Hold, Hold, Let Go

Holding a knife’s edge
it draws crimson droplets
that swiftly form a sea of red
It puddles beneath the hand
 
and still the grip tightens
Anger, Guilt, Passion, Hatred
Reasons to never let go
 
When memory fails
bitterness remains in its wake
 
The knife cuts only you though.
 
Or its dropped
and Relief is felt in a soft wave
 
washing over you
healing you from the reason
you couldn’t let go
 
The weight lifts and floats away
the chains unlocked
and you can soar higher now
as long as memory remains away
 
Pride and power come
from letting go
an invisible crown you wear
Succeeding, finally, at years’ long goal
But maybe memory still holds it.

Very Short Stories, Week 23

Another weekend has come and gone and I already long for the next one. I find them relaxing in such a new way in the fall. Here’s hoping Autumn will help me blossom.

Anyways, I tried to not to be too repetitive with this week’s set of prompts and I think I pulled it off. Not gonna lie, I feel I have lost the sensory aspect of my writing and I’m trying to tap into it again. Working on my description that way as it were. So here’s hoping that’s noticeable in the future!

 

September 17th

The wolves prowled the ground, tracking the scent until they came across their prey. Low to the ground, they crawled forward in the dense grass. In the quiet evening sun, their paws dashed forward in thunderous waves. Their #carnivorous fangs sank into the fat of the calf.

 

September 18th

His warmth welcomes her, leaves her #infatuated with his presence. His words soothe her, teaching her to love who he is inside.

But their souls?

Those meet in the dark nights, wrapped in need and want for each other. Connecting their broken pieces for one whole being.

 

September 19th

The path into the dark is never lined with light. It’s a #cavernous descent into the bowels of one’s own soul. Eyes adjust slowly to constant night and it’s left to one’s imagination how the trail begun. But it is home now. Its warmth and smell of brimstone there always.

 

September 20th

In the heat of the moment, passion #devours the mind. Thoughts of laundry and chores vanish. And they’re at the edge, the peak, the tiptop of release. They disintegrate into a husk rocked by wave after wave of climax. The body controls the wheel and only lets go after orgasm.

 

September 21st

In the depths of her bones, in its very #marrow, were the answers to her abilities. And she couldn’t let him harvest it. Struggling against the restraints, they frayed and snapped, freeing her. She grabbed the thin shaft of the scalpel and lashed out at the doctors.

 

September 22nd

My #garden lies barren. Its soil hard and unyielding. There are no weeds to pull, no flowers to tend. Instead it weakens further, unnurtured. The sun dries it and the wind kicks at its dust. When the rain comes, I fear it will be too late. Another patch of death.

 

September 23rd

The #Equinox seemed to approach faster this year, leaving her frazzled. She ran her hand through her hair and collected the stones she owned. The polished black of the hematite called to her and she held its rounded edges in her palm. This will do, she thought and began.

Very Short Stories, Week 22

Good Monday morning! Or at least, I hope it will turn into one if it hasn’t yet.

My dreams were sweet and intoxicating, and kept me in bed longer than I’d like. But here I am with my very short stories.

Here you go!

 

September 10th

The tree lay on its side, but relatively intact. Winds from last night’s storm #uprooted its proud base, leaving it exposed to the elements. She wandered over to it in sun’s brilliant rays and mourned its fate to shrivel and decay.

But the tree didn’t give up.

 

September 11th

#Smoke tumbles off the burning logs, crawling slowly towards the heavens. The fire’s scent hangs in the air and spreads its warmth and fond memories. Leaves rustle underfoot and form a carpet on soon to sleep grass. The taste of Autumn is in the air, beckoning.

 

September 12th

Rain gathered behind the dam’s walls. Its angered waters licked and spilled over its confinement, taunting those in its way. Shouts were scarcely heard over the storm, ordering evacuation.

The police rushed to remove those in the city below, to beat the #floodwaters.

 

September 13th

The teachers blamed the #lunar eclipse but the students only wanted freedom. From rules and regulations. From homework and grades. From the rigors suffocating creativity. They longed to spread their wings and read from forbidden works.

Really, they wanted stimulation.

 

September 14th

I remember doing #somersaults on the ground. The grass wet or dry, but soft against my clumsiness. I remember it turned into flips in the air that ended badly, too. I remember the child in me who made the attempt despite the outcome.

Where did she go?

 

September 15th

His eyes were #amber and sweet like honey. They raked over her naked body, sending shivers across her skin. Tension rose between them in the still silence. The pure sexual energy demanded release.

If she were a lock, his kiss was the key to unleash both their passion.

 

September 16th

Her fingers fluttered like hummingbirds across the keys of the piano. It was the only thing betraying her #euphoric mood. With eyes shut and lips a thin line, no one thought she was anything but serious. The notes that rose and fell were uplifting, demanding. Like her.

Sultry Succubus

 

Her eyes feast
on wanton flesh
and passion’s flames
flicker like bonfires.
in her sultry gaze
He saunters forward
confidence oozing
from his naked skin
It pulls her in
like gravity
and begs her to feed
on him
of him
until he runs dry.

She’s staring into empty eyes
and yet the thirst
still thrives
Time to find another
and dine
again.

Very Short Stories, Week 15

Good morning, friends! Couple things to share today…

This week, My hubby and I are taking one of our nephews to stay with us. There’ll probably be some Pokemon Go and Harry Potter: Wizards Unite. Swimming, splash pads, day trips. Or maybe a more lazy week with in home reading and crafting. Who knows!

Because of this, I will most likely be absent from my blog and less active on Twitter (if you follow me on there; if not, here’s me! @KEMwriting ). There’s no point trying to guarantee blog posts when I’m going to be focused on having fun and laughs with my nephew!

It also means little editing will be done on my book. I plan on making time for it since the writer’s life for me will eventually mean children of my own. This will be a great way to figure that aspect out more.

While I’m off for a week of joy and adventures, I hope this week is fulfilling for the rest of you! Take care!

Oh, and enjoy my very short stories just below!

 

July 23rd

This is #folly, she cried and barrelled out the open window of the train compartment after her friend. She heard a splash seconds before cold water surrounded her, pulling at her limbs. Unbuttoning her heavy clothes, she sprung to the surface and sought out her friend.

 

July 24th

Such a waste of time, she determined and slammed her laptop closed. What a #joke, thinking I could be a writer. She tossed her USB across the room and left it there like a piece of forgotten trash.

 

Pick me up now, it seemed to say from the floor. We’re not done yet.

 

July 25th

Vivian stepped out of her room and the black dress clung to her body like a wet glove. A hesitant smile played on her lips as she descended the staircase. In front of Damian’s hungry gaze, her cheeks turned scarlet.

 

His kiss was sudden yet she #answered it with passion.

 

July 26th

Give ’em #hell, his dad said and tapped his gloves.

He entered the cage to the roars of the crowd and threw his arms up high with his own shout. Pacing back and forth, he watched his opponent. They approached each other, knocked fists and squared up.

The bell rang.

 

July 27th

What’s your #intent with my son? she asked. Her legs were crossed, hands rested on her knee.

I plan on making him happy til the end of my days, he answered and smiled. He fiddled with the ring box in his pocket.

That settles it then. You have my blessing, she grinned.

 

 

July 28th

Do you get it yet?

I want You gone

Disappear

Vanish

Into a Darkness

only You can

Summon

Tired of cruel whims

that Sabotage my attempts

You’re a bad taste

Lingering

Unwanted

I #renounce You

and Your Tainted Touch

Vilify

Condemn

Your Traitorous ways

 

Goodbye, Reflection

 

 

July 29th

#Stray dogs littered the streets; unwanted and untended. She shook her head at the sight until a wet nose kissed her hand. Smiling, she stroked the ragged pup and it demanded belly rubs. I can’t save them all but I can save this one, she mused and took it home with her.

Passion’s Pyre

Music pounded above the chatter

the beat louder than the melody

but she swayed to it.

 

Downing her whiskey in a chug

she rose from the table

and danced to the center of the writhing bodies.

 

Surrounded on all sides

she twirled her lithe form

like a lustful seductress.

 

Sex filled the air as she danced.

Warm, liquid, and kinky.

Begging behind the bars of it’s cage.

 

His electric touch summoned her.

The promise of fulfillment

on his velvet lips.

 

Pulled into a dark room

She tasted the sweet liquer

Of his passion.

 

Wrapped about his waist

he pounded at her chains

and she moaned for freedom.

 

Her nails dug into his shoulders

Desperate to hold on

Drawing a groan from him.

 

Sweat beaded on their foreheads

Its scent beneath the musk of need

And in a cry they succumbed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

A New Project For Me

Writing has always been a passion of mine. It may have been forgotten for spans of time, but I have enjoyed it since I was a child. While it is a hard thing to do, you can only improve, right?

So, in an attempt to improve my craft, I am going to start tweeting a #vss365 every day.

For those of you not sure what that means, vss stands for Very Short Story (the length of a tweet) and 365 means to do every day in a year. I am sure there will be times when I am unable to complete the task, but I am making the attempt.

But, instead of inundating my followers and readers everyday with a new one, I am going to post them once a week. They will be dated and I will leave the prompt word with # to indicate it.

Since Wednesday is an odd date to start, I am going to share today’s attempt (and my first). Afterwards, I hope to do it every Monday.

Here’s today’s:

The covered the coarseness of the room, calming it into a beauty, but she could only hate it. It is a mask, a facade, she thought as her eyes longed for the rugged stone and rough wood beneath it. “Why must we hide the beauty of truth?”

 


Twitter: @KEMwriting

Instagram: kemfromhome

 

Lust’s Collapse

Finger tips trace

Lover’s soft skin.

Lips meet

Share more than words.

Need.

Pure want for it

That beguiling touch.

Bask in passionate warmth

Skin to skin.

Bodies move as one

Synchronized.

Climbing higher

Higher.

Sweat forms.

Fevered moans.

Heads tossed back

To greet Ecstasy.

Cries ring out,

Trembling flesh

Atop heavy breaths.

Collapse

In Sweet Climax.

It’s Hard To Kill What’s True

It’s hard to kill what’s true.

It hides inside your soul,

Reaching forward for your heart.

It inspires passion,

Feeds the struggling fire

You secret from the world.

It turns on the light

You’re afraid to shine

The blinding brightness too much.

It’s hard to kill what’s true.

It screams when you refuse to listen,

pouts when you deny its truth.

It defends itself

Against your self deprecating lies.

It fights for its freedom

Its actualization in your mind.

You see

It’s hard to kill what’s true

Because the truth is…

You’re Amazing to Someone

Even if that someone

Isn’t you.

 

 

Mind and Soul

Love.
It’s bitter.
It’s caring.
It shred souls,
And woos hearts.
 
It fills one with
Desire.
To claim,
To maim,
To fight,
And cause pain.
 
It makes one
Surrender.
To the glory of another,
To the passionate touch,
That ignites tempting fires.
 
It builds our
Dreams.
To stumble,
To be stronger,
And take what is our’s.
 
Love.
It is human.
It is animal.
It is all.
 
Let it claim you,
Mind and Soul.
You can’t be a good writer without being a good thinker. This is a depressing thought for a writer. ~ Andy Rooney