Songspiration Challenge #2! Gentlemen Aren’t Nice (by Emilie Autumn)

Posted in Flash Fictions, Songspiration Exercises :D on June 16, 2011 by lluvyc

       She was beautiful, she was elegant, stylish, smart; she was the richest girl in the city (or the state, even, for that matter)–so why had Ronald broken up with her? Or was his name Reginald..something like that. How could he have done it, that brute! Felicor rolled her blue eyes to the high ceiling of her large dining room and stuffed a slice of roast beef into her mouth with a fork.  Good riddance  to him anyway.  All he ever did was whine, and cry, and complain about–about how  Felicor was trying to keep them a secret or something stupid, just because she would never take his arm in public, or about how unkind she was, leaving him alone for days without a single word.  He was such hassle, Re..Ro…whatever his name was.

       But even so…there was something charming about the way he bestowed all that attention on her.  Something about his sad, puppy eyes  that made him impossible to leave for long.  Something about the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled that  made her want to stay…

      Oh, and she was pregnant.

       Felicor couldn’t wait to tell him, to see him shocked and ashamed of himself for breaking her heart. He would get down on his hands and knees and beg her to take him back, and she would do it – but on a few conditions. Felicor hadn’t thought of the conditions yet, but it would drive him mad  to wait to know, keep him hanging on. She called for the butler and told him to bring her carriage.

*~*~*~*~*~*

      With a cunning smile, Felicor stepped out of the carriage  and crossed the  lawn to Regi-Ronald’s door. She took a deep breath, relishing the feeling of a sure victory, then knocked lightly on the door. A tall, slim man with dark hair and a dark waistcoat answered the door. When he saw her face, his expression soured.

      “Good day to you,” Felicor sang, unable to contain her grin.

      “I would like for you to go home, Felicor,” he grimaced, and began to shut the door, but Felicor stuck her hand between the door and frame in protest.

      “Come, come, now. Is that any way to treat a lady?”

      His eyes dropped to the floor and he whispered, “You are no lady.”

      In a surge of fury, Felicor smacked him across the face. “How dare you!” she hissed.

      “Felicor, please. Go home. I have company.” The man started to close the door again.

      “Company?!” she shrieked. “What creature would keep company with you?”

      “Marin Rowles would keep company with me! ” the man cried out, his voice rising.

      “Marin Rowles? She is here now?” Felicor’s voice cracked as she spoke. She had not expected this. The pain in her heart was strong, but she kept her composure and sniffed, “And what qualities does Marin Rowles possess that I do not?”

      The man looked from Felicor to the ground, then back up, then back down. A small smile crept up on his face. “Marin is…sweet.”

       Felicor gaped, but her shock was soon replaced by anger. “Well, then,” she scowled. “If I am no lady, then you are certainly no gentleman!”

       “Good day to you, Felicor,” the man murmured and shut the door.

       “Regis! Regis, wait!” She cried, pounding on the door (Regis! That was his name!). “I’m pregnant!”

       There was a silence, and then the door opened slowly. With a cold look, Regis whispered, “Well it is not mine.”

       “But it is, Regis!” Felicor smiled desperately. “I know it is yours. We will be a family…”

       She reached for his hand, but Regis pulled sharply back.

       “No, Felicor, the child is not mine.” he answered brusquely.

       “But it is!” she repeated, reaching again.

       “But it is NOT!” Regis shouted, red with anger. “It is not my child, because you never let me touch you! Good day, Felicor!”

        He slammed the door in her face.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

        “Regis, who was that?” Marin asked quietly, her large brown eyes wide with concern.

        He smiled gently at her. “No one you need concern yourself with, my lady.”

        She gave him a questioning look. “I should think that as your fiancée, matters that distress you so should be my business.”

        “Fret not, Marin. Release it from your memory. It was only a ghost from the past.”

Advertisements

Songspiration Challenge #1! Drive Away (by the All-American Rejects)

Posted in Flash Fictions, Songspiration Exercises :D with tags , , , on June 15, 2011 by lluvyc

Blythe stood, doubled over, in the attic, coughing from the dust. The boxes he had been moving had not been disturbed in years, probably. Kylie’s attic was full of things, from her baby clothes to her T-ball glove to her training bras to her old Prom dresses. The objects and their accompanying photos were entertaining, but cleaning Kylie’s attic was a dirty job, and although Blythe didn’t mind dirty jobs, the attic was Kylie’s; at the very least, she should have been there.

But she wasn’t. She was about two hundred miles away, at her prestigious college–which was great. Kylie was brilliant. Blythe knew she’d make a great surgeon someday. It didn’t intimidate him that she would make more money than he would when they were married (he was only going for an apprenticeship); he was proud of her for stepping up to the plate like that (Blythe knew he could never handle that much schooling), only–he wished she wasn’t so far away. He also wished she had asked him to help clean the attic months ago, not yesterday, right before she left. But oh well. She probably just forgot. Kylie was pretty forgetful sometimes.

When he could breathe again, Blythe plopped down next to the box he had dropped while coughing and started to put the spilled contents back into their container. Luckily, none of it was broken–it was just some old stuff from junior high: tests, papers, a couple of notebooks. Blythe lifted up one of the notebooks, and a tightly folded paper fell to the floor. He chuckled when he recognized Kylie’s name in his handwriting, surrounded by dozens of hearts. An old note. This would be a laugh. With a smile, Blythe unfolded the note.

            Dearest Kylie,

You have the most beutful eyes ive ever seen. Your hair is so petty and soft. I cant wait for hour date this weekend, my mom said we wood pick you up at 7. Will that work? I cant wait too see you. : )

Do you think well get maireed some day? I hope so. : ) Ill see you at lunch.

Sinseerly yours, forever and ever,

❤ Blythe

PS, i love you : )

 

Blythe put his hand to his mouth to stifle his laughter, but this gesture was interrupted by the sudden awareness of a reply in Kylie’s handwriting at the bottom.

 

         Blythe- your spelling is atrocious. Seven o’clock is fine, but you should have asked your mother earlier and not waited until the last minute, and maybe we would have more time together. And we’re thirteen, Blythe. Marriage is such an asinine thing to suggest right now. Save me a seat and grab me some extra milk, okay?

XO, Kylie

 

Blythe frowned. He had found the reply charming then. Now, it struck him as, well…a little funny. Funny how she told him to ask for a time in advance, but she could wait until the night before to ask for a huge favour? Thinking about it now, Kylie was always doing things like that. Telling him he should do things, and then doing the opposite. Telling him not to do things, and then doing them with zeal. Shouting strings of insults and then covering it with what had then seemed like great affection to Blythe, but now felt very cold. He felt a thorn in his heart. They had had good times, but Kylie was mean, awfully mean, and blushing, alone in her attic, the truth had just come to Blythe.

What had Kylie expected of him, when she treated him like that? For him to just go along with it? It didn’t seem fair. But he had always let her push him around. He had always taken the short end of the stick, enthusiastically, even. He loved her…

Crumpling the note in his hands, Blythe stood up and angrily kicked the box, re-spilling all of its contents. He did not pick them up this time, but headed towards the attic stairs, shut off the light, and slammed the door.

Crawling out of Writer’s Block with a flash…

Posted in Flash Fictions on October 16, 2010 by lluvyc

I’d often wondered what it’d be like to make love to Alysa. I’d always imagined she’d be frightened – it would be her first time, and maybe her hands would shake, or her palms would sweat, or her throat would be so dry that she couldn’t speak, like mine was the first time I ever did it. She was so young and so beautiful – a dangerous combination. But Alysa herself was dangerous. All of it made me want to hold her even closer, to keep her safe from troubles inside and out.

God, Alysa. How could you be so calm, so ready, when you were still so young?

She stood there last night, her slender frame dark against the light of the moon. I had thought her beautiful before I saw her in the moonlight. And when I did, I had no words; only a dry, gaping mouth and shaking, sweaty hands. She smiled gently at me, took my hands, and led me to the bed.

At first, we just held each other beneath the comforter, taking in the warmth of skin on skin. I could not stop my heart from racing. I wondered if she could hear it.

“Rennard,” she whispered in my ear. I lay on my back staring up at the ceiling, and her fingers traced small circles on my bare chest.

“Yeah?” I breathed back. My eyes stayed on the ceiling, as though my body was paralyzed by her voice.

“We can wait, if you want.”

My head snapped to the side, like the words had broken the enchantment her voice had placed.

Her face was composed, but her icy-blue eyes showed just the slightest hint of worry. I kissed her forehead. It felt so smooth against my dry, chapped lips.

“I love you so much,” I whispered into her skin.

Then, her lips on my neck. My hands at her waist. The comforter kicked aside, and Alysa, sweet Alysa, with her back arched and her moans falling to my ears like soft flower petals in the moonlight…

Trying To Escape The Inevitable

Posted in Flash Fictions on July 14, 2010 by lluvyc

Craven stands at the front door, his hand on the cold metal knob. This spot, he has stood in more times in his life than can be counted, but never before has he been in this situation. Craven hesitates. He should leave, he should get in the car and drive as far as he can, go somewhere and break down, but damnit, he can’t. He just can’t.

Twenty-five years is a long time to be married. A large chunk of life spent together. A large chunk of life now wasted. His fingers tighten around the door handle.

“Craven, wait,” Alice begs, appearing behind him on the staircase.  Craven lowers his head, tears plummeting to the ground. Don’t turn around. Don’t let her see. Alice places her hand on his back, and he shakes.

“Craven, I’m sorry.”

The house echoes with the lie, four stories of silence when it is gone.

“Alice…” he whispers, turning slowly towards her. Perhaps his name suits him. Craven curses his cowardice.

She smiles that smile he fell in love with and the tears fall harder. Craven’s face shows a ghost of a smile, and already he begins to wonder why he almost left.

The other man walks down the stairs.

Craven slams the door on his way out.

Infected

Posted in Flash Fictions on July 14, 2010 by lluvyc
The sky is dark and the wind whips at his exposed flesh, but there is only one thought in Ezra’s mind as he jumps into the river: save the girl.
Ezra is a decent swimmer and strong enough to carry her to safety, but the coldness of the water catches him by surprise. When he plunges into the river, the air is knocked out of him. With heavy limbs, Ezra struggles to the surface.
The water is freezing, but the winds are bone-chilling now that he is wet. Ezra looks quickly around. The girl is nowhere in sight, so he dives again.
The water is clear, but dark. Ezra squints as he pushes himself through the blackness, searching for the lost girl.
He looks down. There, curled up on the floor of the riverbed, is a little girl, her face obscured by a mass of blonde curls. Ezra swims towards her, determined.
He grabs her arm; it is colder than ice, but he grips it firmly and pulls the girl towards him. Ezra balances her on his hip and heads to the surface—but the girl’s wet clothing adds to her weight, and Ezra’s strength is fading. He kicks madly, desperate to reach the air and bring them to safety.
The sharp winds are a blessing to Ezra when their heads breach the surface of the river. He treads water as he looks over the girl.
Her eyes are closed. Her chest rises and falls slowly—she is alive, but her skin is too white and too cold. She won’t last much longer if Ezra doesn’t get help.
“Are you alright?” he asks her as he swims to the shore.
She doesn’t respond, but her shallow breathing continues.
“You’re going to be okay,” he says. “I’m going to make sure of it.”
The shore is within reach. Relief floods through Ezra, but something in the back of his mind is making him uneasy. He stands up with the girl in his arms, and she buries her face in his neck. The sudden warmth of her face sends a shiver down his spine. Ezra turns his head to ask her how she is feeling, but a white-hot pain in his neck interrupts him. Ezra falls to his hands and knees, shaking.
The little girl remains attached to his neck.
Ezra’s vision becomes blurry, and his body numbs. He barely feels himself fall into the sand. Ezra closes him eyes.
There is more pain at his neck. Ezra slowly opens his eyes and sees the little girl being dragged away. Her mouth is smeared with blood. She smiles at Ezra. The winds sting his face as he slowly regains feeling, but as soon as he looks into her eyes, Ezra goes numb again.
They are red. Large and red and beautiful.
His heart sinks. Infected. Infection means death.
The little girl licks her lips and giggles.
“Thank you for saving me.”

Beware Of Zealots

Posted in Rantings on June 26, 2010 by lluvyc

I’m sick of haters. Everyone is so quick to nit-pick and gangbang and destroy. But the responses to these attacks are no better than the instigators themselves.

Zealotry.

People vehemently protest against things and other people with great passion. And passion is admirable. Extremes are not. Think about how stupid you sound, shoving your defence down someone’s throat without a second thought.

Think about it. Structure your argument. Or don’t even answer them at all. They may be thoughtless and zealous as well. And zealots are not the kind of people you want to be around. They are dangerous and unkind. They are rude and excitable. But worst of all, they are closed-minded.

Let the light shine in. Think before you act. Beware of zealots.

– Lluvy C

First Post :] via Mobile!

Posted in Mobile Updates on June 20, 2010 by lluvyc

Hello. :] my name is Lluvy. It was my friend Anna’s idea to get a blog, so like she said, I’m not quite sure what to write yet, but I’ll think of something. Maybe I’ll even post a story or two. You’ll just have to wait and see. :]