Tag: flash fiction

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Welcome to Eternity (repost)

And so it began. Her reflection in the mirror faded with every time she dared to look. Her skin became grey, and her eyes had lost the living spark. Color was a distant memory she only vaguely remembered. Grief had taken over the moment he had passed on. She rubbed her face with bony, wrinkled hands, trying to find the person she once was. But she was gone. He had taken everything with him, and he had left her with an old and worn shell.
She shuffled to the bedroom and closed the windows. The evening breeze was crisp; winter was lurking around a corner. She shed the last pieces of her clothing and laid on the bed, folding her hands on her soft stomach. Then she closed her eyes and conveyed the images of him that she had stored away in her mind. They came and took her away. Away from the grey. Away from the grief. She felt her feet touch the ground, and her eyes sought out details to understand where she was. She was in a strange land where no age and no pain existed. A land between life and death. But she didn’t know that yet. Her vessel was still inhaling air to fill her lungs and making her heartbeat on.

She could hear his voice; Henry’s voice was teasing her, asking to come see him. But whenever she turned toward the direction of the sound, nothing was there. No one was there.

“Henry?” Her thin voice reverberated through the nothingness — the uncertainty spread inside her body. The soles of her naked feet felt a change in the surrounding before her mind was able to catch on. Where the ground had been of sand and gravel before, it was now cotton-like and soft. Walking became more like floating. A burst of familiar laughter made her walk on with a smile. She was where she wanted to be. For a moment, her chest had felt constricted, but it wasn’t anymore. Panic that had threatened to arise was pushed back down. She knew that she would be fine because he was near.

There was no way to describe what she saw around her. There were no shapes, and yet everything was of different shapes. There were no colors, and yet everything was so very colorful. There were no sounds, and yet, it wasn’t quiet either. Everything felt familiar and well-known. Almost intimate. Even the smell of the air reminded her of a place she had loved once upon a time.

“Henry?” she asked again. She felt the touch on her bare arm before she saw him.

“There you are, my love,” he replied and kissed her forehead. “I missed you, what took you so long?” She needed a moment to answer. She took his cheeks between her hands and exhaled sharply. “Henry, is this you? This can’t be you.” The man looked familiar, but he was young. So very young. Her Henry had been old and sick, marked by his age and everything he had seen in his lifetime. His hands covered hers. The heat of him seeped into her. His smile was contagious and familiar. “It is you,” she whispered, stepping back and bringing her hands to her lips. If this was Henry, what did it mean? How could it be? The blurry shapes and colors changed around her. She was on the farm she had grown up. The grass was green; the shade of green it has after a recent summer rain. The sky was blue and cloudless. The barn that had burned down and had killed livestock stood tall and was painted in red and white. Looking down, she realized that she was standing on a wooden porch. She was wearing a thin dress she had loved because of the flowers on it. She turned around. Everything was familiar. Young Henry sat in a rocking chair, looking at her.

“Did the other shoe finally drop?” he chuckled and reached his hand out to her. He was engulfed in light. The glow was so bright, she almost had to look away, but she couldn’t. She took his hand, and he pulled her toward him. “Oh, Henry,” she sniveled. “Are we…?” She didn’t finish her question.

“Yes, Vera, my love. Welcome to eternity.”

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melting your clouds

Memories of us on my sheets. I wish you were here. I don’t want to wake up to reality. My eyes fight to open, and my brain refuses to activate itself. How can I survive the day when I am craving you? Where have you gone?

I sigh. There is no point in delaying the inevitable. I stretch my arms above my head, remembering how you held me down last night. I miss you already. My mind is still lingering on past days; I am not in the present yet. I shuffle to the bathroom to take a shower. It doesn’t even register that the water is running and why. My thoughts are whirling around my brain without making any sense. I push the curtain aside, and there you are. Naked as you came. You are not gone. You are here. With me. For me.

Water is cascading down your body. Strikingly handsome. I follow the rivers caressing your skin with hungry eyes, licking my lips. My gaze zooms in on your cock that is slowly filling. You smirk. I bite my lower lip, not thinking, just reacting to you. I push my shirt over my head, feeling the water splashing against my legs. You seize the moment when I cannot see and pull me inside the shower, my arm still tangled in the cotton cloth. My dry skin meets your wet skin. A moan escapes my throat as the air leaves my body. I drop my moist shirt on the floor. My panties get soaked. Your finger traces a drop of water down my breast. As the water keeps on running down, your finger stays there, teasing me. I look up and straight into your eyes. Your eyes get me every time. I am not sure why, but the lust in them, the feral desire, it affects me.

I am waiting for you to devour me, but I don’t have to be patient for long. You push me against the tiles, I giggle because I almost lose my footing, but you catch me with both hands on my ass. I raise my leg, and your hand glides down, supporting it. Your forehead touches mine.

The tension is crackling between us. Too much. I lick your nose, and you pull back with a deep husky chuckle. I follow you, as much as the confined space allows me. I touch your cock, and you growl. Memories take over. You know how to make me orgasm again and again — fingers, tongue, cock. You make me lose my mind.

Buried deep inside me, with our eyes locked, you pump in me. Fast, greedy, hard. I am not sure if it is water or sweat that is dripping off the tip of your nose, and it doesn’t matter. More. I want more.

The noise our bodies make, the low almost inaudible moans coming from your mouth, it is filling my mind. I grin, feeling how you are swelling inside of me. You nod, I moan. My head falls back, and you attack my neck. You are close. I can feel it. The tingling at the centre of my self is driving me mad. I can’t breathe. I can’t concentrate on you anymore. My hips are moving to meet yours. Out of control. Both of us are working towards release. My legs tremble, your lips find mine, assaulting me with an insatiable kiss. Your tongue dancing with mine, your hand pinching my nipple – hard, your cock – large inside of me. And then the world ends. I can’t move on my own. My sex is clenching involuntarily around you, and we are cumming together.

Out of breath, we collapse against each other. I giggle, you do too. I lower my leg and feel you slipping out of me. I am not ready to lose our connection and put my head on your chest, listening to your heart; is still racing as you tenderly kiss my head and smooth my hair.

Perfect start to the day. The mundane tasks of getting ready for work comfort me. I can’t resist bumping my hip against yours in the kitchen while you are preparing your daily smoothie. Everything about us is ordinary, yet, nothing is, because we are not. You are the moon that lights my stars. I am the sun melting your clouds.

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Eyes closed, fantasy on

I was sprawled in a t-shirt and panties on the couch when you came in. My day had been long, and all I wanted was some time without responsibilities or demands. Mind off. I smelled the smoke, alcohol, and sweat from where I was lunging; raising an eyebrow but keeping my mouth shut, I smirked. You looked delicious. Like sex on legs. I knew better than to distract you with non-sense when you came home from work late at night in this state. I kept my eyes on the TV show that hadn’t kept my attention at all, but it had kept me company when you were at work. I licked my lips. Your mere presence did things to me.

You shrugged out of your jacket and hung it on the back of a chair before you flopped down next to me on the couch, yawning loudly. Our thighs were touching, and your presence became more than you sitting next to me. I could feel you around me, invading my mind, and the need to feel you in me rose.

You took the remote control and muted the TV. I looked at you, not sure about your expectations. Your eyes scrutinized me, stripping me as you took in my sight. I was not presentable anymore – I was lazy and enjoying my night on my own. Dressed in a bare minimum and with my hair in disarray, I became aware of how unattractive I looked. In a weak attempt to straighten my appearance, I ran my hands through my hair, closed my legs, and tried to find another position, arranging my limbs differently. You chuckled, and hooking your arms under my knees; you pulled me down on the couch and closer to your wanting body – without question not warning.

I saw it in your eyes, the familiar heat. And I knew I was lost. I was drowning in the black depth of your eyes. Nothing could prevent the inevitable.

You were everywhere. One moment we sat on the couch, the next your body covered mine. My clothes were removed with an urgency that left no place for doubt – you wanted to make me cum. And I had no other choice than to endure your sweet torture.

You pulled your belt from your jeans and tied my hands together. Growling, you took my mouth with yours. There was no finesse, no tenderness. I was your toy.

Your tongue began a trail down my heated skin. And I let it happen. Too wrapped up in past memories – past climaxes; the anticipation aroused me more than your demanding kisses or your calloused hands did.

Your fingers found my soaking wet sex and entered me with ease. I was ready for you, willing you to love me. You hit that one spot inside of me that made my breath hitch and my back arch. Gasping, my body tried to suck you in, to coax more pleasure from you. But you denied it. At your mercy, I was begging, pleading… The heat. The tingle. The building orgasm that was consuming me, and yet, it was just out of reach. It was just a flick of your tongue away. I was sweating; my hands tried to claw at something, anything within reach, but your belt around my wrists – the restraint prevented it. And it frustrated me.

“Please, ” I panted. Your tongue replaced your fingers, lapping at my pussy, your hands squeezed my breasts. The wave of pleasure made goosebumps rise all over my body. And I gave in. I voiced my imminent release, spurring you on, praising you, cursing, moaning, growling, asking you to allow me some release.

Relentless, you kept sucking and kissing and licking me. Everything in me tensed, my cunt quivered, my clit couldn’t take the onslaught of your tongue anymore, and I exploded. My back arched, my knees pulled back… Throbbing, shaking – I came for you. Blinded by pleasure, I couldn’t see, I couldn’t think. I wasn’t sure if I was still existing or if I had burst into fragments of myself.

My orgasm was endless, and you didn’t let go. I came, again and again, unable to catch my breath, unable to pull myself together.

Under you, I came undone. Under your thumb, I lost control. And while I was still recovering from one, two, many climaxes, you filled me with your cock.

Kissing me, I tasted myself on your tongue. I wrapped my legs around your hips, urging you to move faster. I couldn’t decide what was more intoxicating: your sweat, our sex, the silent noise around us… It didn’t matter, all that mattered was the hard and fast in and out and the sounds our bodies made.

I was made to please you. And I came again, like a shock wave, I took you with me. I felt the spasms in me, and I opened my eyes just in time to see the pure you. There were no masks, no hiding, just the truth about you.

We became one. You in me. You my future. And all I wanted was to love you. Fragile. Vulnerable. Craving you. Submitting to you.

You released the restraints around my wrists, and I fell back against the couch again. Boneless. You followed me. The weight of your spent body crushed me, but I knew you needed this. I was not sure if you were sobbing or chuckling with your face buried against my neck, but I held you close. Our skins dried and were stuck together – yes, we were one. Pure. My hands roamed up and down your back. “I got you, ” I whispered.

Exhausted, we made our way to the bathroom to clean up. I loved dominating quickies like the one we had just shared. And I loved you because whenever we were together, you sent me to heaven, and when we were apart, I was in hell. 💜

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Fifteen months

(Repost from September 16th, 2016)

And then it happened, and her demons won. Just like that and without a fair warning. They didn’t play fair. For fifteen months she had fought them off, and now she had lost the battle with her self-harming demons. Just two small cuts. Usually, she only made one deep incision. But cutting along existing scars proved challenging. And fascinating. The way the skin stretched without breaking. The way she realised that the pain from cutting her skin stopped the moment it began to bleed.

But something wasn’t right. Something was not like she remembered it. She didn’t feel the usual calm settle down over her like a relaxing fog. This time, she stayed agitated. Unsettled. Two cuts. Very small, yet there. They hadn’t opened the valve that allowed her skin to expand and give her more room to breathe. Not this time. This time, the cuts were a testimony to her failure as an adult. She was broken beyond repair. They were affirming her failure. Affirming that she was just a freak. Nothing more.

She grew restless. She was determined to punish herself and her body for all the things that weren’t right – mostly her mind.

Transfixed, she watched the drops of blood sliding down her wrist. Had it ever bled this much? Had she cut too deep? Was she done, or was there more cutting to do to ease her troubled soul? She started shaking violently. She cleaned the box cutter in a hurry, before returning it to its place on the shelf. She couldn’t stand its sight anymore.

She ran her arm under the sink and still reeling, she lit a cigarette. She claimed to be a non-smoker but once in a while; she liked the taste of her Luckies. This time, it was different – not calming her nerves, and still shaking all over, she felt so nauseous from the smoke that she put the cigarette out.

She considered drinking a shot of vodka, but she had promised to herself to be abstinent from alcohol and carbohydrates for at least two weeks. She had no intention of breaking that vow. Even under these circumstances. Or was it despite them? She had to stick to something.

But what was she supposed to do? All alone. She called her best friend, but she was busy. It was the usual scenario: she needed someone, but the world was too busy to care. She never pretended to be the centre of the universe, but she gave all the time, and when she needed a shoulder, some support, nobody was there.

On a whim, she messaged her ex-affair. It would have been their first anniversary. Did he know? He didn’t, but it was okay. The moment she heard his voice, she had to swallow down a wave of tears. She hadn’t believed that he would pick up the phone, but he had. He had always been a good listener. And even now, after months of silence between them, he did the same – he listened. Giving gentle advice, never judging. He held his narcissistic self under control while she confessed and confided in him what she had never confessed or admitted to anyone. She had harmed herself. Now she felt ashamed and exhausted. The tension hadn’t left. But his voice was reassuring, comforting. She never wanted to show him his weaknesses, but now she had done it anyway. He knew. She was naked, soul-stripped in front of him. He stirred the conversation in a different direction. And she let him, fully aware that he was asking for something in return. Nothing was for free.

On a path to self-destruction phone sex with him was just another step towards her final demise. Was she his prostitute? For him, she was. She was allowed to unload her emotional crap as long as she paid her debts with her body. She hated herself either way. This didn’t change a thing. And yet, she felt proud when she heard his moans and his erratic breathing. She didn’t feel dirty or ashamed that he had made her cum twice too. It was just words. A fantasy. Orders she bs followed. But sometimes, it was more. It had released the rest of the tension that had kept her on edge for so long, and when he told her so, knowing exactly how she felt, she had laughed out loud — a genuine s.
The earlier thoughts were forgotten. Not really forgotten, just pushed aside. She was still shaking all over. But there had been someone who had caught her, and it meant a lot to her. On a day, when she had hinted so many times, in front of so many people about all the things that weren’t right, and nobody asked if she was okay or needed help; on a day when she felt invisible and unseen, one person had seen her. And he had loved her. For how long it would last didn’t matter. He had been there when she had needed him. And it had indeed changed her day. Her demons were still hiding in the shadows. Bloodhounds. She wasn’t sure if she could keep them at bay, for she would try — fifteen months or longer.

I shared this piece of fiction because I stumbled across it today, and I liked that comment so much. The music I had added was Help Me by Maximilian Hecker

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nothing as it seems.

Shelly sat on her bed, the laptop heating her thighs and knees. Things had changed; she had. Months ago, it was easy just to let every thought spill onto her screen, but now, it was a struggle even to write a word. She defended her silence with writer’s block; or the fact that she worked so much. It had never bothered her before. She started censoring herself and her writing when she noticed the traffic on her blog was coming consistently. Readers or viewers came by daily to see if she had shared something. Where they waiting for her to share some more of her gruesome inner life? Where they waiting in the shadows, silently judging, ready to twist her words in real life? She hated the thought that people she knew read her words. She wasn’t embarrassed, she was just so naked on her blog, and she was afraid that her fragile mind would destroy the image of herself that she tried to hold upright. She tried to appear humorous and composed, relaxed and focused. But she wasn’t. Inside she was always struggling, wondering what she should have done differently; what she should have said instead of what she said; trying to remember everything so that she could make life easier for everyone who had to endure her presence.

Shelly had taken all her courage to tell her colleagues at work that she is mentally ill – depression. But she was not sad enough, not tired enough, not silent enough, not lethargic enough. She was functional. They didn’t see that she cried every day in her car on her way to work. They didn’t see how draining work was for her. They didn’t see that every little accomplishment came with a mountain of doubts and crippling thoughts.

Shelly had a lot to say, but nothing was worthy of her readers. She checked the stats and updated blogs. Nothing was inspiring, yet everything she read was inspiring. People had things to say and to share with the world. She had once been like that. Once, before her mind had decided to tell her lies again. Lies, all lies. And not even music was helping anymore.

Shelly closed the lid of her laptop and listened as the heater went silent. It was time to catch some sleep. Tomorrow, people who look at here again and wonder why she made such a fuss about depression when she didn’t look depressed. She was even smiling. But every smile came with a price. Frail. She was fragile, and if she weren’t careful, she would break apart.

Shelly turned to her side and pulled the blanket up over her head. It was comforting to be hidden from the world, and she slipped into a colourless dream.

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only love

“Come to me…” She heard the whispered words again and again. She saw the hand reach out for her, and she tried to grab it. But it was in vain. Her fingers never touched the ones that were outreached to her. She saw the despair in his face and tried harder to get to him, but the last inch to be there, grab him and cling to him was always missing.

Startled, she woke up. Drenched in sweat and tears. She had had this dream so many times before, and each time it became more real and more intense. She wanted to be with him, that was all she knew and cared about. The yellow streetlights illuminated her dark room, casting gloomy shadows on the ceilings. It didn’t appease her. A storm was raging outside, and branches of the large tree in front of her window whipped against the glass. It made for a frightening soundtrack of the night. She laid down again and punched her pillow a couple of times until it had the desired shape and turned to the side. She never closed her eyes. They stayed glued to the window. She was waiting for him. She waited for the familiar shadow to appear.

~~°~~

“Come to me…” He whispered the words in her ear, trying to soak in her familiar scent. She was asleep and didn’t hear him. He reached his hand out to touch her, and she tried to touch him too, but it was to no avail. As much as he wanted to feel her skin against his own for one last time, it was impossible. He couldn’t hide the pain he felt, and he knew that she saw it. He tried harder to reach her, but the last inch to grab her and take her with him was always missing.

Her time hadn’t come yet. And until then, he had to wait and be patient. He visited her every night, but on one particular night every year, she could see him. He sat on the windowsill and listened to the storm while he watched her sleep with her eyes wide open.

~~°~~

She saw him. He sat on the windowsill with a smile on his face. Occasionally, he looked outside as if in deep thought and when his head turned back to face her, she thought she had seen a frown. This night, this particular night was always the same for her, and she loved and dreaded it alike. It was the night he was back, and her dreams seemed so much more real than every other day. Days prior to this particular date, she didn’t sleep, because she waited for him to appear. She wished he would stay longer than only that night, and she wished he would talk to her. Instead, he sat there and watched her. It was all a dream. A hallucination. That’s what they said. But she knew better. She knew better because she didn’t only see him; she felt his presence.

~~°~~

He smiled at her and watched over her. Occasionally, he looked outside, and it reminded him of that fateful day years ago.

He had been drunk after the party. He shouldn’t have walked home in his state, but he had also known that he was in no shape to drive. She had called him on his phone, and he had slurred that he loved her. He had wanted to see her and took a shortcut through the woods. It had been raining that night and dark. Really dark. He had started to run with an unknown urge to be with her and then, it had happened. He had fallen down a slope, and he had hit his head on a rock. When he had woken up, he had laughed because he had known that the fall could have killed him.

And it had killed him. I took him a while to realise that the lifeless body he had been looking at was his own. It had happened so fast. A bright spark had appeared, and light-tunnel had captured him. He had fought to stay and go see her one last time, but the force that had taken him from this earth was stronger than anything else he had ever experienced. He had made a deal with the invisible force then and there. He had stopped struggling and floated willingly up into his afterlife after negotiating one last wish; he demanded to be able to see and watch over her. And he did. He came back. Every year. Until the time had come to finally take her hand and take her with him.

~~°~~

The night was fading, and the storm was calming down. The shadows on her ceiling slowly vanished, but he was still there staring at her, and she kept watching him intently, trying to remember as much of him as possible. In her mind, she told him that she loved him and that she missed him. In her mind, she told him everything she couldn’t say out loud anymore. She didn’t react when there was a knock on the door. She knew what would be happening next. A chubby woman in a lab coat bent over her and pushed her hair out of her face. He smiled at her and waved, then he blew her a kiss, and she saw him say “I love you”, but she didn’t hear the words. She fought to push the nurse away, but she obstructed her view. When she finally moved, he was gone. The woman who had entered obscured the view to the window again and helped her sit up. She stopped struggling and fighting. It was all in vain anyway. They didn’t understand. They didn’t see what she saw.

“It’s time for your pills honey.” Two cups were put in front of her, and she obediently emptied them both before she opened her mouth to show that she had swallowed everything, just like she was supposed to do.

~~°~~

The nurse patted the patient’s shoulder and retreated. She key locked the door again once she was outside and sighed. Halloween was always the worst day for this patient. It had been five years now since she was with them and although she was better on most days, on October 31st, she was suicidal and had to stay in lockup for her own safety. She had never talked, but everyone knew about the events that had ended her in the mental institution. The nurse didn’t need to hear the details of the tragedy; she knew that only love could make someone lose their mind the way this woman had.

(written in October 2014. I would change many things about this story – more details, and the writing style is weird too, but there is potential in this couple of paragraphs)

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Sweet taboo

Take off All your clothes, you ordered. There was not an ounce of doubt; not a flash of hesitation, I complied. You knew I was your puppet, and we both enjoyed it. I stripped, trying to be sensual, but being my clumsy self instead. Of course, I couldn’t get my skinny jeans off my feet. Of course, the hooks of my bra got caught in my hair. Of course, I blushed and wished I hadn’t started this at all. My confidence was hanging on a thinning threat; any moment now, the wrong word – or what I interpreted as the wrong word, would make me run.

Look at me! Another order. I wasn’t submissive, but your voice and the mood we had created in our sanctuary made me obey. I looked at you, and you were smiling. I could see that even though my performance had been underwhelming, your body was reacting to me as much as I was reacting to yours.

You got up from your chair. Large steps. Warm hands. Shivers. Kisses. Nibbles. Don’t move! I didn’t dare to move. I almost forgot how to breathe. I was your prey. You were the predator. You devoured me, and it was the most enjoyable torture I ever endured, entirely at your mercy — flames of lust licking at our souls until they were sticky and we were unable to break apart.

Sweetest taboo. Again and again. We were made of passionate desire; feeding off each other, until it became too much to bear and our hearts exploded; our souls imploded, and our remnants were scattered; blown in the wind — eternal stars on the night sky.

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Trapped! (rewrite – repost)

I have this strange feeling in the pit of my stomach, and I know something terrible is going to happen. It has been quiet for too long. We are at war and quiet is never reassuring. It makes you believe that you are safe, but in reality, you are not. You are mere moments away from death. All the time. I have no idea, why we aren’t all going insane and slaughtering ourselves mutually, instead of waiting for the silent killers to take our lives and souls away while we are sleeping. Maybe it is only the fear that keeps us sane and alive.

It is getting dark as I walk down the street. The descending sun paints the sky in beautiful colours. The gravel crunching underneath my feet is all that can be heard, no people, no animals, nothing. And for a moment, I am lost in thoughts. For a moment, I am not afraid. For a moment, I am at peace. For a moment, watching the sun going down, I forget the impending doom. I hear a piano play from inside a house while I walk down the main road of the little village that I am passing. It is soothing. It is a bit of normalcy in a life that became too restricted lately. I needed to run and break free from everything and everyone who held me down, and now I am here. Tired, hungry and covered in grime. I don’t have the patience nor the discipline to stay in one place for too long. I can’t stand being with the same person for too long before I get bored. I need a change of scenery quite often. I need my freedom. I need my independence. I can’t submit to rules that I don’t understand and don’t require. One could say that I am a rebel, other would say that I am a coward. I am simply me. With all may layers. I add new layers daily. No one knows who I really am. Not even me.

My skin gets prickly, and the hair on my arms stand on end. I knew it. Too quiet. Too peaceful. And that’s when I hear that now so familiar sound. Bells. The telltale alarm sign. Bombs are coming. I hear the planes before I see them, and then, the first bomb is going down with a whistling sound. I see an explosion on the other side of the village, and I run.

I have no idea where I am, but I run. It is all I can do. Screams. Panic. Pain. Explosions that are in quick succession. Where am I supposed to hide? A woman comes running out of a house. She wears no shoes, but she doesn’t care. In her arms, she holds a small bundle. It takes me a second to understand that she is trying to save her child. The look on her face is one of pure horror. It’s the horror of war that turns beautiful faces into pale grimaces.

Politicians are deciding from safe places to kill innocent civilians, because of greed and for more power. We are collateral damage. People die, children die. Families lose sons and their entire existences, but the war goes on. Our future fades and turns into something unreachable every time we hear the sirens or the bells warning us from the evil that is raining from the sky.

The only thing we all have in common is fear. Constant fear. We don’t want to lose, but we the civilians, we the poor, can never win. We can’t win because all is lost. There is nothing left for us when the rich fed their protruding bellies with food and greed.

I keep running, scanning my surroundings for shelter, but safe space is sparse, and I am a stranger in this town. Who wants a stranger in their shelter, taking their space? I understand them, I really do. But I just want to live through this air raid and get on with my life. I don’t want anything else. I just want to live.

On a field left of me, I see the shadow of a man walking down into the earth. I shake my head at my own stupidity. There must be a bomb shelter, how else could a man walk down into the earth. I know that reaching this shelter is a matter of living and dying now.

Fear. My body is shaking, and I don’t know where the will and strength to survive are coming from. The noise is deafening, and I start running faster. I stumble over stones and upturned soil a couple of times, but that won’t stop me from running across the field. I have to get to that shelter. Maybe it is my only chance of seeing tomorrow. I want to see another sunrise.

Out of breath and determined to not fail when I am this close, I reach the closing doors just in time to pull them open again. A man stares up at me. If the look on his face is a mirror of mine own, he is as scared as me. He doesn’t hesitate to let me in, and with joint forces, we close the metal doors above our heads. Safe for now. The stranger descends the ladder.

Adrenaline is still pumping through our veins. Through mine. A loud rumble erupts over us. I’m still standing on the ladder, and I can feel it shaking. I pray to every deity in heaven to make this shelter safe. I climb down the rest of the way and hear a loud explosion again. I duck and put my hands over my head in a shielding manner. Rationally, I know that my hands on my head will not save me, but I do it anyway.

Nothing else happens, and I look at the man. I don’t really see him as a man. Not the way I usually watch men. I can’t say if he is handsome or which colour his eyes have. It is not essential now.

The stranger and I, we walk a little further into the shelter. There is another door, and he leads me through it; we close that one too. From one moment to the next, it is silent. Eerily so. The man finds a switch, and a flickering light bulbs cast a dim light over us. We both stand in the near dark, looking at the door as if we could see through it. See what is happening on the surface.

Maybe it’s just as good, that we can’t see anything. We can’t see the devastation and the destruction. We can’t see the pain in people’s eyes, and we can’t smell death. I feel my heartbeat in the vein on my neck. He must hear my blood pumping through my body in this absolute silence. There is a bed in this room and a table with two chairs. Along the walls are shelves, filled with tin cans and different supplies. I don’t want to look at it all. I don’t want to think about having to stay here. I am a bird. I need to be free.

We don’t speak. We just listen and wait. In this almost dark. Unconsciously, we move closer together. I can feel the heat of his arm against mine. It’s reassuring that I am not by myself. He must feel the same. We are comforting each other with our presence, not with words.

My legs are starting to get tired, and my neck is getting stiff from looking intensely at the door. It is still silent outside. No explosions, no rumble. No noise at all. I am not sure what is more frightening. The bombs or the silence.

After a while, my companion announces, that he wants to go up again. I follow him closely. I don’t want to stay behind. Be alone. At the top of the ladder, he tries to open our only way out, but he doesn’t succeed. He pushes harder and still, nothing happens. The metal door doesn’t budge.

I get up there too. Space on the ladder is very restricted, but maybe two can move more than one person alone. We push. But nothing moves. I have a vivid vision of one of us falling down the ladder and the other having to spend the rest of his own life with a decaying corpse. It makes me shudder, and I push harder until the muscles in my arms refuse to cooperate. Sweat runs down my face. I need to get out. I need to fly.

“Stop it! Gather your strengths. We are trapped.” The stranger hangs his head in defeat and walks down to the room where we were before. He is giving up. Why is he giving up? I need to get out of here.

Then, the realisation hits me hard; Trapped! It resonates through my head. My worst nightmare is coming true.

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cold coffee

I pushed the door open with my foot, startling you. Your eyes were filled with sleep; mine were full of mischief. I came to your room with the intention to wake you up with the smell of coffee, but seeing you like this; naked, hard, embarrassed; it did things to me.

You were a guest in my house. A friend. The polite thing would have been to apologise and leave. But I couldn’t. I was hungry. Starving. And not for food. You looked at your erection, then at me. I licked my lips and tried to find a safe place for that cup of coffee in my hand.

You sat up and reached for the sheets to cover yourself. I shook my head. “Don’t, ” I croaked. You rose an eyebrow, probably intensely aware of the situation too. I kept my eyes on you, avoiding to see myself ungracefully join you on the mattress through the mirror on the wall.

“Hi, ” you said as if you were seeing me for the first time. Your hand was already in my hair, pulling my head; my lips, to yours.

Outside, rain was joining the wind that had been up all night. Inside, we were joining too.

Everything fit. Profoundly. Almost overwhelmingly. The natural flow of things didn’t take us aback. It didn’t leave room for doubts or vanities. Every touch meant something. Every time I felt your tongue on my heated skin, it felt as if I was becoming a part of you. Your hands explored my body as if they had never done anything else. The weight of you on my tongue was exactly right, and your taste made me swallow you as often as I could. I was drowning in our lust.

When you finally penetrated me, it only took a moment before the world exploded for me. Shivering, sweating, swearing, I encouraged you to keep moving. But you didn’t. You lay on top of me; your hands were caressing my hair, your eyes were searching my face for something that I couldn’t pretend wasn’t there. A smile appeared on your lips. Proud of yourself and how you had undone me, you kissed me. You were pulsating inside of me, but not moving. Heavenly torture. I begged for more, gyrated my hips underneath you, but you were stubborn. And too close to be consumed by our lust too.

Two micro moves later, you stopped breathing. Your sweat was dripping down on me from the tip of your nose; your eyes were closed. A strangled noise left your lips just before you started to breathe again.

I had seen you. I had felt you. And it left me breathless; and not only because your full weight was on my body now. The beauty and surprise of us in this situation was overwhelming. You kissed my temple and rolled off me with a loud groan and a chuckle. Your arm covered your eyes, and your hand was running up and down your stomach. The most handsome man who I had ever been with.

I put my head on your chest, your heartbeat sang a song for me, while I retraced the pattern of the tattoos on your skin. Your eyes were filled with sleep again. I covered us with the crumbled sheet, making sure that the wet spot we left was covering me and not you.

In a while, I would worry about the meaning of it all, but right then I decided to go with the flow and let it happen.

Only the coffee had grown cold.

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I hate prompts

Sara’s hands were roaming over the keys of the keyboard. She had always known what to write without giving it too much thought. She sat down, and the words would appear out of nowhere. Page after page were filled this way. It seemed to be a lifetime away now.

It was before Dennis had vanished from her life. Dennis had been her muse. He had been her inspiration. He had made her believe in the beauty of all things. Everything was energy in his eyes, and for a while, he had been her fuel.

Sara covered her face with her hands, shaking her head and letting out a low groan. Chuckling, she cursed. “Damn it, ” she pushed herself away from her desk and stepped to the window. It was dark outside. Pitch black. She could only see her own reflection. It was a sight she had tried to avoid ever since Dennis had left. Her mind threatened to drift from her content present to a grim past.

“Write Sara!” she ordered herself. She drank a glass of tap water and sat down in her chair again. Inspiration was still elusive. Sara began surfing the internet to find something to write about. Something that touched her enough to make her want to put it into words. There was nothing, and she decided to use the help of a site that shared writing prompts. She found hundreds of them. But there was not one that she wanted to work with. “I hate prompts,” she sighed and smiled. Once she had known a man, who used to say the same words. She smiled and let the memory take her away and onto the clouds of a daydream.

Dedicated to R.A. 💜

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untitled_20181016

Longing. An ever-growing longing settles behind your eyes. A small frown is etched on your forehead. Laughter or a smile are long lost memories. Remnants of joy and happiness try to remind you of the light you are. But your eyes are closed. You cannot see. An ever-growing longing swallows hope. Longing. Longing to belong to someone else.

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Heatwave – mature content

The heat, it got to her. She had always had a healthy sex-drive, but this here right now was a lot, even for her standards. She felt insatiable. Always in the mood.

Naked as she was, she let the light breeze, that found a way into her bedroom, caress her skin. It was as if her lover was gently tracing her nooks and folds and crannies with his tongue. She closed her eyes and arched her back. This felt good. Her hands knew where to go on their own. No explanation needed. One hand massaged her breast and played with her nipples, while the other hand traveled south. Legs spread wide, she didn’t waste time. Too good. She was wet. Not moist; no, dripping wet. The sound her body made as her fingers entered her spurred her on. She needed it. Right then. Right there. The smell of her own sex engulfed her and laid a thin veil over her senses, blocking out her environment. Sweat was covering her; droplets rolling down and pooling between her breasts. She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue moaning deep within her throat. Almost there. She didn’t take her time, didn’t prolong the explosion that was at the tips of her fingers. Her legs were shaking. Ragged breath. She bit her bottom lip, her eyes were closed. More. More. More of this. Her hips moved on their own accord, trying to find more friction. The tingling that had started inside of her was spreading fast. She threw her head back with another moan. Her back was arched, her hair was drenched in sweat. Pulling her legs back to reach more; to enter herself deeper. It was there, she felt the wave coming. Ready to let her lose her mind.

Another touch startled her. Not her own hands. They ruined her orgasm. Calloused, male hands. Asking for permission to continue what she had started. She took her hand from her pussy, tasting her own lust with a sly grin. Eyes meeting eyes. Dilated pupils didn’t hide their carnal desires. The sensation of his hands on her was too much to bear. He knew how to push her buttons. He knew exactly how to read her body. What had started slow and casual was building up again. She was biting her hand to keep herself from screaming out her lust, but he didn’t allow it. He demanded to hear her. And there it was. The right touch. The right pressure. Too fast. Too soon. Her entire body tensed. She stopped breathing. And the heat swallowed her from within. Sensitive to his touch, she tried to move away, but he was not done. The night was young and it was too hot to sleep anyway…

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untitled flash fiction 20180701 or With you, I want to live

“Do you ever think about suicide? About ending it all? Just vanishing? Being gone? Not existing at all?” he asked, avoiding making eye-contact. He took a sip of his coffee and looked at the people on the other side of the street. She didn’t answer. She didn’t know how. “I do,” he continued. “I think about it. All the time. Not about death itself, but how to make it easier for those around. And I wonder what they will say and who will miss me.” Their eyes briefly met, before he averted his gaze and looked at the clouds in his coffee. “I would miss you,” she croaked, cleared her throat and repeated the same words in a steadier voice. “Why?” he whispered. “Why” was a question that often made his life unnecessarily hard. That three-letter word made him dread and anticipate answers, all at once. “Because the thought of not having you close to me breaks me inside. The void you would leave would swallow me.” Tears welled up in his eyes. He didn’t want to make a scene, but she had a thing with words; always finding the words that forced his emotions to explode. “If you were gone, I would probably follow you. There is nothing keeping me here. If it wasn’t for you, I would not be here,” she whispered sadly. He didn’t know how to react and how to respond. He just covered her hand with his trembling one. She looked at their hands, then she lifted her head to look into his face – into his eyes. “Please don’t leave me behind,” she begged. “Never,” he replied. “I love you too much.” She nodded, wiping the corner of her eye. A tear was threatening to ruin her makeup. Lately, she had thought about taking her own life a lot. She led a happy life, but something dark was clawing at her thoughts. Something devastating was fraying the edges of her fragile soul. Holding on was much more exhausting than she would have ever thought. Why was living and staying alive so easy for most people? Why was it so hard for her? And him too. “Let’s promise each other to stay alive together for as long as we can. There are reasons to stay alive, right? If I remind you of them, and you me, we will be okay.” On the other side of the street, a toddler was crying in his stroller. From her point of view, it looked as if he didn’t like being strapped tightly in the stroller without any means to break free. “Freedom is just an illusion. A creation of the mind. The emotional cage we are living in is a creation of the mind too. It either helps us to stay sane, or we will break and grow insane.” He tilted his head to the side and took a sip of his coffee. It was as if he was seeing her for the first time. He had been too busy with his own thoughts, missing that she was not alright either. “Depression is a selfish bastard,” he thought out loud, taking his hand back. “We should go,” she ignored his statement, got up from her chair and put her bag over her shoulder. He stood next to her, kissed her forehead and let his hand find hers. She looked up at him. The affection in her eyes made his heart race. “I love you,” he blurted out. He had never said the words before, but they had never been this true and important to share either. A genuine beaming smile appeared on her face. She didn’t reciprocate his words. She didn’t have to; he felt her love wafting off her skin. Being alive wasn’t so bad, if he was allowed to do it with her.

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Destination Unknown (repost from March 2014)

I am nervous. It isn’t only the flight that makes my pulse race, but it is the knowledge that in a few hours, I will be able to look into his eyes, to hear his real voice, to feel his arms around myself and to smell his scent. All for the first time.

This is not my typical self. I was never the adventurous type, I prefer to live my life as straight-forward and predictable as possible.

But then I met him. A lot of things are different with him. We met on the web. It was never really my world and meeting a man and falling in love? That was for fools only. He made the first step, chatting me up and at first it was only meant to be fun and distracting for me. Banter and flirting, where’s the harm in that? Slowly, though, his emails and the photos he sent me day after day, became the highlight of my mornings. And now I sit here. In a tin can that is about to fly me across the ocean and to him, and I just have a one-way ticket.

****

The plane starts to move and takes me out of my reveries. The flight will be long. There will be time to worry and to be happy and to be afraid too. For now, my hands are clammy as the trees become a blur, and I get pushed into my seat. Takeoff. Silent tears stream down my face. I am not able to stop them, and I am too panicked to make a sound. I look out of the window, grabbing the armrests until my knuckles become white, and I can only see the clear blue sky. I look past the row of other passengers and look out of the opposite window. I can only see green fields. My hands grip the armrest that separates me from the empty seat next to me tighter, and my fingers hurt, but I am not ready to let go of my support. It’s becoming my safety. And then, the plane seems to have reached its travel height. The tension slowly fades away from me, and I breathe, relieved. I am not afraid to fly, its the takeoff that makes me panic and with no one by my side to soothe or distract me, the fear and anxiety I experience in this situation is overwhelming. Once the plane is up in the air, everything is okay. I have to sit by the window, though. I need to see everything around me, the fake control calms me.

****

I am giving up my old life for him. I sold everything I couldn’t fit into a few bags, I gave up my job and my flat, only to fly into the unknown. A new continent, a different language, no job, no apartment and I have never even met the man in person. He is supposed to take me in and help me get my feet on the ground over there. What, if he doesn’t like me? What if we don’t get along? And what if he is a creep? Before I can rile myself up too badly, I feel my eyelids becoming heavy, and I slowly drift off into a dreamless sleep. At last, the Xanax my sister slipped me in my drink is kicking in.

Next thing I know is that a flight attendant wakes me up and asks me to fasten my seat belt. “We are going to land soon.” Did I actually sleep almost six hours? In a plane? Alone?

The plane lands effortlessly, and I breathe again. It feels like the first deep breath since I woke up this morning. The landing is never as hard for me as the takeoff, because of the pure knowledge that soon there will be solid ground underneath my feet again. I am so weird. But that makes me my loveable self.

People scramble their belongings together and make their ways to the exit, where a flight attendant waits and says goodbye to every single passenger. I like this. It’s nice. It’s normalcy. Polite too.

As soon as I enter the terminal, my heart begins to pound in my chest. The inevitable moment is close. I don’t have to wait long at the baggage claim. For once I wouldn’t have minded to wait, if only to stall and keep the inevitable from happening. I heave my bags on my luggage cart. I hate to steer those things because they never go in the direction I want them to go, but with a bit of effort, lots of strength and one or two choice words, I manage to push it to the exit. Ropes separate the newly arrived from the ones being there to pick them up. My heart beats so fast, it threatens to burst my ribcage. It’s an unpleasant feeling. I see people falling into each other’s arms, crying happy tears and clinging onto each other. Families, mothers, fathers, daughters, sons… Reunited. Different people who arrived at their destination. Not me. I am an alien.

The crowd slowly dissipates, and I am still looking for the one person who is set to pick me up. I’m beginning to fear that he isn’t here, but then, through a group of laughing teenagers, I see a man holding up a poster. SHELLY, it reads. That’s my nickname. It is him. I feel hot, and I smile. I don’t want to do it, but I can’t stop or hide it. It takes me a moment to get my legs moving. They are like lead and trembling as if I had never taken a step before.

At first sight and from the distance, he is even more gorgeous than he was in his pictures. I see him stretching and rising on his tiptoes. He is scanning the crowd with a frown. I can see the exact moment his eyes land on me, and he recognizes me. A bright smile erupts on his face, and I know it is matching my own.

Step by tiny step, we get closer to each other until we both stop in our tracks. Only three steps separate us, and I see his face becoming serious, the smile faded and he is worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. How do I approach him? Are there any rules for this? I am unsure what to do, my instinct tells me to run away from this weird situation, but my body doesn’t want to obey. And I don’t know where to hide anyway. Dreadful moments pass, and I wait. Frozen. Unable to act or react.

“Shelly,” he whispers almost inaudibly, because of the busy people hurrying to get to their planes and the ones hurrying to get home. I nod, not knowing what else to do.

The poster glides from his hands and slides to the floor while he takes another step towards me. Feet are walking over the white sheet of paper. I see it and think for a brief moment that it’s such a waste, then my thoughts are back in the now. The suspense and anticipation are killing me. My heart still races and if nothing happens now, the moment passes, and we will never get it back. And the something inside of me snaps. I can’t contain myself any longer and jump into his arms, laughing out loud. He catches me with ease. He is shorter than I had imagined him to be, but he is still a few inches taller than me. My body fits his perfectly. I bury my nose in his neck and smile when I notice his scent. It is an aphrodisiac. His arms come up and circled my waist almost lifting me off the floor, and I laugh happily. The sound is bubbling out of me. His arms feel like home, and I haven’t even heard him say more than a whisper.

My hands cup his cheeks, and I scan his face. I look into his eyes – beautiful light green eyes. I take a step back, not to walk away, but to get a proper look at him. His cheeks are stubbly, just how I love it, and his ginger hair is cut close to the head, but not too close. He is gorgeous. His lush lower lip begs to be kissed and again, it is me who takes the first step and I kiss him hesitantly. He kisses me back and pulls me closer to him. All of this is shallow, and I know it, it is appearances and superficialities, but I already know the person hiding inside.

Reluctantly, he lets go of me and now, he looks me up and down, making me slightly uncomfortable. Mere moments ago, I did the same to him, and I feel a little ashamed that I did. What does he see when he looks at me?

“Let’s go home,” he says smiling and with a grunt, he gets my luggage cart to move and pushes it towards to parking lot.

Time and time again, we look at each other, only to shyly look away again. We load my bags into his truck, and he comes around to open my door. His truck seems huge, but every car I see here is. I am not in Kansas – sorry, Europe – anymore.

Before I can climb into the massive vehicle, he holds me by the wrist and spins me around. I stumble into his arms, but again, he catches me with ease. He lowers his lips to mine and then, kisses me passionately. I’ve been kissed before – a lot, but I’ve never been kissed like this before. It takes my breath away and leaves a warm feeling inside. My heart skips a beat, and it is as though an electrical shock rushes through my entire body. I am aware of how silly it sounds, even more so because I used to make fun of people saying this. But wow… If I have had moments of doubt about my decision earlier, I am sure now, to be at the right place with the right person.

“I am glad you are here. Finally.” His voice is gentle, but deep and a little hoarse. I like it very much, and I wonder what it will sound like in the morning when he wakes up. It occurs to me that I will hear it soon enough, and it makes me smile again.

“You must be starving. Would you like to go out on a dinner date with me?” he asks formally. It takes me a while to find the right words and my voice, but I accept his invitation. Of course, I do. We seal the agreement to our first official date with a long kiss. A car honks, and we break apart, chuckling like teenagers. We drive off into the sunset. Destination unknown.

***
(Unedited… I will get to that later…)

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All hands on us

Hands on me. Hands on you. A fantasy coming true.

Hands on you. Hands on me. No other place I’d rather be.

Skin on skin. Giving in to exquisite sin.