Craving Something Sweet

Grace had left a hand-print in the blood. She stared at it, and then down at her soaked dress; the bottom of it was pink now. He wouldn't have liked that. She smiled. In fact, he would have been furious. She laughed. She had made a real mess of things; her dress, the hardwood living room floor, and most especially Jim. She was sitting just a few inches away from him; from his stiffening body, the body with the crushed skull. The dark crimson pool around his head seeped towards her slowly. She reached her hand out and dipped her fingers into it. Cold and sticky. It sent chills down her spine; in a good way.

The morning had been uneventful, just like every other day of her life. She'd made him breakfast and taken it to him at six-thirty sharp. She had helped him get dressed, packed his lunch and sent him off to work. Then she'd vacuumed, and ironed his shirts; changed the linens on his bed, put a roast in the crock pot and then she took her morning break and had one decaf coffee.

At 12:30 she would have a small salad and a slice of turkey left over from the night before. Then she would mop, and dust and do her laundry which was always done separately from his. She could expect him to walk through the door between five and five fifteen; his dinner would be on the table in front of him at five thirty. It was the same everyday. Except the third Friday of every month when she was allowed the afternoon off, to prepare for a session. Those were very carefully planned out by Jim. It was their intimate time. When she was allowed to show affection, and he expressed his appreciation for her efforts, if they were satisfactory. If they were not, punishment was doled out and instruction was given as to what improvement she needed to make so she could get it right next time.

Today was Thursday so he would bring her a gift when he came home. Usually it was a scented lotion; but sometimes it would be an article of clothing he expected her to wear for the session. Once he'd brought chocolates, and she'd been ecstatic when she opened the gold wrapped box. She soon learned they were not for her. She was to feed them to him after the session; he needed to recoup his energy, and she wasn't allowed sweets. She had been foolish; sweets were forbidden, they would make her fat.

She sat next to him at the dinner table, waiting for him to finish his meal. She would be allowed to eat after she had opened the present he'd brought, as long as she expressed the proper appreciation. He let her remove his plate when he was done, and he asked her to sit down again as he set the box in front of her.

She unwrapped the gift slowly, being careful not to rip the paper. He hated that. Then she slid the ribbon off gently, making sure to keep it intact with the huge red bow still tied. She gently lifted the lid from the dark red box, and rustled the crimson tissue paper folded across the gift inside.

She unfolded it, and peered inside. She sat motionless staring at it, unable to speak.

"Don't you love it?"

"Yes, it's beautiful."

"Say it, say 'Thank you Jim my love', like I taught you. Don't you dare forget your manners girl."

Fear over came her as she reached in and touched the ivory lace dress. It looked almost identical to the wedding dress she'd begged for years ago, but didn't get. It was the dress she'd be buried in. She'd seen it in her dreams. Not once, but several times in the last few years.

He'd make her wear the dress as she performed for him, and then he'd kill her. She swallowed hard.

"Don't you recognize it? It's the wedding dress you wanted eight years ago."
"Where... I mean, how did you find it Jim. It must have been so difficult for you to find one now."

He laughed.

"Oh Gracie! You are a silly girl. This is the dress. I bought it eight years ago, I've been saving it for just the right time. You have finally proven yourself worthy of it. You may wear it tomorrow evening." He smiled wickedly. "Now, shouldn't you go try it on? Give me a preview of what I'll be getting tomorrow night?"

Grace shivered.

He came over and helped her out of her chair, then gave her a shove towards the bedroom.

"I'll wait for you out here, now go on, go try it on. And you better hope it fits."

It didn't. She couldn't quite get it zipped in the back, and when she'd asked for help, he'd laughed at her. She started to cry, and he held out his arms to her. She did what she always did, she ran to him. But she accidentally knocked him down; right in front of the fireplace. She saw the vintage iron she had on display on the hearth; her hand automatically went to it. It had belonged to her great grandmother.

She didn't hesitate; she snatched it up and hit him in the side of the head; once, then twice. He didn't move and blood poured from the wound. She fell back onto the floor beside him.

Eight years of hell was over, and she was craving something sweet.

©2013 Garden Summerland

Mended

You mended my broken heart with just a word. 

Without even knowing it was broken. Without knowing that I was broken. 

You smiled at me, and inside, deep inside where no one is ever allowed, I let you in. 

You told me that in time, everything was going to be okay. 

And then I knew that I was capable of loving someone again, because that's the moment I fell in love with you.

But it was never going to be enough. Not for you, never for you. 

You hated that I worshiped you; you never wanted to be my god. 

And then it began; the seed of hatred was sown. 

And now looking back upon that first day, that first day when you mended me and changed my world for the better, all I have are regrets. 

How quickly love can change into hate. And now I am broken again, because we are broken. 

And there is no one to mend me.

©2013 Garden Summerland

 

The Best Entertainment

Anna sat on her bed, her shoulders hunched over and the darkness pressing against her. She was tired of getting up and crossing the room to flip the switch, only to have him turn it off before she got back to her bed. She'd screamed at him, and threatened him. And he'd laughed at her. Sometimes he'd hide under the bed and wait for her to forget; then she'd dangle her legs off and he'd grab her feet and tug on her just enough to slide her to the edge of the mattress. She'd kick and holler and curse at him and he'd let her go. He'd scratch the wall and hiss, keeping her awake for the rest of the night. And on the worst nights, he'd lay on top of her, whispering horrible things into her ear; how he would torture her family forever; didn't she know there was nothing she could do about it? He'd spent the last three years tormenting her, and he thought it was just as much fun today as it had been on that very first night. It was the best entertainment he'd ever had.

Elias Emerson. He'd died in that room over thirty years ago. He'd been the last of the Emersons; the estate had been auctioned off, and then the property had been sold to one young couple after another. They'd all had good intentions; a nice big country house to raise a family, or the ambitious ones in recent years with plans to "flip" it. Each of them discovered it was truly a money pit, as one by one, the improvements fell through. And then there were the accidents. Bad luck seemed attached to the house, so it went unoccupied for a long time. Then the Morgan's moved in, and for about a year, all was quiet. Then Anna, Brett and Taylor's only child started having nightmares. She was up all hours of the night, and she became terrified of being alone in the house. She started getting bad grades and acted out at school. She had changed. She complained about seeing a man in her room, and they called the police. Then they had a security system installed and her father began sitting with her at night until she fell asleep. But no one ever saw a thing. No one except Anna.

But it would get worse long before it got better. She would awaken in the middle of the night and throw things at him; books from her nightstand and the flashlight that never worked. Nothing made any difference; it was just a loud clattering against the wall and then her worried parents would come rushing in to check on her. She always heard his wicked cackle just before her mom or dad would open the door. But all they'd see was Anna sitting on her bed with her knees pulled up, rocking back and forth; and crying.

After the first couple of episodes, they had hauled her to the pediatrician, (never mind the fact that she was almost sixteen, she'd been seeing Dr. Mason since she was born, surely he could fix her). But of course, he found nothing physically wrong with her. Then had come the medications, the psychologist and that one psychiatrist. She'd passed all of their tests, taken the medicine, followed the diets, all of it. But her nightmares remained. Because he remained. Finally she'd stopped talking about it; she refused to talk about it. No one believed her anyway; and no one really cared anymore. It had become part of their life; a disturbed young girl that had violent outbursts in the middle of the night, and sometimes even during the day. They ignored it. They ignored her.

Then as suddenly as they had started, the fits stopped. Her parents were amazed and promised to lessen her medication, pending of course, Dr. Mason's approval; and eventually life returned to a happy and stable flow. No one asked why, it didn't matter. All that mattered was that life seemed quiet and normal again. Anna was so very grateful; and she owed it all to Freya. Elias was afraid of her.

One night as Elias scratched along the wall making his way toward her bed, hissing and breathing his foul breath into the air, Anna watched in shock as he was flung across the room, his ghastly form pinned to the door. Anna blinked her eyes and sat up as another form appeared above her bed. It was a woman, in a long flowing white dress, hovering over her, spreading a pale blue light around them; protecting her.

Freya Emerson, Elias' wife. She whispered the same words over and over until Anna began repeating them as well. She could feel Elias struggling, and he began a low pitched howl; he was in pain. She saw the darkness of his form slide down the door to a heap on the floor and she could hear him screaming. Freya knew her stuff. Now Anna had a new friend. And together, they would torture him, like he had tortured them.

That was the night Anna smiled for the first time in three years. Life was going to be different; it would be fun. Freya knew all of Elias' tricks; and Anna was willing to do anything to punish him. It was going to be the best entertainment they'd ever had.

©2013 Garden Summerland

The Last Time

"Are you seriously that much of a controlling bastard? You can't even let me have an opinion that differs from yours?" I stepped towards him, taunting him further. I could see the anger flooding into his brain as his face contorted into an malicious grimace. I stood motionless; waiting. He paused dramatically and rolled up the sleeves of his striped button-down shirt. He always wore dress shirts; he made me press them on Saturday afternoons when I should have been out with my friends.

"You little bitch..." He hissed at me and I closed my eyes. Waiting.

Then I felt his hand come across the side of my face, cruel and unyielding. I counted to myself; one, then two. And then I laughed. He had done exactly as I'd expected.

I had braced myself, so it hadn't knocked me to the floor like it normally did. I stood firm, staring at him with unfeeling eyes that for once weren't filling with tears. I didn't even flinch.

He was caught off guard, and I waited for yet another moment, then I brought my arm around and leveled the gun at him. Pointed it right at his head and cocked it. I didn't wait for him to speak. I'd taken his abuse since my mother had passed fourteen years ago. And every day since, I'd swore that this day would come; that one day he'd touch me and it would be the last time.

I squeezed the trigger and he dropped to the floor. The recoil jammed my wrist. It wasn't the first time I'd sustained injury because of him, but it was damn sure the last. 

 ©2013 Garden Summerland

Latest Release!

I just wanted to let everyone know that my latest release, Flash Fiction Addiction: 22 Short Short Stories Volume III is now available on Smashwords, Amazon and Barnes & Noble!! It will also be coming out as a single volume in print and in addition all three collections will eventually be combined into a single book. Also watch Sony & Kobo as it will be released on those as well.
This will be the last volume in this series, but definitely not my last collection of flash fiction.  I am currently working on a sequel to my YA novel Sister Sugar as well as two novellas, an adult vampire novel and I am always, always writing flash! Please check back often, as I hope to be updating the blog with MORE micro-fiction & regular flash fiction stories!

Thank you to all of you that have supported me & encouraged me along the way! I appreciate you all!

Alone

I sat with her in the dark as the chill of the house settled into my bones. I had been holding her hand for hours. Her limp wristed hand. Her cold hand. Her dead hand that was attached to her dead body. I was determined to keep that hand warm, it was all the comfort that I had left in the world. She had belonged to me, as I had to her. We had always had each other. And now everything had been reduced to tears and cold flesh. I sobbed into her hand. I had been crying throughout the night as I held her and then she had died in my arms.

I set it all straight in my head. I knew they would come for her in the morning. The city people with their suits and questions. They would come to take her away, but I wouldn't let them. I promised her that I'd never leave her, and I wouldn't. I promised her that I would never abandon her like my father had. I was her only child. I was all she'd had.

And now it was just me. It was nearing dawn, and I would have to watch the sunrise alone; for the rest of my life.

©2013 Garden Summerland

Have a Heart

"Paul always said you had his heart, and now you do...literally." Spencer held a pink wrapped box with a big red bow on it close to his chest. "Here ya go Lily... enjoy." He dropped the box onto the table and smirked. I felt bile rising in my throat. This was insane... Spencer was insane. I tried to speak, but nothing came out. It couldn't be true... it just couldn't. Paul was dead because he had loved me; because Spencer was jealous. Spencer had gone berserk and cut out Paul's heart, and boxed it up like it was some demented Valentine gift. I stood helpless as Spencer turned and walked casually out the door.

I raced out of the room down corridors that seemed to never end, frantically chasing after him, but he was gone.

I dropped to my knees and started screaming. My chest was tight and I couldn't catch my breath.

I was gasping for air and it woke me up.

It was a dream; it was just a dream. I cried in relief.

I sat up and rubbed my eyes, looking around the room, blinking repeatedly, making sure I was awake. And then I saw it. A pink box with a bright red bow was sitting on my desk next to my laptop; a small card dangled from the side. I could see the meticulously neat black print from across the room:

Have a heart.

©2013 Garden Summerland