Author: maleghast (Page 24 of 35)

The fire was burned down to embers, just a soft orange glow that was barely heating the inch around it, let alone the three sleeping bags scattered around or the people in them. Scott pulled his knees in closer to his chest and cursed all three of them for sleeping.

The sky was lightening in the East, slowly shifting from black to a rich deep blue. If it had not been for the exhaustion that was starting to come to him he would have genuinely loved the view; with enough sleep behind him, dawn was his favourite time of the day. He padded his pockets one more time, looking for smokes that he knew were not there. Why had he only brought one pack with him?

It had seemed like such a good idea to get out of town for the weekend when David had suggested it, and until the others had crashed after all the beer and guy-talk he had enjoyed it; it had taken his mind off Erica, as David had planned all along. He had not had as much to drink as the others and once there was no one to talk to, his mind went into overdrive.

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There it was, suddenly, in the darkness. The flame appeared with its attendant rushing sound, not unlike fast moving water, as it flared into existence and then was gone.

Victor strained one more time against the ropes that were tied tightly around his wrists and ankles. He could not make anything out in the blackness, even though he had returned to consciousness and opened his eyes several minutes before. He had never been in complete darkness before, and he was starting to wonder where he could be that not even the tiniest amount of light could find its way to his eyes, apart from that flame. He decided that as he could not work out where he could be or how he could have got there that he had nothing to lose by trying to make contact with whoever was in control of the flame.

“Hello? Who’s there?”

Again the flame burst into life, for nearly a second and then was gone.

“Come on, tell me what you want if not who you are. Okay?”

A low laugh came out of the void.

“What makes you think I want anything?”

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You can see the original post on Ficlets.com by clicking here.

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This Ficlet was inspired by the following image:

Photo by Samuelraj (on Flickr) you can see the photo’s page here.

Andrea was completely silhouetted in the lights from the squad car, stood over the corpse whose coming to rest on that corner, on that night had dragged them from their beds at three in the morning.

In that moment it was easy for Dan to forget the dead person lying in the street, and marvel at how impressive she was. Only out of bed only ten minutes and she was already ten times more focused than he would be until the rest of the coffee in his hand had been taken on board, like fuel for his brain. How did she do that? Maybe she did not sleep.

He knocked back another slug of the bad, convenience store drip and placed the box on the deck. He started getting the camera ready to shoot the scene, looking up from time to time to watch her taking notes and moving in a slow spiral towards the body, noting the placement of shell casings and other detritus before she even reached the body. He clipped the adapter from the ring flash onto the hot shoe and checked that there was a card loaded.

“Ready for the pictures?”

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We were walking down Chandos Place heading for the Maple Leaf, which is one of my favourite places in Covent Garden, hell even the West End, when Jake turned to me and dropped the bombshell.

“I mean, how fucking cold is this; she told me while we were fighting that the thing that finally made her want to divorce me was mi haircut!”

I nodded, and desperately sought within myself a way to agree with him while resisting the temptation to agree with her as well. No one has ever looked quite so ridiculous with a mohican as Jake. He was my best friend, but the man had ears that would not have looked out of place on Prince Charles. His tiny, pin head denuded of all but a floppy crest of his thin hair that had then been dyed a dodgy shade of red, he did look a mite ridiculous.

I was pretty sure that Katie really wanted to divorce him because he quit his lucrative sales job and become a bicycle courier, at twenty-nine, without talking to his wife about the decision. Well and then there was that she was shagging me.

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You can see the original post on Ficlets.com by clicking here.

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This Ficlet was inspired by Hepstar’s suggestions of a bad haircut, Covent Garden and His Best Friend’s Divorce as item, place and activity from the Wednesday poll on my Livejournal.

“YOU can kiss me if you like.”

I nearly choked on my coke. Sure I wanted to kiss her, pretty badly in fact, but that was pretty forward even for Pip. There we were, sitting on the barrier at the top of the cliff above Orange Peel Corner, stealing thirty minutes before we were both expected in different holiday homes for tea. This was our only time, until maybe next year when we might be allowed to go out after tea, though not to the Tuds. We would have gone then if we thought we could get away with it; we each knew other fourteen year olds who would be there later on that evening.

I smiled at her and without saying anything I moved my mouth towards her, extending my whole body behind my face, to reach and kiss her without our bodies touching at all. Her lips were soft, warm and wet and just a little apprehensive, like mine. I was about to pull away when I felt her fingers in my hair pulling me closer; our bodies touched. In the back of my mind I started to hope fervently that I was going to be late for tea.

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“Hey Jimmy! Phone!”

He put the beer back on the bar – was he ever going to get to drink it? He had just got rid of Newton, who talked so much and so fast that Jimmy had felt like he was caught on the interstate without a windshield. He levered himself down off the stool and ambled to the end of the bar where the phone’s receiver had been thoughtlessly placed in a pool of beer. He rolled his eyes at no one in particular, wiped it off with a spare napkin from the pile on the bar and put the receiver to his ear;

“Jimmy Lancaster here. Who is this?”

“Jimmy, get your ass back to the White House right now! Something unbelievable just came over the wires and when I tried to call Gergen for confirmation the switch was jammed! It’s for real, man, so get back there before you miss the briefing that is no doubt about to occur.”

Jimmy’s mind was swimming, first off Nate almost never screamed at him down the phone, plus Brady’s deputy had already called a full lid. It had been a quiet Labour Day. What had happened?

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You can see the original post on Ficlets.com by clicking here.

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This Ficlet was inspired by the front page of Wikipedia for the 1st of September 2008, in English. Amongst other articles was the mention that today was the 25th anniversary of the downing of Korean Air Lines Flight 007 by the Soviet Air Force / Air Commnad. You can read about the incident here.

The pistol felt heavy in his hand, not in an alien way as he was familiar with weapons. No the gun felt reassuringly heavy. Old fashioned projectile weapons like this Browning were antiques, considered so outmoded and rare that security scanners no longer paid them any mind; these days it was the energy signature of a plasma or laser weapon that was the target of the state security teams and their technological help mates. It had taken considerable time and money to find and repair it, and even longer to gather together the requisite equipment to manufacture reliable ammunition, but it had all been worth it.

He was no longer in any doubt that his target deserved death. His only concern had been the potential to inadvertently marytr a man that was so utterly unworthy of such respect or dignity. Luckily the tide was turning there as well, and the documents that he had sent to various news directors that would arrive after he was dead were likely to leave his actions mitigated at worst and vindicated at best.

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You can see the original post on Ficlets.com by clicking here.

The night was far too warm. Normally the darkness had brought some respite from the heat of the days, but the fall of night had brought no such relief today.

Damian sat by the window, looking out across the town and the flickering lights of candles in windows. The town at large did not have electricity, but he was glad that the compound had a generator, if only for the fan that was working overtime trying to cool down his study.

He took a sip of the ice water that was a undreamed of luxury for most of the people readying themselves for sleep below and then picked a cigarette out of the packet in his breast pocket. He turned the lighter over and over in his hand, trying to recall the look in Danielle’s eyes when she had given it to him; the expectation of him being pleased by the gift, the anticipation of his happiness. He flicked the lid open and it made the characteristic and satisfying clunk that it always made; a predictable sound that bore the promise of the satisfaction of the first lungful of smoke.

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You can see the original post on Ficlets.com by clicking here.

Andrew turned to the window and pushed it slightly more open, hoping that there might be some breeze in the still summer night. The candle did not even flicker in the darkness.

He laid down the quill and stared into the lonely flame, allowing his eyes to drift out of focus as he relaxed back into the chair. The soft yellow glow filled his vision and he started to drift into a familiar reverie.

He allowed his mind to wander in the background and found himself remembering the Great Hall when he had first arrived. It had been in the very depths of Winter that he had made the journey across the county to pledge himself to the order, and he had been so keen to finally arrive after ten days in the snow and wind that he had not camped in sight of the abbey to approach in the morning. The brother that had welcomed him as an honoured guest had left him seated in the Great Hall surrounded by hundreds and hundreds of votive candles flickering in the icy drafts that cut across the space while he fetched the Abbot.

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You can see the original post on Ficlets.com by clicking here.

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This Ficlet was inspired by the following image:

Photo by Michael Esplana (on Flickr) you can see the photo’s page here.

She was winding her forelock in her fingers, absently staring out of the window; content as far as I could tell.

She was not aware that I was watching, her reverie deep enough that my feet on the stairs and the gentle clanking of cutlery on crockery had not roused her consciousness.

I stopped for long enough to really look at her; her deep blue eyes, the sweet gold of her blonde hair, the soft ivory of her skin. She was perfect in my mind, even if for another her neck might be too long, her breasts too small or too big, her hips too wide or too narrow; one can never tell the taste of others. I was captivated by the places where her body disappeared under the sheet that was laid across her in a rather careless manner, not to cover her it seemed, but just because it was there and the cotton felt good against her skin. I considered putting the tray down and going hunting under the sheet for the delights that its borders seemed to promise.

She stirred.

“Breakfast in bed? Oh baby, thank you.”

Oh that smile.

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