Short Stories

Working Through

/ C. L. Clark / 2 Comments

Afternoon sun seared the exposed skin at the back of her neck in much the same way that she had broiled the steaks the night before. Although Connie knew the sunburn she was receiving was going to give her a great deal of pain that evening, she couldn’t stop what she was doing. If only she had remembered to replace her wide brimmed gardening hat after the wind had stolen it away from her a couple months back, then she wouldn’t have been forced to wear his useless ball cap that only kept the sun out of her face. He, of course, would have reveled in her forgetfulness, pacing around the patio behind her, berating her endlessly for her stupidity.

That thought caused her to stab the trowel into the sandy soil with more anger than she thought she was still capable. After all, she had made her way through all of the stages and had come out the other side with a healthy amount of acceptance. That’s what the therapist had told her was the finish line.

“There are five basic stages of grief,” the therapist had told her with a matter-of-fact nod. It was that nod more than anything else that had convinced Connie that all she needed was to get through those stages and she would be okay.

“The first,” the woman continued, “is denial, which I’m sure you can agree you have already experienced?” The therapist’s voice had risen at the end of the sentence, as if it had been a question that Connie herself should have certainly agreed with, but then she continued talking without waiting for a response. “The second stage is anger, the third bargaining, the fourth is depression, and acceptance signals the end of all that misery. There are no steadfast rules or timetables for how you will work through all of these stages. Some may last longer than others, but I am here to help you work through them.”

Connie hadn’t actually gone back to visit that woman again. That therapist had had a look in her eyes that Connie had seen endless times before coming from her husband, Mitch. The one that said, “You’re dumber than a box of rocks, Connie Stanfield. If it weren’t for me here to clean up your messes you would be sniveling in the corner wiping your nose on your sleeve like the baby you are.” No, she was done with that look for good.

Setting the trowel down, she pulled her heavy gloves on again and taking as much care as possible, moved the prickly pear cactus back into position. It was difficult working the sandy ground, but she managed to get it into place without any serious scratching through her long sleeved shirt. Wiping the beaded sweat from her forehead, she picked up the ground cover plants and tucked them in around the base of the cactus before filling in the rest of the soil. Her sense of accomplishment swelled as she looked around at all she had done since beginning that morning shortly after dawn.

“How’s that for not being a sniveling little baby?” She muttered, moving her kneeling pad down the line to continue the planting.

Of all the stages, anger had been the longest and hardest to get through; not unlike the sandy and somewhat rocky soil she had been digging in all day. In fact, since the night that Mitch announced that he was divorcing her, she realized that she had danced back and forth between the various stages and anger on multiple occasions. An emotional waltz that had left her at times begging him to reconsider and at others curled up under her covers in tears and misery, only to swing back around to such seething hatred that she was certain steam must have escaped from her ears.

It was during one of the seething moments, when she couldn’t bear to hear one more nasty word come from him, that she had sprinkled his steak with rat poison before then covering it with sauce. He hadn’t noticed a difference and had eaten with gusto, stuffing his face with the tainted meat and veggies. Connie had watched him as she slowly ate her poison-free food, thankful that he had stopped talking for once. Mitch had seemed to really enjoy his meal, at least up until the moment he began choking and blood had begun dribbling from his eyes. He had looked up at Connie with a pleading face, but was unable to put his voice to his request. Connie had smiled at him and took another bite of her steak.

Shaking her head slightly to disperse the gruesome memories along with the last vestiges of anger, she looked down into the hole before her. With a wry grin she pushed some soil over the dead face of her ex-husband and settled the last cactus on top of that. With a quick nod she thought, “acceptance is a beautiful thing.”

cactus

A Winter Scene

/ C. L. Clark / 1 Comment

As the sun rose enough to peek through the trees, she stopped what she was doing to admire the beautiful winter scene before her. Like glittering diamonds on a jeweler’s velvet, the snow sparkled with gleaming brilliance everywhere the sun touched. Even in the areas where shadows still held sway, the snow took on blue and purple hues, as if the darkness wanted nothing more than to join in on the glittery dance. For a moment she was completely enchanted, enjoying not only the perfect, untouched areas, but the heavy laden branches of the evergreen trees as they stood like stately women covered in white mink coats.

When she had trudged through the heavy mounds in the dark, her feet and legs numbing to frozen sticks the further into the forest she plowed, she had only seen the menacing black beyond her flashlight beam. Now, with the sun and sparkle, her emotions lightened exponentially as she continued to dig beneath the snow, no longer focused on the cold. Of course, once she reached the frozen ground, she knew she didn’t have the strength to break the mantle, but that no longer mattered. No one would find his body for months under all the glorious snow and by then she would be long gone.

sun-peeking-through-snow-covered-trees

Side Effects – A Short Story

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“Be sure to read this,” the pleasant looking pharmacist said as she handed Connie the bag with her prescription inside and the papers stapled to the top. “This medication comes with some unusual side effects that you should be aware of. Be sure to contact your doctor if you start to notice any of them.”

“Are they serious?” Connie asked, giving the bag a cautious look.

“Well, they aren’t common, but it’s always good to be prepared.” She smiled then, a Susie Homemaker grin full of false interest and superiority that Connie hated to receive. “Oh,” she added as Connie reached for the bag, “and be sure to stay away from alcohol while you’re taking this. The two don’t mix at all.”

“Of course,” she said, nodding in a manner that suggested she completely understood. “I don’t drink, so that won’t be a problem.” That particular lie had become an easy one for Connie to tell; it didn’t even register on her guilt list anymore.

Connie took the proffered bag with a weak grin and left the store without even glancing in the direction of the beer cooler. She hadn’t been thinking about taking a drink all day until that holier-than-thou pharmacy chick had brought it up; now she could hardly think of anything else. Tromping back to her car through the drifts of snow, she contemplated the no alcohol advice and a sudden rush of saliva sprang up in her mouth at the very idea of a small scotch over ice.

The decision was made before she turned the key in the lock, but she continued pretending to consider against the drink. Even the lies she told herself were getting easier to pass over.

“It’s winter for Pete’s sake,” she told herself as she started the car. “I need it to help get warm and recover from this stupid cold. One small drink won’t affect the meds, I’m sure.”

Continuing to rationalize her need for the scotch, she pulled into the drive-through package store and gave the burly looking man her order. To be on the safe side, she asked for a pre-made sandwich and a bag of potato chips to go with it; best not to drink on an empty stomach. The clerk took her money and handed her the items in a bag without ever changing his expression. In fact, he never took on any expression at all that Connie could see – just stared at her with half-lidded, empty eyes, his face slack and uninterested.

As she drove away, the thought occurred to her that once upon a time she would have caused him to pay attention to her, to look at her with interest and sexual contemplation. Years ago, back before she hooked up with that loser ex-husband, she was something to look at. Guys had often undressed her with their eyes and she had rewarded them with a sultry gaze filled with promise.

Those days were gone. All the booze and Tommy’s fists had taken away anything that might have interested any other guys. She shook her head and forced herself to think of other things. Too much introspection pushed her to binge drinking and she knew if she missed work again they would fire her without hesitation.

Despite the snow still drifted against buildings, the roads were cleared enough for easy driving and she didn’t have to worry about sliding. Edging up the speed a little, she felt a need to get home and get warm. All of the thoughts about Tommy, the tortured years of their sham marriage in particular, had set her on edge and chilled her deeper than she cared to admit. When she was forced to stop at a light, she couldn’t stop herself from tearing into the pharmacy bag and popping two of the pills into her mouth. Unable to dry swallow them, she opened the scotch, bent down enough to not be noticed by other drivers, and took a quick swig. The light turned green, forcing her to balance the bottle between her thighs in order to put the lid back on, but she managed the task and even smiled at her dexterity.

It only took her fifteen minutes to make it home and pull into the parking lot of her apartment building, but she noticed the increasing affects of the anti-anxiety meds before she turned off her car. Since she had been taking one type of medication or another for the last couple of years, she hadn’t thought this one would be much different than the last, so she hadn’t bothered to read the label. If she had she would have discovered that she was supposed to start with half a pill.

At that point in time she was feeling pretty good. No, scratch that. She was feeling exceptional, if a little bit slippery. The meds must have caused her to start sweating – girls glisten, they don’t sweat, she reminded herself absently – because the keys slipped from her hand when she took them out of the ignition. She was forced to wipe her hand across her pant leg in order to get a grip on the key ring and noted the wet-looking smear on her jeans.

Keys in hand, heading toward her apartment, she felt solid and in control. Despite the minor sweat issue, there were no other problems; no racing heart, no shakiness, no stumbling or dizziness.

“And no slurred speech, either,” she said out loud to herself, confirming that everything was on track. “My compliments to the doc. These are actually going to work for me, I think.”

Connie had gone through several different medications in order to control her anxiety issues. Her strict belief was that the alcohol was only a problem because she had been trying to self-medicate her pain and issues away. Now that she had a good and effective pill, she was certain that she wouldn’t need the alcohol anymore. Things were looking up for once and she couldn’t suppress the smile that lifted the corners of her mouth and filled her with a certain glee.

When she reached her door, she was forced to rub both hands against her pant legs in order to get a good grip on the keys, turn them in the lock, and open the door.

“Honey, I’m home,” she chimed as she closed the door behind her and dropped her purse on the table next to the door.

Most days when she said, or at the very least thought, that particular phrase on entering her apartment, she immediately felt the pang of loss and emptiness that always prompted her to say it in the first place. For the first time in forever she didn’t feel the self-flagellation behind the words; she didn’t intend emotional harm to herself for her choices. There was only the happy hum of a brighter future as she went about her usual routine.

Peeling off her coat, she hung it on the peg on the wall and followed it with her scarf. She pulled her flats off and carried them to her room, padding barefoot across the chilly linoleum and dropping the bag from the package store on the couch along the way. Within minutes she was stripped down to her birthday suit and reaching for her sweats when she realized that her bra was an odd color.

Picking it up off the end of the bed, she held it up in front of her face, noting that the usual white color had become mottled beige. After closer inspection she discovered that the discoloration seemed to be present on the inside of the cups, band, and straps, while the outsides still appeared their usual white. It seemed strange to her in an offhand kind of way, as if she couldn’t quite summon the interest to be truly concerned. Passing it off as perspiration from the new meds, she dropped it back onto the bed and headed to the bathroom to wash her face.

She looked at her reflection before grabbing the make-up remover wipes out of the cabinet. Her face seemed glossy and had it not been for the uplifting affect of the new medication she might have examined it a little closer, instead of considering it a positive change. With her usual dogged enthusiasm, she rubbed the little wipe over her entire face, taking extra time to scrub her eyes, ensuring that all traces of make-up were removed. It had always been her practice to remove the days grime before relaxing for the evening. If there had been a bit more make-up on the wipe than usual, she hadn’t considered it a problem. Without a second glance to the mirror, she headed for the kitchen to grab a glass with ice.

Television remote in hand, glass with ice at her side and bag of goodies next to her thigh, she flipped through the channels until she found something interesting on the home decorating channel. With the T.V. babbling a pleasant background noise, she considered the triangle shaped container with the egg salad sandwich inside for a brief moment and opted to set it and the chips aside until after her first sip of scotch. Her mouth watered uncontrollably as she worked the cap off the bottle and poured an inch into her tumbler. With a shrug and a grin she tipped the bottle again and added another inch or so before twisting the cap back onto the bottle and setting in on the coffee table.

The amber liquid welcomed her with its light burning sensation as it slid down her throat and she sighed happily when it reached her stomach. She watched the decorating show as she sipped her scotch, but frowned at the tinkling ice before her show reached the reveal stage. Without giving it the thoughtful consideration she had pretended to afford the alcohol earlier, she started to reach for the bottle to fill her glass up again when the world tilted to the side and prevented her hand from reaching its mark. Trying for a second attempt, it occurred to her that perhaps her favorite drink and her favorite new medication were not agreeing so nicely with each other any longer. Unable to coordinate her limbs with the tossing and turning of the earth, Connie slid sideways down the couch and gave up the effort, intending to relax for a few minutes until her senses could better suit her needs.

The first thing that Connie noticed when she felt herself waking up was the sound of the television playing at a low volume. The second thing she noticed was an annoying drip-drip sound and wondered for a moment if the snow was melting off of the roof. That thought caused her to open her eyes, concerned that she had slept through the night on the couch and would be late for work, yet again.

Her eyes were gummy as she blinked them several times, attempting to clear her vision enough to function. As she moved her hand, which felt cold from hanging over the edge of the couch, to her stomach she realized two things at almost the same time. The first one was how the dripping had stopped and the second was how damp her t-shirt felt.

In an attempt to raise herself up enough to look at her shirt, she nudged her elbow into the couch next to her side and almost cried out from the sting of pain, as if she had given herself a rug burn against the fabric. Taking a moment to assess her various aches and discomforts, she came to the conclusion that she was indeed more uncomfortable than she usually was after waking with a hangover. Obviously the medication was reprimanding her for consuming the scotch. She made another promise to herself to work at quitting the scotch, because she appreciated the new medication’s effects on her brain much more than the alcohol.

Connie took a deep breath, which ended in a phlegmy cough, and pulled herself upward, intending to start her day and hopefully not lose her job. She was concerned that she had sweat too much during the night and would need to rent a machine to clean her couch. That turned out to be the least of her concerns.
Once she was sitting upright again, her thoughts and senses sloshing back and forth inside her head, she looked to her lap and realized that her shirt and sweat pants were soaked and greasy looking. She brought her hand around from its position of propping her up and for a moment didn’t understand what she was looking at.

Right before her eyes bits of liquid dripped off of her right hand onto her lap as she stared at the sinewy tissue that her skin should have covered. In two places she could actually see the bones of her wrist. She blinked rapidly and reached up with her other hand to wipe the liquid that was dribbling down her forehead and started to panic. Her left hand, although looking a little better than her right one, was also dripping a viscous substance which she realized while staring at it was her skin.

She began to shake violently as she reached up with her left hand to touch her face. Where soft, rounded flesh should have been, she felt angular bones and ribbed tissue stretching from one plane to another; it felt spongier than she thought it should. As she pulled what was left of her hand away from her face, she saw bloody bits of flesh clinging to her naked fingertips and before she could think of what to do, the meaty section of her palm melted before her eyes and slid off her bones with a wet sounding plop onto the couch.

Her screaming could be heard throughout the building, piercing and frightening, for ten solid minutes before it began to waver as if being forced through a gargling throat.

Basking in the Afterglow

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She watched him lying there next to her, as she did most nights since the first day he brought her to live with him. Given that he always slept closest to the window, she was afforded the view of his well appointed, naked body in the shimmering moonlight. The silvery beams caressed his hard plains and masculine contours in a way that seemed almost gentle and loving. Beads of moisture from their recent actions glinted off his skin and brought the slightest, almost demure smile to her face. Unable to stop herself, she reached a tentative finger out to barely trace the curve of his jaw. He didn’t stir.

How long she had been there, how often she had watched him, she could not recall at that particular moment. Knowing that this was their last night together brought a strange mixture of fear, sadness, and quiet joy. Moving forward was always good, but the relative safety of a well-rehearsed routine had its merits as well. Some part of him would always be with her, she knew that; his voice, his touch, his very demeanor would haunt her for years. Yet still she had that fear of letting go, that inkling of ‘what now?’ she was forced to deal with.

Sliding out of bed, she flipped the light switch on and surveyed the mess she had made of him and the only room she had known for well over two years. Since her abduction, he had kept her in this tiny basement room, but he should never have started to trust her. Now he lay on the filthy mattress, covered in his own blood, with the sharpened stick still jutting out from his neck.

“That’s how your baby’s doing,” she mumbled, as she worked the lock open to escape.romance,black,and,white,kiss,love,couple,erotic-0e645b6970157827b190775e6e3817b3_h

She and He and What Must Be – the final act.

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She stepped from the shadows, a tentative smile playing at the corners of her mouth, looking for all the world the shy and gentle creature she was often thought to be. He knew no different at first and thought she would be his savior, making noise through his gag and pleading with his eyes. She stepped up to him and nodded before bending down and picking up the fallen blanket.  With care and tenderness she slipped it back over his midsection, allowing him the small comfort of modesty. Glancing up quickly, as if she had heard a sound outside of his field of vision, she looked back down at him with panic etched across her face. He mirrored her emotions and began to struggle again, his eyes straining to see what he thought she had. When she giggled his eyes jumped back to hers with confusion filling their beautiful blue depths. She liked that. She licked her lips and smiled, giving him a peek of who she really was behind the facade that she showed the world. Realization washed away the confusion on his face, bringing with it an array of emotions she longed to taste.

Reaching out to him, she lightly touched the side of his face and ran her finger from his temple to his jaw. Such a strong and confident man with such handsome and virile attributes, she was compelled to hold his face in both of her hands and slowly kiss his mouth. Of course, it would have been much more enjoyable had he not been struggling and trying to make noise. She longed to feel his lips on hers, but practicality won out over romantic notions, so she left the gag in place and tightened the strap that held his head. Her need was becoming unbearable and still she tried to reach him, to get him to see her and the love that she wanted to share with him. With her hands on either side of his face again, she gazed into his eyes and whispered her feelings to him. She assured him that he was now hers and didn’t need to worry about his previous life, it was gone. She gazed expectantly into his eyes, hoping beyond hope that he would feel her, see her, know her for who she was and could truly be for him.

As every time before, with every man she had given her heart to, he stared back at her in terror with threads of anger and disgust. A single tear dripped from her eye onto his cheek and with it sealed his fate. Emotion slid away from her features as she took her hands off of his face. No longer filled with hope or anticipation, her stomach growled loud with an all together different hunger. Reaching over to a side table, she chose her favorite utensil and brought it up before her face, allowing him to see it. His eyes became wider than she thought possible as she laid the long, thin blade against his chest.

“I told you that you would be a part of me. It was just a matter of inside or outside.”

Her thoughts moved on to proper cuts of meat and the best roast sizes as she began to carve.

She and He and What Must Be – part six

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When she had first noticed him, their eyes had met across the coffee shop just like a chance encounter out of a romance novel. Her heart had fluttered and her face had flushed, but his eyes moved on and didn’t rest on her again during the entire time that he had spent at his table. From that moment she was drawn to him and knew that if he were to look into her eyes again he would see her passion and his need for her would be likewise ignited.  She had followed him from then on, never very far away and always within sight. If he had he ever taken the time to notice, things would have turned out very different. She learned his habits, likes and dislikes, every little thing about him.  She knew where he lived, where he spent his leisure time, the names of his children, and how he liked to touch and even make love to that woman that lived with him. She had shared his every intimate moment; smelled his unique scent on his sheets and in his closet; showered with his soap and wrapped herself up with his robe. She knew what he wanted and how to please him and yet he never looked at her again.

She began making herself known to him, just so he would have the chance to look into her eyes. She even bumped into him once at the grocery store, but he didn’t even bother to mumble out a simple “excuse me.” When she began to doubt her own validity and question whether she could be seen by anyone at all, that was the moment he dropped in her estimation. He needed to be punished. He needed to be shown the depth of her love and mercy so that he could become one with her. He would be hers and she would see the moment that he realized his love for her in his eyes. There was no other option. He had no other choice.

She and He and What Must Be – part five

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She watched him from the shadows, a habit she both enjoyed and excelled at. He was starting to stir which peaked her excitement and anticipation. The first moments for her lovers were usually filled with the medicinal grogginess that accompanied the use of chloroform, then came the confusion. Without fail their eyes opened wide when they discovered that they were not where they ought to be and that was always followed by their realization that they were strapped down. The struggling varied between them; some seeming to give up sooner than others, but they all pulled and twisted at the start. She particularly enjoyed the feeling of power that tingled through her with each awakening. Although he never noticed her in the weeks that lead up to his joining her, she knew that his complete attention would be on her from then on out.

Still, she watched him quietly from the side, moving only enough to enjoy the show, but not enough to catch his eye. He realized a little too late that he was covered only by the small, soft blanket that she had place over him, as his struggles caused it to slip off onto the floor. She couldn’t help but smile at the whimper that escaped through the gag around his mouth. Since she kept the workroom at a pleasant temperature, she wasn’t worried about him getting cold, but he still seemed upset about being stripped bare. His vulnerability pleased her as few things ever could. She had made herself vulnerable for him when she had first presented herself to him in public weeks before and now he proffered himself up to her, if not precisely willing, a gift nevertheless.

She and He and What Must Be – part four

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He had slept peacefully throughout the first steps of her ritual, which did not escape her notice and earned him a measure of appreciation. Perhaps this time things would be different. There was always the chance that this one would realize his mistakes and lavish her with the attention that he had so long neglected. She slowly ran the wash cloth over his naked body, enjoying the firm planes and masculine angles that he had worked so hard to make perfect for her. When she was finished with the initial discovery and approval of the physical parts that he had kept hidden from her, she took a small blanket from a side table and draped it across his mid-section. Before moving to the other room and the next phase of her ritual, she ran her hand across his abdomen one more time – a small, lascivious grin curled the corners of her mouth as she bit down on her lower lip. If asked, she would be hard pressed to admit which phase was her favorite, but that one was near the top.

She and He and What Must Be – part three

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It was an unexpected gift to find him sleeping on the couch several hours after his family had all gone to bed. With everyone else tucked away upstairs, she was able to move around downstairs, setting the scene as necessary, without alerting anyone or diverting from her plan. When she was ready she stood over him and watched him with a ravenous yearning that would have scared him had he woken up. Instead he continued to snore and appeared to be sleeping well enough, but she still placed the chloroform soaked towel gently, almost reverently, over his mouth and nose. He didn’t even so much as stir, which she found interesting considering the reactions of other lovers in the past.

With practiced ease she moved him to her customized hand truck, securing him with the attached belts, before moving him toward the garage. Propping him against a table, she took a last look around to be sure that she had left only what she intended to behind, grabbed the keys to his SUV, and wheeled him out to the garage, careful to close the door with barely a sound. She was thankful that he had the larger vehicle, which made transporting him much easier, plus added to the illusion that he had left of his own accord. Before long she was heading down the street, her prize securely hidden in the back, and an excited, almost child-like, grin stamped firmly across her face. As every time before, she had executed her plans with precision and professionalism so that she could truly relax and enjoy the stages ahead. She licked her lips in anticipation without even realizing that she had done it.

She and He and What Must Be – part two

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Running her fingers over his favorite pen, she considered how he held it each day.  He picked it up from his desk blotter and applied it to whatever document he was working on without ever considering how miraculous and wonderful that pen truly was – much the same way he had passed over her.  She looked away from his ranting through his home, which she could clearly see through the large windows from her spot across the street, to fondle the pen and pay closer attention to it.  His hand had embraced that simple machine.  He often put the end of it in his mouth, touching it with his tongue or teeth.  She brought the instrument up to her nose, but couldn’t smell any traces of him, so she slid her tongue over the end.  She enjoyed the little flicker of excitement she felt tingle through her body at the idea of having her tongue where his tongue had once been.  Almost like kissing, she thought, as she flicked the end of her tongue over the tip of the pen and turned her eyes to once again watch her prey.  He had calmed down, retreating from his family to his office, and she watched him moving things around his desk.  Caressing the pen as if it were an extension of her lover, she bit hard on the tip of her tongue, drawing blood and wondered if his blood would taste the same.

 

(to be continued)