Fiction Friday: [Advantage Fara]

I wiped the blood from my lip as a smile spread across my face. Although it wasn’t my intention, the fact that it angered her was a bonus. When you’re angry, you’re not focused. She lunged at me and I crouched down sideswiping her leg. Before her head hit the ground I was on top of her, my knees digging into her thighs, my hands gripping her wrists.

The whistle blew and I got off of her.

“Advantage Fara.”

I looked across the mat as she shook out her arms and rolled her wrists. I shot a little smirk her way in hopes of riling her up even more.  It was easy to see that it had worked.

On the whistle, we cautiously made our way toward one another. I could see in her eyes that her judgment had clouded. She hated me and that trumped all her years of training.

I scanned her body noting that her breathing had elevated, her fists were tight, her core slack, her lip curled. Instead of scanning me for weak spots she kept her eyes locked on mine.

When she lunged at me again, I lowered my shoulder into her soft abdomen and used the momentum to flip her behind me. Landing on her back, I heard the unmistakable sound of the wind being knocked out of her.

Using my knees, I pinned her shoulders and my hands to pin her knees. She was not happy about it. Spitting expletives, she thrashed under my grasp and only grew angrier and more insulted when I didn’t budge.

Finally, the whistle blew.

“Advantage Fara.”

As I rose, she kicked me in the butt causing me to stumble forward. The ref blew the whistle again and raised the red flag. I laughed as I made my way to the side of the mat. She was seething.

Searching the stands I found Agent Olandu and watched as she scribbled into a notepad bearing the TELIA seal. I hoped she was writing about me. At sixteen years, four months and three days I was determined to be the youngest recruit pulled from the academy. And after that I would work hard to become the best agent they ever had.

The whistle blew and my focus tunneled once again to the task at hand. One more pin and I would be one step closer to my goal. Unfortunately for her, she was only going to get angrier. Advantage me.

Fiction Friday: [Elsewhere]

“Why is this my life?” Dawn sighed as she hung the last sheet up on the line. “Other people have dryers in their homes. Some even have maids and don’t do laundry at all. They just sit around eating bon bons and drinking martinis.”

Tina rolled her eyes at her little sister who pretended like she hadn’t noticed.

“Look, Dawn, we live in Maine, worse yet, Bremen and neither of us have any discernable talent worth getting us out of this place.”

It was Dawn’s turn to roll her eyes, but she felt guilty about it. She knew that Tina was bitter, angry even, and felt guilty because she had recently found out why. Of everyone in their family, heck, of everyone they knew, Tina was the one that should’ve made it out of this town.

At just five years old Tina started studying under Judith Balmer who had been a principle dancer with the New York City Ballet before retiring to Maine. According to the stories not only was Tina naturally gifted, she truly loved ballet. Her talent was so strong that her future was certain.

Then, when she was fourteen she met That Damn Russ and a year later she was pregnant. Not only did she never dance again, she gave up. Resigned herself to being stuck in Bremen, forever attached to That Damn Russ. Forever dreaming of what could have been.

At sixteen, despite being a very pretty girl, Dawn never had a boyfriend. She wasn’t going to be twenty years old with sadness in her eyes like her sister. She wasn’t going to get stuck with her own That Damn Russ.

When Dawn was eight she started getting an allowance and even at that young age she knew she had to save every penny. Every penny represented another step out of town. Babysitting, yard work, she took any job to reach her goal.

Every time she added her latest earnings to her Muppets lunchbox she fantasized about leaving in the middle of the night. Moving to New York without saying a word. She imagined sending her family postcards from Italy and Spain and Australia.

And she dared to hope that with each postcard sent Tina would find the strength to dance again.

Fiction Friday: [Higher Ground]

They say that New York City isn’t a very friendly place. I’ll tell you what, if I weren’t me I would have to disagree. I see the way they treat each other and man, what I wouldn’t give for just a fraction of that kindness.

Unfortunately, that’s not my lot in life.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t bothered by the way they look at me. Like I’m a piece of trash or as if my very existence inconveniences them somehow. Even worse are the ones that talk about me like I’m not even there.

Gross.

Dirty.

Vile.

They say.

I’ve lost count of the number of times a child’s been yanked away before they got too close. How many times I’ve been shooed away like I’m not even worthy of human companionship.

And as if on cue, a loud talking, burly man holding a cart dog almost steps on me.

Perfect.

“Get away from me you flying rat! Man, you’re so disgusting!”

His boot has me locked in its cross hairs and my instincts kick in.  Spreading my wings I rise before he can connect. I safely perch myself on one of the fancy light posts dotted along Central Park South and look down at the man who is now shoving his middle finger my way. I can’t return the gesture, obviously, so I’m just left feeling frustrated and highly offended.

Satisfied that he’s debased me enough, his attention returns to his friends. Look, I know by now that his lashing out is more about impressing them and less about me, but it doesn’t make it sting any less.

I look out over Central Park, hoping its beauty will bring me comfort. I remind myself that I am better than the insensitive lunk below. I remind myself that I am doing the best with the life I’ve been given. I remind myself that I took the high ground, morally and literally.

But, the more I hear his voice I am reminded of how much he hurt my feelings. A black cloud mixed with anger and sadness wells up in me and before I realize it I have flitted along the post and am directly above him. Then, without hesitation, I release my breakfast.

Enraged, he starts hurling expletives at me, but they fade in the wind as I fly away hoping to lose myself in the park, wishing I felt a little more satisfied.

Fiction Friday: [A Glimmer in the Gloom]

The key is in the lock and now he's home. I feel him in the room and my body screams.

Get up. Go to him.

But I don’t. I can’t. I hate myself for it.

Just add it to the list.

For the past week, this has been the ritual. Every single day. I wish it hadn’t been, but what can I do?

He comes home and I don’t acknowledge him. I don’t even look at him and as much as my heart is already broken I can feel it crack a little more each time.

I hear him take off his coat. Then his shoes. I close my eyes when I hear him walk over to me. I squeeze them tighter as he bends down to give me a kiss on the forehead.

I need him.

I need him.

I need him.

I want to tell him. Every molecule in my body screams for me to tell him, but I don’t. I can’t.

I can't look at him. I know that's all it will take to rip the stitches that are barely holding me together. The stitches that once removed will release more pain than I can handle. My mouth, my eyes, my heart—I have to keep them closed. It’s the only reason I haven’t been torn in two.

He whispers in my ear, tells me he loves me and I want to scream. I want to beg him not to say those words to me. To remind him that I don’t deserve them. How can he love me now? How can he be so kind and patient when I know he’s hurting, too?

These thoughts push on the stitches. I clutch at my belly to hold in the pain, but it only weakens me as I look down at my hands. They are folded, one on top of the other, over the spot that had been the source of overwhelming joy.

Just last week it was filled with life and hope. Our future.

Now its emptiness threatens to drag me into the darkness.

I feel the stitches slip. Eyes, mouth, heart—I shut them even tighter to fight against the ocean rising within. I know this is a losing fight. I know the time has come.

It starts as a whimper. Then I start to cry. And then I start to wail. I scream out against a pain greater than I have ever felt before. A pain that is mine. A pain that I deserve.

I don’t think I’ll ever stop. The tears fall in waves. Giant heart crushing waves. There’s no way I’ll ever stop.

Then, he’s here. He’s rocking me gently and telling me that it wasn’t my fault. Telling me that it will be okay. Telling me that he loves me.

He says it again. And again. And again.

He loves me.

He’s here.

Fiction Friday: [Creative Freedom]

Letters fill my head,
Begging to become words,
Begging to be released.

They tickle my brain
Until I set them free.

They travel to my hands
And tingle at my fingertips,

Whether holding a pen
Or perched over keys.
They bubble and dance
With anticipation.

They scream to be free.
And I release them
Into the world

Because I know
That setting them free
Sets me free.

Fiction Friday: [The Reckoning]

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Head full of fog I try to open my eyes, but it’s harder than it should be. Slowly and with full effort I finally succeed. My vision is as cloudy as my thoughts, but I am acutely aware that I am not at home.

As my eyes come into focus panic riddles my body so swiftly that I grow dizzy.

I was right, this is not my home.

In front of me is a door, but hope fades before it has a chance to flare. No knob, no handle. Not even hinges to try to unscrew. Above, below and side to side, nothing but concrete.

I’m in a concrete box.

I try to stand up. My legs are tingly and weak.

What the hell?

I gingerly shake them before attempting to rise again. Wobbly, but successful I stand and get my bearings.

Turning to face the back of the room I see a security camera in the corner, red light glowing. I stare at it wondering who is on the other side. I want to ask as much, but for the first time I realize how dry my throat is.

I swallow hard as my eyes drift over to the back wall. The fear induced gasp causes spittle to catch in my throat. A coughing fit doubles me over, hands on knees until it finally dislodges from my throat and splats onto the concrete floor.

I take a deep breath to gather my courage before looking up at the wall again.

You know what you did. Repent or die.

The words are painted across the wall. Fresh enough for beads of dark crimson to run from each letter toward the floor. My sense of smell kicks in and I choke on the metallic, coppery scent in the air.

It’s written in blood.

My brain pounds against my skull, palms grow sweaty as my body temperature skyrockets.

Backing away from the wall, the creak of the door opening stops me in my tracks. Panic sends my heart racing and I breathe so quickly I think I’m going to faint.

“Don’t turn around.”

The voice is disguised, robotic, but it is terror inducing nonetheless. I do as I’m told—solely because I am paralyzed with fear.

“You have forty-eight hours to figure out which of your sins has sent you here to your reckoning. If you succeed and repent you will be set free. If not…you will die.”

My brain goes into overdrive searching for the right words, for sins I’ve committed, a primer on how to speak, but then he is behind me and all thoughts fade away. Except one.

I don’t want to die.

Tears flow freely as I hold my breath in anticipation. That’s when I feel the pin prick of a needle sink into my neck.

*****

An unbearable screeching pushes on my brain. My eyes shoot open and I sit up--heart racing. I look around to discover that I'm in my room. Relief sweeps over me knowing that my nightmare was just that. A nightmare.

Reaching over I hit snooze before closing my eyes and laying back down. I must have drifted off again because the alarm wakes me. I stretch my arms wide and let out a little morning roar before shutting if off and taking a moment to savor the quiet.

I open my eyes ready to start the day, but instead prickly bumps rapidly spread all over my body and my breathing grows shallow. In my periphery I can see the exaggerated rise and fall of my chest. I lay frozen staring at the red letters that stain my ceiling:

See you in 48 hours.

Fiction Friday: [Upgrade]

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[This week's Fiction Friday is my submission for Scene Stealers #18. Scene Stealers is a fun writing prompt from Write to Done where they provide the first two sentences and limit your word count to 350. Enjoy!]

It was the first day of January. He decided he wanted a new ear.

No, Dax didn’t want a new ear—he deserved it. Not only that, Dr. Hexton promised him an upgrade months ago.

The last thing he deserved was to be treated as second rate while the 5th Gens were treated like gods.

He pushed the button for sub-level 12. The doors opened and he headed straight toward Hexton. The doctor didn’t notice him approaching and Dax paused a moment to marvel as the doctor worked on a tiny green chip.

“You’ve been avoiding my calls,” he finally said.

Hexton’s eyes flicked up briefly at Dax before returning his attention to the chip.

“Not avoiding, just busy.” Hexton said.

“I was supposed to have an upgrade months ago. The way I see it my time has come. New year, new ear, I’d say.”

The doctor finally lowered the chip and took a calming breath before looking up at him. Dax could hear Hexton’s heartbeat quicken.

“Look, Dax, after our last meeting orders came down…”

“If they were about reneging on promises, I don’t want to hear it.”

Hexton removed his glasses as he walked over to him and Dax could see his steely veneer softening.

“You had to know this day was coming,” he said quietly so no one else could hear. “And you know that I hate what I’m about to tell you as much as you do.”

Dax said nothing, but gave Hexton a doubtful look.

“You’re not only Gen 1, you were the first. The improvements since then have increased Auditron recording based arrests by two hundred percent. Eighty-nine percent since the introduction of the Gen 5’s. Their range is incredible and it would be impossible to upgrade you to their level without risk.” His look had grown sympathetic and Dax not only knew what he was about to say, but that he meant it. “I’m sorry.”

Dax stood in silence absorbing what he had already known. His time had come.

“Oh well,” he said glumly. “New year, new career, I guess.”

Fiction Friday: [The Night]

Remy opened her eyes and was as surprised as she was relieved that no one was standing over her.

The excitement of moving into her own place had waned over the past couple of weeks. Her nightly routine grew to consist of jumping at every little sound and feeling as though she were being watched.

Her mom insisted that she just wasn’t used to being alone. There was truth to that considering she grew up with three sisters and had roommates all through college.

Her best friend went further comparing her to an amputee—her family and roommates were her phantom limbs.

As she lay in bed Remy desperately wanted to believe they were right. That she was being paranoid and just needed to adjust to the newness of it all.

Keep your eyes closed and breathe, she told herself. Just breathe.

As her eyelids kissed, she committed herself to focusing on her breathing. Deep inhales and exhales softened her muscles and slowed her heartbeat. Her mind quieted and grew less muddled.

It was working.

Her body was enveloped in a lightness that made her feel as if she were floating. Her fearful thoughts became too weak to push through her drowsiness. She was on a cloud drifting blissfully toward sleep.

tsch…tsch…tsch…

A faint scraping sound overhead instinctively threw her into panic mode and her eyes flew open before she could stop herself.

Goosebumps riddled her body as the hairs stood on end. Her breathing grew shallow and her heart pounded so violently against her rib cage that the pulse radiated all the way down to her toes. The pulsing rushed blood to her ears drowning her in white noise.

Frozen in terror, she couldn’t tear her eyes away.

Shafts of light rained down from two small holes in the ceiling.

From the attic.

She felt a tear escape her eye and roll down her cheek toward the pillow as the first hole disappeared.

It wasn’t until the second hole darkened that she finally screamed.