Hoops of Fire

It's a tough job market in this suffering economy. The main character of this story finds out the hard way.

Hoops of Fire

The bride glides slowly down the aisle, her lace and taffeta train trailing behind on scattered rose petals. Her father is somehow beside her, there for her special day, smiling despite discomfort in his stiff tuxedo. The crowd murmurs approval as they look on, but they blur as she focuses on her beloved standing at the altar, looking so handsome as he awaits her arrival. She cannot wait to spend her life with him, so she speeds up, her father and the violinist adjusting their paces, anxious for the moment when the priest will pronounce them husband and wife.

As they join hands, she feels the spark of a magical electricity course through her. The priest starts to speak, and the bride gazes lovingly at her groom, noticing her beaming reflection in his eyes. She glances away momentarily as the priest asks her to repeat after him, and when she turns back, her fiance’s eyes have clouded over. Sweat is pouring off his brow, drenching his face and dripping onto his starched ivory collar. His forehead creases as if he is suddenly fraught with worry, but then it flakes off in chunky layers, exposing an oozing mass of muscle and soft tissue below. The bride’s mouth drops open as his face suddenly melts away, falling to a puddle of flesh at her shiny sequined ballet slippers. He continues smiling broadly as he leans forward for a kiss.

Deeply Wrinkled

I wrote this one for a contest themed "The Kitchen". Some of this is based on actual events, unfortunately.  

Deeply Wrinkled

The blade slices through the threads that hold the buttons onto Marian’s shirt, one by one, with agonizing slowness, until she is left exposed and breathless. As unwavering hands tear her blouse from her shoulders, she lets out a gasp. Norma tries to call out in her defense, to stop her mentally challenged son from whatever he is about to do. Instead, her voice comes out a low, inconsequential gurgle as she struggles against the restraints that bind her. The blade continues, now on Marian’s bare skin, winding up her side, circling around her breast, scraping against her ribs as they jut in and out with her ragged breath. When the knife reaches the hollow of her neck, she tries to scream, but the tip has plunged into her soft flesh far enough to render her mute.

Juicy

I wrote this for a contest with the theme "cryogenic accident". My boyfriend came up with the great concept. He's very creative. My muse, you could say. I put it into action. It was a wonderful, collaborative effort.

Juicy

The glare of the stage lights blinded me as I peered out through the convex glass of my new home. I’d moved around so much in my short life, from the Winthrop Vine to the crate to the truck, and then aboard a freight train for a long while, it was hard to tell which end was up. Now I was here, wherever that was.