded by legions of fireflies, maybe, or tiny glowing winged women - I really couldn't tell; and the eutre beauty of her other-worldly face was hauntingly familiar, like something from a half-remembered dream. 

Then she turned to look majestically upon me, and in the piercing gaze of those moss-green eyes I knew with a sudden certainty that she had selected me, out of all the thousands of men in this city for some fell purpose of her own dark design, and that my only choice was to comply. 


The first person protagonist is Rob, Marci's occasional boy friend.  Things are getting convoluted.  Today's little vignette is prequel to 1) FAERIES and 2) FLAWED.

This week's prompt.

Five Sentence Fiction

Originally, I had no intention of writing a serial story, and now I have two of them going.  Each has character named Marci, since I was simply going to use that as a stock character name from central casting.   This has since become confusing, even for me.  I haven't yet discovered if they are the same Marci. [UPDATE: Yes I have, and yes, they are.]  One story line is real world based and the other is a weird fairie tale; but I'm not sure that pre-empts anything.

On to this week's installment.  I wrote this a while back, since Gil and Marci were bugging me. OK - it's a bit of a stretch on the prompt, perhaps, but I still think it fits, in a way.

The [real world] story of Gil and Marci continues.

Part 1   Devotion

Part 2  Detour

POTIONS

Image Source

One evening when Gil's wife is out of town on business, he runs into Marci in the wine section of the market near her apartment. 

She gestures toward a bottle of imported Chardonnay, saying, "My boyfriend Rob is quite fond of this." 

But she reaches for a bottle of Gil's favorite Pinot Noir and looks at him in a way he understands very well. 

Gil suppresses a nervous laugh and blurts out, "I get kind of unpredictable when I drink that." 

"I know," Marci says, as she slips the bottle into her basket and heads for the checkout line.


Update: This is the first time Marci has appeared on stage, and I'm getting to know her better.  Now I believe it is the same Marci in both story lines.  Her back-story is starting to take form, too.  She's not an evil person, by any means, but she rejects conventional ideas of morality, and very much lives in the moment.  'Nuff said, for now.