Author: maleghast (Page 25 of 35)

“Another shot?”

James motioned to the open bottle of Jack Daniels on the bar between them.

David tried very hard to tear his eyes away from where Michelle was practicing her moves; even fully clothed there was something undeniably sexy about pole-dancing when she did it.

“Nah. Thanks, but I’ve got to get back to work.”

James snorted;

“That’s never stopped you before. What’s up?”

How could he explain that this story was personal without revealing that he had been screwing a stripper, and worse still a stripper from his friend’s biggest rival. James was a good friend, but he would not have been impressed to discover that David had been nailing Olga, if only because in order to have met her there was a good chance that he had been spending his time and money at a different establishment. As far as James was concerned if David was in Soho, he should be in his place. Of course in James’s place David could not pick up on the talent. This meant that he often went elsewhere; he just did not want to admit to it.

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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 Demondaz’s suggestions of a bottle of Jack Daniels, Soho and Pole Dancing as item, place and activity from the Wednesday poll on my Livejournal.

“There is no honour in this, my master.”

Randolph spoke from his knees, but the defiance in his voice was evident as though he were stood to his full six feet. Eyes cast down, he did not see the smirk on his master’s face, reveling in the inevitable rebellion of the student. Randolph waited, trusting to his recent successes and services rendered, hoping that he might speak his mind when it mattered and influence the old man, even a little.

The old man reached up slowly and cast his hood from his head, allowing the shock of white hair to catch the flickering candlelight, clearly making ready to speak, but delaying for as long as he might, testing the resolve of his protegé. Putting a crooked finger to the side of his face he drew in a long, lingering breath and then finally answered;

“Honour is not why we are here, Randolph. Have you forgotten? We are here to bring about the defeat of the Church of Rome and nothing more, or less come to that.”

Randolph shook his head and rose to stand before his master…

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

I was just headin’ into work, like I do every day. I make ammunition at the factory, most of the town does. I had waved at Bill, he’s the guy who does the security desk at the main gate, and I was stopped to chat to Helen and Marjorie when it happened.

There is talk that some folks saw the bombers’ faces, that they were just ordinary looking guys, without any hate or madness in their eyes. Me I never saw them, all I remember was lighting Marjorie’s cigarette and then being knocked off my feet by the blast. The noise was incredible, you know there was a ringin’ in my ears for well past a week after?

I was out – I hit my head on the ground when I fell – and, well I’m glad about that. I didn’t see the broken bodies and the blood, I kinda slept through it all. I’ve heard folks talkin’ since the factory re-opened and I wish I hadn’t heard. Friends of mine were ripped open by those two fellahs, for what? They say that they were protestin’ the war, but how can you protest a war by killin’ folks? I don’t see how.

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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 25th of August 2008, in English. Amongst other articles was the report of a two-person suicide bombing of an Ordnance Factory in Pakistan, so I constructed a story that was designed to be a similar happening in the US instead.

The confidence was gone from his eyes. Fear was flooding in to fill the void, and along with that blood was pumping from his nose and trickling into his mouth. He tried to cry out, but the pain from between his legs was somehow rendering him silent.

She took a step back, careful to make sure that she still had a good grip with her left hand, and flicked her hair out of her eyes with her right. She then closed it around his chin and made him look into her eyes.

“Where is it, Adam?”

He tried to blink through the tears that were welling up from the broken nose and focus on her face; who was this woman?

“I haven’t got all night!”

She twisted her left hand and his crotch exploded in another ball of agony. What did she want?

“Come on Adam, the drive. Where is it?”

It all made sense now. She must have been one of the ones that they identified and she did not like being on that kind of list. He could feel her hand flexing, she was going to twist harder, he was sure.

“On my desk, in the porcelain dog. Really.”

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

“Can I buy you a drink?”

She smiled and held his gaze, exuding confidence, trying to hide her nerves behind the bravado of the moment and the two gin and tonics.

“Do you want to buy me a drink, or do you want to come upstairs?”

She steeled her nerve, nodded; this was what she wanted. She followed him, making a point to let her eyes linger on his rear every few steps, relying on the magic way in which people ‘feel’ the gaze of others.

As the penthouse door closed she pushed him against the wall. She buried her mouth into his neck and closed her left hand around his crotch, her right against the side of his head. She felt his body move in assent, so she gently nipped his neck and tightened her grip in both places; he continued to respond.

This was all going to plan.

She slid her left hand up and under the waistband of his trousers. As his body told her that he was focused in the way she wanted, she drew her head back and brought it down on the bridge of his nose as she tightened her left hand suddenly.

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

“Are you sure? We’ve got a lot riding on you being right about this.”

“Look, demons cannot abide holy ground. If we can get into the church then we are safe, at least until they can persuade some human to desecrate the place, but I think that we are ahead of them on this one. Anyway, come on, it’s just around this corner.”

They started running again and a few moments later they turned the corner. Like a beacon of hope the white church was stark against the clear summer sky behind. There were no sentries; Luke was right they were first. Ebba felt her spirits lift for the first time since they had started running, and she threw her head back in relief as they ran through the gates and up to the church door.

Unfortunately her joy was short-lived. As Luke pushed the door open, Ebba caught a glimpse of the large red stain on the altar and the inverted cross. She tried to call out to him, but before she could speak a hand had reached out and dragged him inside. She heard from behind her;

“Hello Ebba. Welcome.”

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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 stuckincustoms (on Flickr) you can see the photo’s page here.

Phaedra smiled as she heard the low staccato of jet sounds coming through her headset as she tweaked the manouvering thrusters. Logically she knew that the thrusters made no sound – they were firing in the vacuum – there was no medium to carry the sound. She smiled because she loved the fact that the engineers behind her scout vessel and countless other ships had decided to add aural feedback to the manouvering system anyway. She could imagine the scene in which a bunch of geeks would argue back and forth and eventually a marketing guy or gal would pipe up ‘but people like to hear the thrusters’.

The clang of hull on docking collar was real enough. That sound was transported to her ears through the recycled, precisely controlled atmosphere of Elixir, her home for the last six weeks and during that time her little island in the void. They had seen great sights together, and the contents of the cargo hold was going to raise an eyebrow or two. Still, homecoming was no fun if there were no surprises to hand out.

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

I awoke to find myself alone in the tent; Jane was not in bed with me and not in the other part of the tent. I threw a robe on and stepped out into the cold desert night to look for her.

It is a strange thing, but during the daytime the sand is so hot that one cannot ever walk upon it with bare feet, but in the dead of night it has cooled to the point where it almost feels wet against the skin. I love the feeling of sand wrapped around my feet, so as I padded from palm to palm looking for Jane, unwilling to call out lest I woke anyone, I enjoyed the freedom to walk on the sand.

She was by the water, just sitting with her back against a palm and her knees drawn up under her chin. She did not immediately sense my presence and I could see that she had been crying, a single tear gleaming in the moonlight on her cheek. I knew that she was missing England and I had wondered from time to time if she was really happy with me, but I had not seen any indication from her as clear as stealing out into the night to cry.
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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 suggestions of Immewahr in my regular poll for an Item, a Location and an Activity for my Wednesday Ficlet.

“Is that?”

“Where?”

“Over there. It looks like him.”

“Oh my God! It is him! I’m going over to talk to him; I mean I have to. You know?”

“What are you going to say?”

“I don’t know. I’ll probably say something about how much I love his lyrics, how impressed I have always been by their depth and wit. Either that or I will just stand there with my mouth slightly open and mumble ‘hi’ and ‘I love you’. We’ll just have to see.”

As I watched Nicola wander across the street to say ‘hello’ to her idol; her favourite band member from her favourite band, I could not help but smile. It was right that I stayed in the pub and watched from afar. Sure I like their music but she is a real fan; tagging along would have been tacky. As I looked around the bar I could see other small groups being left by one or two people, fingers being pointed out of the window. By the time Nicola came back, the object of her admiration was surrounded by fans; credit to him he was smiling and chatting, not running from them.

“He’s lovely.”

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

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This Ficlet has been directly inspired by the real world meeting between my friend Cathy and (one of) her idols Neil Fallon, lead singer from the most excellent Clutch. She met him outside the Tesco on the Cowley Road in Oxford, yesterday evening, before we went into the Zodiac (I refuse to call it the Oxford Carling Academy) to see the might Clutch play – they REALLY rocked, by the way.

Kay would not stop talking about Roanoke once she realised that we were going to be close enough to take a side trip there. In the run up to our vacation I became bemused by my daughter’s obsession with the story of the Lost Colony. She poured over books and internet sites, loading as much content as she could onto her laptop for the trip. I could hardly complain; sometimes it had been hard to get her to crack a book at all. Even so, her interest was bordering obsession and I found that odd. Sure it is an interesting story. The complete disappearance of all the colonists with just one gnomic clue – CROATOAN carved on a fence post from the fort is a unique mystery, but there were too many unknowns for me to be as drawn in by it as she was, at least on paper.

That all changed when I stood there and took the place in. I do not like to admit that there was something dead, almost hostile about the place. I don’t believe that it was my imagination; not after what happened during our second night on the island…
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You can see the original post on Ficlets.com by clicking here.

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This Ficlet was inspired (as many of my Monday Ficlets) by an item from the English front page of wikipedia.org today the 18th of August, because on this day in 1590, John White, Govenor of the Colony of Roanoake returned to the island from England to discover the Colony abandoned and partially dismantled, with the word CROATOAN carved on one of the fence posts from the fort. It is still considered to be a mystery to this day…