Monthly Archives: October 2011

Menage Monday – Week 7

The Dogs in the Firelight

Five years I’d been ridin’ these rails.  I left my Maritime home hopin’ for somethin’ better, but instead found savagery, both by men… and, by beast.

The snow was blowin’ cross the prairies, an early season blizzard.  The west bound CPR line was full of vagabonds heading to the coast seekin’ out better weather.  Me and my travellin’ buddy, Greystone —a goliath of an Indian but gentle as a Sunday lamb— left a packed freight car just outside of Coleman.  The men were getting restless and we wanted no part of it.  Thought we’d wait for another train before things went south.

Greystone found an overhang out of the wind that was rippin’ through the pass, it always blew here, on a good day it’d blow you toRegina, on a bad, you could find yourself in theAtlantic.  This was a different wind though, from the southeast, cold and bitter.

I didn’t see’em comin’.

Greystone’d gone off to kill dinner, I lit a fire.  I was used to hearin’ the wolf at my door, both real and imagined, but this wasn’t the cry of no wolf, it was meaner, desperate, hungry, and it was close.  Feet padded in the bush around me.  I caught a shadow in the firelight.  At first I thought it was a cougar, but cougars don’t howl.  Another joined, something danglin’ from his mouth.  I knew right away it was Greystone’s head.  He dropped it, then another came, draggin’ the body.  They let out a long howl and a half-dozen more joined the feast.

I couldn’t do nothin’.  I sat behind my firelight and watched as the savage dogs ripped and fed on my friend, right there in front of me, like they was mockin’ me, tellin’ me I were next.

Two dogs played tug-o-war with Greystone’s braids in their mouths, fightin’ over him like two pups over sausage links.  Another leapt in and ripped the head away.  I heard bone smash as it broke the head on the rocks.  It was the final bit of feed.  Eight dogs fought each other over the remainin’ meat, lappin’ at it.  Then they stopped and stared at me.

I threw a stick on the fire, sending up a cloud of sparks.  They didn’t flinch.  The dogs spread out, searching for a way in and letting off low growls, tellin’ me I was their next meal.  Then they all stopped and turned.

A shadow appeared off to my right.  At first I thought maybe it was Greystone, but this was too big, far too big.  He let loose a long deep growl.  The pack dispersed.  He laid chase, barely makin’ a sound as he followed’em through the trees and out of site.

I spent the night stoking the fire, chilled to the bone and terrified.  Daylight brought little relief.  The scraps of blood soaked clothes and gnawed bones reminded me of what happened.

The rails once again beckoned me, but not west, I was long overdue for home.

The Friday Picture Show – Week 1

The Ghost
He was merely a shadow in the clouded moonlight. I went to the window but he was gone. I took my jacket and emerged into the cool autumn night. The TV screamed; a classic Hitchcockian soundtrack.
That was who I saw, but how?
A flutter of wings exploded from treetops as I stepped into the woods, tracking another glimpse of him.
His silhouette filled the space where the trail wandered from the forest, a hefty frame.
He turned to me, “Do enjoy The Birds.” With that, he disappeared, replaced instead by a murder of crows, cawing in the still night.

#HumpdayChallenge Week 20

Desires of the Flesh

Moonlight glistened from the beads of water dripping from her naked body as she lay on the stone.  I could not help but take pause.  A fog engulfed my being; lost in her malevolent beauty.

“You need her.”  It said, “You must have her,” it insisted.

I stepped into the night, enraptured by the possibilities of her flesh.

“You’ve come.”  She said.

“Yes.”  I responded.  Was I not there of my own volition?

She turned to me, eyes blazing with desire.

Too late I found this appetite for my flesh to be, both a deep lust, and a true hunger.

Tuesday Tales – Challenge 12

Love and Blood

She entered my bed, naked, cold; her touches brought a wave of goose-pimples across my body.  My heat made her feel alive, she said.  Her preternatural touch reminded me that I was.

Her lips were one of the few places which held heat.  They met with mine, gently at first, then forcefully as I explored her other warm places.  Our bodies melded, writhing.  Gently, she bit me, seeking nourishment from my climaxing soul, I could no longer hold back.

We melted apart under the covers, satisfied from receiving what we so desperately needed; love… and blood.

Menage Monday – Week 6


Three teens sat on the bricks outside the tunnel entrance passing a joint and eating stolen Halloween candy.

Ricky took a long toke and chased it with a packet of M&Ms.  “Am I high or do you hear voices coming from the tunnel?”  He passedDevonthe joint.

“Yes.”  Susan replied. Devonchocked out a smoky giggle.

“Dude, I’m serious.”  He hopped off his perch and wandered down to the entrance.  “Hello!”  He yelled.

“Ello, ello, ello.”  It answered.  He jumped.

“Dude, it’s just an echo.” Devonsaid.

“I know.  Got any shoelace licorice?”

Susan reached into the bag and pulled out a package.  Rickey opened it up.  With the concentration that only the stoned could muster, he carefully tied the confectionary in a knot around a stick.  “Lighter.”  He ordered.

“What’re you doing?” Devonasked.

“Making a torch.”  He replied, as if it was obvious.

“Okay… Why?”

“I’m going in, coming?”  They both shrugged and joined their friend.  By the sugar-light of their makeshift torch they entered the tunnel.  What they didn’t know was that the pack of kids they had stolen from followed them and were hiding out in the tunnel, lying in wait to seek their revenge.


“Halloweeners retrieve stolen candy, thieves get burned.”

#3ForThursday – Week 3

…Lest Ye Be Judged

I folded my wings under my trench.  Walking through the wreckage I wondered how long this church would sit a derelict ruin, a reminder of the scum claiming to do the Lords bidding. I do the Lords bidding.

“Who do you think did this detective?”  The fire marshal ran the scanner looking for hot spots.

“I don’t think we’ll ever know.  Likely one of these nut jobs.”  I lied.  These people had a lot of friends, we weren’t among them.

I had to return.  I couldn’t wait to see the look on the Phelps’ face when he faces his maker.

“Is this the Topeka bunch?”  Seventy people stood in line, chatting and laughing, completely at ease.

“Yes your highness.”  A man replied.

“I’m not your highness.”  Peter unravelled a scroll.  “Phelps?”  He called.

A man quickly made his way to Peter’s desk.  “Present.”

“I’m sure it’s merely for his amusement that we are even going through this formality.”  He shot me a glare.

“After the church came crashing down on us, we were not anticipating judgement,” Phelps said. “After all we have done for the cause, I was expecting a free pass.”

Peter cocked his eyebrow.  “A free pass, here?”

“Who started the fire?”  I asked.

Peter’s fingers ran down the list.

A petrified man involuntarily came forth.  “I didn’t…”

“This isn’t really the place to lie, John.”  I said.

“I had to stop them, I’m…” tears overcame him.

“Gay.”  Peter finished for him.  “That’s okay.  Up here, we’re very understanding.”

The gates opened, and an angel appeared to escort him through.  The former congregation stared wide eyed.

“Just so you know,” Peter addressed the former congregation, “God doesn’t hate fags, God, hates bigots!”

In bursts of fire and screams, sixty-nine people falsely claiming to be Christians faced their judgement.

#HumpdayChallenge Week 17

“How you doin’ chief? Everything aces?” I heard his laboured breathing behind me.
“Was ’til now.” he wheezed. “Wonderin’ why, you’se on my turf.”
I waved for him to sit. “Best sushi in town chief.” I spread a liberal amount of Japanese horseradish onto a dynamite roll. “You oughta try it; it’ll cure what ails ya.”
“What ‘ails’ me is you corrupting my men.”
I popped the roll into my mouth and savoured it. “Please, join me.”
“I don’t do raw fish.” He said.
“Afraid of what they been eatin’?” I joked.
“And their bedfellows, if you catch my drift.”

#5MinuteFiction – Week 71

The Neighbour

She knew her neighbour was Greek, she had been told that was why she had all the statues.  It was one thing to have a bird bath or perhaps a small sculpture in your garden, but it was another thing to have a small army throughout your yard.  She would have complained to the community association but they all seemed to be afraid of her. Maybe it was the stone statues she had guarding her door.  Although not carbon copies of each other, each had a menacing body guard or cop look.

Most of the people in this neighbourhood had at least a touch of class, not a pink flamingo or garden gnome to be seen, considering it was southFloridathat was pretty impressive.

She looked out of her window and spotted a new statue, one that kind of looked like the postman.  She had had enough, it was time to have a little face-to-face with this gaudy woman.

Cybil marched past the new figurine, she barely noticed the parcel he was holding was marked:


She rang the doorbell several times and waited.  “Go away, I am not to be seen!”  A voice said from inside.

Cybil was not going to be turned away.  “Come and face me, I need to talk to you about the state of your yard!”

A series of clicks and the door opened.

“So the last person that lived here, what happened to them?”  He asked the realitor.

“The neighbours said they were tired of all of the lawn ornaments.”  She said.

“Well I find them quite charming.”  The wife of the prospective buyer replied.  “Especially this one.”  A middle aged stone figure stared at her.  “I just wish she’d be turned away a little.”

Tuesday Tales – Challenge 9

The Ceremony

I saw my fiancé amongst the dancers, twirling fire and chanting.  Jared and I were Pagans, not the sacrifice a … oh wait… I, am not the sacrifice a virgin to the Sun God type, just following an alternative and natural belief system.

“It is time!”  A voice echoed.  Flabbergasted I strained at the vines holding my naked body.

“Today great gods, we shall sacrifice virginity in your honour!”

Jared emerged, his chest glistening with sweat.  My loins comprehended the situation before my mind, and fluttered in anticipation.  I was not the sacrifice, my innocence was.

Soon, we were wed.


Honourable Mention – Best use of word “Flabbergasted”

Medusa the Sculptor

Medusa the Sculptor

He was once known as Alexandros of Antioch, I simply knew him, or thought I knew him, as Alex.

It was not uncommon for us to take lovers, like all creatures we have our needs and having them fulfilled by those like us was not an easy task.  The gods connived and plotted, there was no such thing as sex for the sake of sex, a mortal lover, on the other hand, had no such plans.  They were content lay with a god, make love to a god and be showered with the affections of a god; that was enough.  Mortal’s power struggles were nothing of concern to us.

Alex was a gentleman, with hard but tender hands, artist’s hands.  He was a sculptor, but only the rudimentary type, making grave markers, both ornate and plane.  He claimed to have been a sculptor of statues and figurines, but none of any I have seen.

“Why have you not sculpted me Alex?”  I asked one day.  We laid upon the soft ground, him tired, yet satisfied, myself satiated yet not yet fully satisfied.

“I have not yet found the motivation.”  He replied.

I stood.  Naked against the warmth of the sun, the perfection that only a god could contain exposed to the trees and rocks, and to him.  “Perhaps this motivates.”  I responded.

“You have been sculpted many times Aphrodite, why by me?”  He asked.

“For I am your lover and you are an artist, these moments are fleeting for you.  Do you not wish to capture my beauty before it is too late?”  I responded.  “Do you not want the world to see my beauty and know that it was you who captured it?”

“Why are you gods so vain?”  He asked.  “Do you have no modesty?”

“Perfection requires no modesty, but you would not know.  You are an imperfect lover and man, I shall find another.”  I fled, angered.

“Wait!”  He called.  I continued.  He gave chase, finally catching me near the Amphitheatre of Milos.  “Aphrodite.”  He grabbed my arm, I turned and hit him, knocking him to the ground.  My cold stare was my undoing.  It was then that I realized who Alex was, yes he was a brilliant sculptor but he did not sculpt with his hands, but rather with his heart and with his eyes.  His hair began to grow and wriggle and his form changed from that of a mortal man to the shapely outline of a woman, a woman that I knew too well.  My own anger and vanity was my undoing, before I fully realized upon whom I was looking my likeness was sculpted.  Sculpted not at the hands of Alexandro of Antioch, as my captures at the Louvre would tell you, but by the treacherous god Medusa.  The punishment for my vanity.