Author: maleghast (Page 27 of 35)

“This is not a time for us anymore, little one; we must withdraw.”

The child shook her head and looked for all the world as though she was about to stamp her foot as well.

“Shan’t. My place is here, and nothing is going to make me give that up.”

Her face was a picture of purpose and assertiveness as she answered her elder companion. He smiled, benificently, and shook his head making his soft, grey mane seem more like a cascade of water than hair. The child continued to stare back at him, her arms crossed across her chest and her mouth pursed in an immature attempt at a stony face.

“Little one, the church has established itself here to the exclusion of our kind. If we withdraw back into the Summer Kingdom we will be safe, but if we stay here the Christians will drive us mad with their bells and hymns and prayers. Their practices are anathema to our kind; you know this.”

Her face softened a little, turning from anger to fear, and then hardened again;

“Then we must fight them uncle, we owe the woods that.”

—

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

She let out a soft moan as he spared her any more teasing and parted her lips with his tongue. Her taste was like heaven to him and from the way she started to gently but urgently thrust her pelvis towards his mouth he was fairly sure that she was getting something out of the bargain as well.

He slowly eased the tip of his tongue between the folds of her quim, making languorous circles from her clit to the edge of her vagina. Her sex began to open up to him, and she became wetter, her body giving him cues that she herself was too pre-occupied to give. He slid his tongue back up and then closed his mouth around her little bud, gently sucking it into his mouth and playing his tongue across it.

Her hands slid into his hair at the back of his head, pulling him into her body, and the thrusting of her pelvis from before became more urgent, her breath now in halting gasps and moans.

He felt the small spasms in her thighs and then his mouth was flooded with her juice as she came and came pushing his head into her.

—

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

He had been watching her for some time, not entirely comfortable even in himself that he was observing her, even if she was a waitress and therefore out in public to all intents and purposes.

He liked the way that she chatted to everyone, as if they were actually important to her, and he loved her style; the piercings and her amazing tattoos, the ones that he could see anyway. He had been taking breakfast in the same place for over a month in order to see her and still he had not found the courage to talk to her beyond a ‘good morning’ or ‘it’s nice out, huh?’ and of course to give her his order or ask for the check.

He knew what was holding him back, and it was not the obvious. It was just that he felt like it was somewhat tacky to hit on waitresses; they must put up with that shit all of the time, and no matter how nicely he put it she was going to be immediately on her guard. He had thought about trying to strike up a conversation with her about where she liked to go out, but that was obvious too…

—

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

“I was the one that they never knew about, you know?”

The old man who had crept up on me made me start right out of my skin when he spoke. I turned to look at him and was surprised to find a very old man indeed, perhaps in his nineties, but still stood very straight, not stooped with age. He was dressed to the nines in the fifties style, a deep grey suit with a fine pinstripe and a sombre charcoal fedora on his head; simple yet stylish sunglasses hiding his eyes.

“I’m sorry, who never knew what about you? In fact who are you?”

He flashed me a wicked smile from under the brim of his hat and handed me his card:

John de Lancey – Private Security

There was no number or address, but at the time I paid it no mind.

“Kid, I was the one who was in her heart when the G-men came down on her and left her looking like she’d done herself in. I found her, and had to make like I was just shocked, not plunged into despair as I was.”

I looked back at the inscription and then back at him;

“You and Marilyn?”

He nodded.

—

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

—

This Ficlet was inspired by the item on the English Wikipedia front page today (4th August, 2008) remembering the death of Marilyn Monroe. Of course that anniversary is the 5th of August, but because I am in San Francisco it is still the 4th for me, but my laptop is set to British Summer Time and so got the page for the 5th – extra cool weirdness ftw! 🙂

The morning was cold as she stepped out of the apartment door, her silent little companion shivered a little on the end of his leash, his feet touching the street for the first time.

The sun was only just coming up as she set out towards 24th, the morning walk’s payoff in her mind’s eye; a Turkish from Philz. With her hood up and her eyes down, she passed by ‘outdoor sofas’ and locked gateways until she cut east to walk past the elementary school with its incredible murals. The Mission was still showing her new beauty in the form of its distinctive street art; the Mexican Mural style.

Her companion was dragging behind, as he always did, checking every tree, hydrant and newspaper machine to see if he should pee there or save himself for a more important waypoint in the local canine equivalent of GPS .

There on the corner of Folsom and 24th was the reason to make this early morning odyssey; the finest coffee in San Francisco, and perhaps the world.

“Morning.”

“Hi, can I get a Turkish with cream, please?”

—

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

She looked over her shoulder from the kitchen, trying to catch his eye as she mixed the drinks. She wanted him to be watching her, she wanted to feel his gaze upon her, but he was playing it far too cool, flicking through the book she had left casually on the table.

She smiled to herself, and turned her attention back to the drinks while trying to work out how he would react to a book of erotic photographs on her coffee table. Would he assume that she was liberated, or wonder if she was an artist of some kind. They had only just met; there was still ample room for assumption and bias to play a role in the end of the evening. Perhaps he would simply be turned on by the pictures or better still he might be turned on by the idea that she found them arousing.

She turned back to the living room, the drinks in her hands, and could not resist trying to sneak a look between his legs to see if the book was doing its work.

He caught her eye and smiled, laying the book aside so that she had a clear view; she smiled.

—

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

As he looked out over the bay, the lights dancing along the cables of the Bay Bridge he could not help but think of her.

It had been five years, but he could still remember it like it was yesterday, the spray, the fun… It had seemed like such a good idea to go out on Cory’s yacht that day, and Cara had loved every moment of it, well at least until she had fallen off the boat. It was crazy to have stayed out in the Bay after dark, but everyone wanted to see the Port Authority and the TransAmerica building lit up, and no one gave a lot of thought to the number of beers and magheritas that everyone had thrown back.

It was at least fifteen minutes between Cara slipping and falling, somewhere up near the bow, before someone noticed that she was missing. He had gone out of his mind, screamed her name, almost jumped into the water himself, and he would have done if Cory had not held him back.

They stopped looking for her after four days. He could not bear to think of her alone in the dark, cold and frightened.

—

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

—

This Ficlet was inspired by the following image:

Photo by DIKESH.com (on Flickr)

The waves were lapping against his feet when he came to his senses. As he opened his eyes he saw the mist and the gentle swell, and he knew that he was on the beach. The problem was not having the slightest idea how he had come to be there.

He looked around, hoping amongst other things to see a pile of clothes, as the breeze cut into him like a knife. There were no clothes in a tidy little pile up the beach, though there was a fireplace built above the high water mark, and what looked like enough fuel for the night at least. He turned away from the waves and walked back across the wet sand, his feet sinking just a little with each step as if he were walking on a giant butterscotch blamance.

As the sand turned dry, the little camp area became much more obvious, and he could see places where the evidence of prior tenants was all too clear; empty Coke cans and pizza boxes strewn across the sand.

He stepped across to the makeshift hearth and filled it with kindling, then twigs, and then he lit it.

It blazed.

—

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

“What are you doing here?”

The fear in Dalton’s voice was evident; to hear it was a real excitement for Langdon.

“I’m meeting Denlow; Why are you here?”

Langdon laughed quietly. There was an unmistakably manic smile on his face that looked reptilian with his mouth slightly open and his tongue protruding between his teeth.

“I thought that you wanted an end to all of this, Dalton. Why did you arrange a meeting on the Pier of all places? Did you think that a public space would offer you some protection?”

The sights and sounds of Brighton Pier had been a comfort to Dalton, while he had waited, but now they suddenly seemed to be a noisy background that might cover any kind of mischief, rather than expose it.

Suddenly Langdon closed the gap between them and thrust a stiletto between Dalton’s ribs, perfectly bisecting the aorta; he would be dead soon, and with limited mess. Langdon sat Dalton down on a nearby bench, lay him down and then opened his copy of the Daily Mail and laid it across his victim’s face.

—

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

—

This Ficlet was inspired by the contribution of a Place, an Item and an Activity on Livejournal by childeric. They were; Brighton Pier, a copy of the Daily Mail, Murder.

The smell of chilli and sizzling meat washed over him like a wave as he walked into the taqueria, and it smelled really good. he cast his mind back to the last time he had eaten ‘Mexican’ food back at home in England and started to realise that all of the stories may well be true. Soon he would never be able to eat Mexican at home ever again.

The chefs were moving like a well oiled machine, this one tossing the meat on a flat, wide griddle, the other preparing a tortilla with salsa and beans, avocado and sour cream. People in the line were chatting to one another, pointing at the menu, and in the back there was the low hum of diners’ conversations over their food. He turned to his host and guide;

“So what’s good here, Dan?”

“Well, pretty much everything, but if you want a tip, I’m going to get the Super Shrimp Burrito.”

He turned the idea over in his mind, and could see no bad aspects to the idea of Pacific shrimp, griddle fried with chilli and onions and then wrapped up in a tortilla with rice and beans.

—

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