Tag Archives: @inkslingers2011

True Romance by Dalia Lance

From Dave McGrath (Via Submissions Page), I hope you enjoy.

He snapped his underwear band two times, Becky knew the code, and a romantic night was ahead.

She smiled at him and said, “You know how terribly cheezy that is, right?”

He looked over at her, his blue eyes sparkling in the firelight. “First, if I snapped my fingers, it would be degrading even if it is my desire to see you get all flushed. Second, you purchased these for me and I thought you liked my appreciation of them?”

When the last word left his lips, he stood up, and she could see that he was very excited to see her get all flushed.

As she stood there biting her lip waiting for him to approach her, she couldn’t help but think how lucky she was that such a gorgeous man found her alluring.

He came up and wrapped his arms around her. Pulling her to him, close. She could feel his eagerness and her lips parted to meet his.

At first his lips were quite gentle, and then there was an urgency to them. His taste was intoxicating. His tongue moved with hers as her fingers played with his hair. Then suddenly he lifted her up by her bottom. A small squeak escaped her lips as he smiled at her again.

“I believe you are flushed, Ms. Jones,” he said with a small growl.

He moved her to the counter in the small kitchen of the cabin they had rented for the event. She laid back, legs still wrapped around him, letting him pull her top and bra off, slowly admiring every inch of her. She loved the way he looked at her.

Then he unwound her legs from his carefully so he could remove her shorts and panties. Using her toes, she pulled down the red boxer-briefs she had given him on Valentine’s day.

As his hands moved her into position, she felt his desire as she looked at the man who had stolen her heart.

Then just as he was about to slide in, there was a noise. Before she could figure out what it was, the door in the kitchen opened and her mother and grandmother walked in carrying a platter.

“Hey Shelly, we thought…” Her mother’s words were cut off as both of her relatives were now staring at her erotic moment.

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The Cave by Alanna J. Rubin

For Stephan M. – a continuation…

The stillness that permeates the deep dark misleads you.

The deep voice that uttered the warning faded away as if carried off by the wind, leaving Lyra with a single question…What did he mean? She tucked her long red hair behind her ear and continued along the path even though the journey through the mountains had borne no answers, yet it was where the same voice had directed her. Lyra thought back to her village and the emptiness that greeted her upon her return from K’Daan, the kingdom of healers. She had completed her training and was eager to rejoin her family and offer her services, but when she arrived, there was no one. The village seemed to be devoid of all life. No laughter, no barking from the numerous dogs, no birds chirping, even the leaves of the trees no longer rustled. All that was left were the remnants of activity, the embers of cooking fires were warm, steam spiraled up from soup bowls, the smell of freshly cut herbs still hung in the air. It was as if everyone and everything disappeared in the blink of an eye, and an uneasy feeling crept over Lyra’s skin.

With nowhere else to go, Lyra remained in the village, in her family’s home. Her room was how she had left it, a small bed tucked in the corner under the window, her mortar and pestle sitting on the shelves on the far wall, and her brother’s framed landscape stood on the window sill. The only difference was the soothing flames that burned brightly in the fire place…her family had prepared for her arrival. The thoughtfulness created a feeling of warmth, which was quickly overtaken by one of worry and confusion at their disappearance. Lyra had passed an uneasy night and had woken to the same disembodied voice urging her to venture west to the mountains, and it had promised answers.

It must have been another mile before she found herself at the mouth of a cave. Ravens flew above, which only accentuated the darkness that seemed to spill out its entrance. Every logical thought urged her to turn around, but all her other senses told her this was the way forward. Lyra approached the cave with caution and examined the rocks and shrubs that guarded it. Among the shrubs, she found a substantial branch that she could use to fashion a torch. She pulled strips of cloth for bandages, from the satchel that rested against her side, wrapped them around it, then set them alight. Lyra took one last look around. All seemed normal, except for the disconcerting cawing of the black birds above.

There was no way around it though, so with a deep breath to steel her for whatever she might encounter within, she stepped inside. The fear and trepidation that were her companions moments before disappeared and a sense of calm took their place. Lyra felt a peace take root, one that begged her to remain engulfed in the soothing blackness of the cave. She felt a strong urge to lay down and sleep. A far-off voice seemed to be singing a soothing lullaby, each note making her limbs feel heavier. As she found herself succumbing, she heard a familiar voice warn, “The stillness that permeates the deep dark misleads you.” It snapped her to attention and the far-off voice that, moments ago, seemed to be singing a lullaby, turned into blood curdling screams. The burst of adrenaline broke the spell of the cave and Lyra found herself running forward. “Hang on,” she yelled out into the blackness. Her voice reverberating against the walls.

“Help me!” the man’s voice called back frantically.

A few feet more and Lyra found herself at the edge of a pool of water and a man tied to the wall, the water level just below his mouth. She scrambled to the man, her feet slipping on the damp rock. She pulled a knife from her satchel and cut him loose from his bonds that were made of vines and helped pull him up to safety. “Thank you,” he coughed, water having passed his lips right before she had finished cutting him loose. By the light of the torch, she could see his soulful brown eyes and a lock of his thick black hair fell into his face. “You saved my life,” he continued still regaining his breath, then asked, “What’s your name?”

“I’m Lyra,” she answered.

“Jorin,” he replied.

 

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The King’s Right-Hand Woman by JM Paquette

For Suzy–

She knelt before her king, trembling with exhaustion, yet exhilarated at the knowledge that this kind man would finally take his rightful place at the throne.

How long had she waited for this moment? How many nights had she dreamed of his return to claim his birthright? It seemed that she had thought of nothing else for so very long.

She heard the monks beginning their chant again, signalling that the moment of silence was ended, and she stood up again, back straight and proud as she stood to the right of her sovereign. She surveyed the crowd of suddenly loyal subjects, their finery glinting in the afternoon sun as they showed off their best jewels, their family crests, their wealth and comfort, especially now that this business of the true monarch was resolved.

And it was resolved. Anyone else who had the slimmest claim to the throne had been eliminated. There was no one else who could rise from the ranks to stake a claim.

As she looked around the room, she noticed how people’s gaze slid away from hers. They were afraid of her. And rightfully so. She hadn’t assured her king’s return without getting her hands dirty. Sometimes, these things had to be done.

Of course, the king knew nothing of what she had done. He would be appalled. But sometimes, a person had to be willing to soil a soul for the sake of the greater good. Sometimes, a person had to break the rules to ensure a better future for everyone. Looking around now, it seemed that the promised future had finally arrived. There would be no more threats. No more late night missions. No more coded instructions. No more secret exploits, deep intrigues, last minute reprieves.

As she considered the future, her face clouded. What was she going to do with herself now that the task was accomplished?  She looked down at her hands, calloused from close acquaintance with her weapons, her forearms strong from hours spent in physical exertion. What could she do with her skills now? It wasn’t like anyone here would need her. The people left in this room were loyal subjects, eager to please their lord, but not eager to take his place, not after what had happened to those other contenders.

She looked down at her hands again. Maybe she could take up knitting or something.

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The Hopeless Student by Dalia Lance

For Jessica Kuyper Stadler – I hope you like it.

So as they parted, their hands slipped apart and…

“Is this seriously your ending?” Allie’s tone did not seem impressed.

“It is a forbidden love story,” I began to explain, but her face was still questioning. “You know, star-crossed lovers, never really able to stay with each other because fate has torn them apart.”

She put the papers down and picked up her latte, taking a long sip. “You know this was an assignment on how females are represented in modern literature versus one hundred years ago.”

I took a deep breath. “Of course I know that.” I didn’t, really. I never paid much attention to the syllabus that the teachers handed out.

The only reason I was in college was because my parents said that I “needed an education” if I was going to succeed at all in life. I disagreed.  My goal in life was to meet a wealthy doctor, or something, and write romance novels while sitting poolside with a butler.

Allie narrowed her eyes. “Then why did you write over ten thousand words of a cheesy romance story?”

“You think it is romantic?” I asked. Her exasperated sigh told me that was not the right thing to say.

She closed her laptop and slid it into her messenger bag, slung it over her shoulder, grabbed her coffee, said, “I need to find a different roommate,” and walked away.

I watched her go for a second and then gathered up the pages.

I was so excited! She thought it was romantic.



I hit the send button on the assignment.

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Inky Spells by Lisa Barry

For my dear friend, Court – May we ever be pleasantly surprised. Heart you.

“There were too many pens to choose from…”

“So, you didn’t get any? How am I supposed to write down the spell without a pen?” Dan asked.

Lorna’s shoulders shrunk lower. “A pencil?” she smiled hopefully, being about the size of his hand, it was a little hard to tell.

“Do you have a pencil?”

Pressing her lips together, Lorna shook her head. Her purple hair floated around her head like candy corn. Dan wanted to be angry, but he only had to look once at Lorna’s small, stooped figure as she stood on his worktable, a miserable expression on her face and it was basically impossible to exert any anger. Instead he went to his desk for the third time and rummaged for some utensil, any utensil to write with. As he came up empty handed as expected, he glanced at the clock.

There were only 45 minutes left. He stared out the window as his mind contorted thought in such a way that a solution was not evident.

He glanced Lorna once before and thought of a leaf.

“Of course!” he exclaimed. Lorna’s head whipped up. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of this an hour ago!” Dan grabbed something from the counter and rushed out to the back yard. He ran straight toward the black raspberry bush in the far corner.

A slam to his face and knees brought Dan hard to the ground. The containment spell had gotten smaller. Lorna twitted around his face, calling out frantically, her wings buzzing noisily. Dan waved a hand feebly. It held a small plastic bag.

“I’m ok. Fill this with the raspberries.” Lorna grabbed the bag and zipped away. Dan waited for the ache in his knees to subside before pulling himself up again. His nose throbbed, and he wondered if it was broken.

A blur near the raspberry bush, Lorna filled the bag quickly. She dragged it along the ground, it being too heavy for her to lift, and once she was through the invisible line that held Dan back, he lifted it and blew her a kiss.

“As promised, once this spell is broken, I will build you the best pixie house you have ever seen!”

A delighted squeak made Dan chuckle. If Lorna hadn’t come around that morning, Dan would have been perished in the ever-shrinking containment spell.

Back at his workshop, he hurried to make the ink need to create a banishment spell to counter his hidden prison. With just moments to spare, he finished the last flourish with the quill pen. The parchment sat, his calligraphy a beautiful deep purple. He looked at Lorna. She sat on the edge of a pot filled with daisies. Her hair had settled over her in thick waves. She must have felt his intention as her eyes glanced up, a sparkling gold. She gave him a meek smile.

A perfume of raspberry took over his senses. The ink on the parchment was smoking. Dan smiled at Lorna. “It’s working,” he whispered as though afraid of scaring the spell to sleep. Lorna buzzed into the air and silently clapped her hands.

When the last of the ink had vanished from the page, Dan felt a strange bout of dizziness. His body ached everywhere but his back seemed to be the most pained. The room twisted along with his stomach. He grabbed the counter and held on until the feeling passed. Then he went outside. He expected the force field to be gone. He expected to be able to continue life as usual, but things never seemed to work out that way.

Dan blinked as he looked around. He’d always been a decent wizard, maybe not the best but certainly not the worst. Today he was definitely on the lower rung. The trees were so high, he couldn’t see where they ended. The flowers were so big he could use them as umbrellas. A glint of white sparkled in his peripheral and he was pretty sure he had wings.

Motion pulled his attention to the right. He was rewarded with the most breathtaking face he’d ever seen. Perfect lavender skin, bright golden eyes and a glorious smile. And she was his size.

Lorna took his hand and Dan forgot about this new world, his new size and especially, Dan forgot about too many pens.

 

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Xs & Os by Nicole DragonBeck

For Kalvin, thank you for leaving out all the forty-two dollar words 🙂

Imagine my surprise when, upon answering a midnight call, I was greeted by my own voice.

“This is going to be a short story, because I don’t have much time and the universe is conspiring against me even as I speak. It’s cold here, in this other place with no time, but there’s a warmth to it as well.”

My voice sounded strange to my own ears, more so than usual. I sounded older, more worn. My skin prickled, and I fought the urge to slam the receiver down. Ignorance is bliss. But some inner strength made me listen further, a strength I suspected the person on the other end of the receiver knew a lot more about than I did.

“There are many steps between where you are now, and this place that is your fate. Someone is coming for you, someone you should listen to. Running is pointless. They will follow you and there is nothing you could do about. I already know what you’re thinking…”

This is crazy, nothing in the future is set. My actions will determine your face.

“This is cray, nothing in the future is set, but your actions will not determine your fate. Your fate has already been determined, but others of far greater power than yourself. They are the called the Dorfrenti, or the Faceless Ones, depending on who you ask.”

The name sent shivers down my spine, sending cold pools of ice settling in my stomach. Somewhere, in some other universe, I knew that I had come across these Faceless Ones. And it didn’t turn out too well for me. The thought came out of nowhere and hit me harder than a punch. A squeal from the recording rang in my ears then a painful tightening in my chest made me gasp. It was like some invisible hand had reached through my ribs and was squeezing my heart. For a second I was afraid I was going to die, then it eased up and I could breath again. The ringing in my ears faded, but my head pounded as if I had run a mile in the sun. I had to rewind the recording because I hadn’t heard it.

“They have powers that you cannot imagine, and if you go with them, you can learn the most wonderful things. Things of magic”

Another harsh whine spat from the machine, and the squeeze in my chest came again. Pain blurred my vision. Before everything went black, whatever it was let go of me, and I clutched at the bench. It took every ounce of my strength to remain upright. The words the voice was still speaking, but the words washed over me, meaningless.

“…that’s all I have to say, except one last warning. Don’t trust anyone, except yourself. No one is who they say, and nothing is what it seems. And whatever you do, do not follow the Xs and Os.”

The recording whirred and clicked and the fell silent. I was tense, waiting for another wave of pain. It didn’t come, but suddenly a heavy fog of fatigue descended, and I felt like I wanted to sleep for a month. This was too much for so early on a Sunday.

Trust no one. That wasn’t very helpful. And what about those Faceless Ones, the ones whose real name made my skin crawl – I couldn’t face these Faceless Ones on my own. I wasn’t that smart, or that brave, or that powerful. Trust no one. Then another thought came: does that mean I can’t even trust myself?

A shadow moved past the door, and my heart leaped to my throat and began pounding. Was it the Faceless Ones, come already? The shadow paused, the letter box rattled, and a white envelope shot out. I stood frozen, watching the shadow, then in a blink it was gone. In shaking steps, I moved to the door, and picked up the letter. Inside the envelope was one sheet of paper, with a simple message, written in a hand I knew better than anyone else’s, because it was mine.

Follow the Xs and Os.

 

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Sleep is for Someone Else by Brandon Scott

For Mitchel, who always finds joy.

 Do you ever get tired of waking up in the same place?

She stirs and I do it again. Blurry reality meets my poor eyes. My poor brain. Instantly, though, it breaks to cold reality. I can’t seem to get that lazy doldrums, that half-understood look at the world before sharp focus. I am asleep and I am gone, and I am awake and I am awake.

But she is not so broken, not so wired. She can relax. She can think, and that’s why I wake up next to her, and not someone else. The bed is small, so I have little room. My mind is leagues out, plans, projects, and wicked stress. I breathe hard, and she stirs around again, not opening her eyes, not staring at me with hazel, cocoa brown. A pursed lip accompanies whatever dream she is dreaming.

I part back my hair, too long, and I think. Reality is so changed, so warped, and yet not. It feels wrong, oh so wrong, to wake up here. How much has changed? Less money? The awkward conversations? The “keep quiet because they might hear in the other room”? Co-habitating?

She changed me, and this place: this place refuses to do so along with me. How could something hold still the wake? How could the walls still be white despite the things done on this bed? They say once you lose that piece, you see the world new—well, if the walls are the only thing to go off of, then I don’t believe them. I’ve lost it, and given it away, and made it a normal part of my life, and still the walls are white.

My fingers tug at the end of the blanket and unwrap me, just a bit, just enough so I can wiggle out of the bed. She’s between me and the idea of standing; if I were to roll, I would roll into her, and knock her to the floor.

The wall is to the other side of me, and the window covered, and I push away and try and go out at the bottom of the bed. My feet meet the ground and she snorts quietly, her arm moves like she might find me, and drops when she gets no one to touch.

Her feet are pale—as the sun does not go through shoes much—and they kick around a tad. And if this dream is hurting her, then I could wake her up to the world. But the clock claims it is still five o’clock, and I don’t think she deserves a break to her rest. Only one of us needs to suffer the sleepiness, the restlessness, the burning of neurons that is being sleep deprived.

Her loose tee-shirt, one of mine, is riding down on her shoulders, and I could also adjust that for her, but that might wake her. So, no. I pull on my clothes, the rest of them, and set the timer for seven for her. I can wake up like the alarm is in my head—but she always has trouble with the early. A night owl, my girlfriend. A person of the night. I love her for that too.

My bag is by the door and I scoop it up, open the door, and make it a step out before she grumbles in the way of a conscious person, the way of someone who is not getting the benefit of all the stealth work I gave for her.

“What are you doing…?”

“I needed to do some stuff, I could have done it at night, but well…”

She blinks, and the light of the hallway hits her eyes, and she blinks more. “You shouldn’t do that. Not again. You need to sleep too.”

“I’ll be okay. One more story, one more article. One more thing, and then maybe I’ll even lay back down with you.”

“Don’t lie.” She yawns. “I don’t like when you lie. You’re going to do stuff all day again.”

“Maybe.”

She sighs. “If you don’t sleep more, I am not going to do stuff to keep you up at night.”

“Oh, you’ll use that, huh? How long can you last?”

“A little while,” she says and yawns. “More than you, horny boy.”

“Horny man.”

“Fair. But come…come back.”

She loosens up and rolls on her back. She splays out her hands and lets out another soft breath. Another one comes next, and another sigh of air, her eyes closed. Asleep again.

I won’t probably get back to that bed until late at night. Past one, maybe even up to four again. This is the life. To pay for…well, all of it. She helps, but I chose a vocation, and this is what I picked. Sleep is for someone else. Her happiness helps my lack of it hurt less and less.

I’ll crash one day, but this is not that day. This is another day where I give all I can, to keep the life I have. So many changes—and I will hold onto all of them, no matter how hard it is to keep intact. I’m tired of waking up in the same weary place, but never tired of the same person.

 

 

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