Edgar watched the raven as the raven watching the moon. Silhouetted against the clouds, she was a beautiful sight: a black winged goddess caught within Diane's silvery glow. Little did he realize that the raven was taking orders, orders that Edgar himself would soon come to regret. The onyx bird turned predatory eyes upon the human that spied upon her, and he quickly closed the window, latching it from the inside.
Not that it would do him any good at all.
“Send me a picture.” he’d said. Well, typed. It was that kind of initial flirting request. She had responded with a
:-)
a
:-P
and a
<3
and then, eventually, with a selfie.
Analysis of the GPS data encapsulated in the header file, compared with a record of CCTV locations, and her smiling face as a search parameter from stored footage, provided her entry point to the location. Cross-matched with the stored WiFi coordinates her smart phone had used to send the file, the exact location was confirmed. The “Le Poursuivant”
Inspection of the blurred background of the photo matched...
My nails had been long. I'd given up biting six months ago. But ever since I tasted his blood I couldn't stop putting my fingers into my mouth, chewing the skin, licking up drops of redness. Hoping it would satisfy my craving.
It didn't.
I kept looking at necks. Middle aged triple chins the type with thick white hair growing under. Women too scared too pluck them out. Or too blind to see.
Throbbing Adam's apples on smooth soft skin. Younger boys looking into my eyes, misreading signals. Lustful.
My history professor, all nose hair and stubble. Wondering if there...
My sister was called Heather. She only lived three years. I've never been told what really happened to her, only that she was taken away from us too early. I used to lie awake all night, terrified of someone coming in through the window, dragging me out of bed, over their shoulder, down a ladder, running across the back lawn, through a gap in the fence and into a van. Driven away forever.
It wasn't until I was about eight years old and settling into a new house (we'd moved four times already) that I came across a scrapbook of...
Lola, she was a dancer... something about flowers in her hair or was it her underwear? He couldn't actually remember the lyrics to the song or who sang it, but the melody pounded in his brain like a ballpeen hammer. What the hell was he going to do? Lola was a crappy name anyway. What the hell did it stand for? Lolita? Margola? Or some sort of anagram, or whatever the hell it was when you smushed the first letters of a bunch of words together for the sake of brevity. All he knew was that Lola, whatever it stood...
It was rather like being a ghost. Vicarious snooping. A social media haunting (stalking?). The only way to keep in touch with the untouchable children, who were no longer part of life. Maybe, the FaceBook groups should have been diplomatically UNLIKEd, given that they were only there because of previous parental responsibilities. Or the Messenger App blocked, due to ocassional earthquake requests, unsettling and unfooting in their simple, direct, but untimely demands.
Finding out a once was daughter has the lead in her drama group's next production, via accidental browsing of a stream. Realising another was home from university, only...
Puck looked at the watch and pondered on the nature of time.
It was almost as fickle as he was.
What marriage - or a good binding spell brought on by too many intoxicants and a serious lack of judgement - had bound together, time would tear asunder. At least it would if Puck had anything to do with it. Robin Goodfellow was not a fairy that would remain tied by one woman for long, no matter how fun that bondage might be.
Buttercup lay frozen on the bed, a beautific smile lightened features that would otherwise have appeared harsh...
Alfred Cappachino looked out at the swirling mass of humanity, a stupid grin plastered to his face to hide his abject terror. Which one of the lovely women in the throng was his blind date? He adjusted his spectacles for the umpth time, then reconsidered and pulled them off, wiping the lenses on his shirt before returning the accessory to the bridge of his nose. What did she look like? All he knew was that she'd be wearing a 'geeky' t-shirt, whatever that meant. Geek was chic now though, right? Hence, his glasses with the clear frames, his strategically-parted hair,...
The freaking tiny pebbles are getting all stuck in my shoes. Urgggg. This is stupid. I mean why did I come down to the lake anyway? I'm pretty sure I forgot to lock the door too.
Uriah always told me to get fresh air every now and then, and this shore sure has a breeze.
*A chuckle slips out of my lips.*
Yup, definitely a breeze.
This is stupid. I'm not a little kid. I can't kick off my shoes and play pirates by the water anymore. How could I play pirates by myself, anyway? Impossible.
But I can still...
Dear Past Self,
Let me tell you a few things you should know;
This is your life now.
I can see that gap between your little eyebrows begin to furrow up.
Well let me untangle it for you now;
It's not the breath catching breeze that I can feel from the top of the cliff,
or the chill that will roll up my spine when I hit the water,
and not even the risk of blood and ambulance sirens.
To fill in your answer blank, yes,
You will laugh in the spur of a bad moment,
And you will look...