Tag Archives: #writing

Dirty Secret

Copyright 2017
All Rights Reserved

TW: adultery, murder, suicide

There he goes, not even noticing how I look at him. He doesn’t notice the look in my eye. He doesn’t see that he owns my heart and soul. He doesn’t know how much I need him.
It is wrong I know. But I can’t help but love him. I try to stay away. I try to remember he isn’t mine. I try. I try so hard.
Sometimes I slip.
But only when I am drunk, which is often, as I love him so.
I love him. How could I not?
It really is a sight to behold, that man.
But I am nothing but a dirty secret, for when he has had too much to drink, when the job gets to tough, and when he just needs someone other than his wife. He comes seeking a comfort only I can give.
But then he leaves again; the clock mocks me as it flashes two in the morning. Four hours. For four hours he was mine.
And now he will go back to her. His love. His soul. The one that doesn’t have to be the dirty little secret. The one that gets to tell the world he is hers. The one that gets to tell the world that he belongs to her. That the world knows has his heart. Even if I have his body for hours at a time.
I get up and look in my cabinet. The gun he gave me is there. For my protection, he had told me. He had a lot of enemies.
The pills the doctor gave me are there. For my depression. My anxiety. My seizures. All there.
I am sick of being someone’s dirty little secret. I look at them, but I slide down to the floor and sigh.
I don’t know how long I am there. But suddenly I hear my door open; only he can get in to my apartment. I wait for something, but nothing is coming. I hear the bathroom door open. He is standing there above me. He has a gun. I look up at him.
“You can’t be my dirty little secret anymore.” He pointed the gun at me and shot twice, into my chest.
As I lay there, the pain of the bullets in my chest, I was gasping for air.
I hear another shot; he had turned the gun upoin himself and shot himself in the head.
I struggle to get up. I make my way to the phone… I dial emergency services. “He killed himself…” I gasped out, and then my world went black…
I was no longer his dirty little secret.

Nightmares

Micro Fiction
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In the land of nightmares nothing has to make sense. We after all are just that, nightmares, creatures of imagination, given life. It is why when I retired from traveling through dreams, I opened a bar. A bar made of glass, with the magic of dreams it is easy to fix after a fight. The bar of glass allows all to watch the dreams of their humans, and know when they have to join the dream. It gives me and the other creatures of the night our entertainment and the social interaction that we now crave as we were created by the humans we torture. After all, in the land of nightmares the only light we have are from the dreams of our humans.

Bloody Mary

Twitter VSS365 Prompt

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I thought them just #stories.
A nun murdered.
Her blood dyed the floors blood red.
Couldn’t be painted over.
Say Bloody Mary 3 times & she came for you.
An odd bee left behind.
Until I tried to paint the floors.
Until I said Bloody Mary.
Until I lost my life to Sister Mary.

This is actually based upon a local legend at the school/church I went to as a child. Legend has it that when the school 1st opened (St. Mary’s) in 1922, it was a high school. And some of the teen boys went and killed Sister Mary who was a teacher there. They beat her up and dragged her bleeding body though the school and church, dyeing the floors red with her blood. They killed her in the girls locker room off the gym. If you stated Bloody Mary 3 times she would come through the mirror and grab you. Stories state a loan bee would be the only evidence.

I can testify to the floors never able to be painted. My family was active in the church from 1986 to the time they shut it down in 2006. And my dad tried once to help paint over the blood floors to lay carpet. The next morning they were once again the deep blood red color.

To keep this legend alive since the closing (and soon tearing down) of the school, I put it in some of my writings. I used it for short stories, but it had myths in my novels, etc.

If she is still out there, Sister Mary, I hope you find peace when the school is no more.

St. Mary’s stands abandoned since 2006 except for the ghosts that reside. May they find peace when it is demolished.