#SwiftFicFriday, week 144


Prematuria Morte


You want to get to the end, but you have to wait. It’s not time yet.


Ooooh – one step closer to the end. I know you’re in a hurry, and your body is oh-so-ready.


Time to take it slow. Draw it out. That’s it. Feather-light touches. Up. Down. Up. And. Down.


Stop! Stop entirely. I know you can feel how slick it’s getting. How close your body is to release. But think about how good it’s going to feel if we can draw it out just a little longer. You do trust that I know what I’m doing, don’t you?


Okay! Super-fast! Go! You can do this! Faster than that! You’re almost there. Almost there. You can feel your body ready to cross over. Almost.


But not yet. Slow down. I know you are screaming with need. The walls echo with it. 


Stopping again. Still touching, but not moving. Try to breathe evenly. It will help you last longer. I’m not ready for you to be done yet, so you can’t be done. Not yet.


Building up slowly. Light touches again. Oh my god, you’re so ready, aren’t you? So. Very. Close.


Faster! As fast as possible! Go! But we’re not at zero yet! No, you can’t! 



What did I do wrong? Why couldn’t I get him to the end on my timing? 

I did what? I used the big knife and not the…

Dammit. I always mix them up. I thought his skin was coming off too quickly, but it’s hard to see with all that blood.

I know the final is on Monday. I’ll be ready. I’ll focus on using the right knives all weekend. I swear.

Oh, you have people I can practice on? Thank you!


#ThursThreads, week 535


“But you said that when you were done with work we could go!”

“I said I’ll think about it. And I’m not done with work!”

“But dad…”

“I said I’ll think about it! If you ask again, the answer will be no. Now you’ve got to let me work.”

She slunk away, not for the first time that day. She wanted me to go to the park with her. To play video games. To buy something – whatever it was. I mean, fuck. What does she think I am?

This project has turned into a major pain in my ass. The client waited until a week before delivery to change, like, everything.


As if I don’t have enough on my plate. Now I have to gut a 63-slide deck and reframe the entire presentation because some rich prick wandered in and decided that he didn’t think what we’d done would sell.

Done with work? I’d never be done with work.

I suppose I might have heard the garage door opener. It’s possible I could have noticed that she hadn’t asked for anything in hours, but frankly I was glad I could focus on one damned thing.

I didn’t even hear my phone buzz five different times.

The knock on the door was insistent, though. 

“Goddamn politicians! I’ll vote against anyone who’s knocking right now!”

But it wasn’t some candidate for dog catcher at the door with some useless pamphlets.

He did have a body in his arms, though.