Misdirection

Outnumbered and pinned down by enemy fire, I had Johnson call in an airstrike. The A-10 Warthogs came in low and fast, their screaming engines promised retribution. Wait a minute...they're targeting our position!
"GODDAMMIT Johnson, can't you read a ma..."
*BOOM*

A Kind of Magic...

"I got you a Talisman..."
"What's it do?" She asked.
"It helps you to find your one, true love!" I told her. "Made from the heart of a Lilac tree."
She held it up. "Hmm, it's pointing towards you..."
"See, it works!"

The Best Laid Plans...

It was an amazing outdoor wedding: flowered arbors, manicured shrubberies and lawns. The bride resplendent in white, the groom choking back tears as she appeared. Even Sam, their dog wore a tuxedo in his role as ring bearer...then the rabbit appeared.

Know what you're signing...

"The difference is, I lie for a reason." The man said.
"I beg your pardon?" I asked, turning towards him.
"Oh I'm sorry," He said. "I didn't mean to interrupt..." His voice was soft, cultured and oddly compelling.
We were sitting at the bar in the Starlight Lounge, Hollywood California. 
I looked him up and down. Older, handsome, my first thought was "lawyer." Armani suit, Hugo Boss shoes and a rose gold Patek-Philippe "Grand Complications" watch. All gave him the unmistakable reek of power and money. I hadn't noticed him when we came in, funny that.

I turned back to my agent, Bill Leslie of the William Leslie Talent Agency. He stood and touched me on the shoulder. "Look, Dave. I've got a meeting in 20. I've really got to run, thanks for the drink. Again, I'm sorry we had to drop you!" 
"Come on Bill; I just need the right role!"
"Sorry Dave, 12% of nothing is nothing...the jobs aren't there." He spread his arms in a "whatcha gonna do" gesture as he backed away. "I'll call if I reconsider."
"Shit..." I muttered into my drink.
"Your friend's a liar," The man spoke again. "and I know liars!"
"What are you talking about?" I asked him.
"You really believe that crap he was handing you?"
"Well...it's a tough business!" I replied.
"I know who you are David, and you were not well served by the William Leslie Agency. I represent Mammon Entertainments, and we'd like to represent you. My card." He said, producing it as if by magic. Rich, heavy card stock that read simply:

Mammon Entertainments

L.F. Angel

President/CEO

"I'm listening..." I said.

"We'll make you rich my boy, and famous! Everything you have ever dreamed of in your heart of hearts. Cars, women, travel!

The adulation of millions of fans worldwide!"
I nodded. "Go on."
"Mr. Leslie doesn't have time for you because he doesn't see your potential; I do! He's too preoccupied with his two mistresses. Diddling the babysitter and defrauding his clients of millions of dollars. My main focus is you!"

"Now I happen to know," He continued. "that you have $18.37 in your bank account. No," He said, holding up a hand. "don't ask how I know. Furthermore, the twenty in your pocket will just about cover your bar tab. You need work, and you need money. Sign with me, at the same 12% Leslie was charging, and I'll give you a $5000 cash advance."

He reached into his breast pocket and withdrew some papers.
"I have here one of my standard contracts, with the terms I've described clearly spelled out. Sign it and you'll walk out of here with $5000 in your pocket and a career. Hell, I'll even pick up your bar tab!" Having said this, he produced an antique Montblanc fountain pen and laid it upon the contract.

"I don't know," I said. "I've been with Bill since I got here..."
"And what has that gotten you?" He asked. "A couple of bit parts, in let's face it, "B" movies. A sidekick role on a failed pilot...my boy, you could be so much more! Have so much more!"
"You know what? You're right! All he's ever gotten me are crap roles! Where do I sign?" I asked, snatching up the pen.
The man smiled as he flipped to the last page.
"Sign here and here and your initials there and date it if you please."
As I put pen to paper I felt a brief sting but kept signing, the ink red against the white page.

When I finished, he picked up the paper and blew the signatures dry. As he did so, my cell rang. The man smiled.
It was Bill Leslie.
"Hello?"
"Dave? Look I've changed my mind; I just talked to the producers and Deniro's out! They want to go with someone younger, and they brought up your name!!! Get your ass over here, and we'll get you signed ASAP."
"Sorry Bill, I just signed with Mammon Entertainments. I'm with their president now, what was your name again?" I asked looking at the card once more.
"Oh, you can call me Lucifer..."
"And the F. stands for?"
"Fallen," He said with a wink.

Night song...

The desert winds whistle and moan across the rough, barren landscape, ruffling my fur as I gaze out upon the darkness below. The pack adds its "Song to the Moon" and I join my voice to theirs, as we have since immemorial.

Passage...

I Acquired a ticket for the inaugural event!
A fortnight before, I experienced such a night terror: icy blackness, crushing weight, I couldn't breathe. Providence dictated I cancel; so I contacted the Herald. My advertisement started thus: "Ticket for sale, RMS Titanic".

The Good Omen: Chapter 1

John Omen came fully awake.
There it was again...damn cat, knocking things over in the middle of the night. Just one of the many reasons he'd never had one! Besides, he was a dog guy. But when your girlfriend has a week-long conference in Vegas and begs you to watch it for her, you watch the damn cat!  A big, black, long-haired monster of a cat! Larger than most small dogs! He hadn't seen it since she dropped it off. But the food dish emptied and the litter box filled. For the past five nights, it had busied itself clearing shelves, tipping things over and, in general making all manner of disconcerting noises. Every morning he spent putting his living room back together. Ugh, like he needed this...he needed to be in court at 8 am. for God's sake.
 As one of the lead officers of the DPD's drug enforcement task force, he'd been instrumental in bringing down one of Detroit's biggest meth/cocaine rings. That made a lot of people angry. Hell, according to word on the street, there was even a price on his head of 250K. You try to sleep thinking about that, then add the damn cat. He gathered the sheet around himself and rolled over, right into a 20 lb. purring ball of black fur!
 FUR?!? If the cat was on the bed, then...SHIT!
He was off the bed and had his gun out of the bio-safe and into his hand in an instant. He was a bigger guy, but when your ass is on the line, you can move with surprising speed. The door to the bedroom was closed; that gave him a little time. The windows were blacked out, in his line of work you slept when you could, and he needed it dark. Another point in his favor. He had almost made it to the door when the sound of the latch turning diverted him to the hinge side. He'd be behind whoever entered. The door opened quietly, just enough for a body to slip through. The only light on in the whole apartment was the light above the stove. What little light it did cast, threw a giant's shadow briefly across the wall. Before the door closed silently.
It was black again. He heard soft steps glide across the carpet towards the bed. He sidestepped towards the light switch. He had night sights on his house gun, an FN Herstal FNX45 Tactical. The problem was he couldn't see his target. He could see the sight's faint green glow as he raised the pistol towards the figure he heard more than saw by the bed. He cursed himself for not adding a tactical light under the barrel. His hand found the switch for the overhead light as the sights leveled out. He took a breath...and flicked off the safety as he hit the switch.
 The light was blinding as he brought his right hand up to support his left. He tightened the pressure on the trigger as the figure came into focus...
"God Dammit Gina!!! I almost shot you!!!"
Standing before him, completely nude, was Gina McKinnen Attorney at Law, all five foot, two inches of her.
Her tanned and toned body looked amazing, even in the stark light from above. Perky breasts, not overly large. Topped by pinkish brown nipples stiffened by the whirring a/c.
"What the Hell were you thinking?" He asked, lowering the gun.
"I wanted to surprise you," she said, wide-eyed. "I guess I did..."
"Jesus Christ hon, you can't DO that!!!
"But I missed you; I got done early and caught a redeye home. I planned on waking you up with some mind blowing sex. I even got undressed in the other room so I wouldn't wake you!"
She said, slinking her way towards him, hips rolling. She laid a hand on his chest, stroking the hair there.
"My God, your heart is racing...is that me?" She asked looking up at him.
"If by 'you,' you mean did you scare the shit out of me? Then yes...that's you!" He grumbled.
She reached her other hand up to the back of his neck to run her fingers through his hair as she pressed against him.
"Don't be mad. I promise, never again" she purred as she pulled him down for a kiss, fingers tightening in his hair.
He lost himself in the kiss as she ground against him, and nothing else seemed to matter. She broke the kiss and stood on tip-toes to reach his ear, taking the lobe between her teeth and tugging. She slid the hand from his chest down inside his boxers and wrapped her hand around him.
"If some part of you," She whispered breathlessly, releasing his ear. "is not inside some part of me in the next two minutes I may just scream!"
He wrapped his arm around her slender waist as her lips found his mouth again and lifted her to him. She wrapped her legs around him as he walked her to the bed. Laying his weapon on the nightstand, he gently lowered her back on the bed.
He bent over her, to kiss her again. As he did so, she pulled her legs up and hooked the big toe of each foot in the waistband of his boxers. She deftly slid them from his hips, pulling them out and over his erection.
"The girl has skills..." He thought.
Then she pulled him into her, and he couldn't think of anything at all.


At 6 am the alarm clock drug him back from the world of dreams. Gina was still asleep, so he padded naked into the bathroom to start his day. First things first he thought, I need a hot shower. He stepped into the steaming streams and caught a faint hint of her perfume, light and seductive, before reaching for the soap. Stepping from the shower, he wrapped the towel around his waist. It barely fit; he'd have to do something about that. A quick shave, and a brush of his teeth before running a comb through his receding hairline. Deodorant and a splash of Tom Ford Oud Wood cologne, a gift from Gina. At almost $100 an ounce, it was too pricey for him on a cop's salary. He did have to admit, it smelled damn good!
 Gina greeted him with a cup of tea and a kiss as he came back into the bedroom.
The guys at the precinct had always given him grief for drinking tea and not coffee.
"Tea is a chick's drink." They'd say
"Nobody has ever mistaken me for a chick." He'd reply.

"So today's the day huh?" she asked as she stretched out on the bed once again.
"Yeah, Cronenburg figures he can wrap my testimony up in a day...maybe two," He answered as he started dressing.

Roger Cronenburg, Assistant District Attorney on the rise! By all accounts, the DA's job would be his for the taking when the current DA retired next year. He'd fought hard to draw the Gallardo case, my case, and to put these guys away.
Don Santo Gallardo, a Mexican national, had ruthlessly pushed out the old school gangs. In a series of shootings, bombings, and, at least, one beheading before enough was enough. He had a stranglehold on the cocaine business. When Meth cut into his bottom line, he cut into that business too. Making his base of operations on Detroit's Southwest side, "MexicanTown" to the locals.
He attended Most Holy Redeemer Catholic Church every Sunday. Sent his kids to Cesar Chavez Academy, and appeared to be a pillar of the community. But Don Santo had an Achilles heel, a fondness for tall, blonde-haired blue-eyed white girls. Something in short supply in Mexicantown!

"You want me to come?" She was laying on her stomach now,
her feet kicking in the air, watching him.
"Don't you have to work?" He asked, adjusting his tie.
"I told you last night; I finished early. Remember? I'm not expected back until Friday...I'm all yours until then."
"To be honest, I don't remember much after turning on the light and finding you naked in my room!"
He replied with a crooked grin.
"Good," She said smugly, "exactly as it should be..."

The sun sets...

We were once ubiquitous throughout the West, like sagebrush, tumbleweeds, and sunsets.
But, as the sun sets so did our days, technology made an end of us. 
That's why true cowboys are so hard to find.

Oh, but there was a time.

Sign here...

They seek me out, desirous of a boon.
Fame or fortune, great skill or endless love...
That's how these Faustian deals work.
Promises made, one soul forfeit, contracts signed in blood.
Be careful what you wish for, you just may get it.

Gifts

Catastrophe! 
Tires squeal, glass breaks and metal crumples. 
The bike and I are a wreck.
They part me out like an old Dodge.
A kidney to her, corneas to him.
My heart to a nice young man.
May it serve him well.

Left behind

 I am a Widow, weary and lost...
I'm Alisa Lynn Bulford, Ally to my friends.
But he never called me that, always Alisa. The way he said it melted my heart. Every time.  
It was four years ago that I married the love of my life, Jerry. Three days later he shipped out to war.

 I remember the first time I met him. Mom and I had gone to Spicer's for apples and such. We were baking Mom's Blue Ribbon pies for the holidays. And everyone knew Spicer's had the best apples! As they rang up our purchases, he quietly bagged them for us and put them into our cart. He was already in High school, about 4 years ahead of me. Tall and broad-shouldered deep blue eyes and tousled hair the color of corn silk. I caught him looking at me and as our eyes met, he smiled and winked at me. My foolish young heart nearly stopped!

 We started dating when I turned 16, and we'd been together ever since. He was quiet, gentle and strong. The strength of someone that knows themselves, and is comfortable with who they are. After he graduated he started working construction, doing rough carpentry. His parents didn't have the money to send him to college, so he thought he'd work and go part-time. His Grandfather died and left him a piece of land, out east of town down a little one lane dirt road. He told me, "I'm gonna build us a house, right here!" gesturing towards a clearing in the trees. And so he did.

 You know how they say "Beware the wrath of a gentle man"? I think they were talking about my Jerry. Once when we were out at a party, and there was a group of guys home from college. They were drunk and acting up, but Jerry ignored them. Until one grabbed my ass and tried to stick his tongue down my throat. The look that came over his face was like the calm at the center of a hurricane. A temporary respite, before the forces of nature destroy you. He snatched this guy up by the front of his shirt, holding him a foot off the ground. He pulled him close and said one word "Apologize!".
That's when his buddies jumped in. Jerry went through them like a bull in a china shop. No wonder his buddies called him "Bull"! He was always so fiercely protective of me, it made me feel treasured.
I only saw that look one other time. 

The day the twin towers fell.

 A month later he was off to Marine Corps boot camp at Parris Island. After completing "boot" as he called it, he had two weeks leave before deployment. 
We decided we should get married before he left.

 Four years, but it seems like yesterday. We Skyped every chance we could, I even got to know some of the guys in his unit that way. We planned our lives together, from 7,000 miles away. We planned our "Honeymoon" in Hawaii, for when he got home. We talked of kids, and holidays and what he'd do when he got back. I hadn't been slacking either, I'd gotten my Nursing degree. I was an ICU nurse at Clemson Memorial, a couple towns over.

 Then his time was almost done. I spoke with him the morning of his last day of tour and asked him what he missed most. He laughed "You mean besides green grass, trees and the smell of rain?"
"Yeah, besides that..."
He got serious and said "Your smell, like flowers after a rain...it calms my soul". He always said quirky, endearing little things like that. It was the last time we'd get to speak before he got home. 
"Be Careful!" I told him.
"You know it. Love you, I'll be home before you know it!" 
Then he gave me that smile, the one that was just for me...and winked. There went my heart again.
It would take almost two weeks he'd said, catching what flights he could.

 The day I found out started so normal. 
Buttered wheat toast with honey and English breakfast tea with a splash of cream. A little treat before showering and getting dressed. It was a fine spring day, sunny and bright. The trees were alive with birdsong as even the birds sang their approval.   So I threw on my favorite sun dress and sandals. I had errands to run. I was throwing him a big "Welcome Home" party and preparations had to be made!

 I was just grabbing my purse when I heard a pounding at the front door. Funny, I hadn't heard a car come up the drive. But when I opened the door, no one was there. A sudden gust of wind blew into the house, I must have left a window open allowing it to blow through. So strong, my eyes watered as it blew my hair off my shoulders and flattened my dress against me. It was weird, as the morning had been so calm. It was a warm wind and as it wrapped around me...for just a moment, I felt safe and loved. Suddenly, I just didn't want to leave anymore. 

 I latched the screen door. It banging in the wind is what I must have mistaken for a visitor. I made another cup of tea and set at the table with my phone. I could make some calls instead of going in person, I had plenty of time. It's hard to explain, but right then I just felt...whole. Happy and content, like fitting the last piece in a complex puzzle. It was not to last.

 The car came up the drive slowly, just after noon. 
A dark car with Government plates. No, I thought no no no no! This isn't happening, he's safe, he's safe...it was his last day!!! I watched through the window as two Marines in dress blues got out of the car. My heart sank. Like a zombie, I stumbled to the door and opened it. Wind SCREAMED through the house tearing the latch free and throwing the screen door wide. Gathering dirt, sticks and leaves as it roared towards the officers. Blowing their hats from their close-cropped heads and assaulting them with debris. As if attempting to force them back to their car. Then, as if admitting defeat it just stopped and a sudden calm surrounded us. Even the birds quit singing.

 As the shorter of the two retrieved their hats, the taller one stepped up to the porch.
"Mrs. Bulford? Alisa Bulford?"
"Y-yes" I stammered
"Maam, I'm afraid I have some bad news..."
I don't remember much after that, what matters when your world falls apart? After they left I just fell into bed, clutched his pillow to my breast and sobbed. Like the whole world felt my pain, the wind came up. It howled and roared like a deranged beast circling the house, trying to get in. For three days I didn't leave the house or answer the phone, in fact, I rarely left my bed. 
And for three days the wind raged.

 Finally, I decided to answer the incessant ringing of the phone. Friends and family surrounded me and saved me. God bless Jerry's parents, they took care of all the arrangements...I just couldn't. It wasn't right, it wasn't FAIR!

 It seemed the whole town turned out for Jerry's funeral. In death, he'd become the town's favored son. A hero worth remembering. I kept it together pretty well through most of the ceremony, I think Jerry would have been proud. 

 It was an oppressively hot day and everyone was melting graveside. I jumped at the first volley of the 21-gun salute. Then they played "Taps", as two young Marines folded the flag that draped the coffin. That's when the tears started again.

 As the first tear started down my cheek a gentle breeze caressed my face. Changing it's direction. 
Like someone wiping it away with a thumb, as they cradled my face in their hands. The flag was transferred to the solemn senior officer, amid slow formal salutes and heel taps. As he knelt before me and handed me my husbands flag.
It started to rain...
Jerry would be pleased.

The one that I didn't enter...

Hi Folks!

This week's prompt was "who's that knocking at the door?" So in typical overachiever fashion I cranked out three stories to play with. #1 you can read below, #2 I entered, and #3 I couldn't define the idea in just 42 words so I turned it into an entry in the Fiction/poetry grid of Yeah Write. 

Named "Homecoming". 

After writing this, I really couldn't throw my baby away, so here it is....

Futility

1253 West Elm Drive.
How many times have I been here?
Bringing her home, drunk or stoned.
I rap on the door.
Deep inside a dog barks.
But how do you say: "Your daughter's never coming home."?
"Who is it?"
"Officer Burton"

I hope you enjoyed it. I thought I was getting in a darkness rut, so I shelved this one in favor of one a little funnier.
Turns out it may have been a mistake, as there was very little love for our feline warrior Thomas. He came in a rather disappointing 3-way tie for 7th place. The winner (which I predicted) was amazingly well done and got one of my votes. Her blogger name is Cyn K and her story was "Dreams knocked Down", read it here.
Also, my Fiction/Poetry submission didn't make the grid, mainly due to some structural errors which I believe I've fixed. I'll try resubmitting for the weekend "Moonshine" grid. Wish me luck!

Be Well Folks!

Beastly Bear

Unappreciated

I am a warrior returning home.
Hungry and tired, I bring spoils of war!
I beat at the door, why doesn't she hear?
Footsteps, like distant thunder roll towards the door.
"THERE'S my Tomas kitty...EWWWWW, is that a dead mouse?"
*Sigh*

Homecoming

Homecoming

 I am a battle-weary soldier, heading home.

Sergeant First Class Jerry Allen Bulford, "Bull" to my friends. Four years in "The Sandbox" is enough for anybody. I saw a lot in my time there and lost some good friends. Like on my last day "in country" before shipping home, I pulled convoy escort duty and we hit an IED. Three guys died, and four of my men were wounded.

 I visited my wounded guys in the infirmary before I left, they were in a lot of pain. So zoned out on morphine I don't even think they knew I was there.

But I knew, that's what matters. I left behind that dry, dusty air. The foreign sights, the sounds and smells. It will be good to be home where things are green again, to smell the rain and her.

 My Alisa, she always smells like flowers after a rain. Sweet, cool and clean. We got married three days before I shipped out. That was the hardest part, leaving her.

 I sail over oceans dark and deep, jealously guarding their secrets. To the south lay the islands of Hawaii. We have a trip planned there when I return. At last, the coast of California comes in sight. Over my own country at last! Got diverted north at Kansas city, the remnants of a hurricane they say. Finally, I hit my little hometown.

 There's Spicer's Grocery where I bagged groceries as a kid. My first job. Old man Spicer's sweeping the sidewalk. Just like he has every morning, for 30 years. The Royal movie theater where I got my first kiss from Alisa. Ryan's Barber Shop where I got my first haircut. I take a spin around the town square, remembering. But I can not linger here...

I head east out of town, to our one lane gravel road. I slow here, savoring the peace after so much war. The green of the grass, the joyous cacophony of birdsong. Then I can wait no longer... I rush up the road to the little white house at the end of the street.

 I beat at the door. The screen door slapping makes a terrible racket. Like a vision, she appears before me, opening the door!

 Rushing in, I bring tears to her eyes. I brush the hair from her shoulders and wrap myself around her, crushing her sundress tight against her. I breathe her in. Sweet, cool and clean. Oh, how I've missed her!

But she can not see me.
For I am the wind.

And she doesn't know that yet... 

Tooting my own horn...

Beastly Bear Fiction

Hi Folks!

Those that know me already know, those that don't will find out.

I'm not really one for blowing my own horn, never have been.

Probably stems from my school days where I was quite accomplished in Drama Club. I won several "best actor" awards in local and regional competitions and was duly proud. In discussing this with my extended family, I was later told that someone I was very fond of thought that I was very conceited about my successes.

I never spoke of them again.

Fast forward to this week.

I entered the Yeah Write weekly micro story challenge. This weeks prompt was "where can I get one of those?". You may not use the prompt in the body of the story or in the title, but you must convey the idea so that even someone that doesn't know the prompt would understand.

I lucked upon a pretty good idea I thought, going with a Depression-era story.

Lo and behold, I actually won this week by a single vote. Just eking by EagleAye and his "Curious Encounter" (he is really great, check out the link to his site). Only fair he took third last week with one more vote than me. Lol

My deepest thanks to any that voted for me, and a deeper thanks to those who took time out of their day to read all the entries and vote.

So this is my Horn blowing post! I still have tons of room to improve, (as not even half of the 36 voters thought I was one of the top 3) but this is encouraging. 

So, I will wear my badge proudly and display it here as well as my regular blog Den of the Beastly Bear. Stop by if you enjoy my writing, there I tell true life stories in what I hope are entertaining ways.

There, now you will hear no more about it!

Be Well Folks!

Beastly Bear

New Hope

New Hope

"A Depression" Roosevelt calls it.

Neither work nor food, nor hope.

Hunger claws the soul like a drowning beast, scrambling for air.

Stoop-shouldered desperate men with hollow eyes, standing in line.

Wait, there is a man with soup...and bread!

"Hey, Buddy..."

Last Ride

Beastly Bear Fiction

Last Ride

The "Wolverine", we called Bill when he rode with us.
From Michigan, he was hirsute, big and strong.
He seemed indestructible.
Much too "larger than life" to die.
But now I'm one of six...
Walking him on this final journey.
Peace, Brother.

Here is a challenge taste...

Beastly Bear Fiction

Ok, here is the idea...
You are given a prompt.
Answer the question in exactly 42 words, don't rely on a word processor.
Use correct spelling and punctuation.
Do not use the prompt either in your title or story.
Your story must make sense to the reader, even if they don't know the question.

Think that's easy? Try one yourself...

Last week's question was: Why are you naked?

I did not enter last week, but my good blogging buddy Kathy at "The Giggling Truckers Wife Write" took second place. You may read her story here.

Kathy sometimes bounces ideas off me to see if things work/make sense. She's brilliant and rarely needs my help, as in this case I told her it was great! But in true perfectionist mode she didn't listen to me, tweaked it a little more and nearly won!!! Goes to show what I know.

It got me to thinking (again, I DO realize how scary that is), what would I have done with that?!?

So I wrote one myself, too late to enter...but not too

late for you to read...

Why Me?

First date with the man of my dreams and I'm late...

She thought stepping from the shower, a towel wrapped around her.

Doorbell. Through the peephole, relief...UPS.

Open the door, her cat shoots out! Chasing, the towel drops...door closes. Locked.

So, there you have a taste. Give it a try yourself, it's fun!

Be Well Folks, 
Beastly Bear

A New Beginning...

Beastly Bear Fiction

Ladies and Gentlemen, boys and girls, children of all ages...sit back and let me spin you a yarn.

This marks the debut of a new; well let's say an "addendum" blog, dealing specifically with my attempts to write fictionalized stories.

If you've read my main blog "Den of the Beastly Bear" you've read my true stories with only names, dates or locations changed to give those involved a modicum of anonymity. 

Some of these will be for weekly blogger challenges like the "micro-stories" challenge where you must tell the story in exactly 42 words.
Based on a question or picture supplied by the challenge. 

THAT is tougher than you'd think...

Sometimes it will just be something rattling around in my head that might come up from a conversation, a picture, a song who knows.

As a long time lover of reading and books, I've always toyed with the idea of writing fiction. Not just relating true stories in what I've hoped is an entertaining way.

I'll start with a short story I wrote which stemmed from helping a friend by proofreading her story for a challenge. Our stories really have nothing in common, save the picture from which they drew their inspiration. Amazing how two minds can see the same thing, yet go different places. This was also not a 42 word challenge.

Originally I called this "Sunset",  but I think a more apropos title may be "The End of Things." I hope you like it.

So without further adieu, here is...

 The End of Things

As Jane poured the last of the wine into her glass, she stared out at the setting sun and wiped away a tear. She thought of it as a metaphor for her relationship with Dave, who lay motionless entangled in the rumpled sheets where they'd just made love. For the very last time.

High school sweethearts, they'd been together through 25 years and two beautiful children, good years. That was over now, and never would be again. It was the affair.
An intern, barely out of college. Wide-eyed and so very impressed with him, he thought she didn't know.

So for their Anniversary, she'd rented an oceanfront hotel room, he loved the sea. A bottle of his favorite wine and they would make love one last time before she told him she knew. She loved him so much; it was the only way she could ever let him go.

So, when it was over and he lay back drowsy and spent in the damp tangled sheets. She got up to get them more wine; her purse was right there. 
"So," she asked over her shoulder. "were you thinking of her?"
 She reached inside.
"What..." he replied sleepily. "What are you talking about babe?"
"I said, Were you...thinking...of her???" She said slowly as she turned and leveled the revolver at his chest.
That woke him up.

The windows were open, and she could hear them coming now. 
A distant wail over the crash of waves. Everyone's windows were open...enjoying that gentle breeze that blew in off the ocean. She was sure everyone had heard.

She finished up the last of her wine and gently set the glass aside,
raised the gun to her temple and looking out on the very last sunset of her life.
She joined him in the next.



Well, there you have it.
I had posted this on my main blog, but it really doesn't belong there. So I created this one.

Stay tuned entering my first challenge Wednesday, Oct. 21st.!  

As always comments are appreciated if you like what you read tell me. If you think it sucks, tell me that too! I'm a big boy; you won't hurt my feelings!

Be Well Folks,
Beastly Bear