Love Bites Blog Hop 2016

Posted in Uncategorized on February 12, 2016 by drmagoo
True Love Always Dies
740 words

It wasn’t right that she’d left me, not like this. We were supposed to grow old together, our kids and grandkids and greatgrandkids gathered around us, telling stories and playing in front of the fire. Instead, here I was, standing in a freezing drizzle, watching them lower her into a hole in the ground.

People are jerks when someone dies. They don’t mean to be, I know, but they presume so much. They insinuate themselves into your life, trying to help, as if there was anything anyone could do to make it better. They tell you platitudes about the afterlife, like they alone had an inside line on what happens to us after we become worm food. But mostly they presume to know what you’re going through. They act like they knew her, like they knew her inner thoughts, the dreams she told you about in bed at night, the words she told you the last time you saw her before she was dead. And they don’t know. They can’t know.

But they presume.

I stayed around town for a few weeks after the funeral, but what I really wanted to do was get to work. I didn’t need anyone, even someone as well-meaning as my neighbor Phil, who’d walk around my house – our house – like he owned the place, like that badge in his wallet gave him a key to every business in town, getting in my way. So I left.

They’d find me, I knew. People who presume don’t know boundaries. They don’t know how to leave well enough alone. They don’t know.

The village I’d found online was warm, remote, and full of people who wouldn’t bother me. It was taboo here to enter another man’s house without permission, and I sure as heck wouldn’t be granting that. So no one asked “what’s in the box, mister?” No one asked “is that a pentagram on your floor, Tim?” No one asked what that smell was or what those words were I kept chanting or what that glow was coming from the box.

No one presumed to stop by the day my wife came back to me.

I wasn’t sure what the transition from being dead to being alive would be like for her, but I tried to consider all the possible factors. I bound her wounds, especially the ones where the bullets had exited her body – those had bled like crazy. I tied her arms and legs down, in case she thrashed or tried to escape once she came back. The gag in her mouth was as comfortable as I could make it – she hadn’t been much into that kind of thing when alive. And her favorite song was playing on Pandora.

One look into her eyes told me that it had all worked, and that she was back, she was here. And she was furious.


Trusting in the locals not to presume, I loosened the gag.

I won’t reprint what she said here, because it really wasn’t very nice, and it really didn’t matter anyway. The only words that mattered were the ones she’d told me in our house that last day. “I hate you, Tim,” she’d said. “I hate how you try to control me. To hurt me.” When all I’d done was love her? And this is how she felt? “I’m leaving you. I never want to see you again.”

Like that was a possibility. She’d known that as soon as I’d calmly walked to what had been our bedroom and retrieved my gun, but by then it was too late. She might die, but she’d never leave me.
Here in my new house, we talked. Well, she screamed, mostly. And then she cried. And then she didn’t say anything, because I’d cut out her tongue.

And then her heart.

She presumed that someone would come. She presumed that I’d brought her back to me so I wouldn’t have to live without her.

She presumed.

How little she knew me. Now that I knew how to bring her back, I wasn’t limited to enacting my vengeance just the once.

Sewing her heart back into place took some time, but it was worth the effort. When I brought her back from the dead a second time, I think she understood.

Even if she didn’t, I was going to give her plenty of chances to learn.

She presumed to leave me. Like that was possible.


Flash! Friday Vol 3, Week 40, story 2.

Posted in Uncategorized on September 11, 2015 by drmagoo


Aloft on wings of fire
287 words
Character: Rapunzel
Setting: Castle (of a sort)

Rapunzel’s hair was fire, bound with rings of ebony into the most beautiful braids. She worked on the 95th floor, kept away from the world not by a wicked enchantress but by crushing student loans and a childhood of rejection and bullying.

Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair to me

The windows didn’t open, not this high off the ground, but the force of the impact shattered the glass. Rapunzel raced to the windows with the rest of the office staff, straining to see the world below, but trigonometry and distance defeated them.

Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair to me

The reports came in then, of stairways engulfed in flame, smoke as thick as molasses. There was no way out, none that did not lead into the world of the dead. Her coworkers raced to their phones and made their calls, calling the people that you call when embarking on a journey from which there is no return. But Rapunzel had no one to call, so she stood at the window and listened.

Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair to me

Her boss was the first to choose the quicker way out, hurling a chair through the window and shouting his love into the sky. Some followed him, with bravado borne of fearful desperation. Some hid in the corner and soiled themselves. But Rapunzel stood alone in the window, disentangling her hair slowly from its braids.

Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair to me

Rapunzel’s hair was on fire, wafting in the smoke billowing from below and behind. She let it out the window, down towards the voice. And she fell, carried away on a journey, alone, forgotten.

Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair to me.

Posted in Uncategorized on September 11, 2015 by drmagoo


I lose all control in my sleep. In the light of day, I can pretend that she is still here, that she hadn’t made the call to tell me that the tower was on fire, that she hadn’t told me how I should tell our daughter she would never see her mommy again. There is work to do. Laundry to fold. Food to cook. Stories to read. Birthdays to celebrate. Air to breathe.

Our daughter knows I’m not okay. Sixteen now, and busy with her own life, I see the worry in her eyes when we pass in the hall rushing to get ready in the morning, hear the concern in her voice as she checks in on me before she goes to bed. I’m fine, I tell her. Just tired. And I am tired. But I don’t tell her that every line of her form, every peal of laughter, every touch of her arms as she hugs me goodbye in the morning is a test for me to pass, to see if today is another day I will keep from going insane.

But my dreams betray me. Without the will to build my reality as I see fit, I lose my anchor. Allowed to forget, I am no longer consumed by grief. In my dreams I drive my daughter to her soccer games and cheer with the other parents. We go out for ice cream and celebrate a win or drown our sorrows in whipped cream and hot fudge. As my eyes dance in REM sleep, I see my wife’s beauty echoed in our daughter, but I see me, too, a combination which she carries with a grace that takes my breath away. While the moon and stars cavort overhead, I am happy.

And every morning the grief returns. The anger rises with the sun. By the time I am dressed, and shaved for work, and see my daughter loading up her backpack for school, I am in control again.

But I am not okay.

336 words

Flash! Friday, Vol 3 week 40

Posted in Uncategorized on September 11, 2015 by drmagoo


Once Upon a Today
300 words
Theme: Transformation
Setting: Humble village (of a sort)

Princess Alesha sat on the stoop and ran her fingers over the cracks in the cement. When she was a kid, she liked to imagine them as a passage to somewhere else, but the only thing below the stairs was the super’s apartment, if they’d had a super, at least, and rats. Alesha didn’t know that she was a princess. Her mom had smoked something she shouldn’t have, and died of a cerebral hemorrhage when Alesha was only two, and her dad had died after being brought in for “questioning.”

She knew lots of kids without a mom and tons without a dad, but not many without either. When Alesha thought about that, she got sad. But she didn’t want to stay sad, and today was the day she was going to do something about it.

James Kingman’s Range Rover was as black as the super’s apartment, and gleamed even at night. The stories on the block said that he’d once shot a man between his legs for leaning against the car. But King was also reported to be generous to those close to him. They said he treated them like family, even the hustlers and the whores. And Alesha wanted a family.

She’d seen how the men slowed down as they walked by, heard them call her name, ever since she stopped being a little girl. Her hair was her best feature, long and silky, and she’d brushed it for hours overnight, until it gleamed like the Range Rover in front of her, tying it in a long braid which swung behind her as she walked.

Alesha climbed into the royal carriage without hesitation, and rode off to earn her place in the court. She’d never be princess of a kingdom without a name, but she’d have a family.

Flash! Friday, volume 3, week 32

Posted in Uncategorized on July 17, 2015 by drmagoo

“Those who are doomed”
225 words
Story Elements: Theme, Setting

This was his dream.

The dead man approached the podium and looked out over the empty auditorium. He was set to speak promptly at 13 o’clock, and the nobody in the seats in front of him failed to fidget with anticipation. At the appropriate time, a light flashed, and it all began again.

This was her dream.

The dead child stood at the top of the slide and surveyed Creation. Gleaming with rust in the smog, her path curved and twisted out of sight. Insubstantial as hope, the rust flaked away until Creation gave out. As she fell, a light flashed. And it all began again.

This was his job.

In front of him was a dial. There were no markings on it, and it felt awkward in his hand. When the light flashed, he turned it the correct amount in the correct direction. Sometimes it turned easily, sometimes not. Sometimes, he turned it the wrong way, and then he was killed. The next morning, a light flashed, and it all began again.

This was her home.

At the end of the day, she stood in the appropriate spot to be lowered into her sphere. Sometimes she knew which way was down. Today she had killed a man sitting at a dial. Tomorrow, no one would remember. The light flashed, and it all began again.

MWBB 2.37 (Warning: Adult themes, NSF many audiences)

Posted in Uncategorized on February 11, 2015 by drmagoo


Do Not Go Gently

She smiled, and leaned over to kiss me. Her breath was sweet, smelling of toothpaste and wine, and our tongues touched, just for a moment. I twisted against the ropes holding me down, and shifted to try to release the pressure in my pants. She drew back and laughed, that dark laugh that first drew me to her, and leaned in to whisper in my ear. “Do be patient.” Her breath was hot, and I began to sweat.

“I’m going to turn out the lights now.” She moved easily over to the switch, letting her finger linger before flicking it down. The room went blacker than night, and I strained to know what was going on from the sound of her movements. A light step here, and a swallow there as she drained the last of the wine. The slither of silk over skin as she shed the burgundy negligee she’d been wearing.

The metallic shink of a knife drawn from a sheath.

She circled the bed, her bare feet padding lightly as she considered her next action. “Ooh, I do like this. It’s more…dangerous…this way, don’t you think? With a blindfold, you don’t know what I’m going to do – I have all the control. But this way, neither one of us knows. Neither one of us is in control.” She laughed, and I moaned deep in my throat. “Well, that’s not true, is it? I’m standing here, holding a knife in one hand, and, ohhh, touching myself with the other. Mmm. Whereas you are tied to the bed, aching – straining – to be touched. But you can’t do anything except cry out, and you won’t do that. Because I have what you want.”

Cold steel brushed against the bottom of my foot, just a touch at first, then slightly more pressure. I marveled at her ability to control the blade in the dark, to know just where she wanted to put it. And then just a bit more pressure, and I felt my skin break as she began opening me. There was less pain than I’d expected, and a growing numbness radiated from her first cut.

“Oh, I know how you like the pain, dear one. And there will be pain. For you. And so much pleasure. But I can’t have you going into shock just when it’s getting good, can I? Don’t worry – the numbness will wear off. Eventually.”

She leaned down and kissed my toes, lightly, then followed each kiss with a small pricking from the knife. As with the first cut, my toes gradually grew numb, first on one foot, then the other.

I didn’t know how I’d last until she reached her destination, but I did. The top of my feet. My ankles. My calves. At each step, she followed the same routine – a kiss, wet and lasting, followed by a gentle slicing, then numbness. I was amazed at how skillfully she moved, how I could barely feel the tugging as she sliced my skin free from the tissue beneath.

She paused as she got to my groin. This would be the last time we’d be together like this, and she savored it. She didn’t let me come, of course, but she did everything with her mouth that I’d ever begged for in the deepest reaches of my fantasies. And just when she couldn’t find a way to hold me off any longer, she took me deep into her throat and drew the knife up between my legs. She stabbed me, hard and deep, and I died twice – le petite mort and le gran mort pulsing through me at the same instant.

I didn’t see her weep as she finished her job, nor get to hold her as she sent my skin out to be harvested for donation to the underground organ clinics. I also didn’t feel the cancer eat me from the inside out, or suffer for months under the ministrations of nurses who wept as they cleaned the foulest things imaginable from my decaying body. This way, I got to give something back, and left the world the way I chose. What she got out of it, I never would know.

698 words

Flash Friday, Vol 3-9

Posted in Uncategorized on February 7, 2015 by drmagoo


That Which is Unseen Speaks the Loudest

“Good morning.” The businessman – or solicitor, or shopkeep, or whatever – tipped his hat and moved on, barely registering my existence as anything other than a vaguely human-shaped object which had passed briefly into his sight. He didn’t see me for who I really was – he couldn’t have. He didn’t see that my umbrella was moth-bitten to the point where one would rightfully assume that it was the next thing to useless. He didn’t see the grimace on my face, the pain from the corn on my left foot balanced by the plantar fasciitis in my right. My boots kept my feet dry enough, but they had given up any semblance of quality support somewhere around when the umbrella was new. He didn’t see the way my left hand curled into a fist to keep the thin gold ring from falling off fingers that were once strong enough to dig trenches but now struggled to hold onto a railing. He didn’t see the hand that had once fit so well into mine on so many walks because its owner was now worm food under the grass at First Anglican. And he didn’t see the gun in my right hand, aimed at my temple.

But he heard the shot.

207 words