Turning

The harsh electric lights blinded his sensitive eyes, so thick creamy candles dripped in candelabras scattered about the study. The two-story windows, with their ornate stained glass upper panes, were open to the night’s moonless sky. Heavy, dusty brocade drapes hung limply next to the windows, ready to be dragged, in a moment’s notice, across the room’s eyes.

Books, leather- and cloth-bound alike, lay abandoned on the desk and two Victorian fainting couches that were the room’s only furniture. More tomes idled in random piles around the room. A chalkboard, covered in spidery notations, lingered in the corner next to the windows, forgotten in its master’s agonized fury. The once luxurious carpet was now worn down to a memory, tossed aside upon the barren ocean of hardwood.

The room’s master, bare-chested and wearing only a pair of silk-soft ancient jeans, paced around the oasis of light in the center of the room. Growling murmurs escaped his parched lips. He chanted to himself, repeating two phrases to himself in an effort to escape his prison. His feet, roughened by months of shoelessness, nimbly avoided the mountains and molehills of abandoned books.

Abruptly, his left foot just rising to begin another journey, the master halted. His breath rasped in and out of his chapped lips; his chest heaved in aching longing for the sweet night air. Frantic with remembered illusion, the man raked through the discarded books, searching for his prize. But the piled tomes revealed no more secrets than they had in the beginning of his quest.

The sickeningly sweet odor of his breakfast being prepared pulled the man from his research. His quivering stomach yearned for the warm, dripping meat of a fresh kill, but his mind, still a reasoning thing, refused to yield to the beast inside. Silently, he waited, hands clasped tightly behind him as his maid timidly presented his repast.

His time was up. Reason fled, leaving only the beast. Alone. But for a single, petrified, girl.

Not flash, NEWS!

Not flash, NEWS!

Yep, again this is not a flash fiction piece. But, it is a post about some awesome news. Alright, maybe only awesome to me, but then again, this is my blog. So, here goes:

My fantasy novel is up on Amazon!!!

I’m super excited. In case you couldn’t tell. I’ll be back to writing flash pieces in the next day or two. Have to take some time to rest after being sick and working on publishing a book.

Oh, and here’s the link to my first-of-a-trilogy book:

Mind traps

It sucks, to be locked inside your own head. There are no bars, no chains, nothing, really, to keep you shut away. But shut away, you are.

In my head, I scream for help, but, of course, no one hears me. In my head, I beg for help from the few visitors my body receives. My sister comes to visit every so often. Less so, now, than when I first got locked up. She tries, bless her heart, but she can’t stand to see me like this. It reminds her too much of her own troubles, I think. I want to tell her I know how she gets locked up, but I can’t. Besides, it’s not the same. Mine is my own head, hers is her husband.

My aunt and uncle come to visit, sometimes together, sometimes one or the other. My aunt sits and recounts every detail of her oh-so-perfect life, which my uncle dismisses on his visits. When they arrive together, though, it’s always tales of how much the outside world has changed, or how much it’s stayed the same. They never, on any visit, mention my parents. I suppose it’s how they try to help me.

About once a year, a reporter manages to get into the visitor’s queue, but they never last long, not once they figure out that I can’t really say anything about the accident. They always tell me they’ll be back, but they never come back. Not one.

My brother has never come to visit, though he sends flowers every week. Always daisies. They were Mom’s favorites, not mine. But he never paid attention to me, anyway. I suppose it’s sweet, the way he tries to cheer me up… and assuage his own guilt about never seeing me.

Mom and Dad are in my head with me. She chases me down, like she always has, but it’s my mind, so I know more hiding spots than she does. She’s getting closer, though. I thought I’d gotten rid of both of them a few months ago. It got really peaceful and quiet in here and I thought I might finally have a chance to break out. My sister was here, then. I think she noticed something, because she leaned forward in her chair and reached for me.

But then she called me by name. The name of my mother. And like it conjured the bitter old hag, Mom popped up, between me and my exit. So I fled back into the dark places of my mind. I heard her laughing. It echoed in my head, so loud I almost didn’t hear his whimpering. But I have to stay away from Dad, too. I can’t save him. Like he couldn’t save me.