Not Everything Stays in Veags

The plan had been in motion for months and, yet, it seemed to happen too quickly. On a plane, off a plane, in the hotel room and finally sitting in a chair watching a stranger work magic with scissors until she finally placed the simple white tulle headpiece on my head.

I sat there, sipping hurricanes from cheap, plastic, novelty cups and chatting to my friend who came with me for moral support. Secretly, I think he was there to make sure I did not run.

Not that I intended to do so, I did say yes after all, but I often wonder if my friend feared what I would do left to my own devices. This was fair since I was tipsy by the time I was being zipped up and shuttled to the chapel.

As we waited our turn, I started to shake.

This is going too fast. Need to breath. Can’t breath, everyone was looking at me, well all of the eight people who attended – ten if you count the groom and our son. When is this thing going to be over with all ready? Hate being the center of attention and let’s face it, when you are dressed in white everybody turns his or her head to see what is going on, even in Sin City.

Papers signed, bouquet in hand, music starts; as a jet lag toddler and I make our way down the isle. No one more fitting to give me away then the (second) main reason we were there.

The words the minister spoke were inconsequential until I found his face and his eyes just as the minister asked the only question I had to answer and everything stopped.

I held my breath, opened my mouth and the words were stuck.

Finally, I breathed – I do.



Stephen King said, “The scariest moment is always just before you start. After that, things can only get better.”

This week we asked you to write a memoir post inspired by that statement – in 300 words or less.  View the rest here.

On Those Stairs, Fiction Happened.

They had fought.

His unrealistic expectations of their relationship weighed heavy on her.

Relationship.

Not sure if that truly describes what they have, had.

She leaned against the heavy wooden door, starring at the staircase that lead to the rooms they had just occupied. Impossibly complicated and beautiful.

How did I get here? she wondered to them.

Needing to escape the world, she took a flight out of town and he followed. Not asking, just showing up.

The intrusion was welcomed. He was part of her fantasy after all but he was a distraction. Why ruin this? Why be more then we are when it was doomed?

She thought she was living a fantasy until he whispered those words. Not ready to hear them, her body went  still and cold to his touch. She had told him of her expectations. Why change the game now?

He spit words at her in his anger for wanting more. She knew his pride was hurt that she did not reciprocate his words but she was not ready. She countered right back hoping her words found their mark.

How dare he, she mused, but to be fair it was not that she did not feel the same it was that she could not. He did not fit in her real world and she was tired of having this conversation.

Sadly, she knew it was time that her fantasy ended. She could feel the anger leave her. She was not mad at him but at the impossible situation. Forgiveness was already given, she just did not know if this was the last time. Would this be how they would end?

Tap, tap, tap. Brass to brass the door knocker brought her back to reality.

Opening the door was not necessary to know who it was on the other side but she slowly pulled it open anyway. She peaked through the small crack she had made to see those eyes pleading with her to let him back in, pleading for forgiveness she had already given him.

His pride would not allow him to speak and for that, she was grateful. Those eyes, so blue, yet so cloudy at that moment. Worried she would not open the door; relived that she did. That small opening was all that was needed and he pushed the door open more, falling in to her waiting arms.

She held his face in her hands for a moment, wanting to see the clouds move and when they did, she kissed him. He clasped the back of her head, pulling her tighter to his body. His hands tangled in the long dark ringlets of her hair, his lips found hers over and over again and words were not needed to know that they were both sorry for what was said.

Her arms wrapped around him and held tight as if the floor was falling out from under them. They moved as one to the stairs, dropping clothes as they went. Off came his shirt, followed by his belt; she paused long enough to move her hands over his chest. Her robe was next and they were at the stairs. He fell backward and took her with her, they did not stop and inched up one step and then another.

Forget the real world, forget reality, forget the fantasy, she wanted him and he her.

Need rising she gave in to her wants on the stairs she...

This week, we want you to be inspired by pictures.  Write a piece – fiction or creative non-fiction – based on your reaction to either of these photos. Or both.  Word limit…600

To read other entries to this go here.  To read more creative fiction from me go here. Constructive criticism welcomed, I can take it.

Must Like Kids

This week’s assignment was to write a personal ad, looking for love.

It could be from the perspective of a character.

The word limit was 300.

Read more of what I have written for Red Writing Hood.

I've Always Wanted a Stalker

I feel you watching.

I sense you near.

My skin tingles.

My throat tightens.

Every inch of my skin is electric.

I feel like I am on fire.

I wonder if I imagine you.

I worry that I did not.

Did you come to me during the night?

Was that just a dream?

Do you stand under my window, watching?

Am I the fantasy?

By breath quickens.

Words catch in my throat.

Do I phone or are you somewhere near?

Do you watch me as I leave?

I think you do.

I hope you do.

I want you to.

Will you stop me?

I want you to.

I imagine that you do.

You pull me into your arms.

The heat from your lips on mine make my knees weak.

Your hand at the small of my back makes me sure.

Am I wrong?

Should I not admit these things out loud?

Do you watch me twist my hair round my finger?

Do you watch me stroke my neck?

Do you know what I am thinking?

Do you know what I can do?

Should I keep these thoughts to myself?

I think that you are watching me.

I don't mind.

I've always wanted a stalker.

And you will do just fine.

I am participating in Mama Kat's  -Pretty Much World Famous- Writer's Workshop - trying my hand at free writing and Red Writing Hood.