TUESDAY TALES: BAD PENNY

Every Tuesday a group of us writers create stories around a different word or picture prompt. Visit our blog and read our stories. They will surprise and delight you. Below is my short for this week. It’s a new story I am working on about two brothers torn apart by one scheming woman. Let me know what you think. ---mcf

Bill drove over the town line and stepped back in time. Same store fronts. Same people. Same lies. He had run like hell from this town and here he was again; right back where he started, but not for long; not if he could help it.

Bill parked his motorcycle outside the blue ranch house. The rose bushes at the front of the house looked a little wilted, like if no one was talking to them or giving them enough to drink. And maybe they weren’t. Seemed his grandmother’s death affect all of them.

The street was jammed with parked cars. Luckily a bike fit anywhere. The crowd on the porch stopped their conversations mid-sentence, but no one dared approach him. His long legs ate the sidewalk and he was climbing the steps in no time. The house looked and smelled the same – lavender and peaches. The scent lingered and brought back memories.

Before he could take another step or another breath, a warm body with lots of curly hair tackled him. He saved himself from falling over by widening his stance.

“You came, you came,” cried the small woman in his arms.

He looked into the trusting eyes of his baby sister. “You are so big.” He didn’t realize he had spoken his thought out loud until she answered him.

“I’m nineteen now and a college sophomore.”

“Good for you,” he said and he meant it. College was one ticket out of here.

“Well, well, well, so the prodigal returns.” His brother John entered the room from the living room. The years had not been kind. He looked older than his 32s. “Don’t expect the fatted calf.”

“I wouldn’t think of it,” answered Bill. “I’ll be gone by this evening.”

“No,” cried his sister Suzanne. “You have to stay. Grandma wanted you to stay, to take care of the family now. She said it was your turn. That’s what she said.”

“My turn?” No f-ing way Bill thought. He loved the old girl but he wasn’t staying any longer than it took to pay his respects and cut the final ties.

Bill turned toward the woman now walking into the room. Darling Eve. The woman he once loved. The woman who cost him all. His brother’s wife.####



READ MORE STORIES. Visit our blog at http://tuesdaytales1.blogspot.com. Happy Reading.

TUESDAY TALES: FUNNY

Tuesday Tale is a group of writers who write every week in answer to a word prompt. Most of these writing exercises are excerpts or extras from our works in progress. Here is a little something from my LATIN RHYTHMS romantic suspense, where love can make you dead.

To read more Tuesday Tales, please visit http://tuesdaytales1.blogspot.com. Happy Reading. –m

All she could do was stare, as he pulled up his pants, zipped his fly, and crushed her soul.

    “I love you,” she whispered.

    He had shoved her off him and she fell off the bed tangled in the bed sheets still warm from their lovemaking. The lover of last night had been replaced by a stranger with sharp words and hard eyes.

    “Bitch, please. We fucked. That’s it.” He grabbed his shirt and with one final look of disgust stepped out of the room.

    She sat stunned. She’d thought he was the One.

    She laid her head on the mattress, her tears wetting its surface.

    He was just like the rest. All they wanted was her body and once they had used her – once they had fucked her – they threw her off like yesterday’s garbage.

    Her hands knotted around the stained sheets. Her screams muffled against the unmade bed.

    Sorrow turned to rage and then to laughter and finally to silence.

    She slept.

    She dreamt.

    In her dream, she waited by his car. He always parked away from the entrance to his office building so that his baby would be better protected. He liked to stay late and show the bosses how hard he worked.

    He saw her waiting. There was no welcome on his face.

    She could tell he was going to ignore her so she slid on the hood of his car and crossed her legs.

    His eyes were drawn to her bare legs where her black coat road up high on her thighs.

    She could see the desire in his gaze. Feel it in the hard cock pressed against her knee.

    “It’s just a fuck, baby. Nothing more.” His hands spread her legs and stepped between them.

    The parking lot was empty and dark as he ground himself against her. His mouth against her neck, sucking her flesh.

    She could see shadows on the ceiling as her head tilted backwards to allow his access. The air smelled of fumes and night.

    “Nothing more.”

    “What?” He rasped against her ear giving her a short nip.

    She shivered at his touch, and lowered her face to his.

    “A fuck and nothing more,” she said.

    With a flick of her wrist the knife sliced his throat.

    Eyes stared into eyes. Disbelief. Horror. Fear.

    She woke refreshed and alert.

    She slipped off the bed and headed for the shower. She stripped off her nightgown and let it fall on the floor.

    The mirror reflected a mass of wavy hair and a small red mark on her neck. She rubbed it a bit and frown. She shook her head and reached across the sink and pushed down the drain stopper.

    A lacy slip laid immersed in pink water.

    Funny how easy it was to get blood out of silk.###
  
  

TUESDAY TALE: A SMALL PACKAGE

NOTE:  Every week several authors compose a short story or take a scene from a WIP - all based on a word prompt.  And this week's prompt is ..... PACKAGE.  Let me know what you think of my "tale."

It was a small package. Brown casing. Gold ribbon tied very carefully to give it an elegant look, but still a very manly look.
     She sat and stared at that package.
     It had been wrapped with love, with excitement, with anticipation.
     She got up and walked to the other side of the room. She leaned against the wall, arms crossed.
     If she had stayed in her seat she would have torn that package to shreds.
     Hate boiled within her. A killing rage.
     She turned her face to the wall; its coolness against her forehead. Her arms hugged her body. Tears ran down her cheeks onto the floor.
     She was such a fool.
     When was she going to learn? When? How many times was she going to be a doormat? Where was her pride?
     But he said he loved me. A small voice cried out.
     He lied. A harsher voice answered.
     It was all a lie. The small voice whimpered.
     It was all a lie. The hard voice agreed.
     She pushed herself from the wall. For a moment she swayed. Shock, hurt, resignation swirling within her.
     She took a deep breath and her resolved harden. She stood tall and firm.
     She looked at that package on the counter.
     She could throw it away, return it or forget it.
     No.
     She was going to keep it, as a reminder of lies and betrayal; as a reminder of her stupidity; as a reminder of her new found strength.
     In fact, she’d show him.
     She looked in the bathroom mirror and didn’t recognize herself – blotched skin, running mascara, wild curls sticking out of her head.
     She shook her head and looked away.
     She stripped and showered. The water as hot as she could bear.
     She looked through her closet and found her favorite red dress.

     A little makeup, a bold lipstick, tamed curls.
     The woman looking back at her in the mirror was no victim, and would never be again.
     The club lights were bright, the music loud, the chattering higher still.
     She walked with confidence. Shoulders back. Long legged stride.
     She turned heads. Nodded to a few but stopped for no one.
     She knew his favorite spot. And there he was, just where she knew he’d be.
     Tall, dark, handsome with wavy black hair, laugh lines around a wide mouth made for sin. And his arm around another’s.
     She watched. She waited. She followed them back to his apartment.
     And at dawn, when her rival left his bed, she used the key he’d forgotten he’d given her. He lay sprawled on the bed. The sheets tangled around him. Sated. Satisfied. Selfish.
     Love and hatred warred within her.
     She remembered his kisses, his embraces, his whispered promises against her heated skin.
     So with one blow she ended his lies, his disdain, his life.
     His eyes opened and for one brief moment she saw recognition in them. And, she was glad.
     She left him where he so often played.
     She didn’t remember the trip home, just the small gift wrapped package on the counter.###
    


To read more Tuesday Tales, visit http://tuesdaytales1.blogspot.com.

Photo Credit: painting by Tamara de Lempicka.

TUESDAY TALES: DADDY LOST

This is from a work in progress.  Let me know what you think. ---mcf

The girls loved the cabin, the snow, the fireplace and the two weeks away from school. They were ecstatic, and having fun running around looking into rooms and closets with equal zeal. The girls. His daughters. Twin bundles of joy that had turned his life upside down less than four months ago.

His chest still tightens whenever he thought of them.

Jon was sterile, had been for the past ten years. Thoughts of having a child of his own had died a hard death when he’d been diagnosed with chicken pox and came out of it well, but sterile.

He had met some nice women with children. There was one in particular that he thought may have been the one. He knew now that it was the boy he had wanted and then the mother. It would not have been fair to her, but Jon would have been a good father and husband.

Now, it turns out, that he was a father-- a father of twins.

They had changed his life with that one phone call.

He remembered it vividly. He’d been packing. He’d lost the child and the woman he wanted so he had applied for a transfer at his accounting firm, and had tendered his resignation at the grade school.

He was packing when the phone rang. He thought to ignore it, but then changed his mind in case there was an emergency at work, at the school where he coached pee wee soccer, or in case his ex-girlfriend had changed her mind and wanted him back.

“Are you Jonathan Cruz?” A small voice had asked over the phone. There had been some rustling, and then another small voice got on.

“Did you go to Platt High School? Do you know a Helen Soto?

“Are you our daddy?”♥




To read more Tuesday Tales, visit http://tuesdaytales1.blogspot.com.

TUESDAY TALES: 27 WEBB AVENUE

I am proud to join Tuesday Tales -- a group of writers who write to a word prompt every week.  Our stories are either from a work in progress or original tales, and best of all they are FREE!  Happy Reading. --mcf

George Stuart pulled the legs apart and arranged them against the white fabric. The red blood provided a good focal point, which he liked. He stepped back and looked at his creation – stoic, still, lifeless.

He walked down the stairs to the edge of the sidewalk and turned to look at his new home.

Ghosts in the windows, check.

Giant spider web on porch, check.

Vampire bats, pumpkins, Frankenstein monster, check, check, check.

George smiled with satisfaction. It was his first Halloween in his Victorian home and he was finally opened for business.

Yes, the whole street was full of bed and breakfasts but George was not daunted. He knew it was a risk, but the market was down, his job downsized and this house was all he had left. It was this or a job at Mickey Dee’s. But the Jersey Shore had always been popular with out-of-towners in good times and bad, and it retained its popularity thanks to Snooki and her posse. George was counting on the Shore’s continuing attractiveness, now more than ever.

Just as he stepped toward the house, a cab pulled up in front, and four women stepped out of its multiple doors – a tall blonde with straight hair, a brunette with short hair and a quick smile, a buxom beauty with dark skin and wild curls, and a short exotic beauty in gothic black.

“This is it,” said the tall blonde, as the cab driver unloaded suitcases from the back.

“I love it,” cried the exotic beauty, clasping her hands against her chest.

“You love everything,” said the dark skin lovely with familiarity.

“Do you think there are enough ghosts?” asked the cute brunette, as she scanned the face of the house.

“There can never be enough ghosts in a haunted mansion,” answered George, as he walked up to greet his first clients – romance writers on retreat. ♥


For more Tuesday Tales, visit http://tuesdaytales1.blogspot.com.