Branded: A Short Story

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He saw the brand-mark just below her left breast as she tore open her shirt and he knew that he was to kill her before dawn.

“What are you looking at, sweets?”

“Ah! I am gazing at your perfect figure. You are beautiful,” he said sincerely. His eyes were still fixed on the hexagonal brand, which shone with multiple hues even in the almost dark room. The only light was that of the kerosene lamp on a nearby table.

“Then what are you doing there? Unzip your pants. I want you… oh baby! I have always wanted you,” she remarked seductively, touching herself.

He caressed his crotch and moved towards her. He reached for her and kissed her deeply, biting her lips. A drop of blood appeared which he licked. She moaned in response and got him out of his clothes.

“What would you want me… want me to do? I will do anything,” she was running her fingers through his dark brown hair as he explored her body through his tongue; his mind distracted in trying to find a way to end this demon. She was a childhood friend but now, she was branded. She was not herself anymore and the best he could do for her was to kill her.

He looked up to see her eyes glinting. They had gone violet. She had taken her cursed form.

“I… will… do… anything… for… you…,” her eyeballs were rolling out of control and she was trembling in his arms.

He shouted when she flayed her blistered tongue and abraded it across his lips through his nose to his forehead.

That was a very long night. There came no help in return of his shrieks; those who heard him envied him for his luck on finding a girl who could make him cry so lustily.

.

* For Trifecta.

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Mystical Haiku

the sun rising red

deer bows down to sip from lake

mystic fog surrounds

~

mystic fog surrounds

light mirrors at water’s face

a heart thumping loud

*For Carpe Diem # 251 Mystical.

 

Haunted

The rusty door creaked open.

“The house seems to be abandoned since forever.”

“It is spooky.”

“I like spooky things,” he held her hands grinning like a fool, which she adored and entered their abode for the summers.

“There will be so much work to do.”

“I have called for the workers. They will come tomorrow and make the place livable for us.”

They had reached the center of the lobby and took a look around at the ancient tapestry and crimson walls in the mid-afternoon light; the floor was bare but for a carpet bathed in dust and a grandfather-chair in a corner.

“This house is not haunted, is it?” she meekly asked.

“Oh yes it is.”

She gasped at the mad look in his eyes and that cruel smile, she had never seen before. She trembled from within as some red fluid appeared on his lips and he snarled.

She ran for the old rusty door but it was somehow locked. She hastily looked back but he was nowhere to be seen.

“Oh god… oh god…”

A loud banging sound resounded from somewhere. Tears appeared in her eyes, “Please save me… oh please!”
“What has happened to him?”

She crouched down still at that very position and felt a dull ache at her chest.

Some one was coming for her; she could hear the footsteps, soft but not silent on the carpet. They sounded distant. She was in a dream world; sweaty, her entire body numb but for the sharp pain at her chest and her ribs.

“Are you okay, darling?”
“I was just joking with some help from…”

She felt a soft touch on her face and she looked up at him, into his eyes, now completely normal, gazing at her with fear or was it love, she did not know. She closed her own eyes shut, never to open them ever again.

 *Written for the Trifecta Challenge.

Embers: Composing Tan Renga

scattered in sand

embers of a saltwood fire

face to face with stars

~

bright red still smoldering hot

touch not, but savor the warmth

* The challenge was to compose the Tan Renga: I have written the second stanza in order to do so. The first stanza is by the poet Jane Reichhold.

* Written in response of Carpe Diem’s Tan Renga Challenge. 

Frock: A 100 Word Story

Copyright – Janet Webb

The not-so-red, slightly pink frock was hovering in the air and it appeared as if  an invisible girl was clad in it, hung there by the side-railing.

“Momma, see that pretty frock,” the girl walking along her mother by the street, pointed towards this piece of cloth.

“It is pretty.”

“I want it,” her eyes glinted with hope.

“I’ll ask dada to get one for you.”

“But I want this one,” she tugged at her mother’s arm, restraining to move any further.

“Don’t whine.”

“But…”

She was pulled up in the arms and taken away, her eyes adorned with tears.

Note:-

This is written in consideration of the Friday Fictioneers writing prompt.