To Cheat or Not to Cheat.

This is a first draft using a Writers Toolbox 3 sentence prompt stick and was written at tonights writers group session.

In the space for 3 sets of 3 mins, three prompt sentences were read out. Participants needed to write the sentence down and continue writing until the time was up and the next prompt read out. In this space of time, they needed to ensure each sentence flowed and made sense within what they had just written.

My three sentences were

The only way John could pass the exam was by cheating.

They were all the same I decided.

The time he smashed a six.

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The only way John could pass the exam was by cheating. Sweat beaded on his sparsely populated dome. He lifted watery eyes to snatch a glance at Patrices’ stockinged legs, languidly crossed on the overstuffed couch in front of him.

“Are you sure this is the only way I can pass?”  John could hardly blurt the words out. Bile rose in his throat as a delicious mixture of terror, intrigue and guilt flooded his system.

“Quite sure.”

“But my wife.”

“Will thank you when your salary doubles because of this new qualification.” 

She drew in a long breath before forming perfect smoke rings to dance and taunt him.

“Look” John stuttered, “These extra subjects to get credit. They were all the same. I decided to do the easiest and quickest to finish my degree. I didn’t realise advanced domination skills would be this.”

He gestated wildly at the array of metal and leather goods on the coffee table in front of him.  “I imagined HR as being a little less hands on?”

“Suit yourself.” Patrice stubbed her cigarette out and fluidly stood. A shroud of perfume swirled around her. 

Intoxicated with her aroma, John gripped the low table, trembling.

“Are you sure my wife will never find out?”

“This is your only time slot to complete this exam.” Patrice adjusted her corset idly.

“It’s just, my wife and I. We have never. I have never. Don’t even know what this stuff is! ” John furtively searched the items on the table. “ I need to pass this subject.”

“You’ve already wasted 10 mins. Think of the disappointment on your wife face if you tell you her have been passed over again for a promotion. Now think of that big celebration part at the board room when your boss announces the newest member in HR.”

John exhaled slowly. The time he smashed a six in a pee wee cricket was the last time anyone had very congratulated him on anything.

“Alright, Lets get on with it.”

Patrice handed him a soft leather mask.

“You’ll need this to start with.”

Tha mi duilich FGC (2012) #18

"Tha mi duilich" means "I'm sorry" - or "I have regrets" in Scottish Gaelic. 

This was written in response to Write Anything's Form and Genre Challenge , #18 - a Letter under 700 words

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Dear Family,

I want to write this as I don’t want to commit the words to air. As if saying them will make them all the more true. I’m sorry. I want to live. Its ironic now I can’t speak. Voiceless, I have so much I want to say, so much to share, so much to ask.

Yesterday seems such a long time ago. The world bleak, friendless. I trudged through my reality with death in my eyes. Everything shrivelled and colourless, dusty and worn.  Any joy had been cyphered away months ago, trickled away under the scorching criticism of people who don’t even matter. I thought they mattered, but not now.  

I was so certain yesterday. So sure that what I had decided to do was for the best. Best for everyone; really. I’d thought it through and planned for weeks. Everything had been taken care of. You’ll see when you get into my flat. I’ve always been a stickler for details. No bills are outstanding, everything I own has tags and notes on it. Who should get what, so there was’t any disagreements. I didn’t want you to worry.

But I see you are worried now. Looking at me with your sad accusing eyes, blaming yourselves, each other; talking in clusters outside my room; thinking that I can’t hear what you are saying.

Maths was never my strong point. Everyone knows that. I should have done what you do, Mum; add a bit extra in every recipe you make, you know, one for the pot. But that’s not exact. Thats not my way. I wanted to be perfect and followed things to the letter; except, I messed up the dose and I mixed my methods. Thought that if I didn’t achieve my purpose one way, another would top me off.

Brett, you’ll blame yourself now, even though I am asking you not to. I’m sorry you were the one to find me. Alive. I should have been stone cold. But damn my organic juicing lifestyle. My body fought to purge itself of the toxins I’d swallowed. All that yoga I’d done must have somehow slowed my breathing, tempered my heart rate. I’d laugh if I could. Healthy living didn’t kill me. It put me on hold until the medicos yanked me back into the existence I had fought to leave. Planned with precision. 

As the watery dawn leaked in through the curtains this morning, I heard a bird welcome the new day. I can’t remember the last time I heard a bird. I was so desperate to die yesterday. I've heard nothing but the thumping of my heart in my ears. I was so determined to die, I heard nothing else. Today as I woke to the sounds of air compressions and beeps, I cried knowing I’d failed.

It was nothing to that cold dread that scraped down my innards as the doctor stood beside the bed and put his hand on Mum’s shoulder, telling her that there was little more they could do. With my windpipe and lungs scarred from the exhaust fumes I’d funnelled into my little cars cabin, there’s no way I can breathe again on my own. I heard him. You don’t need to deny it.

I also know they had to take out my stomach in surgery. Despite my beetroot juices, all that acid ate right through the lining.  Even if I survive, the risk of infection and day to day life will be unbearable as I carry a bag around with me; like some old crone.

I can hear the heart monitor. Its slow steady beep is perhaps the only thing I can anchor to at the moment.

I see you with your eyes prickling with tears. Blaming yourselves and not daring to touch my flaccid hand.

Voiceless, all I can do is stare at you, wishing my words could appear on paper beside me. 

I wanted to die yesterday, but I want to live today. 

Don’t give up on me.

Suzie.

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Words: 670

This was also submitted to Friday Flash

Ragged

My breath is ragged. I rest my head against the brick wall and try to calm my racing heart. Perspiration soaks my hair and rivellets meander down my back. I shake; not in fear, but in an attempt to rid the drugs they have been administering me during my captivity. I’ve no doubt that most of it has been experimental. That non-committal, casual air the nurses had gave it away.  A real nurse would care about the pain they cause patients. 

My eyes dart around the manicured garden, caressing the whitewashed steps and wooden furniture tastefully arrayed about the small space. I’ve never been into this part of the facility. I’m sure its a secluded spot the doctors huddle to discuss their next devious step. I begin to hyperventilate picturing cruel eyes judging me. The way they pinned me to that chair, forcing me to conduct abhorrent practices. The way the doctors would come round every day, pretending to be concerned and ask the same questions. I saw through their act  immedialty. I’ve always prided myself on the strength of my resolve; my resourcefulness.  I never answered them. I refused to look them in the eye. 

Two voices casually discuss the big game they plan to watch tonight. I hear the faint flick of a lighter and smell of a newly lit cigarette as the smoke wafts around me.  I freeze. They must be the other side of the wall, inches from my crouched, shivering body. If they stop talking, they’ll hear my heart thundering. I wonder how they hadn’t heard me as I’d crept up earlier.

Scrunching gravel tells me that their break is over. I head a door creak as its opened and then shut firmly behind them. There is that unmistakable sound of a large lock tumbler turning; ensuring that uninvited guests don’t spoil the perfect garden. 

My breath evens out. I shiver again as dusks cool breath licks my chest through the thin garment I wear. I listen. The alarm hasn’t been sounded yet. My escape has still to be discovered. 

I know there is freedom across the lawn. The distant hum of traffic tells me that the world continues to exist, even though I am sure my disappearance has been masterfully covered up.  I can’t wait until dark. I decide to risk discovery to make my dash toward the trees and fence beyond.

As I run, the grass and trees are blurry. I feel each blade as I step and stomp across it.  I grip the rough bark of the first tree as I collapse against it. I remember I used to be able to run such distances. I blame the drugs and my captivity.

A tiny voice beckons me from the wide boughs above me. I laugh telling them I haven’t climbed a tree in years. I need to get back to work. I have important things to do. I need to escape from this place. The voice quavers and I know they must be crying.

I glance back at the big building and its perfect lawn. The upstairs lights are on and I wonder what they look like from inside the tree’s safe leafy embrace. I tell the voice I’ll come up. But only for a moment.

I fumble around the tree and gasp with surprise as I find some foot holds chiseled into the trunk.  One hand and foot at a time, I clamber up to the first branch and ungracefully straddle it. I caress the bark with my hands, delighting in its sensuous, gritting feel. No longer cold, I pull the thin gown off and fling it to the ground and allow my stomach to rub along the bough. My arms feel slick and wet.

The lights at the big house are still twinkling as I hear confident feet swishing through the long grass toward me.

“Its time to come down now.”

I bellow in pain and frustration.

“You don’t want us to call your sister again do you?”

I shake my head. I remember now that Sissy gets so angry with me she makes the nurses take my icecream away for a week. I slither down and collapse on the ground crying.

One of the nurses picks my arm up and snorts. “Looks like we have some more stitches to do on your arms. You’ve rubbed them ragged against that bark.”

My breath is ragged from crying as they take me back.

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This is a first draft.

PROMPT:   Use this sentiment or theme for your story “Your character is escaping”

This story inspired by the [Fiction Friday] prompt at Write Anything  and submitted to JM Strother’s #FridayFlash via Twitter.  

Its also recorded as a Spoken Sunday on Audioboo ( or will be soon....)

Lacrimis

Darlah drew circles in the spilt sugar on the cafe’s wooden table, pressing them meticulously into the grain as she went.

“Hey Darlah, Here again by yourself?  Didn’t you and?”

She jerked her head up “Yeah - this used to be our favourite hang out after the movies.” She looked out into the street and shrugged.

The waitress stuffed her order book into her front pocket. “Why do you keep coming back if it makes you so sad?”

Darlah stared at the sugar grains. “Dunno Sally. Maybe I feel closer to Pete here than anywhere else.” She picked up her spoon and crushed a granual with the back of it. “Sometimes I just wish. I wish I’d said something more. Its all so unfinished.”

Sally dusted up the granules with her cloth and frowned at Darlah. “Honey, you can’t keep living on regret. You have to move on. There are other - “

Darlah twisted her mouth as she looked up. “You make it sound like we were a couple.”

Sally collected the empty coffee mug. “You guys used to spent all your time together and when you weren’t hanging out, you were on the phone, texting or on skype.  You lived in each others pockets.  And then.”

“And then it ended.” Darlah snapped her fingers. “Just like that. No warning. A huge void of dark nothingness.” A fat tear rolled down her cheek.  “I can’t help it Sally, I miss my best friend. I just wish.”

“Listen to me Darlah. The both of you are as stubborn as the other.”

“But I didn’t do anything. She needs to apologise to me.”

“What for?” All pretence of tidying the table ended as Sally slipped into the seat opposite Darlah.

Darlah slapped her hands on the table. “I don’t know. Being a first class snob?”

Sally grabbed her hands. “Don’t you think she is sitting somewhere right now wondering what happened to her best friend?”

Fat tears rolled freely. “No. I don’t. She just left me behind. She didn’t look back once.” She swiped her finger across her iphone, tapped an icon and typed in a name. “See. She’s out with a group of her new friends.” Darlah stared at Petas the smiling face. “Looks like they are having a wonderful time.”

“You’ve been stalking her on facebook?”

“What?  Isn’t that whats its for?” Darlah closed the app and stared at Sally.

“Unfriend her or call her and apologise. Otherwise, you deserve to stay miserable.”

“I should complain to your boss, Sally. You’re not exactly doing your job.”

Sally stood and crept her arms around Darlah’s shoulders. “Sorry Babe. My job description of big sister is being a pain in the arse. I doubt Dad would sack me no matter what I did.” Darlah smiled through her tears. Sally gently guided her to stand. “Life's too short being worried about other peoples problems. Sort this bump out, or it will cause a wrinkle in your whole journey.”

Darlah nodded and picked up her iphone. With a swipe of a finger, she took her next definitive step. 

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This is a first draft.

PROMPT:   

Use this sentiment or theme for your story “I miss my best friend”

Story inspired by the [Fiction Friday] prompt at Write Anything  and submitted to JM Strother’s #FridayFlash via Twitter. 

I do plan for this story to be recorded and posted up for Spoken Sunday via Audio Boo at a later stage.... whether it happens or not is a different matter.

Passage of Darkness

This story has been removed for further editing and refining.. Hopefully it will be submitted to competitions and perhaps an Anthology...

thanks for popping by when it WAS up.. and leaving your comments

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Prompt -Include this theme in your story… "After a long night, a hunter sees something he/she cannot believe."

Story inspired by the [Fiction Friday] prompt at Write Anything and submitted to JM Strother’s #FridayFlash  via Twitter. This story will be recorded and posted up for Spoken Sunday via Audio Boo 

Clandestine Tilak

This story has been removed to be polished and entered into competitions. Thanks for your encouragement!


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Story inspired by the [Fiction Friday] prompt at Write Anything and submitted to JM Strother’s #FridayFlash  via Twitter - as well as to  Writing Adventure Group.

Prompt -write the meeting of Two of Established Characters.

When Boys Play Battles

This draft has been taken offline in order for it to be submitted to the Best Of Friday Flash – Volume 2 .


I've renamed it "Boys Who Play Battles."


Wish me Luck!

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Story inspired by the [Fiction Friday] prompt at Write Anything and submitted to JM Strother’s #FridayFlash  via Twitter - as well as to  Writing Adventure Group.

"Prompt - A signal is misinterpreted ........"

Leather Tack and Tears

The First Draft of this story has been removed in order to edit it up and submit it. Wish me luck

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Story initially inspired by the [Fiction Friday] prompt at Write Anything and submitted to JM Strother’s #FridayFlash via Twitter - as well as to the  Writing Adventure Group.

Prompt - "I wish he’d knock on my door instead."

The Pain in Waiting

Prompt: The keys opened every door in the house, except the small wooden on at the end of the hall.

This story has been removed for further editing and refining.. Hopefully it will be submitted to competitions and perhaps an Anthology...

thanks for popping by when it WAS up.. and leaving your comments

Sketch in response to prompt and story in response to sketch. More of Annies Art here

First Blooding

Prompt: Start your story during a religious ceremony.

This story has been taken down in order to polish and submit to competitions and anthologies.. wish me luck!

The Birthday Sickie

Prompt: Yesterday, your character called in sick on their birthday because they knew their co-workers had a surprise party planned. Write what happens today.

Eyes cast down
Slink in, Coat off
Slide into desk
Shhhhhhh

Press power button
Dammed windows announcement.
Hum and buzz continues
Phhew

Groan
Pile of work
A days catch up
Emails flickering
Sales meeting?
Damn. Moved forward

Scramble with figures
Gzdtt
Print out sheets
Clutch to chest
Rush
Last into board room

Surprise!
Balloons and streamers
Sally grinning
All knew I hate fuss
Suspected my sick day
Groan and grin

Avoidance yesterday pointless
Pinned today.

Authors Note: Keats I ain't - but it was fun. Given the growing amount of poets who submit, I thought I’d try my hand at this style of expression.

Capturing Lost Notes

Prompt: On the way home from work your character stops into a music store and purchases an unusual musical instrument that they’ve always wanted to learn to learn to play. Why today?

This story has been removed to be polished and submitted into competitions.. wish me luck!

Hot Keys

Prompt: Include this line in your story – “The piano accordion player slumped forward”

Charlie scratched his overgrown chin vigorously, tiny flakes of dead skin fluttering helplessly into the air around him. His watery, red rimmed eyes scanned the dimly lit room. Couples sat listlessly at tiny cheap tables. Ill dressed, solitary figures slumped in corners or shuffled about the room aimlessly.

His view was suddenly shrouded by an imposing figure, hair slicked perfectly down into a tight bun, red straight lips and steely grey eyes devoid of humour or emotion.

“Well, what are you waiting for, your audience is waiting for you.”
“The same set as last night?” Charlie wheezed and coughed into a filthy handkerchief.
“Play a few polkas. It would be nice for people to dance.”

Charlie frowned imagining the reception he’d gain from this audience if he played even a few bars of a polka. He wiped the blood within the spittle from his mouth and inspected his handkerchief briefly. “Will I get paid extra?”
“You’ll get the same pay as you always do and you’ll be glad you are allowed to play here at all. Now get to it, everyone is getting anxious.”

Charlie grunted, wrapped a grimy red headband round his thinning locks and heaved the ornate piano accordion to his knee. He wriggled free a dirty stub of a cigar which had been wedged in between a strap and smiled. Sticking it in between his teeth, he then lit it with the fluid flick of his zippo. His teeth crushed onto the slimy end and he grinned further as he sucked the fragrant burning stub. These moments made him feel closer to Hendrix.

“No Smoking. You know the rules.”
“Maggie…..”
She stiffened and drew into her full, imposing height. “You know you don’t call me that.”
The tiny twinkle that had ignited in Charlie’s eyes extinguished as he cast his eyes downward. “Yes Ma’am”
She held her hand out as he stubbed the cigar gently out. In a fluid movement she threw the butt into the waste paper basket beside the windows and then held her hand out again. “and the lighter.”
Charlies shoulders sagged. “Its my limited edition Jimmy Hendrix one. I need it for luck when I go on stage.”

Maggie snorted. “I’ll put it with the rest of your things and you can collect it when you leave.” Her stony face cracked for the slight moment of pleasure she held with that thought.

“Would you mind getting someone to close the windows, I fell a little chilly.” Charlie meekly mentioned. He knew better than to ask for the heating to be put on. Management was far too frugal to switch it on until late autumn.

Maggie ignored his request and with an efficient swish of her knee length skirt, her low heels clicked across the floor and out into her office.

Charlies eye remained down as walked out and through the open door. His head jerked up as soon as he was sure she’d left and he nodded to one of the darkened figures leaning against the wall nearest the door.

The two exit doors closed with a bang and were barred with the assistance of a few of the steel legged chairs. Leon shrilly blew into one of the whistles hanging around his neck and ran out onto the dance floor. “Come on everyone, Lets get this place jumping, Hit it Charlie!” He then ran around the room in a lap of honour and wrapped himself up in the thick dusty curtains, his exuberance pulling them from their fixings. Leon shrieked with laughter as he threw the shrouds off and unsettled the wastepaper bin.

Charlie pulled a fresh cigar from a hiding spot in his instruments carry case and retrieved a different zippo to light the end. With a grin, he pushed the wheezing accordion gills together and began playing an Irish folk tune, the keys clattering and dancing under his fingers.

A faint thumping from one of the doors intermixed with the taping of the crowds feet. Maggies shrill demands to open the door and her threats of being banned were duly ignored.

Leon grasped one of the couples and dragged them to the dance floor, tweeting and tootling his whistles. His slim hips gyrated to a different tune as he flung his arms up and down.

One by one, the crowd stood and began shuffling to hesitant and jerky movements to the music Charlie was pumping out. His brow glistened with sweat as he squinted with both the effort and the acrid smoke curling from the cigar firmly attached to his mouth.

A thin wisp of smoke snaked around the feet of the dancers.

Leon brandished a fist full of glow-in-the-dark sticks and handed them around the dance floor before dashing off to the bank of light switches to plunge the room into darkness.

The few shrieks of fear turned into hoots of delight as a flurry of fluorescence darted around the space.

Leons continuous whistling and Charlies impassionate playing continued as the discordant music melded with the laughter and shrieks from the dance floor.

Coloured lights began flashing and reflecting on the tiny speckles hidden on the original 1970s coffee coloured wallpaper.

Thick smoke billowed about the dancers as they swam and leapt about in the strobe effect of the flashing lights through the windows

Thumping from the door became more urgent, the demands and threats, shriller.

The piano accordion player slumped forward and fell to the floor, coughing and chocking on the impervious smoke surrounding the stage.

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“This is Trisha O’Neil reporting from the grounds of St Ignatius Mental Institution.
We have fire engines and ambulances on the stand by, but because of the tight security systems in place they have been unable to enter the buildings.”
A tall slickly groomed brunette twisted her head toward the scene where black smoke billowed out the barred windows and then stared back into the camera. “What you can hear is the screams of the inmates trying to get out.... and Barry ......can you hear that from where you are? What seems to be some sort of music. I am thrilled to think that I am reporting on an event similar to the Titanic where the band kept playing.”
Trishas eyes momentarily caught the blanched look her producer gave off camera and cleared her throat. “A truly terrible event unfolding before our eyes. Pure tragedy”
Clutching her ear piece and looking toward the ground as she concentrated on the tiny voice, “Yes Barry – well folks, I can confirm that there are 127 people trapped inside almost certainly to be burnt to death. We’ll keep rolling here and keep you up to date with ever detail. I’m not sure if you just heard that from where you are, but the music has stopped. Over to you Barry, in the studio. We’ll return when we have some more information.”

Whispering Exit

Prompt: A high-priced prostitute suspects that one of the best customers is falling in love with them.

Bare feet whispered over the plush carpeting as two bodies, slick with perspiration and entwined in a seething, dance of passion; found a place upon the floor.

The dimmed lights within the apartment allowed the flickering candles on a small table on the balcony to intermix with yacht lights twinkling like stars upon the harbour waters in the distance. Plates of half eaten gourmet pleasures sat patiently underneath carelessly thrown crisp linen napkins.

Brittney arched her neck and allowed him to kiss it; shivering as he traced his way with hot breathy touches down to her naval.

She grasped his face gently and pulled it up towards her, enjoying the slither of their bodies together as he shifted his weight over the top of her. Travis kissed her deeply and then smiled at her concerned look as he pulled away.

“Why didn’t we go out tonight? I thought we had tickets to the ballet.” Travis lent on his elbow and brushed the sodden fringe out of her eyes.

“I thought we’d prefer a more personalized setting tonight.” Brittney smiled slyly, flickering her eyes between the hardened muscled torso and his face.

His eyes never left her face as he traced the outline of her cheekbones down to her throat. “I don’t understand why do you do this?”

She lay staring at the ceiling, “We’ve been seeing each other for months, I hadn’t pegged you as the curious type.”

“You aught to be doing something else, boyfriend, husband not doing this.” He nibbled her ear and flicked his tongue around the lobe. Brittney moaned. Travis continued to trace his hand around her throat and ventured toward her breasts.

“Do what exactly?”

“This. Us” Travis hand found her inner thighs and circled tiny touches in a pattern.

She stopped and stared into his eyes looking for a deeper question or emotion, the thrill of his casual word ‘us’ sending a shiver through her nervous system.

“Maybe I like it. I might ask you the same.”

“You are beautiful, a body any woman would scratch your eyes out for and one every man hungers for. You don’t need to be doing this, not with me in anycase.”

Brittany pushed herself up onto her elbow and ran her over his regular face, not the square cut jaw of romance novels, nor the piercing blue eyes of a god. His sensuous mouth smiled with an emotion that reached his muddy brown eyes. Brittney’s heart beat faster as she willed her breath to even out.

He slid his hand along her arm and clasped her hand, loosening her grip on his face; guided it down over his chest. “Roll over onto your back.”

Travis traced his fore finger down her back, stopping in the small of her back and then spread his hand out to slide his fingers around the shape of her bottom. He needed time to think, rather than be distracted by her face, her questions, her evasive answers.

A small beeper on the side table flashed discreetly.

“A call out this late? Did your boss forget where you were?” Travis questioned as his hands stopped their massage.

Ignoring the jibe, Brittney reluctantly crawled to where her dress lay and hunted for her heels. “You know what clients can be like.”

“Brittney, you need to get out. Get yourself a boyfriend.”

Brittany stood and slithered her figure hugging dress over her head. “I don’t have time and I doubt it would mix with my work.”

She slammed a large note on the dresser as she picked up her keys from the dresser.

Travis glanced up at the noise and looked away quickly. “You have an account, you don’t need to do that.”

“I don’t want anyone else. Even if I have to pay for it, I want you. Even if you don’t mean it afterwards, you have only eyes for me when we go out. You call my name when we make love. You make me feel as if there is no-one else for you. It’s a small price to pay, a tiny piece of your heart for a tiny part of your time.”

The door closed behind her whispering departure.

When the ship has sailed

Prompt: Include this line somewhere in your story: “I’m never doing that again.”

Anita let the stinging needles of the hot shower force their way onto her skin, hoping it would bring some sort of sensation back into her exhausted body. Tired beyond words, where the days tumbled into one another; she wondered for the fiftieth time if she had done the right thing.

Kurt has kept her up again last night, sometimes crying for no reason, other times just seeking her reassurance, her warmth and only whey she wrapped her arms around him that he settled and slept.

She luxuriated in the moment of drying herself with one of her overlarge fluffy towels before creeping into the bedroom. Anita bent over his sleeping form and brushed he soft blond curl away from his forehead and noticed a small cut on his face. She flushed immediately feeling guilty that it may have been one of her rings which had scratched his perfect face and checked the length of her fingernails as well. She patted the cute sailor suit folded neatly on her dresser and looked forward to seeing it on him again; perhaps later today when he awoke.

Kurt stirred in his slumber and gurgled, a small bubble forming at his lips. Anita giggled quietly and moved the soft blanket over his shoulders before sneaking out.

She knew she aught to sleep while he did, but sighed looking across her small unit with the piled washing up, the ironing basket overflowing and mail on the table unopened. Shaking the sleep out of her head, she set about in her attempt to bring order back into her normally organized life. Everything had run so smoothly before Kurts arrival. “He’d only been here for less than a week”, she mused, “what’s it going to be like down the track? Will my life come back to some sort of normality?”

A murmur from the bedroom caused a unbidden wave of love sweep over her and Anita was forced to steal another glance into the bedroom. She squeezed herself and wondered if everyone felt like this; exhausted but elated and a sense of achievement at what she had done, of what she had in that bedroom.

Realizing that the housework would not do itself, she turned towards the kitchen, set on tidying that up at least before the gaggle of her girlfriends crammed into the small lounge, desperate to see Kurt.

With her arms elbow deep in suds she jolted momentarily when strong warm hands crept around her waist and he began to nuzzle her neck. Her head fell back onto his chest as her senses clouded with his masculine smell. She could feel the muscles in his torso as he pressed up against her and she shuddered involuntarily.

“I’ve got to go Anita.”

“Go?”
“You knew this was coming. My liberty pass expires in a few hours.”
“But the ship doesn’t leave till Sunday.”
“I still have my shifts and duties.”

Her shoulders slumped. Kurt ran his hands up her arms and began gently massaging the knots in her back.

“You’re a sweet girl Anita. You deserve better than this.”
“What, better than you?”
“You knew this wasn’t going to last. Get yourself a real boyfriend. Stop selling yourself short.”
“So its alright for you to pick up in every port, but wrong for someone like me to?” She could hardly keep the poison from her voice.

His hands stopped rubbing her back.

“I’m just saying, you deserve better. Another city, another country and other time.. maybe.”
“Yeah.. maybe.”

Anita wriggled her back and shoulders throwing off his hands.
“Your uniform is washed and ironed. Its on my dresser.”

She savoured his hot lips as he kissed her on the neck.

Anita continued to wash the dishes, not turning when she heard the front door close.

“You’re right Kurt.” She whispered softly, the tears now allowed to fall freely. “I am never doing that again.”

Postcards from Paradise

Prompt: A married couple sets out on a six-month adventure, living on their boat while sailing from port city to port city. By the fifth city, they are thoroughly sick of each other and their relationship takes a serious turn for the worse......

Authors Note: I thought I'd have a go at telling a story through a different medium....a series of postcards......

Dear Toby and Anna,

Well here we are in Gibralta. I can’t begin to thank you both for lending us your yacht for our honeymoon. It really has everything we need to be self sufficient and romantic all bundled up in one. I don’t think much of the apes – more like monkeys and so cheeky! One bit Harrison on the hand when he went to feed them and we spent half a day in the clinic getting tetanus shots. He was so sweet about it and sent me off with the credit card to grab some of the fabulous bargains in the nifty little shops they have here. . I hadn’t realized that the bite and scratches had extended up Harrisons arm as when I went to pick him up from the clinic his temperature had soared and he was still quite red and sweaty despite having half his clothes off in one of the side rooms.

Best send this now as we have to catch the tide a day early. Not sure why we had to cut this stop off early, must have something to do with the weather.
With love and gratitude, Cerise.

Dear Toby and Anna,

Another quick postcard off to you from lovely Malta. Our cruise so far has been wonderful. The calm weather has proven perfect for fishing and I have been able to read quite a lot of my summer reading pile whilst Harrison loses his bait over the side. Hes so funny sometimes – especially how pedantic he gets with his gear. Even though we are now married, he will not let me open his fishing tackle boxes, nor help hi lay out his shaving gear when we hit shore. He was most put out when I tried to unpack his bag at the hotel last night. Never mind, I am sure I have habits that drive him crazy too – but that’s the fun of being married!. I am afraid I fell asleep after dinner last night so poor Harrison had to go down to the bar by himself.
Much love C

Post stamped from Iraklion in Crete.
Hi T & A,
Harrison and I went off to the ruins early this morning and strangely enough he was separated from our group and went missing for a few hours .It was such a shame he missed the re-enactment of the royal greetings; though it was lucky that Helana the tour guide found him wandering amongst the pillars and brought him back right at the end. He was a bit tired and suffering a bit of sunstroke, so we are heading back to the yatch now and will cast off shortly instead of spending another day looking around the markets.

Dear Toby and Anna,
Just landed in Lesbos – eleven million olive trees can’t be wrong! It wasn’t dubbed the emerald island of the Med for nothing. I am writing to you as I look over the sea from our room. Harrison has gone out to book a table at one of the local restaurants that he said you two had introduced him to last time you were here. I must say I am looking forward to having some chat time with you both. I know its because we have been cooped up in that yacht for nearly 4 months now and space is such an issue – especially with Harrison. He is so tetchy before we land at a port and usually we have to cut our stays short for one reason or another and shoot off into the sea again. I thought I really knew him before we got married – but this trip has shown a different side – a secretive and almost paranoid side of him. Maybe I am just seeing things that aren’t there. I hope so. Feeling a bit tired – must be that retsina we had earlier – hope I can stay awake to go out tonight.
Love C

Dear Toby and Anna,
I am looking forward to seeing you tomorrow I hope you didn’t mind me slipping this under your door. Harrison has disappeared again into the Casino, leaving me in our palatial hotel room alone with my novel. I hope you will be able to show me the fun Monaco as all I have seen is inside this hotel room. In fact everywhere we have gone – all I see is the inside of a hotel room – either that or I fall asleep after a few drinks.
Till tomorrow morning
Cerise


Exerpt from Front Page News Article two days later

Harrison Schultz, long time high profile thief was apprehended last night after a complicated attempted burglary unfolded……………He is allegedly linked to a number of successful robberies throughout the Mediterranean over the last four years.……… Two unknown accomplices escaped. …………………Harrisons fourth wife is currently under medical attention after a suspected suicide attempt involving unknown poisons…….