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

A Little Help Please?

/ C. L. Clark / 5 Comments

I would like your opinion, dear readers and followers of my blog.  I have three similar book covers for my upcoming release for the second book in my New Sight Series and I would like to know which one you like best.  This really comes down to preference in title color and minor word differences, but if you hate it all together, then I’d love to know that too.

Cover #3Cover #4Book 2 Cover

Ok, so…         #1                                           #2                                                     #3

Which one do you like best?

The Spider and The Fly

/ C. L. Clark / 2 Comments

With silken words he wooed her
Wrapping her within his gossamer strands of compliments
Teasing her with promises of a golden future
His breath warm and tantalizing against her ear.
Her ruby lips curved in a shy yet seductive arc
Her body turned and tilted toward him
Glimpses of fleshly assurances teased at with thin lace wrappings
Her tentative touch a silent welcome

A dark and intimate hallway secure from prying eyes
Urgency presiding over time, filled with wanton need
A grasp, a sigh, a lick, a touch
Bodies pressed and writhing, moving, melding
He thinks only of his conquest
She thinks only of her craving
His penultimate moment a hollow crescendo as she reaches her own
Absorbing his flesh with hers, consuming the tissues and bones

A sigh of complete fulfillment and mild overindulgence
An adjustment of limbs and lace
Disposing of what was his but is no more
Slipping away without a second glance
Unnoticed by throngs of hungry eyes engaged in rituals of their own
A shy and tentative smile crosses the façade of a human guise
Long languid strides convey her down a boulevard filled with endless possibilities
Hunger abated . . . for now

Spider Web

Side Effects – A Short Story

/ C. L. Clark / Leave a comment

“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.

Hobbies for Psychopaths

/ C. L. Clark / Leave a comment

Conner had marveled at how the kid met his demise with at least a degree more civility than one might have surmised from his outward demeanor. That in and of itself was somewhat redemptive for him, since very little ever shocked Conner anymore, but it didn’t change the end result.  The world had become a series of monotonous pursuits that carried the endless weight of predictability and threatened to drive him to the edge of insanity in slow, plodding steps.  As a matter of point, he had taken up his latest hobby in an effort to find the threads of fantastic that he suspected were still woven through the fabric of every day.  The fact that the kid, who was actually more along the lines of young adult, had displayed behavior outside of what Conner had expected brought the slightest hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Although the punk kid – often called thug by society as if it were a title of some renown – hadn’t actually embraced the process, as perhaps his sour disposition and black-clad, death mongering attitude might have suggested at the start, he hadn’t cursed it either.  He had certainly been surprised, an emotion shared by the larger portion of Conner’s victims, but there had also been a small portion of regret and that was the thread that Conner could not help but embrace.  For a solitary moment in time, the idea hung in the air like the scent of flowers at Spring’s first blush, that perhaps the world was not as calculable as Conner had feared.  The fleeting thought faded as quickly as it had appeared when, as he slid the knife further into the punk’s ribcage and angled it upward, the reprobate had the audacity to utter a blood splattering, “why?”boredom-boredom-demotivational-poster-1225259054

Basking in the Afterglow

/ C. L. Clark / Leave a comment

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.

/ C. L. Clark / 1 Comment

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.