Wednesday Briefs

 

 This is my first journey into the Wednesday Briefs. This is one of the first pieces of flash fiction I have written. I once said that it is impossible for me to write anything under 1000 words but, obviously, I can :)

This is a one off piece, and not part of a longer story. Hopefully it will give you all you need to know about the past, present and future.  Comments would be welcome.

Please take time to visit the other blogs that I have listed at the bottom to read their pieces which I am sure will be much better than mine as they have all the experience I am lacking. Show your apprecation of mine and theirs by leaving a comment... or show your lack of appreciation by leaving a comment. I'm not precious.

NOT MINE

“Dante,” the man said, coldly. “How nice to see you,” he sneered. “If I’d know you were coming I’d have…”

Ignoring him, Dante pushed past. “Where is he?” he snarled.

“Hey! Get out. Nobody invited you in.”

“I’m not a fucking vampire, Jaden. Where is he?”

“None of your fucking business…”

“It’s alright, Jaden,” a voice said from a doorway along the hall. The man was wearing only a towel. His blonde hair was loose around his shoulder, curling slightly, still damp. “Say what you want, Dante, and then get the hell out of here.”

“Get dressed. You’re coming with me.”

“Like hell, he is.” Jayden tried to push Dante towards the door. The much bigger man, ignored him.

“Give me one good reason,” the blonde snarled.

“My sister. Get dressed.”

“That was over a long time ago.”

“From your point of view, maybe.”

“Look, Dante, I know I hurt Violet, but what happened was between me and her; not you.”

“I don’t give a fuck what happened then. All I care about is what’s happening now and, God help me, Luka, if you don’t get dressed right now, I am going to drag you out of here, naked.”

“Don’t you dare lay a finger on him.” Jayden took a step forward and Dante grabbed him by the throat, lifting him off the ground and pinning him against the wall, his feet dangling. Impotently, he clawed at the hands that were clamped around his windpipe.

“Let him go, Dante,” Luka snapped.

With a sneer, Dante released Jayden, who crumpled to the floor, clutching his throat and coughing. “Get dressed.”

Ignoring Dante, Luka crouched beside Jayden and put his arms around the shaking man. “Are you okay?”

Resting his head against Luka’s shoulder; Jayden croaked. “I’m fine. Get him out of here.”

“Do you think I’m kidding, Luka? Test me out. It would be my great pleasure to haul your naked arse out of here, over my shoulder.”

Luka squinted up at Dante, for a moment then he nodded. “Alright. I’ll come.”

“Luke, no. He…”

“It’s alright, Jayden. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m coming with you.” Jayden crossed his arms, glaring at Dante.

“It’s alright.  Stay here. Have a bath and relax. I’ll be back very soon.”

“Luka, you can’t trust him.”

“I’ll be alright. Take care of yourself, babe. I won’t be long.”

All the time he was getting dressed, Jayden begged and pleaded, even threatened, but to no avail.

“She’s doing it again isn’t she?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Vi. She’s controlling you, without even being here. Why do you keep letting her do this to you?”

“She’s not going to do anything to me, Jayden. I’ll go, but just to let her know that this is the last. No more contact; no more games. I’ll be home with you soon.”

The car journey was spent, pretty much, in silence. Initially, Luka had tried to demand to know where they were going and why, but Dante wasn’t speaking, only scowling. Eventually, Luka gave up. He was dozing when they arrived. He jerked away, though, when he realised where they were.

“The hospital? Why are we here? Is Vi okay? Is she sick? Hurt?”

“Get out,” Dante said, coldly, and Luka complied, then followed him into the hospital.

Luka wasn’t paying much attention to where they were going. He was demanding things of Dante, but the large man wasn’t talking.

Eventually, Dante veered off the corridor, through a pair of double doors.

“Maternity?”

Fear crawled in Luka’s stomach. It was realised when Dante led him to a side room.

She looked tired, exhausted, but triumphant. The baby was perfect. Luka hated both of them.

“It’s not mine,” he said flatly.

“Of course he’s yours,” Vi insisted. Who else’s would it be?”

“I don’t know. Take your pick of the piss heads you were cheating on me with.”

“That’s not true,” she said indignantly, but there was a flush on her cheeks that had nothing to do with having just given birth.”

“Whatever. It’s not mine.” Luka turned to walk away, but Dante blocked his way. Luka glared at him.

“Please, Luka. He is yours; he has to be. I want us to be a family, a proper family. You…”

“That’s it, isn’t it? You said it’s mine because you want it to be mine. You want me back and I have no idea how many more ways I can tell you, before you get the message in your stupid head, that it isn’t going to happen. I’m gay, I’m with Jayden and I’m happy. I don’t want to be with you. I don’t want to see you. I don’t want to hear your voice. I want nothing to do with you.”

“But the baby…”

“The baby’s not mine,” he said, firmly, and tried to push past Dante.

“Yes he is, and I’m going to make sure you face up to your responsibilities and…”

Luka whirled, his eyes blazing. “Listen to me, you whore. You’ve picked the wrong person to try this sick trick on. Fool one of your pretty playthings, and get him to be a father to your child. I don’t care who it is, but it isn’t going to be me. It’s not my child, Vi; it can’t be, because I can’t have children; I’m sterile. Now, go find another sucker to take on the brat, and leave me alone. I never want to see you again and, if you send Dante after me, I’ll call the police.”

Leaving a shocked Vi and angry Dante, Luka strode out. Realising he no longer had a lift he went straight to the nearest public phone.

The voice on the other end made him feel warm inside.

“Come get me baby. I’m coming home. It’s over.”

CAN ANYONE GIVE ME SOME ADVICE AS TO WHY SOME OF THESE LINKS AREN'T SHOWING UNLESS YOU HOVER OVER THEM???? THIS IS HAPPENING ALL OVER THE BLOG!!!!!!!!!!!

THANK YOU MICHELLE. I THINK IT'S FIXED :)

Lily Sawyer

Lindsey Klug 

 L M Brown 

A J Jarrett 

Victoria Blisse 

rcbonitz

Elyzabeth Valey 

Julie Lynn Hayes 

Thoughts on Being An Author

I used to think that being an author would be easy. You write a novel... well I have writen dozens of them over the years. Some, of course are worthy of nothing but the recycle bin, but some could be cleaned up and be useful.

Okay, so you have your novel and you submit to publishers. And then you get accepted and... Woo Hoo. Bang. You're an author and you can sit back and wait for the royalites to roll in.

RIGHT.

Nobody told me that, to be an author today you have to also be a technological genius. No one told me I would have to create and maintain a blog, network with other authors (which frankly terrifies me. I mean they are REAL authors after all), do interviews, create profiles, facebook pages and all sorts of things. Oh, and I have to... *gulp* tweet.

All in all being an author is bloody hard work.

Not that I'm complaining, though, I'm having a blast AND I'm learning that other authors are real people, and most of them are actually very nice real people. As well as making connections I am making friends, finding old friends behind new names and getting to grips with technology stuff that I never thought I ever would. ( and my kids certainly didn't think I ever would).

All in all it's just about the best thing that's ever happened, as well as one of the scariest and hardest work. I guess what my mother said is right. You get out what you put in and you value what you work for.

OH AND the best part :) I get to post pictures of hot men... and my favourite beautiful one :) :)

I've decided that I really don't need any excuse other than that I can.

Special, Part 2

In the days that followed, our families met and became fast friends. Marc and I were inseparable. Even when I discovered that he was different, not the same as anyone else, special, I adored him with a passion and spent every possible moment at his side.

I was fiercely protective of him, and would move the earth to make him smile, when he was sad.

Not so much then, but, as the years passed, and we spent every summer together, I would fight anyone who made him sad, or tried to hurt him. There were a depressing number, over the years.

After the third or fourth year of meeting up every summer, our parents became so friendly - initially, they told me later, because of the relationship that had developed between Marc and me - that we started to spend other holidays together. Marc visited my home, and I went to him. It was one of those friendships that only grew stronger with separation.

When I was twelve, Mr Harmon was promoted in his job, and the family came to live, only a short bus journey, from my home. By then, Marc had a sister, Judith, who was four years old, and as pretty as he was, although very different. She had the same sunny personality and sweet smile, but she was bright and inquisitive, quick witted and talkative.

Marc was much quieter, tending to sit back and watch; waiting to be presented with things, rather than seeking them out. He barely spoke, and when he did it was usually single words or short, disjointed sentences. He made himself well understood, though.

By then, I had realised that Marc wasn't the same as everyone else, as anyone else. It wasn't just his beauty and his sweetness; it was more, much more. Strangely, it has never been an issue between us, and it was a huge shock to me the first time I heard someone make a derogatory comment to him.

I found in unbelievable that anyone would want to hurt Marc. He was so gentle and loving, but, one time we were at the beach and there was a group of boys, about my age. I was eleven and Marc was barely eight. We were walking through the arcade, hand in hand.

Our parents were next door in a bar and I think it was the first time I had been allowed to take him anywhere on our own.

The boys were gathered around one of the gaming machines, and they started nudging each other and giggling. Marc was, and is, very distinctive looking, with his baby blonde hair and vivid eyes, which are always wide with wonder at everything.

We were lost in the colours and sounds of the arcade, and Marc was bouncing with excitement. When the boys appeared in front of us, he grinned at them and reached out his hand to touch a colourful wristband worn by the nearest boy. The boy instantly snatched it back, causing Marc to frown.

“Are you two gay, or what?” one of the boys asked. I didn’t even know what gay was, not then.

“Yeah... you’re a couple of fags.”

“I...” I had no idea what they were talking about, but I knew danger when I saw it and I was seeing it, in the form of four large pre teens, with mean streaks a mile wide. If it had just been me I would probably have put up a fight. I was well built, even then, and have never run from confrontation. However, Marc was with me and the thought of him being hurt or scared was unbearable. So I just took his hand and walked away, down one of the aisles.

Unfortunately, the arcade was almost empty and there was no one there to help us.

“Hey freaks,” one of the boys called after us, and I felt Marc jerk. I stopped and looked at him. He had blood on his cheek. He had been looking back, curious about the boys, and not understanding at all why they were being unkind. He’d been hit by something one of them had thrown after us.

For a moment, Marc had stared at me, his eyes shocked, and then he had blinked hard, as the tears came, and he started to cry. Of course, the boys loved that, and it whipped them into even more of a frenzy.

“Aww, is the poor little baby crying?”

“Why don’t you take your boyfriend home to his mammy?”

“Freaks.”

For myself, I could have ignored them and walked away; but Marc was here. Marc was bleeding and crying, and I had to protect him at all costs. I carefully let go of Marc’s hand.

“Stay here,” I said gently, and guided him backwards, pressing him firmly against the machine.

He shook his head and gripped my arm. “Don’t leave me,” he said in a small scared voice, looking up into my face. I forced myself to smile and loosened his hand.

“Marc, it’s alright. I promised to take care of you, and I will. Just stay here and you’ll be fine.”

“Jamie, no.  I’m afraid. Jamie, no.”

“It’s alright. I’ll take care of you.”

Marc shook his head.

“What’s the matter? Doesn’t your boyfriend want to play?”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“No, no, no,” Marc moaned, getting more and more frightened by the situation, the threat that was now almost palpable. “No Jamie, no. I want to go home. Home, Jamie, home.”

The boys had sidled closer, and they were staring at Marc, as if he was some kind of exotic bug.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“He’s weird.”

“There’s nothing wrong with him,” I snapped. “Leave us alone.”

One of the boys put his hand into his pocket and took out another stone. He drew his hand back, but before he could throw I threw myself at him and caught him in the middle, knocking him to the floor. When he was flat on his back, I pummelled him until I heard Marc’s wail behind me.

I leaped to my feet, and grabbed the nearest boy by the back of his neck, flinging him against one of the machines. Marc was crouched on the floor, hugging himself, with his face half turned away. The boys were poking him and making derogatory remarks.

“Retard.”

“Freak.”

“Spaz.”

I don’t know what would have happened if the arcade attendant, probably alerted by the wail, hadn’t appeared and taken control of the situation. Seeing Marc and the state he was in he ordered the other boys out of the arcade and, with threats and curses, they left.

“Are you alright? Are you hurt?” He reached out his hand to Marc, but he shrank away and wailed again. I crouched down and reached out to stroke his hair. Slowly, he turned his head and showed a face streaked with blood and tears. I smiled at him and a hesitant smile came back.

“It’s alright now, Marc,” I said in a careful, even voice; the one I always used when he was frightened, or hurt. “It’s all gone away, and I’m here. I’ll take you back to your mam now. You know me, don’t you; you trust me?”

“Jamie,” he said flatly, his eyes still blank and hurt. I hated myself that I hadn’t protected him from that.

“Is he alright?”

“He’s... different. He gets upset. He trusts me.”

“Are your parents far away?”

“Next door.”

“Are you sure?” He looked concerned. He was a nice guy.

“I’ll take care of him.”

“I’m sure you will. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I’ll take care of him.”

I was a stubborn kid. He looked at Marc, who, by now, was smiling his sunny smile again and looking at me with adoring eyes. The man smiled and nodded and then left us alone.

I took Marc by the hand and led him back to our parents. All hell broke loose. Marc’s parents were very protective of him, and they were all for calling the police. After first, being cast in the role of villain for not taking care of him, once my mother pointed out that there were always going to be arseholes who didn’t understand Marc and that it wouldn’t be fair on him to keep him close all the time, I was suddenly a hero.

There were other times over the years when I fought to defend him, sometimes in more subtle ways as we grew older.