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Monthly Archives: January 2013

“Sometimes you have to be a bitch to get things done.” – Madonna

Hot tea burned her lips as she took a sip.  The general’s private quarters were plush and warm, and the furniture showed enough wear to be quite comfortable.  Nothing was quite pristine, and nothing was out of place.  Even the bitter tea was lovely in its imperfection.  She sighed and opened her eyes to look up at the rotund general. “Thank you for having me, General.  Your hospitality is a thing of legend.”

The large man chuckled. “Thank you.  I’m a bit pressed for time, so please, why have you come tonight?” He prompted. “Also, it may help if you share your name, for the sake of simplicity.” Read the rest of this entry »

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The life of recovery.

It’s been so long since last I pulled out a book.  I didn’t even finish the last series, despite adoring it.  I will have to restart it another time.  Hm, what’s this on my Kindle?  I’ve not read this before.  Perhaps if I read it, I’ll have inspiring dreams that aren’t about the crap I do all day.

I pressed the selection button and sought out book one in the series.  Ah, there it was.  I set my cell phone down.  My app games could wait until tomorrow.  That familiar warm tingle filled my mind  I bit my lip and shifted my breasts out of the way so I could try reading on my side in my warm bed.  My heated blanket soon heated my cold toes nicely, and I burrowed underneath it while struggling to keep my eyes open and my Kindle visible.  Thus, I entered a world where an old man was trying to write the history of the world and reflecting on his life. Read the rest of this entry »

 
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Posted by on January 30, 2013 in Modern Fiction

 

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Distorted Reflections

The difficult part of my plan was at hand.  I knew that the masked hero was the prince of the kingdom.  I knew that he was on his way to deal with me personally.  I knew that he knew everything about me.  So, I waited at the far end of a quarry.  To my back, the sheer face, and to my front, a wide, open area where Prince Rivara would challenge me to a duel once he arrived.

I slowed my breathing and slowly checked myself in a mirror.  My lips were stained red, and my cheeks were rosy.  I looked every bit like the woman he remembered from his childhood.  A small smile of pride tugged at my lips.  His mother’s dress hugged my form as I looked down.  I tucked my mirror into the small bag that hung from my wrist and sat to wait. Read the rest of this entry »

 
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Posted by on January 29, 2013 in Semihistorical Fiction

 

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Sail On

The otter kit was so tiny when Henric bought the litter’s runt from a young merchant’s crying daughter.  To reassure the young girl, he kissed the squeaking, wriggling creature on the head. “It’s alright, little one.  I’ll take good care of the little one.” He smiled at the girl and handed her father a small handful of gold coins and walked away.  As he left, he heard the girl’s father make an off-color comment about cocky nobility.

It didn’t matter.  He had a ship to buy now.  With an otter kit in his arm and a sack of gold at his side, he walked down to the docks. Read the rest of this entry »

 
 

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The Commission

Sleep beckoned me back to the warmth of my bed.  My clock said nine something PM.  I pulled my cat back against my chest.  In surprise, she trilled at me, and I closed my eyes as I absently scratched her ear.  My brother had friends over.  I could hear them across the hall.  What was my dream?  I was losing it.

Fuck.  No, I needed that dream.  I was going to write about it!  Grumpily, I pressed my face into Velvet’s soft, smooth fur, provoking another trill of surprise.  Her paw pressed against my chest lightly for a few moments before the slim, agile cat wriggled free of my grasping hands.  My clock said eleven in the evening now.  I glared at the glowing red numbers and slowly rose.  I went to the bathroom, then remembered my brother had friends over.  I waited for them to go out for a smoke while I waited in my PJs on the toilet, then finished, cleaned up, and dashed to my room.  I closed the door. Read the rest of this entry »

 
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Posted by on January 27, 2013 in Nonfiction

 

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Casualty

“He’s doing it again, isn’t he?” The little girl demanded petulantly, her lower jaw jutted forward and one eye narrowed suspiciously.

Her mother shook her head.  She was trying, and failing, to conceal a smile.

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Posted by on January 25, 2013 in Semihistorical Fiction

 

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The death of a circus act.

Continued from The life of a circus act.

The divorce nearly drove Mama to drink.  I stayed by her, much to the disapproval of Dad.  He screamed at me whenever he saw me smile, and began to hit me.  With my twisted, thin body, I wasn’t able to defend myself at all, and often left his house with bruises all over.

I moved in with Mama, eventually, and began to help her and my step-brother Willy.  They were grateful, and often bought me things I didn’t need as a way of saying thanks.

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Posted by on January 24, 2013 in Modern Fiction

 

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