Blood Red and Snow White

He watches her from the bar where he sits. Her blood red lips parted as her drink touches those lips. He imagines them touching his mouth, his throat. He aches to press his body against her, feel her mouth against his, hear her moan his name.

He watches her flirt with other men. Their hands rest on her arm, her back. He knows, just by the way she lets them touch her which one she likes the most. It's a game she likes to play. He waits in the shadows, in the dark, watching the blood red lips, parted as she smiles.

She gets up, maybe to leave, maybe to use the restroom, put more blood red lipstick on. He watches her. He can't look away. She is all he has ever wanted. He has looked for her his whole life. And now, now she is here. But tonight is not the night. She must want him. He must lure her in. She must come to him.

He settles himself in her path as she returns to her seat. They stumble over each other. "I'm so sorry," he tells her, holding her on her bare skin, his hand just under the sleeve of her jacket. Her skin is warm, silky soft. Breathless, she replies, "No, it was my fault. I'm sorry." Hooked, he thinks. She looks into his blue eyes and she won't forget them. He holds onto her, maybe a minute longer than necessary, then lets her go with a smile that lets her know, he's seen her. She stumbles back, and turns back. She won't forget him nor their encounter. For tonight, his work is done. If he stays, he will only lose control. Bad things happen when he does.

Two nights later....

Blood red lips. It's the first thing he sees when he sits down at the bar. She is alone. She has made sure the space beside her on either side is empty. She is waiting for him. He can't help a small smile of satisfaction. She is trapped. One touch and a smile. Women, so predictable. He sits back at the end of the bar watching as she fends off one man after another. She glances at her watch and then picks up her phone. When she looks as if she's going to leave, he makes his move.
"Are you here alone? Or is your herd with you?" Blood red smile? No, frown.
"They were admirers." Blood red pout. Much better. Too taste those lips. He doesn't even look at her as he speaks. "Tomato, tomahto. Are they on their way? Running behind?"
"No, I'm quite alone, tonight. For now."
"Not anymore." And without even asking, he grabs her phone and her and sweeps her out the door.
"Wait...where.." her protests are drowned out as her back comes up against the brick wall of the bar and his lips are finally against the blood red lips. She doesn't resist. He roughly presses her into the uneven mortar, but she is caught up in the anonymity of this passionate and the hunger behind it. His hands hold her arms beside her head, her hands working to get free so she can run her fingers in his hair. He is strong, but gentle.

He pulls back and she gasps for breath, her hands still pinned by her head. He looks in her eyes, then to her blood red lips. Where there should be a smeary mess, lipstick on both of them, her lips are perfect. He is puzzled, startled. Thrown off his game. He's not sure what to do next. His script...doesn't allow for variances.

"Your lipstick. Doesn't it smear?" The knife rubs against his calf. It burns waiting to plunge into it's next victim.
"What lipstick? My lips don't need it."
"But they are Blood Red." He would have painted them with her blood had they faded. Wiped them clean then pulled the knife out and dabbed the red blood across them. Painted them blood red. His previous four victims had been beautiful in their final moments with their own blood stained red lips.

Undone, he let her go. But she wasn't finished with him. She pushed him back against her blood red convertible and climbed on top of him. "You know there was this crazy killer going around killing girls that wore blood red lipstick. He kissed them and then painted their lips with their blood." She mashed her lips against his, dragging her arm up his legs, between his legs, up his stomach. He could hardly breathe. She was the one. She was the girl that could make him stop his desperate search. She knew about him and yet she was kissing him, touching him. And then, he felt the knife plunge deep, so deep he could hear it scrape the blood red hood of the car. "You're my Blood Red," he whispered as his life slipped away. "And you're soon to be my Snow White," she grinned wickedly as she pulled the knife free and wiped it on his pants. She shoved the body away, hopped in her car, the knife under the seat and drove away in her Blood Red convertible, with the Snow White seats.

Never Again -Weekend Creation Blog Hop

Never Again

by Heather Rosdol

He was gone in the night like a dream you want to hold onto or a nightmare you wanted to forget.  Her world was forever changed.  Silent, colorless, still.  She walked....the very same steps they'd walked all those nights. She walked from Trinket to Diamond and every jewel between. The waves crashed on the shore building with the approaching storm. She heard nothing.  The birds screamed their night sounds before the wind blew their calls against them.  Nothing.  She heard nothing. The world was silent.  The sawgrass cut tattoos of betrayal and pain on her virgin skin.  The blood trickled black, the moon sat fat and white.  The rest of her world was black or white. White sand, black water, black clouds, black lashing grasses.  Nothing moved despite her journey, the waves, the birds, the storm.  Which was bigger-the one brewing inside her or without? Something flashed white in the ocean. Yes, yes she thought as she watched the jagged lines of lightning punish the water. That is how it feels a thousand times over.  And the storm was upon her.  She cried, she raged, screamed, tore at her clothes and hair and threw anything she could find.  When she had no more voice, when the storm inside had ceased, she endured the chilling needle like rain, the loud thunder, the blinding lightning of the outside storm. When both were expended she found Never Again and made a home there. She felt, she heard, there was color, but all of it was muted as if experienced through a veil.  She still walked from Trinket to Diamond but traveled just a little farther to Never Again each night, never intending to live elsewhere again. But she did love again, and left Never Again, but the veil remained and a piece of her heart always remained in Never Again-reminding herself of her dream, her nightmare, her days from Trinket to Diamond and to always leave a piece of herself behind, so she never gave her whole self to anyone-Never Again.

Bagpiper

Bagpiper

The lone bag piper walked down the hill, his mournful dirge haunting the open spaces around him.  She watched him, as if he'd come for her alone, staring into his eyes.  The rest of the party fell away as the music ached inside her. Not much touched her, she'd numbed herself to feelings so she didn't get hurt. Only death touched her.  But the bag pipes called her soul, pulled at the roots of a past she didn't know but longed to and wrung from her heart tears of sorrow that she couldn't stop.  By the time he played Amazing Grace, she was a statue, hoping that no one could see her molded to the column, tears dripping from her chin.  She wished he would go, yet longed for him to play on. She wished she could follow him.  No matter what they looked like or how old they were or even if they were married, she was always in love with the bag piper. But only when he played.

On Writing

Writing is hard. The words, the scenes the characters, they are there, swirling in my mind. I'm talking to them, plotting, scheming developing the worlds and talents. I know so many things about my story I've had such trouble with before. The problem? Getting it on paper. I don't ever have the time to write it down. Oh yes, see I'm one of those strange people that likes to actually put pen to paper or pencil and feel the words come out. I do write like this without writing it first on paper. I don't write my reviews on paper either. They actually suck when I write them on paper. I'm wordy and say way more than you could possibly want to know about how the book made me feel and what I did and didn't like about the book. 

But these things work in my favor when I'm writing a novel. These all add to the depth of a novel. So all those conversations my characters have had between each other that are swirling in my brain, everything they've seen and done, I'm afraid I'm going to lose the best of it if I don't get it down on paper. Yet, I'm constantly reading and reviewing because I have a book blog and I can't say no, especially to authors that are just starting out. So, my story is just up there, swirling with all the other information lost in a sea of thoughts that may or may not be remembered.

Oh and when I do have snatches of time to write it down, it's on a scrap of paper which always gets lost. I've got countless notebooks roaming around with various bits of my stories in it. Who knows they may be going to school with my kids and their teachers are reading them. God only knows what they are thinking. What I write down, what I remember is the bare bones of a scene. The stems of a plant in a garden. The leaves, the design, the flowers, the fruit, none of that has been added. Really they are just little sprouts poking out of the dirt. But they are there. And I think they are good. And I'll do it this time. Because I'm not getting any younger and no one is going to do it for me and it's my garden to grow. And I'd never want anyone else to touch it.  And I'm tired of one day. It starts, one day is now.  I may have to give up my book blog, but if that is what it takes, then I'll do it. It's time to do the work. It's my time. So I'll take one notebook and gather all my writing together and write. Then I'll take the next scary step. Find a critique partner/group. First though, I'll write. Every day. I owe it to that girl in fifth grade who said she wanted to be a writer. To the girl who earned a degree in English and said I want to be a writer and was told she couldn't do it so she didn't try. It's time to let go of that. Time to prove them wrong. Time is running out. 

WRITE!

Story Teller Prompt Saltwater Tears

I ran away from home. Or maybe it was to my home. I just knew that the saltwater, the sand, the wind and the waves, drenched me in a perfume that felt like a drug. My inner hurricane calmed to a gentle spring rain and my inner demons were lulled to sleep by the sounds of water gently lapping against the rocks. Breathe, breathe deep. Oh God, why does the ocean do what no pill, no drug, no therapy, no word can. And why do we always have to move away from it? My saltwater mixes with the pools that eddy around my toes and I'm part of the world that calms me. I dream of being a mermaid. To live in the watery world that calms me, to always be able to live there. Would I cry for land?  Would I wish for legs? I don't think so. I long for the sand, the water, the sounds, the waves, everything the sea can give me. Nothing I can give myself.

A car door slams. I have been found. I drag my sleeves across my wet face. I say goodbye to the lover's moon. My love, my salvation, my shelter in a storm has always been the beach. And now, I must leave it. Promises of visits to it are made, but I know they will be broken. This is it. I pull handfuls of sand into my pockets and breathe deep. Would that I could hold my breath forever. I would always have the peace I had moments ago.

I turn my back on my lover. It cannot come with me and I cannot stay. I know that. I cannot look back. I am in a fragile state. I think frantically of getting jobs here and splitting from my family so that I can stay here, beside my beloved beach. How many jobs would it take? Three? Four? I could do it. I'd live downtown close to the beach. The boys could come for the summer. We'd go to the beach. I am grasping at straws. I quell the frantic child in me. I grow up. I say goodbye. I wave. No looking back. Just gentle saltwater tears.

Story teller Prompt The Dragon

Raisa knew he was out there even though she'd asked him to stay away, afraid for his safety. She'd angered Mab and now she would pay with her life.  It was the time of Dragons in Feyland and the Dragon needed to be fed. If you angered Mab, you were more than likely to be the one to be fed to the Dragon next.  She'd only been jesting, but Mab wasn't known for a sense of humor and now Raisa was going to pay a high price.

The vines that held her to the bench, the Feeding Bench, had wrapped her tightly around the wrists, ankles and waist as soon as she'd sat down tightening with every pull of her arm or leg, with every breath.  She'd tried every spell she knew to break the vines, but nothing worked.  She turned slowly to look at him and realized he was eating through the vines.  That she hadn't tried.  "Puck, Puck! Mab is going to be so pissed at you. She'll feed you to the dragon next. It's over! I'll see you wherever faeries go in the afterlife. Go before he comes and eats us both!"  The rabbit kept chewing through the vine even as the ground shook.
When it had broken through the vine, it continued to eat up the vine instead of jumping on the bench to eat through the rest of the vines.  He followed the vine as it wrapped around her arms then jumped into her lap.  "Puck, if I escape this, I'm either going to kill you or kiss you, or both!" she said as he sat in her lap chewing her in very personal places where the vine was wrapped around her.

They both jumped as a roar and a breath of hot wind passed over them.  But Puck continued his eating, faster if even possible.  Raisa stopped complaining and swallowed hard. A large head towered above the rocks, red with blue scales and a gold sheen. It's large teeth were as big as Raisa's head.  Steam billowed out of it's nostrils. Raisa was frozen in fear, she couldn't even breathe. She couldn't warn Puck who was chewing on the other arm now. The dragon turned toward her, and Raisa knew she and Puck were done for. Then suddenly she was in the air and the dragon was behind them flying after them, but far behind and she was in her best friend's arms.  "Shit Raisa, next time piss off someone else!  That vine tastes like crap!"

Save You

Save You

You were so tiny and small when you were born

needy and hungry, my skin felt warm

when you lay against my skin and breathed.

But underneath that beautiful skin and those eyes

lay an evil so vile that took me by such surprise

I'd have spared you this evil to you I bequeathed

But I didn't know of my own disease before you came

I  would have saved you if I had known the game

The rollercoaster ride of life you'd have to ride.

But I was just starting my own scary ride and had

no idea that you would have your own bad

time that your up and down tide

Would be so forceful, that you wanted to die.

Now, I need to save you and I'm helpless, I cry

Knowing how you feel, I feel it too

But I stay because I have to save you.

I'm afraid for you.  Life will be hard, too, 

For you and I don't know how to make it easy for you.

I don't know how to save you from your sorrow.

I don't know how to save you from what you borrow

From my genes.  That ugly disease that makes you 

Wish you'd never been born. That makes you want to die

At such a young age, you feel such deep darkness and lie

In that black hole.  I can't save you, but I'll lie there with you,

Like I did when you were born, lying on my skin,

breathing your labored breaths warm, breathe in,

breathe out.  I'll always be there with you.  I need to save you.

You got this from me, I got this from them but I didn't know

I didn't know.  And I'm sorry because it didn't show

Until after you were born.  I have to save you.

I'm your mother, you're my baby, you always will be,

I'm sad for you. Life will be hard.  And all I see

Is that baby in my arms. I will save you.