Picture it & Write XIX

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Ever told you about the day that I died?

It sucked.

Did it hurt?

Well, no actually.

Isn’t the human brain an awesome thing?

Anyway, it all happened so quickly.

At the edge of my vision, I saw something white and huge approaching me.

I remember being ran over.

I recall getting dragged.

My injury profusely generated a quickly spreading scarlet puddle.

It was a nasty battle.

When I thought I’d never be able to surf again,

that’s the day I felt like I died.

Took me a while to realize,

The shark bit off my limb.

Not my spirit.

© 2013 K.Z. Morano

_picture it & write

Picture it & Write XVI

credit: nothingbuteverything on Deviant Art

credit: nothingbuteverything on Deviant Art

THE BLOCK

Katharina stared blankly at the picture prompt.

Nothing.

Inspiration these days is like an elusive butterfly, flitting from one idea to another but never staying long enough to allow her mind to paint a single pretty picture.

“Maybe I’m getting too old for this!,” she sighed.

Truthfully, twenty-six is hardly old but in there, she’s considered ancient.

She stared at her reflection in the glass. With no little trepidation, she wondered how she would fare in there… Will they dismiss her as some old crone desperately thirsting for a smidgen of youth. Will they stare at her and whisper about how drastically she’s changed? Will they remember her at all?

“Just one minute…” she urged herself, “Just enough inspiration for one final story.”

Shaking off every last paralyzing particle of fear, she stepped inside.

The blithesome melody of bagpipes greeted her ears… the exhilarating scent of chamomile wafted in the air. With her gossamer wings and hair of silv’ry sheen, the lovely Faerie queen descended from her fragrant throne of sweetbriar most elegantly and in a voice soft as the kiss of a midsummer breeze, she sang “We’ve been waiting for you to visit again.”

She’d been here before… the world in the other side of the mirror. A place where fantasy is actuality, where a mirage is tangible and where imagination is inevitable. In here, to stop dreaming is to cease to be.

Katharina gave in to the seduction of the alabaster moon and drank the honeyed crystal dew from golden cups of forsythia… Spellbound, giddy with delight, she let the frolicsome wood nymphs pull her in their carefree circle dance… Round and round she skipped and whirled, cheeks reddened and drowned in a sea of giggles… Her laughter sprung forth from the very depths of her heart… For she knew… in her head, she had more than enough stories to last a lifetime.

Picture it & Write Blind Sight Edition

Picture it & Write XII

Every fortnight the fantastic ermiliablog hosts a photograph suggested by contributors. People are urged to join in, comment with their paragraph of fiction to accompany the image. Poems, stories, even comments by readers are welcome.

pictureitandwrite

*As stated on my “about me” page, for those who wish to follow my blog, some of my stories — heck, MOST of my stories have adult content. And this particular story does ^^

The Bandit

Genre: A Historical Romance-ish Fiction

“WHO ARE YOU?” She whispered into the darkness. Even in deafening silence, she could sense his presence… feel his gaze upon her. When he stepped into the moonlight, her heart leaped into her throat. She looked into his eyes behind the mask, deep brilliant pools of black… and when they looked at her, she saw something … a powerful hunger, a burning desire. She drew in her breath as her eyes caught something glinting in the soft moonbeam. In the blackness of the night, she stood wide-eyed and perfectly still while he lazily removed her garments one by one with his sword… layer after layer after layer… With the tip of his sword and a devilish smirk on his lips, he hung her slippers, gloves and pearl necklace rather daintily on a tree branch. The cold midnight breeze made her bare skin tingle… or maybe it’s just the way he was looking at her… as though she’s the only woman that he had ever known… She wanted to walk up to him and touch his face…run her fingers along the strong jaw, the cleft of his chin, the perfectly chiseled mouth… Idly, she wondered what his face might look like under his mask… her hands itched to tear off the black concealment and obtain the pleasure of staring at his divinely handsome face… for the rest of their lives… A thrill ran through her body as she had visions of him sweeping her off into his big black stallion, the two of them riding off into a castle somewhere… or a ship… or a shack… or a cave… she didn’t care… she’d go wherever he goes… as “the Bandit’s wife. Her thoughts nearly made her swoon.

In a swift yet surprisingly gentle motion, he carried her into his arms and lay her under a tree, on a sweet bed of moss. She snuggled against the warmth of him… He buried his fingers into her rich auburn hair, his other hand freely roaming her body. His palms were strong and rough and she loved the delightful contrast against the softness of her breast… her waist… the insides of her thigh… She sat prettily on his lap and she could feel his urgency.. He poured sweet kisses on her lips, down her neck, her shoulders.. When his mouth encircled her breast, it made her gasp… but it was nothing compared to when he came on top of her, leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses downward ‘til he reached her engorged womanhood. His tongue lapping languorously at first, then feverishly… She had nearly died. When he came up, she could smell herself all over him, but she wasn’t even slightly repulsed… In fact, she grew more ready for him. He slid inside her with ease… Her eyes flew open at the first sharp stab of pain but soon she was drawing up her hips to meet his thrusts… and together, they created a special rhythm… celebrating in an age-old dance… their bodies and souls thrusting to an ancient tempo building higher and higher in intensity and finishing off with a magnificent flourish.

Happy, sated, she looked at him with adoring eyes and slowly reached out her hands to remove his mask… He didn’t protest. Her heart was pounding in her throat and her eyes grew wider and brighter as each second brought her nearer to the grand revelation…. “Mr. Clayton!” , she gasped. In panic, she started grabbing whatever pieces of her clothing she could get her hands on while sputtering curse words with great passion. “What’s wrong, darlin’?”, he drawled. At that, she felt the rage inside her reach its boiling point. “You sonofabitch! You’re married! You have kids!” , she shrieked. The look on his face told her that he didn’t see any problem at all. “But I’m ‘the Bandit’ .”, he said, enunciating the name as though it were reason enough. She slapped him fiercely across the cheek and ran home. “Damned virgins,” he muttered under his breath, “I’m a hero, not a saint…” He walked to his horse. Maybe he ought to turn his attentions to that pretty young Miss Maddie Gibson instead.

© 2013 K.Z. Morano

Picture it & Write X

Every fortnight the fantastic ermiliablog hosts a photograph suggested by contributors. People are urged to join in, comment with their paragraph of fiction to accompany the image. Poems, stories, even comments by readers are welcome.

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Nipples taut…

Mouth agape…

Fingers clawed…

Body twisted…

Eyes shut from waves of desire that sweep through her very soul…

He loves seeing them like this…

In the throes of passion.

This is when a woman truly reveals herself… Fierce, hungry, vulnerable, powerful, exultant… all at the same time. He’d marvel at the maelstrom of emotions flashing through their faces… Pain, pleasure, joy, contentment, gratitude… and at times, a twinge of guilt. A woman would never reveal as much as she would in those very brief moments… That fraction of a second right before she reaches the peak… before she explodes into miniscule fragments of dust and her sanity disappears in a cloud of smoke… That precise moment in between the time when her breath catches and when a stream of convulsions begin coursing through her body – that is when she becomes sheer perfection. An insurmountable force of nature – but one that he understood. It is, in fact, the only time that he ever truly understands them. Otherwise, women remain a mystery.

He lay panting heavily on the floor…exhausted, sated… His hard body glistening with sweat. He turned his head to look at the exquisite form beside him…. The beginning of something beautiful. He raked his eyes down from the delicate features of her face to her voluminous breasts, prominent underneath the plastic sheath. As he expected, the sight had again filled him with inspiration. Feeling a renewed sense of vigor, he pulled himself to his feet and started gathering materials. There is much to be done. Another masterpiece to create and a body to get rid of.

Picture it & Write IX

Every fortnight the fantastic ermiliablog hosts a photograph suggested by contributors. People are urged to join in, comment with their paragraph of fiction to accompany the image. Poems, stories, even comments by readers are welcome.

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She sauntered across the room in a dreamlike state, taking everything in… Earlier she had donned on his white shirt, wearing nothing underneath it. This one has always been her favorite.. She pulled the collar to her nose and inhaled the warm, musky smell of him. God, it made her giddy. Music was playing loudly in the background. Beethoven’s Symphony #5. She never really understood classical music. She grew up listening to punk rock. But she loved that he listened to it… and she waltzed to it and she twirled about over and over ‘til she fell on the bed giggling to herself. She loved that he’s smart and sensitive and so mature… So unlike the boys from school. He’s a better lover too… She was so sick of high school boys and their sloppy kisses and she cringed at the memory of clumsy fingers pushing and prodding her. But with him, it was different… his kisses were gentle and his fingers… ohh his fingers.. She ran her hands over her body, stirred by the thought of him… One hand caressed her breasts and the other she slid between her thighs… When she closed her eyes to the memory of his hot, sweaty body on top of her, she writhed in ecstasy.

She got up and wandered off to the dresser. She picked up what appeared to be a jewelry box made out of fragments of glass from a myriad of colors. It popped open to reveal a gold wristwatch with a slender chain and without hesitation, she put it on and held her arm out to admire it. She picked up a heavy perfume bottle. Sheer Veil by Vera Wang. Slowly, she removed the cap and daintily sprayed a bit of it on her wrist. “So.. this is what she smells like huh…”, she thought. Beside it was a picture frame with a photo of a happy couple… The man’s handsome with perfect white teeth and laugh lines at the corner of his eyes. Underneath his blue shirt, one can tell he’s well-built and what few gray hairs he has seemed to only add to his appeal. She smiled as she ran her finger along the delicate silver frame. The woman, on the other hand was plain-looking, with mousy brown hair and elfin features… but her eyes seemed kind and her smile radiant. And her husband loves her. Her blood instantly filled with venom and the frame went crashing on the floor.

She placed both hands on her belly and hot tears started rolling down her cheeks as she recalled the events of last week. It was a rainy night and they were talking inside his car. She had just told him the news that she was pregnant and he had strongly denied that it is his. He said he was gonna help her out… give her some pills… but that was the end of it. She was never to see him again. He said he was happy with his life and that he would never want to ruin what he had with his wife. She cried and pleaded and she had wrapped her arms around him but he pushed her away, saying that the “infatuation” will have to end… Well she wasn’t gonna let him forget her. That one night they spent together when he was tutoring her had meant everything to her. So no, she won’t let herself be forgotten. She was gonna fuck their lives up in a major way.

She glanced at the wristwatch. 10 minutes to 10 am. Almost time for them to get home from church. Calmly, she ran a bath, slipped out of the white shirt and let it drop on the bathroom floor. She sank herself in the soothing water. Yes, this was exactly how she had planned it… she let out a sort of derisive laughter as she imagined the look of horror in his wife’s face when she sees her there, naked, covered in her delicious pear glace bubbles. A little after 10 am, the door flung open. She held his gaze for a while then a slow smile curved her lips. “Hello, professor,” she said sweetly.

“Tammy! N—“

She opened her mouth wide, put the gun in and pulled the trigger.

© 2013 K.Z. Morano

Picture it & Write VIII

Every fortnight the fantastic ermiliablog hosts a photograph suggested by contributors. People are urged to join in, comment with their paragraph of fiction to accompany the image. Poems, stories, even comments by readers are welcome.

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I dunno who my folks were. Like everyone, I was told I wasn’t wanted… A stray cat that belonged to no one… A nameless slob with no home, no future, no nothin’… I ne’er told anyone this but… I do remember. I remember my momma’s voice… ‘twas soft, like ‘em fluffy white towels at one of those grand hotel rooms. I’d hold ‘em ‘gainst my face every time I wash myself up in the bathroom… I remember her singin’ me a lullaby… Now, if only I could understand ‘em words… ‘twas from another language… So I know I wasn’t from here. I doubt that anyone of us is from here.

I don’t talk much to others. I don’t have no friends. Can’t afford ‘em. Don’t wanna be missin’ nobody when I fin’lly get to leave this shithole. Now the other bigger kids they think, this is it. There ain’t nuthin’ more to it. They’ll prolly end up b’comin’ like Mona here, in charge of the pimpin’ and groomin’, pickin’ out these dresses so that we’ll look good for ‘em rich old geezers. But not me… I’m getting’ outa here. I got a plan, you see. Every time one of those rich old bastards hand me a tip, I keep it. When I was younger, they trained me to pick pockets; at least that turned out to be useful. I stash the money away in a can, keep it in a hole I built in the ground. ‘tis the last place Mona and the other mean kids will look for I s’ppose. I dunno how to go ’bout it ‘xactly, but it’s a start. If there’s somthin’ I learnt from those wrinkly old bastards, it’s that money can get you everythin’. A dress. A decent meal. A cigarette. Hopefully, it can get me my freedom. Mona’s here now, she takin’ us to the city. Life stinks but watcha gonna do?

© 2013 K.Z. Morano

*the story’s too sad for me and a painful reality for some.. i dunno, i might change it/ make another one. it just made me feel sad after writing it. 😦

Picture it & Write VII

Every fortnight the fantastic ermiliablog hosts a photograph suggested by contributors. People are urged to join in, comment with their paragraph of fiction to accompany the image. Poems, stories, even comments by readers are welcome.

ermiliablog

He came to me in a dream. I felt his spirit hover above my naked body, moving languorously… sheathing me with a desire that burned so hot that every fiber of my body ached to respond… I kept my eyes closed knowing that I couldn’t — shouldn’t — look at him, fearing that the pleasure would abruptly end the moment that I do. He didn’t take me against my will… no… but he might as well have. I was powerless… and I wantonly gave in as his hold became stronger, his kisses more demanding… There were no words spoken and I dared not break the silence of the night. As if on cue, I spread my legs open… welcoming him… He poured the warmth of his desire in me as I writhed , my lips parted, and my breathing seemed to have ceased… I felt like I was a tiny bubble floating softly in the air… insanely happy… fragile… but inside filled with an intensity that rose higher and higher, threatening to burst… Then I did. I was blown into smithereens… infinitesimal fragments of gold and dewdrops and silvers of fire… and everything beautiful in this world… Rapture.
I awoke to find a golden egg safely tucked under my pillow. It was nothing like I have ever seen; it felt cold and heavy in my palm, with a luster bright enough to blind me… It was a gift… and I dared not sell it. Not even as my barrels went dry and I was left with nothing but a piece of stale bread. There had been many more presents from him that I discovered every morning. And I held on to them dearly for they were the only pieces of proof that he had been here the night before. Then there was that one night… the last one that we were to share. He revealed himself to me in full splendor and I shielded my eyes from the blinding light. My heart was filled with indescribable joy and he brought me to heights of unparalleled ecstasy. When he left, I ran after him… barefooted, with nothing but ivory sheets to maintain my modesty. Modesty… I sneered at myself. I flung myself at his feet… I wanted him to take me. But he ran his hand across my tear-stained cheek and lovingly told me that tonight, he has given me the most precious gift that he could ever give. With that, he raised his hand and I watched in awe as red, golden and blue rays carried him home. I was left there on my knees, staring at the purple, star-studded sky.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

My trembling hand rests on my flat belly. The wheels of my head turning. I could feel the life inside me grow stronger with each passing moment. I live in an era where people no longer believe in gods and goddesses. Having a child out of wedlock would cause me to be stoned to death. I fear for my unborn child’s safety and for my own. From underneath the bed, I pull out the wooden chest laden with godly treasures of gold and precious stones. I study them as they look back at me, sparkling obscenely. A plan has to be made.

© 2013 K.Z. Morano

Writing Challenge: Picture it & Write IV

Every fortnight the fantastic ermiliablog hosts a photograph suggested by contributors. People are urged to join in, comment with their paragraph of fiction to accompany the image. Poems, stories, even comments by readers are welcome.

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If I had a bag of pixie dust
I’d sprinkle some on my toes;
I’d fly above ‘em hospital roofs
And shake a few to lift people’s woes.

I’d scatter some on fields of grain
So that no one will go hungry again.
A dash on our leaders’ morning coffee,
That they may honor our trust with honesty.

Next I’d hover above people’s homes
To shower some laughter and joy;
I’d soar through the heaven’s above
And make it rain with peace and love.

And If I have a few more left
I’d sprinkle some on me and you,
So that even when the magic’s gone
Still, we can make more dreams come true .

kz ^^

more of my picture it & write entries here
Picture it & Write I
Picture it & Write II
Picture it & Write III

Writing Challenge: Picture it & Write II

Every fortnight the fantastic ermiliablog hosts a photograph suggested by contributors. People are urged to join in, comment with their paragraph of fiction to accompany the image. Poems, stories, even comments by readers are welcome.

Strawberry curls flying in the wind…
Ring of daises ’round her lovely hair…
As she ran barefooted on emerald grass,
Her laughter filled the soft spring air.

White cotton dress blown by the breeze,
A little girl hiding behind the trees…
A yellow butterfly came in sight,
And her amethyst eyes shone with delight.

On the front porch she awakes from slumber,
Reality creeps in and she’d soon remember…
Those were but mem’ries of days long gone
Eaten by the cancer that brought her down.

Tears filled her pale violet eyes ,
No longer a brilliant purple shade,
Along her hollow cheeks, a steady cascade…
Rosy tresses fell and shorn,
In its place, a ‘kerchief worn.
All beauty was lost, she thought,
All that’s left, a bittersweet dream…
Eternal oblivion she sought.

But a warm hand covered her cold frail one,
With love, gentle lavender eyes shone.
No longer tiny, a li’l more of a lady,
Was the little girl in her dream…
‘twas at that moment that she understood,
Golden locks were not her crowning glory,
But her loving and caring family…
Circles ‘round her eyes, hair cropped and trimmed,
She’s more beautiful now than she had ever been.

kz

other story here

*I have requested to have this piece considered for the Picture it and Write Publication. Thank you. 🙂

photo by ranae