Writing Challenge ~ September 2014

WRITING CHALLENGE ~ SEPTEMBER 2014​

As the summer draws to a close, the prompts this month have an autumnal feel to them all. August saw more wonderful pieces which you are more than welcome to review if you haven’t already.
And without further ado, here are your September prompts.


You can involve the prompts themselves in your piece and make your link to the prompts as obvious or as subtle as you like or use them simply as inspiration for something else. You can use part of the prompts, just one aspect of the images, or use them in their entirety.

As there are several prompts you can of course chose to use all of them in one piece or write one for each…again, it’s your writing, your challenge. You write whatever you’re inspired to write!

The word limit for this challenge is 2,750 words and your submission can take whatever form you desire – poetry or prose, complete story or a vignette. Erotic or not, serious or light hearted, it’s whatever you want it to be!!

Post only your submissions in this thread, constructive comments and reviews are to be posted in the appropriately named – Comment and Review Thread
And please, if you do take the time to read? Please just take a few more minutes to leave a comment.
The deadline for this month’s challenge is Tuesday 30th September 2014, with October’s challenge hopefully going live shortly after!

Previous challenges and reviews can be found here.

Happy writing!

Autumn is Burning

The fire flickers and its not quite clear if its a bonfire or an arson. The books creak open like crackling leaves and leave their scent upon the air, then hands clasp and heat's exchanged between the chill of autumn breezes. The kindling crackles and shadows dance to herald the sinking of the sun. The novels whisper as pages turn, singing the hymns of summer's heir, then hands grasp and hearts exchange between the trees so newly leafless.

Summer's dead, long live the Autumn King. Summer's light is not extinguished, so long as Autumn is burning. Summer's dead, long live that Autumn feeling. Love's light is not extinguished, so long as Autumn is burning.

Light of Autumn

Crimson melts to amber, yellow gold becomes a mustard almost brown. The flames lick low like lover's tongues and embers coat the ground. Where sweaters end hands clasp like chains and that's where true heat's found.

Fall's always about the fire, be it roasting fluff or hosting love or cozying up and finding lust where passion's known to play. It's wondrous what one can find in the flames when sunset's light has caught them. And it's wondrous what one finds inside when illuminated by the light of Autumn.

Autumn Beginnings and Endings

The scent of dusty pages and fallen leaves eases one into the quietest of slumberous feelings. There is not sadness nor an ending~ but a slowing down, if you can but dig it.

Maeve walks steadily through the growing late afternoon shadows of the park nearest her home, small booted feet making nary a sound upon the cracked pavement. She can feel the wind teasing the fluffy white hair which hangs in loose curls around her face and the tickling of it teases a laugh from her lips even as she decides to allow herself a small rest.

So she settles herself~ happy woman, pale skin covered in the finest of lines, smile still teasing dimples from her cheeks~ upon her favorite park bench and places the pile of books safely at her side. She is in no hurry and the day is gorgeous enough to encourage a moment to relax beneath the old maple that has somehow become her very own private bower.

Wide eyes take in the happy couple as they meander past, their hands entwined, their low and husky voices the vaguest of whispers in the late afternoon. They must feel it too~ that need to take time and love, live, laugh. The whole idea of it? Makes her smile, makes her remember when...makes her want to sit here and be reminded of all of those past love affairs that ended but still burned somewhere; in another time, another place...another~ brighter, better, universe.

Her eyes drift to half mast and one finely veined, barely wrinkled but slightly swollen hand reaches out for the books to brush away the fluttering of leaves that have joined her upon her bench when she notices the booming thunder of her heart as it stops and starts~

stops.....

and starts....

Stops

starts~

But the sun is drifting down in the west and her eyes~ still as wide and as green as when she was much, much younger~ follow that drift until they are closed and she dreams.

And her heart~ filled with the love and laughter of eighty five years, of children and grand-children and husbands (three of them to be sure~ as she was ever a lusty one)
slows, pauses, stops and starts...

until finally...it just

pauses and forgets to start again.

And her newest grand child, a boy~ is born within the hour.

CONTENT WARNING : Those dealing with loss at the moment might not want to read this piece


"What on earth are you doing wearing that?" He laughed, the sound rapidly turning into a small coughing fit.

"I like it." She pulled at the woollen hem as she looked down. The terracotta coloured sweater was huge on her small frame but that didn't matter, she wasn’t wearing it because of the way it looked.

"You hated it when I wore it." He eased himself back against the pillows with a half smile on his lips. She crossed the room and sat beside him.

"I hated how scratchy it was. It always itched my face," she kissed his cheek, "made snuggling difficult." She frowned slightly, but hid it well, his cheek was bristled now, another small sign of how things had changed. Were changing. "So," she smiled as brightly as she could manage, "good day?"

"Same old, same old." He let out a long breath and turned his head towards hers. "Nothing ever really happens in here. Doctors. Nurses. Tests." His smile grew harsher. "Lies."

"Not lies. Hope." She corrected, banishing the lump that rose up into her throat as the reality threatened to crash down around them. "There's always hope."

“If that were true, darling, then the word ‘hopeless’ wouldn’t exist, now would it?” He kissed her nose, his expression softer once more. He knew how much it hurt her when he spoke like that, it hurt him even more than everything else that was going on to see that pain flash in her eyes and know he had put it there.

“Hopeless indicates less hope than normal, not no hope at all.” She countered with her chin tilted upwards, ending her argument by sticking out her tongue for a moment or two.

That made them both laugh and for a little while they could almost forget where they were and why they were there.

When the time came to leave him, she didn’t say goodbye. That word was hard enough under normal circumstances but with things as they were…she just couldn’t.

She kissed him twice and hugged him close. Telling him she’d be back in the morning and not to flirt with the night nurses, they had far better things to do than listen to his corny lines. Waves and smiles for the nurses and then out into the fresh air. Easing her way through the bank of smokers that lined the walkway until she reached her car.

He had been right, she had hated the jumper she now found herself wearing almost daily. It was big and bulky and she just didn’t like it. They’d both bought one on a vacation to the mountains. Chilling mornings and evenings had necessitated their purchase and with the selection in the tiny village store being limited, they’d had to buy essentially the same sweater but in different sizes and colours.

They’d ended up wearing them for the majority of their trip although she refused to allow him to wear his in bed. No matter how cold their little cabin was there was no way she was going to sleep with that under the covers. She smiled at the memory, they’d managed to keep warm without the sweaters as she recalled. Very warm indeed. Back then they seemed to do everything holding hands, they joked that one day someone might believe them some strange kind of conjoined couple but they didn’t care. Their hands fitted so perfectly together, just as their hearts did. She felt calmer and safer with his hand in hers. Strong and brave.

Now though, that sweater was like a link to a former time. To a past life almost. She wore it to keep him with her. She couldn’t hold his hand as she drifted off to sleep and so she cuddled that god awful piece of knitwear like a security blanket. Their apartment seemed so alien without him in it. He was everywhere, his scent in the bathroom, his clothes in the bedroom, his face beaming down from the photos on the wall, but he wasn’t. He’d been in the hospital for months now. Weeks and weeks spent trekking back and forth every day, watching him slowly start to fade. She hadn’t noticed at first. The weight loss had highlighted his features, made him look younger. Now he looked gaunt and thin.

She was thinner too. Stress and worry all serving to curb her appetite in recent weeks. She’d kept hoping that one day they’d turn around and say they’d gotten it wrong. It wasn’t what they’d thought and that he’d be home soon. She knew she was kidding herself but she had to hope. Without hope she knew she’d just fold, crumple like paper and be useless. He needed her hope as much as she did, even though he’d never admit it.

There were good days and bad. Neither were really any better to deal with. Bad days meant holding back the tears and assuring him that the medication would ease the pain and make him more comfortable, that the pain was his body fighting and that he had to keep fighting too. Good days were deceiving, they were easier at the time but then the next bad day that came seemed tens of times worse because of it.

She forced herself to eat something because she realised she hadn’t eaten all day, again, so she fixed a bowl of pasta that she only managed half of and a found a yoghurt. The television was turned on but not watched. The sound of it helped her relax a little but she didn’t truly watch. Partly because she wasn’t in the least bit interested in anything that was on but also because so many little things made her think of him.

Somewhere between a soap opera and a chat show she dozed off, curled up and still wearing his sweater.

Then the phone rang in the middle of the night.

It’s sound shrill and unwanted and terrifying.

“Yes! Hello, what is it? It’s me,” She babbled, her heart racing in her chest and a wave of anxious nausea rolling through her while her hand swiped at the remote to turn off the tv before pushing the hair back from her face.

“It’s me, Sarah, it’s Rachel,” it was the softly spoken nurse who’d been watching over him at night.

“Oh no,” Her eyes welled up.

“No, no, not yet but,” the nurse paused, “I think you should come down.”

“I’m coming.” The phone was dropped with no care whether it connected with the cradle or not. She was still dressed and so was out of the door, keys in hand, in seconds.

The drive to the hospital took an infuriatingly long time, or so it seemed. The streets were more or less deserted at that hour of the night and yet red lights still glowed ominously in her direction, every junction another minute slipping away. And then another.

“I shouldn’t have left.” She slammed her hands against the wheel in frustration. “I should have stayed!”

When at last she arrived she left the car across two bays and couldn’t have cared less. The soles of her trainers slapping against the corridor as she ran down its length, dodging the end of a bed as it was wheeled from one ward to another and almost hurdling the mop of a cleaner.

“Please not yet, oh please, not yet.” She chanted, breathlessly, as she ran. Not stopping until she was outside his room. The nurse at the desk nearby gave a watery smile. It was serious, then.

She took a moment to catch her breath, to widen her eyes and try to get rid of any tears that might have been creeping into them, licking her lips and then opening the door.

“What are you playing at, huh?” she smiled, or she hoped she did, as she walked inside. The urge to cry was rapidly becoming too much to bear. “Scaring the life out of me in the middle of the night like this.” She tried not to see how pale he looked, how tired.

“You know me,” the words took forever to form and leave his lips, “always loved my drama.”

There were tubes at his nose now, fresh lines connecting him to various bleeping machines, half of which she couldn’t begin to name. She couldn’t sit beside him now so she dragged a chair as close as she could get to the bedside, leaning over IVs and cannulas to hold his hand in hers.

“Such a drama queen.”

He smiled and opened his mouth as if he was going to speak but then either changed his mind or just couldn’t do it.

“Just relax, I’m here now,” she urged softly. She thought she was going to be sick.

“I was waiting…”

“I know, stupid red lights, I don’t even know why they keep them on at this time of night. It was like every single turn I made, boom, another one.” She knew she was rambling, she knew she couldn’t help it. Anything to not have to face what was right in front of her.

“I…I was waiting…”

“Oh hush, don’t,” she swallowed but the lump in her throat wouldn’t go. “don’t be saying things like that.” Her thumb swiping back and forth across his hand, stroking around the needle buried in the flesh.

“I didn’t…want…without you…”

“You never have to do anything without me, you know that.”

His hold on her hand grew slack, she tightened hers as if that grip would somehow hold back everything. Time. Death.

"Sarah...?" He sounded scared.

"I'm here. I'll always be here." Her throat hurt, a sting that was making it hard to talk at all, but she carried on. She had to. "Always and forever, remember?”

"Love you. Always, I love…" All at once his voice sounded like it was coming from far away and she buried her face in his sheets.

"No, please. Please stay," The first tear ran down her nose and into the bedding, followed swiftly by countless others. "Don't go..."

The bleeping of the machines slowed and then, all of a sudden, he wasn’t holding her hand any more.

The devastation had been absolute. The end came so swiftly, that they never even figured out what it was. Virus, bacteria, chemical warfare, something completely new and alien... whatever it was, it killed everything. Humans, of course, focused on themselves first, watching their numbers drop from nearly 9 billion with a dizzying speed. Soon, though, the presence of animal carcases and dead plant matter became too much to ignore. Lakes filled with dead fish, farms became desolate graveyards of crops and animals, and the humans that worked them.

It soon became apparent, as the population of the world dipped below a billion, that even if a cure were somehow found it would all be for naught, if they could not also stop it from killing all other living things. Cannibalism would inevitably follow, and humanity simply could not replace their numbers fast enough to survive it. If the affliction they called The Embers didn't end the reign of humanity on earth, the humans themselves would do it.

But one man, one lone person, never contracted The Embers. His temperature never rose, his body never failed under the assault of the heat within, his skin never seemed to turn to ash. Everyone around him died day after day, and still he lived. No one understood why. Soon, no one but him was left to wonder why.

About three years had passed since the last person he knew died. He burned their body just as he had all the others, since burying everyone would've taken up the rest of whatever life he had left. He knew that, first, his survival would depend on food, so he froze everything he could that seemed remotely viable still. He'd long since given up trying to avoid eating things that had contracted The Ember. Everything had it, so there was simply no way around it. Every freezer within a five mile radius was stuff full of food, and he would move house to house, living, sleeping, eating, until the freezer was empty. After the last meal, he'd unplug it to reduce strain on a power grid he was single-handedly keeping active, and move on to the next house.

He stopped keeping track of what day it was after six months. There just didn't seem to be a reason behind it any longer. No one was buying him birthday presents, no one was visiting for Christmas. No one cared when it was the new year. Thanksgiving and Easter held no significance any longer, except to remind him that no one was coming back from the dead this time.

His name was shed a year later. There was no need to distinguish him from anyone else. The difference was stark enough to not need any further clarification: he was alive, everyone else was not. There was no distinction needed beyond that. Still, he would talk to himself. Sing to himself. Read out loud to himself as he walked down barren, cracked, empty streets. He read constantly, pillaging the libraries in the area for the knowledge he'd need to keep himself alive. It wasn't exactly like there were a lot of other things to take away his attention, either.

Eventually, he began venturing more and more from the town he'd set up in, searching for canned food, gathering supplies. It took some trial and error, and what he estimated was somewhere around six months of gathering and research, but eventually he had managed to set up a network of motion detectors surrounding the area. The world was big, he knew, and there was always the chance someone else could be out there, somewhere. Even an animal would be a joy to find, or a new plant peeking out of the soil. The world had grown so drab and brown, and it was sometimes hard to keep himself going.

Once the motion detectors were set up, he would turn on the brightest lights he could find as darkness fell, and point them towards the sky. It was the best beacon he could manage, and given the darkness that surrounded him, he knew it could be seen for miles around. Every night, for months on end, he would turn on the lights as the sun sank below the horizon, then go back to the house he'd set the computer up in, and wait to see any hits from the motion detectors. And every night, for months on end, there was nothing.

It eventually turned into a ritual, something he did for a few hours every night before bed, a way to wind himself down so he could sleep. The stack of books he had gone through while waiting for any hint of anything had began to line up along one whole wall of the room, and soon would reach the window. But there was nothing else left to do. A world without life was an empty, useless ball spinning through space. He felt like if he gave up on this, on a chance to maybe find some sign of life somewhere, he would just lay down in the street and die. It was a thread of life to hang on, but the only thread he had.

The chill in the air as he flipped on the lights for the evening confirmed what he already suspected: fall was here. Winter would be coming soon, and the daylight hours would grow shorter and shorter. He used a lot of solar panels, and the change in light might hurt his ability to do this every night. Still... he had to try.

With the lights on, he came down off the ladder and brushed the dust off the small stack of books he left waiting for him. Scooping them up, he whistled a song he'd long forgotten the name of as he made his way towards the yellow light of his house for the night. Stomping up the steps, he kicked the dirt off his shoes, then stepped out of them and left them waiting for him on the front porch. Pushing the door closed against the cool air, he set the books down next to the chair he'd spend most of the night in, hoping in vain to see some sign of movement somewhere in the surrounding area.

Dinner was quick and mostly tasteless, and be full dark he was sat in the chair, staring silently at the red lights on the computer screen. The only time they ever switched to green was when he set up a test, and then they did without fail. There was simply no one out there any longer. It was the truth he ran from every night, and would continue to for as long as he could.

With a sigh, he sat back and lifted the first book off the stack. The spine protested as he opened it, but it relented in the end, and soon he was lost in a world chock full of the living.

Knock knock

He jerked awake with a start, his book tumbling off his chest and onto the floor. He stared at the front door with wide eyes, his chest rising and falling quickly. It was a dream, he told himself, over and over. Just a dream. No one here to knock, so you dreamed someone was. Just a dream...

His eyes turned to the computer screen, and he saw all the lights still the same ruby red as before. No movement anywhere, same as it had been since he started. Same as it would be until he died.

Slumping a bit in the chair, he shot his fingers back through his hair and laughed nervously, hating the way his voice sounded in the silence. Bending forward, he closed his fingers around the book and picked it up from where it had landed.

Knock knock!

He froze.

Knock knock!

His blood ran cold.

KNOCK KNOCK

KNOCK KNOCK

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

It was a last ditch attempt at saving things. Three days in the wilderness, just the two of them and nature. No phones, no email, a six mile hike away from where they'd parked their cars.

Maybe they had known then how the three days was going to pan out. The fact they hadn't driven together, maybe the trip had been a waste of time. Maybe planning it had just been a fruitless hope they had both been clinging to. Neither of them wanted change. Good jobs, a good home, a good life they shared but it had gone cold. The spark had gone out of it.

"Do you want to go back?"

Nancy looked up from the fire that cracked in front of her. She'd been sitting there in silence for the last hour, staring, watching that one stick turn from brown to black and she had found herself wondering if that was what had happened to them. Had they been burned up in their own relationship.

"No. We said we would spend three days here. We can at least try."

Rosa looked down at her and nodded. "Do you want anything?" She felt like she was just talking to try and alleviate the silence that was swallowing them both. She wasn't sure if she wanted to save things, but maybe the fact that Nancy had bought one tent but two sleeping bags...

No. She couldn't think like that. It had been twenty years. Things couldn't just end after twenty years, could they?

"No," Nancy said, forcing herself to keep looking at Rosa, although she wanted to stare at the fire again, to feel that heat, the way when she used to look at Rosa desire would almost scorch her skin and threaten to consume them entirely. Like that black stick. "Why don't you come and sit?" She smiled.

They sat there for another hour, making small conversation, watching the edges of the leaves curl up as they held them near the flames. There were periods of silence that made their stomachs churn, that horrible, twisting feeling when something is dying and you can't save it or yourself but you feel the incessant need to try. Rosa hugged herself, frowning into the fire, unaware of how Nancy was studying her face. She was still beautiful, even after these years that had been so long for them in some ways, but so short in others. Her blonde hair had been crew cut short when they had met, some college statement of her sexuality. It now hung just above her shoulders in curled wisps, and she unconsciously brushed her bangs away from her blue eyes. Nancy had always thought that was cute, and she found herself reaching up to move the bangs now, as they hung down over Rosa's thoughtful eyes.

Summer sky blue looked into deep ocean blue. "Do you think this is it?"

Nancy continued to smooth her hair, the backs of her knuckles stroking along the face of the woman she had kissed a hundred thousand million times. "I don't know, Rosie. It's different, I just don't know."

Rosa leaned against Nancy's hand, turning her head and kissing her palm. That horrible twisting feeling had moved up into the centre of her chest now. They had been revolutionaries, how could their love not burn for a hundred years? After everything they had sacrificed, had endured, how could it end like this, over three days like some kind of Biblical wilderness story. Her brow furrowed, and Nancy looked at her quizzically. "It's nothing," Rosa said. "Just thinking."

Nancy smiled and lowered her hand. Rosa sat back, like it was the end of act one or something. And then they just sat, awkwardly for a few more minutes before Nancy got up and made some coffee on the gas stove. "You want some?" Rosa shook her head. Nancy lowered hers and stirred the plastic mug. "You know something Rosie, if this is it, I'm scared shitless and I'm not afraid to admit it." She didn't look up from her coffee, but just stirred and stirred. "I can't imagine us not being together, but..." She seemed to drift off.

"But we can't go on like this. It isn't fair to either of us." Now the knot was rising in her chest, hot and cold at the same time, in her throat, making her eyes sting.

Nancy was nodding. Staring. Stirring. Everything in front of her was blurry. "Then why is it like this? Why is it that the thought of being separate is killing me, but the thought of being together is so hard?!" She launched the plastic cup in the direction that led back to the cars and as the hot liquid poured over her hand she yelled angrily. Rosa didn't get up. She nudged a stone at the fire with her boot. Rosa had always been the obvious dyke. Almost aggressively so. When they had met all those years ago in college, she had spotted Nancy over the crowd, her long red hair like a flame and Rosa, the moth. From then, they had been inseparable. Rosa's stoic, guarded defences had slowly crumbled as Nancy gradually burrowed right down into her heart.

Yet now, Rosa had never felt so small, confused, and utterly without the defences she had built up before meeting Nancy. She had been so independent. Disowned by her parents, struggling to find someone who understood, and she had found all the solace she wanted in the redhead at the bar. Nancy's story was very different. Her parents had been supportive of her, over the moon when she met Rosa, who they took into their lives like a daughter. They'd moved across the country together, changed their lives completely, bettered themselves and built a home together.

What now?

Rosa looked up at Nancy. Her red hair was lighter than when they met. Now it was a little faded, more than a few strands of silver ran through it. Her eyes had those lines that were full of old smiles and happy memories. She had a scar on her chin from when she had fallen off a bike when they'd been on holiday in Italy. That was for their sixth anniversary. The ghost of a smile danced across Rosa's lips.

"Maybe we just need some time," Rosa said. "Apart."

Nancy, the one who had always been so together, so quietly confident and serene, the one who was now trying not to fall apart herself, lowered her head in resignation.

"Apart? You really want that, Rosie?"

"You're the one who suggested coming up here." Rosa's gaze was accusatory, her eyes hurt, her body language defeated.

Nancy almost visibly flinched. "That's what I mean, Rosa. You don't talk about things. Always thinking. Then you store up these things, like a snake..." She shook her head, her long red hair quivering. She looked down at her girlfriend then, both sets of blue eyes full of hurt and unspoken things.

An apology faltered in Rosa's throat and her eyes were dry. Nancy knew she was sorry, she didn't have to say it. They had always been attuned.

"I know," Nancy said with a sigh.

"I'm sorry Nan. I know I don't say it enough..."

"It's okay Rosie, I know. I'm gonna go to bed. It's getting dark."

~

During the night, Rosa rolled onto her side and softly kissed a sleeping Nancy on her frowning lips. She smoothed the tousled red hair away, kissing over her jaw and the scar on her chin. Nancy's eyes opened, adjusting to the darkness and kissing her back. Tears were wet on their cheeks, their breathing off-kilter. Rosa unzipped the sleeping bags, their hands finding each other in the black.

They made love, slowly and deliberately, never once using names. It was silent, and in the morning when she woke, Rosa realised that she was alone. She pulled on the burnt orange sweater and made her way outside. Nancy was standing by the fire, her hands unmoving by her sides. Rosa walked up to her and slipped her hand into Nancy's. She looked at her girlfriend, a happy smile on her face.

Nancy's lips never moved.

"So... I guess that's it. I guess we're done."

Catch and Release



Her fingers were sticking to the paper. Perhaps this sudden, stifling late afternoon heat was to blame - September could be such a tricksy bitch. She spread her hand until she could just see the corner of the 2 x 3 Post-it® under her palm.

Without lifting her fingers, she could see the word in her mind as she'd scribbled it in her lovely, flowing, effortless cursive - virtually unchanged since elementary. She was secretly quite proud of her penmanship, though she had little use for it, these days. Who wrote anything, anymore?

She was not proud of the way she listened for him through her office door - cracked, left casually ajar - could be this heat, could be. She was not proud of the way her heart rose up into her throat when she heard his voice, and the way she scuffled around her desk, catching her hip on the sharp corner that would leave a bruise and nearly crumpling the note in her damp fist.

It was going to happen again.

Breathless (no, it was not the heat), she pushed the door open gently and watched as he took his coat down to sling carelesslessly over one arm and closed his door with an impatient bang, shouldering his bag. Her tongue crept out to wet her lips as her gaze snagged on the movement of his muscled shoulders through the light cotton shirt. There was a wicked, furtive pleasure she always experienced, just in watching him like this.

She checked herself. Swiveled her head to look up and down the hall. By some curse or miracle, he was alone. She pushed the door wide until the squeal of the hinge made him look up, and his smile when he saw her - easy smile, so easy - made her ache. She hurried in a fit of clattering heels and flying wisps of hair as he gave a cursory, obligatory glance behind him, and his smile widened.

"Mr. Ahearn," she gasped as she closed the short distance between them, and he let his bag slide to the floor.

He smiled. Oh, his smiles. "It's Jimmy. Jimmy."

She couldn't.

"James," she acquiesced primly, fighting to keep her composure as she came to his side. "I just - wanted to...uh, do - do you have everything you need for the presentation tomorrow?"

Angling her body, stepping too close, she leaned in to stuff the note into his front pocket, allowing her long middle finger to trace the hard ridge of his hip bone, lowering her head to look at her feet. To anyone watching, it might have looked like a brief stumble - his hand even came up automatically, but she danced away before it could settle into the small of her back. Raising her eyes as she pulled back to a respectable distance (the radius encompassing personal space begins at 18 inches), she mouthed the word:

Please.

Her dark eyes, fierce in her placidly pleasant face, met his impossible, bewildered blue, and she felt the heat along her cheekbones.

He grinned and she wanted to groan - he thought it was all so simple. He was nodding, murmuring, "Yeah," and parting his lips to say more, but she had already turned away - quickly back to her office, don't look back.

A scuff of shoes on the stairs behind her and the rough, spirited greeting of one of his associates startled her to skittishness, and she escaped through her door, turning the knob noiselessly to seal off the sound of their genial after-hours banter. Her heart was pounding and she leaned shakily against her desk, thinking of the hands that had almost touched her.

"Tonight," she whispered in the silence of her own room - just one word in smudged blue ink on pink paper, now folded into the crease of his thigh.

*

It was dark before she could get away. The chill in the air this time of year always struck her as slightly surreal, slightly foreboding, creeping in so swiftly on the heels of these draggy false-summer days. He'd built a small fire, this time - his little Boy Scout courtesies made her smile. He jumped up in a rattle of gravel to meet her at the driver's side of her Civic, and she spilled out of the car and into his embrace.

Ah God, the smell of him and his hard strong body crushing her into him, his fingers already burrowing into her long silky hair, his mouth already hungrily at her chin and her cheek and hot on her lips... She felt the swelling in her chest like she wanted to cry as he groaned unabashedly into her mouth, and then she was at him, too, clawing at his sweater, hooking her fingers into the waist of his jeans and hearing the guilty crinkle of paper still in his pocket.

He stopped - made himself stop and pull back to look at her face in the wavering firelight. Panting: "Is everything okay?" and she adored him for saying it, adored the wild look in his eyes. She nodded, her fingers working restlessly at his fly.

"He's away tonight," she murmured. "I came as soon as I could."

Jerking the zipper down impatiently, baring her teeth to hiss, "We have all night...fuck me, James..."

It was like something snapping inside him - he lifted her onto his hips with terrible ease. He could hurt her, she thought with a delicious shiver, and not for the first time as she wrapped her legs around him and let him carry her in long-legged strides around to the back of the car, ready to pop the hatch like last time, but she blurted:

"Not here! Down - "

As he swung around and stepped away from the car

"- down next to the fire -"

she could feel the tension in his jawline, the struggle for control over his desire as he eased her down -

" - down in the dirt - oh please, Jimmy - "

she felt the tremor of lust that rippled through him, and still he gently, gently laid her back onto the army-green sleeping bag he'd spread out on the ground.

" - oh yes, yes - like this - now! I need you right now!"

And now his hands, with another groan and a curse under his breath, her sweater up over her head in a crackle of static, her nipples hardening under red satin at the kiss of the cool night air. He had no patience for the clasp of her pretty bra, but pressed his face into her tits as she reached behind, between her shoulder blades to unhook it for him. And still, his hands were busy - cold fingers fumbling into the elastic waist of her lululemons and pushing past her matching thong, making her shiver as he slipped one inside, sinking it into the enveloping heat of her.

"Ah, you're so wet!" he gasped, and she smiled and tugged his shirt up to run her fingers across his smooth chest, raising her hips to force him deeper as he fingered her cunt - a bit awkwardly.

He couldn't wait - she felt him scrambling to push his jeans down over lean hips and get his cock out, and she breathed her encouragement: "Yes..." as he panted above her, steadying himself and looking down at his hands as he guided himself into her. She was wet for him, ready for him at once, and she clawed one hand into his hair and curled the other arm tight around his muscled back as he began to thrust - hard, at once - unable to rein himself in any longer, slamming her back until she could feel the cold hard earth under her.

She wailed a bit at first, and felt the change in him - the stiffening of his whole body, and his urgency - and he reared up over her and grunted down into her face: "You love it, huh? You love my fucking cock...say it..."

She couldn't quite stifle a laugh, but swallowed it fast and grinned hard back at him, and murmured, "I love your big, hard cock, Jimmy - fuck me hard - ahah, yes! Just - just like that - "

He sank his whole weight into her, burying his face in her neck, and only his hips moved in that frantic, vigorous snap that was so good - but he was kissing her - kissing and kissing and kissing her. It was distracting. She turned her head to the side, and then he was panting in a hot moist rush at her ear, "You're so fucking dirty - oh my God - such a dirty fucking girl - "

He pulled up suddenly, out of her with a long hoarse breath, grabbing her by the hips to turn her over.

"Come on, over - on your knees - get back down there - down in the dirt, where you belong."

Oh, he was a quick study.

"You wanna be my dirty little bitch? Huh?"

With her face turned to the firelight, he couldn't see her roll her eyes.

Her affectionate smile wavered with the jolt of his cock jamming back into her, and she whined for it, and he was beyond all words now, and she barked, "Yes - yes - yes - oh fuck, like that -"

In another minute, she felt and heard the suck of her wet cunt as he pulled out, and the warm spurt of his come streaking across her bare back.

Already, before he could even catch his breath, he was apologizing, sweet thing.

"Baby, I'm sorry - I - I tried to hold out...it's just, you're so fucking hot..."

And she rolled over onto her back, giggling at him because he thought he was finished. Reaching up to grab his rumpled shirt in both fists, she pulled him down with her.


*

After, tracing his forearm lightly with the tip of one finger, the two of them cocooned and spooned in the sleeping bag, silently watching the fire, she thought to ask:

"Will someone come, do you think? A park ranger or something - will they see the fire?"

He swept her hair back to kiss the back of her neck, and she felt one corner of her mouth twitch in reflex. He shook his head and told her, "It's just barely the end of the season. It happens all the time - people come out, don't know yet, that the park's closed. They'll let it slide for a while, but it's probably the last time we can stay here."

His arm tightened around her. She just nodded. She'd been thinking the same thing.

There was another long pause - they really didn't have much to say, in these quiet aftermaths. There was something else she'd forgotten, in the moment.

"What did you tell her?"

She felt his sharp inhale, the tightening of his muscles, and the force of his breath against her skin.

"I didn't tell her anything! She doesn't even care anymore - she knows I'm moving out soon. She'll think I stayed out late, and went in early. Or whatever. Let her think what she wants!"

She nodded again. The truth was, she didn't really care, either. He was kissing her again, and she kissed him back absently as a breeze off the lake made their little fire shiver. Yes, summer was over.

*

The alarm on her phone woke them before the sun, and he surprised her to squealing when he stripped down and ran whooping into the lake - in to his waist before he dove with an enormous splash - and came up almost as fast, wheezing and sputtering and swearing.

Her laughter rang out in the early morning stillness. "You're nuts, you know that? It's like two degrees!"

With the water beading and running down his face like tears, he slicked his hair back and grinned at her with his beautiful, even white smile. "Yeah I'm nuts, but you love me anyway!"

She turned away abruptly, hearing him slosh his way back to the shore as she shook out the sleeping bag and rolled it up.

"We should hurry," she commented briefly, the note of reserve and responsibility creeping into her voice as they eased back into their everyday roles. She had taken to keeping a change of clothes at the office - a silent concession of this arrangement - and she could shower there, too, if she got in early enough. He had never even bothered to bring an extra shirt. Being male, he could get away with it.

They were silent again when she started the car and slipped down the hill and out of the park. As always, she would drop him off a couple of blocks away, so they wouldn't be seen arriving together. At this early hour there was next to no one on the road, and they made it with plenty of time to spare.

She turned off onto a side street overhung with sunny yellow oak trees. Pulling up to the curb, turning to him with a little sigh, she smiled her fond smile on the exhale.

His return expression was pale and far too serious, and he said: "Leave him."

And she sighed again, more loudly, putting the car in park as he gabbled in a rush, "Leave him - I'll take care of you! I'm moving out - you can come live with me! We'll take care of each other!"

She waited until he was finished, pressing her lips together, trying to keep her face gentle. "James."

It was her tone. She could see it in his face, and it was a great effort to tamp down her annoyance - she could feel it snapping like sparks behind her dark eyes. He thought it was all so frighteningly simple. But he must know -

"I'm in love with you," he said quietly, and before he turned away she caught the hurt and the hopelessness in his baby blue eyes. He knew.

After a moment, she leaned across to touch his cheek. Even as she pressed her soft lips to his, pulling back only when she felt his tongue trying to push into her mouth, even as she smiled sadly and murmured, "Jimmy, you're sweet," she knew...this had to be the last time.

He waited, staring back at her, his hand on the door. Waiting for something else...but there wasn't anything.

He ducked his head and pushed out without looking back. Their precious, fragile egos hurt her heart, but she knew enough to let him have it. She mustn't look back, either. She started the car again and began to pull away.

She'd made it to the end of the street when his sudden cry from the sidewalk - a sharper sound from him than she'd ever heard - made her crush the brake underfoot in a rocking halt. He was running back to the car, and she bit back a groan. Was there going to be a scene, then? Fire in the belly, piss and vinegar...it had its consequences.

But he only leaned in from the curb when she lowered the window, keeping a respectful distance. Smiling, tight-lipped, "Forgot my bag."

"Oh - "

As she climbed between the seats to grope for it, she knew she was affording him one last long look at her ass in these leggings. One canvas strap was caught on something, and as she jerked it up impatiently, she caught a stapled couple of sheets that were trying to slide onto the floor. She caught the title of the paper in passing as she stuffed it back, and handed the bag to him through the passenger side door.

How I Spent My Summer Vacation.

Her face flushed warm suddenly as the door slammed and she slapped on the signal to turn the corner. Blushing. Like a schoolgirl.



Note: Characters in this piece were imagined to be over the age of 18.

An American Idyll


The light was fading, the brilliance of the afternoon sun giving way to muted golden tones. Along the shore, stands of trees boasted green leaves that had only just begun the transition to harvest reds and ambers. Autumn was drawing near.

Sarah’s dark gray eyes were unimpressed with nature’s display as she took in the idyllic scene, while standing along the stern of the yacht. She hated this time of year, this particular change in seasons most of all – she always had. She had learned to bear with winter and spring, if only for the promise they both held. But autumn … autumn had never been kind. Summer had always been her friend, with its days that seemed to stretch on forever, each one full with limitless possibility. She hated to see it end.

Afternoons out on the bay were a common pastime with her family. Today had been no different; with everyone – children and adults alike – eager to soak up what little was left of the season. Children, made tired by the days’ exertions, now slept curled up on makeshift beds of lounge cushions, blanketed by towels. While adults, grateful for the respite and silence, lazed the time away. Some read, others socialized. Sarah opted for the comfort of her own company.

She didn’t jump when he came up beside her, didn’t look at him as he pressed the cool glass into her hand.

“You looked like you could use a drink.” He said, clinking his scotch filled tumbler against her own.

“It’s almost over now.” She said, still staring ahead.

He didn’t have to ask what she meant. “Is that why you’re over here on your own, pouting?”

“I’m not pouting!” she snapped, without any true annoyance.

He chuckled at that, the sound a rich and deep vibration, making her wish she could press her lips to his throat to feel it.

“Oh yes you are, you always pout when things aren’t going your way.”

There was no sense in attempting to deny it, he knew her well. Much like she knew him. She stole a glance at him then, this man who she had known since childhood. Summer had also always been theirs; a time that belonged to them and them alone here along the picturesque New England shore. Even now the briefest glimpse of him - those blue eyes, his rust coloured hair – was all it took to make her smile. Though, it didn’t last very long.

“I wish we could stay.” She said, while peering into the amber liquid in her glass. “I wish…” she stopped. Not wanting to say the words, her head snapped up, her chin jutting out defiantly, eyes fixed dead ahead once more. She was unwilling to have herself sound like some petulant child by saying them out loud. She couldn’t however stop the thought, for it had formed long ago.

I wish summer didn’t have to end…

He stayed silent, leaving her to her thoughts, and perhaps caught up in his own. There was nothing either of them could say to make what was true, less so. No words to be said that could comfort or soothe. It should have been easy for him to slip an arm around her, or for her to rest her head on his shoulder. Had they been any other two people, perhaps it would have been so. But they weren’t; and even here, out on the solitude of the bay there was too much at risk.

When he did speak again, it was to say, “You look good.” His voice low, words sincere.

Had she been younger she would have flushed red to the roots of her raven hair, but she had long since learned to control such reactions when they weren’t alone. She imagined that she probably did make for a pretty picture. Hair caught in the wind, dancing and swirling about her face as she stood with her hips pressed against the rail. Her marled grey sweater falling off one shoulder even as it hid her curves, and covered most of what little there was to her denim cut-offs. Slender legs left bare, crossed at the ankles to reveal one delicate sole.

“I like this … matches your eyes” he said, his fingers lightly pinching at the woolen fabric that sheathed her arms.

Rather than face truth, he had chosen distraction. A state of being that often proved more preferable to their shared reality. She couldn’t blame him … so instead she joined him.

She did her best to resist the smirk that tugged at her lips, “This, I assume, is why you bought it for me.”

“Smart girl.” He teased, as he nudged her side with his elbow.

The sweater had been a present, tied to no particular occasion or celebration; just something he had found and wanted her to have. He claimed that when he first saw it, he was reminded only of her and so in giving it to her he hoped I would remind her of him. He had gotten his wish, though she rarely wore it, she often did when the time and distance that kept them otherwise apart became too much to bear. Wrapped in its warmth she was always reminded of him and what they shared.

He wore a matching one in burnt orange. The hue seemed to augment the color of his hair, causing it to glow like firelight with fading sun. She thought it odd that no one had noticed the similarities, and she wondered if anyone did now that they were stood side by side. Strange that she chose to wear hers today, despite him being so close. In truth, in spite of their physical closeness she felt as if he was further away than ever before. It was as if with summer’s golden glow waning, he was being blown away on the autumn wind, further and further beyond her reach. And she supposed that without the sweater to keep her warm and their joys fresh in her mind, the autumn chill would gladly settle into the cracks of her breaking heart.

Pressing herself against his side, she slipped her hand into his, gripping tight as their fingers tangled together. It was just a touch, a stolen one at that - so much and yet not enough. There never seemed to be enough time, not when autumn heralded summer’s end. Unable to bear the thought of months apart, and feeling herself close to tears, she turned and walked away. Her hand lingering in his grasp for a few seconds more than was wise.

She left him there standing alone, as she once did, willing herself not to look back.

Perhaps she had been wrong, perhaps summer wasn’t her friend. Perhaps it was a liar, forever spilling forth promises it could never keep. Or perhaps … autumn was simply a thief.