Fiction Friday: [Lost Time]

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Draped in all her favorite colors, it was the book cover that drew Rada in. The fact that the main character shared her unusual name was what made her buy it. After cracking the spine, the story pulled her in with how eerily it mirrored her own life. Page after page riddled with details that even those closest to her could never have known. Private thoughts and embarrassing moments captured and preserved in black and white.

Rada grew increasingly paranoid with each chapter read. Once outgoing and vibrant, she now spent her days scouring the apartment for spyware and obsessing over the author, Peter Jacobs. Details didn't seem to exist to explain their connection. Web searches only served to frustrate as every link led only to his sole published work, Lost Time.

She read the book slowly knowing this moment would come. Her fingers drummed over the words about the dread that filled her. About the fear that coursed through her veins as she stood on the precipice of her future. She had no doubt that the pages ahead held as much truth as those that had come before.

She wasn't ready to know what the future held.

Tossing the book on the floor, it landed splayed out on the hardwood. Hints of looped red ink peeked at her from between the pages. She had never written in it and the sight of it sent her mind racing. When curiosity trumped all else, she reached for it as she struggled to steady her hands.

Rada,
You are my greatest inspiration.
PJ

She sunk into the nearest chair and tried to slow her breathing. The beat of her heart pulsed between her finger and the page as she traced the letters over and over. She'd never seen the handwriting before, but it felt oddly familiar.

There was only one way to sate the question pounding against her skull demanding an answer. She found where she'd left off and her entire body trembled as she turned the page. The room spun as she stared at the two photographs that filled it. One of a slight man hunched over a laptop tagged Peter Jacobs and the other was of her.

She frantically flipped through the pages finding more photos. Every time the same thing, one of him and one of her. She stared at the only image of Peter facing the camera. Looking into his eyes chilled Rada to the core as she realized it was her own eyes staring back.  

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Fiction Friday: [Detonation]

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It was the first time she’d seen him since he died.

Crossing Broadway and 72nd, Satomi was stopped in her tracks. Confusion numbed her to the throng of commuters knocking her to and fro around the bustling intersection like a pinball. As flashes of jackets and sweaters zigzagged past their unbroken gaze, the guilt washed over her.

She had never even shed a tear.

The angry horns of yellow cabs barely registered through the ticking. She knew it was the time bomb her family and friends spoke of when they thought she was out of ear shot. Her breathing grew shallow in anticipation of its detonation.

Heat, from deep within, rose to the surface in opposition to the crisp fall air. As her skin tingled, she had no doubt the time had come. A moment that should have happened months ago in the loving arms of her family, instead played out amongst the loud ringtones and honking horns of strangers.

Cutting through it all was his smile. It wasn’t until she tasted the salt in her tears that Satomi realized she was smiling, too.

It was the first time she’d seen her father since he died and her smile grew, knowing it wouldn’t be the last.

Fiction Friday: [The Kettle]

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Swallows gathered and swirled around one another near the tree line. I knew they were swallows from their double pointed tails and white chests. It was the only thing I learned yesterday. It may be the only thing I’ve learned since I’ve been here.

Camp. I didn’t know why they called it that. No one here was under the delusion that it was anything less than a prison. The counselors walked around with smiles, filled their sentences with rising tones and had a limitless list of outdoor activities to pack our days, but it was a prison nonetheless. One of them overheard me tell my bunk mate that, when you surround damaged city kids with endless miles of trees, there was no need for bars. Her eyes weren’t filled with the anger I’d expected, but even worse, it was pity. I hated when other people realized I was too smart for my circumstances, so I’ve avoided her ever since.

The cyclonic frenzy continued to grow and, at first, it made me a little nervous. Animals could sense things. Like impending doom. I scanned the trees for stumbling zombies and the sky for hovering giant silver discs that shot green lasers. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed when neither came to pass. It only took three weeks at this boring camp to make me miserable when odd bird activity wasn’t a precursor to the world ending.

In five minutes I’ll have to climb down off the bunk bed and head to a group session. If vampires or werewolves wanted to swarm the place, now would be the time. The group sessions were worse than the hikes and the canoeing. I didn’t understand why they thought talking would fix things. It wasn’t going to get my mom a job or keep the pipe out of my dad’s hand. It certainly wasn’t going to soften the war zone that was my walk to school. When one of the other kids actually spoke, the counselor’s faces would light up and I could see them banking their do-gooder points. Like they could redeem them for fancy coffees or something.

As if swept up by a gust of wind, the flurry of feathers rose above the tree tops in one cohesive, circling unit. It was so sudden I held my breath, believing this could be it. That whatever was going to go down was about to happen now. But, just as suddenly as they had gathered, they dispersed filling the sky with black and white confetti as they flew in every direction.

Watching as they grew smaller and smaller, an emptiness filled their void. And a tinge of jealousy. Of their community. Of their freedom. My chest felt like the birds had regrouped and gathered there. The flap of their wings threatening to dislodge emotions that I’d buried long ago.

Luckily, there was a rattled knock on the screen door to snap me back. It was time for group. I jumped down off the bunk and walked out under the blazing sun with the dizzying swirl still pounding in my chest.

Fiction Friday: [Full of Facts]

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For the first time since the birth of this blog, there will not be any fiction in this week’s Fiction Friday. Not wanting to leave you empty handed, I now present to you…Fact-Filled Friday:

Fact 1: I participated in CampNaNoWriMo this month and…I won! Yay! I left the preset goal of 50,000 words and at 2:30am on July 30th, I’d reached 50,293. Then, I got this:

Fact 2: Despite committing to write a ridiculous amount of words in a ridiculous amount of time, I left New York City to attend a gorgeous wedding (congrats Lauren & Franklin!) in a gorgeous town (Healdsburg, CA). This is definitely not NYC:

Fact 3: I’ve heard back from all of the Beta Readers except for one. The nervousness I had sending my baby—I mean my book—out into the world has been replaced with an overwhelming sense of pride. Not only was the feedback more positive than I’d prepared myself for—because, of course, I’d armored up—but the readers proved to be smart and insightful with their critiques. I’m really excited about jumping back into the book and doing some tweaking. If you guys are reading this: THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU!

Fact 4: Today is the first day of the Writer’s Digest Conference here in NYC! I am super excited…and nervous. It will be my first writerly step on the road to becoming a published author—aside from writing and editing the book, of course. Nerves or not, I’m ready. Armed with notebook and pen I’ll be diving in head first and wading through the amazing sessions they have lined up. Also, I'll be participating in Pitch Slam which is basically speed dating, but with agents and editors. Stay tuned for posts of what I hope to be an awesome experience at the three day conference. Please wish me luck!

Fact 5: Next week, we will return to our regularly scheduled program…

Fiction Friday: [Hanging On]

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The squeak of the metal bed frame should have driven Nia crazy, but it didn’t. She’d missed the sound. She smiled as she watched Devin shrug his shoulders to his ears and splay his arms and legs outward forming an X with each jump.

“You better hope mom doesn’t catch you,” she said every couple of minutes, as it was her big sisterly duty.

Devin loved it, giggling more and more with every warning. Jumping on the bed was his favorite activity. Especially since learning he wasn’t allowed to.

“Look at how high I can go,” he squealed.

“Yeah, I see,” she said. “You’re way up there…like Superman.”

His smile performed the impossible task of spreading even wider and Nia took a mental picture of the moment before it was too late. A mental shrine to his infectious joy. A shrine to a time before their mother cried nonstop. Before their father left. Before the guilt defined her and ate away at everything she was before that day.

Devin was still bouncing, but the squeaking had stopped. Next, she knew, his giggles would fade. And then, not soon after, Devin would follow.

The moment would be over and she would cry from the sudden emptiness. His absence creating a hole that bore into her. It was a pain that seared at her flesh and ripped at her heart. That shuddered her breaths and knotted her stomach.

To her it wasn’t enough. To her, she deserved more. It was a dangerous feeling and it never failed to scare her. But then she would remember how leaving him alone for only a minute created a painful void in their lives…she did that.

And now, all she could do was hang on, waiting for the moment when the metal frame squeaked once again and Devin’s giggles tamped down the guilt, if only for a moment.

Fiction Friday: [Awake]

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I woke up this morning, but no one else did.

The first hour was the toughest because, despite the rise and fall of their chests, I worried that my family was dead. No matter how hard I shook them or screamed their names, neither my parents nor my little brother would wake. I held my mom’s hand and cried for a while.

After gathering some courage, I sprinted downstairs and right out the front door. Running into the middle of the street, I stretched my neck and strained my ears for signs of anyone…anything. I cracked the silence as I ran, screaming at the top of my lungs.

“Hello? Is anyone out here? Anyone?”

All that greeted me was a disheartening vacuum of nothingness. There weren’t even birds singing or leaves rustling. Even the wind had left me all alone.

My voice grew hoarse and I was blocks away from home, barefoot and in my pajamas. I needed to get back. I plodded toward home, dreading the emptiness that would meet me there.

Reaching my block, I stopped mid-stride. It had been faint, but I was sure I’d heard it. It was a struggle to hear anything over the rhythmic pulsing in my ears, but after a moment I convinced myself that it had just been my imagination and continued on.

Just as I was shutting the door, I heard it again. Echoey and distant, it gently pierced its way through the silence. I raced back out into the street, turning in circles, eager to find whoever it was. Then, I heard it again, much clearer this time.

Icy fingers of fear crept up my spine. I grew weak from the excitement draining so quickly and dizzy under the weight of what I’d heard.

My own voice.

“Hello? Is anyone out here? Anyone?”

Fiction Friday: [Up From The Shallows]

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[This week's Fiction Friday was my submission for Scene Stealers #24. Scene Stealers is a fun writing prompt from Write to Done. For this prompt, we had to use the sentence they provided to open the story (as written) and it couldn't be longer than 350 words. Click the link above if you want to give it a try. In the meantime...enjoy!]

 

She settled herself in the shallow water and looked at him, waiting to be amazed.

It was a gorgeous day. A day rife with possibilities. But, he’d never been one to seek out the possible. No, he’d always been content to sit safely by as the rest of the world took chances around him. Staring at the sand sparkling around his firmly planted feet, she wondered if he would ever aspire to anything greater than just existing.

She turned her attention to the water and marveled at how the sun danced along the ocean’s peaks. She inhaled the salty air and lavished under the sun’s kisses. She wished for him to truly see how beautiful it all was. 

From the corner of her eye, he came into view as he took one tentative step followed by another.  She held her breath when he paused, his toes touching the craggy edge of the darkened sand where the ocean had met the earth. His toes seemed to dance in rhythm with her heartbeat before disappearing under the frothy edges of the crystal blue water crashing into the beach.  

The sound of the surf faded under his giggles and the sun seemed to dim in comparison to the sparkle in his eyes.

“I did it, mommy! I did it!”

The calls of the seagulls circling above were no match for his squeals of delight. The rays of the sun no match for the heat of pride swelling in her bosom. 

Today was a gorgeous day. It was a day rife with possibilities.

Fiction Friday: [Owusu]

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It wasn’t a body as much as pieces. Four to be exact. Two arms and two legs. And they weren’t the first sets of limbs to be found. Discovery of the first had sent the media into a frenzy. With the second, serial killer was splashed across every headline and flung from every news anchors lips. After the third, they gave the killer a name…The Butcher. This new find might just send the city into a full blown panic.

The call came in a little after 2 am. They called in Detective Anita Owusu, who wasn’t on duty. She was not a happy camper, drumming her perfectly manicured nails impatiently against the steering wheel the entire ride. The street lights would occasionally glint off the purply-gray polish on her squared shaped nails, drawing her attention.

“What’s the deal?” she asked Suarez who approached her as she arrived. “This isn’t our case. Why are we here?”

Her partner rubbed the back of his neck and couldn’t quite meet her eyes. Her stomach fluttered, nervousness wasn’t an emotion she’d ever seen him wear.

“Owusu.”

Following Marino’s voice, she looked over to find him standing next to Jackson in the tall grass. They glowed, spotlighted by the work lights that formed a harsh line against the blackness surrounding them. Suarez grabbed her arm when she took a step toward them. She waited for him to speak, but instead he pushed up her sleeve, revealing the tattoo on her left wrist.

“What’s going on, Suarez?”

Instead of an answer, he studied her face for a moment before dropping her arm and heading toward the scene. An uneasy feeling trailed behind her as she followed him. Marino and Jackson stood awkwardly as they drew closer.

“Sorry for bringing you down,” Jackson said. “It’s just…”

He exchanged an uncomfortable look with Marino. Then, they both looked to Suarez.

“Just show her,” Suarez said.

She hated being treated like the odd man out and after all her years on the force she didn’t deserve it. The three of them not only knew something, they worried it would upset her. The idea that it was because she was a woman made her angry.

“You got me outta bed for this, so let’s see it,” she said with an edge.

Marino and Jackson parted, allowing her a clear view of the limbs that lay in a square on the grass. The legs parallel to each other and the arms, the same. Slender and delicate, they were undoubtedly female. Just like all the others. Suarez passed her a pair of gloves and Owusu knelt down next to the morbid display as she slid her hands into them. The first thing she noticed was how clean the cuts were. The media’s moniker was even more accurate than they knew.

Starting with the leg on her left, she scanned them each carefully before settling on the left arm at her feet. She was used to tamping down any outward indications of panic, but it was gathering and swelling to a level that she couldn’t control. She tried to swallow, but her throat had gone dry. The sound of her jackhammering heart pounded in her ears.

“Owusu?” Suarez sounded tinny and distant.

She jumped up and ripped the glove off of her left hand and pushed up her sleeve. Holding her arm out in front of her, the butchered limb lay below, out of focus. She studied the black Enso circle that surrounded the open heart made of barbed wire at her wrist. She had designed it herself, an overly stylized reminder of her past. Of how protecting her heart needed to be a priority. Even more telling, the tiny “m&d” that filled the small gap where the circle didn’t quite meet. An homage to the first to break her heart. Her mom and dad.

She looked down at the ground and back to her wrist several times. The tattoo on the bodiless limb was an exact match. There was no doubt. She lowered her arm in an effort to hide the shaking, but she wasn’t able to stop the tears. She watched as they splashed down, striking the victims hand. A scream formed in her throat as they rolled down toward the perfectly manicured, square shaped, purply-gray nails.