I needed a place to put my writing and writing-related posts since my main kept getting cluttered with other junk. I write a lot of short stories and genre hop while I try to find my place in the literary world.
My greatest loves are fantasy and horror. I have discovered that I can not write good horror for the life of me, but I love to read it. If you'd like to look me up, most of my short stories are free. My name is Melody Hewson. I'll provide some links later.
Just a little project I'm working on for Axel and Rainbow. It amused me.
A song welcomed Axel back to consciousness. It was the most beautiful song he had ever heard, and it filled him with a longing he could never fulfill. He couldn't understand the words, but for some reason, they conjured images of beautiful sunsets over the sea and emerald fields of a land he had never seen before.
He slowly moved his body until he was sitting up, staring up at the singing siren before him with an adoring gaze. Her unfurled wings flapped slowly in time with her song, her head tilted back as she offered up her voice to the sky. As Axel's heart swelled to overflowing with an enchanted love, he felt as if he were witnessing an intimate kind of worship, and wished he could participate in some way.
Instead, he could only sit and watch silently as she sang, her face serene, eyes closed, and her hands slowly swaying back and forth as if weaving the very notes before they came out of her throat.
Eventually the song faded away, as did the images it evoked, but the longing remained. It was a deep, unfillable chasm in his chest, crowding his lungs and crushing his heart. Axel was filled with a nameless need, something that would flood the chasm and seal it closed, something that was perfectly shaped for that endless hole, but he had no idea what that thing was. He knew only that he would scour the entire world to find it.
As ever, the lindwyrm spun to a gentle halt and lowered itself to allow its rider to disembark. The old man stayed seated at first, tilting his head to the rain and closing his eyes. Yes, this is where destiny meant for him to be. Here he would find his heart's desire. He could feel it in the very marrow filling his creaking bones.
Finally, he swung his leg over the creature's back and settled his boots into the sodden grass. Giving the beast a gentle pat on the shoulder, he released it to pursue its own goals, which it did happily. The old man inhaled deeply, letting the fresh air fill his lungs, expelling the last of the dry dust of the wasteland that had been left behind. With a whoosh, he emptied his chest, seeming to collapse in on himself before he reinflated once again.
Tilting his head back once more, he opened his mouth and let it fill with the life sustaining water, swallowing several mouthfuls before feeling strong enough to make his declaration. “I have found the rain!” He yelled up into the sky, his arms spreading out to his sides in offering. “Where is my rainbow?”
A soft wind answered his call, and he thought he heard his name whispered, a name long since lost from his own memory. The rain continued to fall gently, soaking his threadbare clothing with its warm spray. The breeze swirled merrily around his legs and played in his scraggly beard. The old man smiled wider, and waited.
The storm continued to weep, embracing the pair of invaders with welcoming rumbles. Even the infrequent flashes in the sky felt like a greeting. Eventually, however, the storm gentled further until it faded away to mist, leaving the night sky free once more to display its glittering finery.
The old man's hope dried up like the mud of the wastes, leaving behind a thin and fragile crust of faith, barely covering his foundation of despair.
The sated beast ambled over to where he stood, circling him twice before curling around his legs. The grass squelched as the beast settled itself, unconcerned with the moistness of the earth beneath it. The old man looked down at his contented mount and let out a slow sigh of defeat. Not for the first time, he wondered what it was like to live as simply as the beast, its needs so easily fulfilled.
Looking back up into the sky one last time, the old man settled into the wet turf, curled against the beast's rough-scaled belly, and allowed sleep to carry him from the various discomforts of his body.
The old man looked up at the sky through squinted eyes and sniffed the wind. He could almost taste the dryness of the air, the cloudless blue sky mocking his endless quest. His tongue slithered out to lick chapped lips, leaving a sticky trail in its wake like a large pink slug.
Lowering his gaze, he pulled his hat down over his eyes. Squatting down, he ignored the loud and painful popping of his aged joints as he placed one hand to the baked soil, deep fissures splitting the surface into crumbling squares. The land thirsted almost as much as he did, and there was no sign either of them would be quenched any time soon.
And yet, the beast had never been wrong before.
He rose slowly to tired feet, dusting his hands across his hips, and turned to look at the lindwyrm a few feet away. The creature stared back at him patiently yet expectantly. The old man walked toward the beast, age and a bone deep weariness slowing his step, his every movement followed closely by blazing red gold eyes.
“Is it close boy?” He rasped, his voice the hiss of windblown sand. He didn't know if the lindwyrm was really a boy or not, but the creature had never corrected him, so it worked as good as any other word.
The beast raised its head and sniffed the air, a quiver racing through its limbs. Prey was close.
So, because my brain doesn't think I have ENOUGH damn WIPs floating around being neglected, I just got hit with yet ANOTHER weird story idea.
Imagine that you do your best to live a good life, don't hurt anyone, be honest. But you REALLY have a strong temptation to do something you KNOW you shouldn't.
And the devil says to you "We all need our heroes. Someone to look up to that shows us that the right path IS possible for the imperfect. You are mine. Please don't let me down."
"The devil is an optimist if he thinks he can make people worse than they are." ~ Karl Kraus
“I looked Heavenward for angels, while beautiful demons showed me the way.” - Unknown
To Whom It May Concern:
You know, I have always hated that phrase. It's far too impersonal. Mrs. Luxeley, I expect you to be the first one to find this letter, so I suppose I will address it to you. Please accept my apologies, to yourself and the congregation, for not being there to tell you all this news in person.
I'm afraid I chose the cowardly way out. I suppose I've always been a coward. I was just too afraid to show it.
It will likely come as a surprise to you, but I have been struggling with my faith for most of my life. I prayed constantly, I begged for guidance and strength, I longed to hear God's voice, and there were times, oh there were some wondrous times, when I could have sworn to you that I felt that divine guidance. I have even felt filled to overflowing with the Holy Spirit. But somehow, those doubts would always worm their way back into my brain, making me wonder if I was wrong, if I was deluding myself, if it was all just a trick of my mind.
I suppose, knowing this, that it will come as no surprise that I had a visitor in my dream. But not who I would have hoped.
I found myself in a vast desert, nothing but sand and a few scraggly trees for as far as the eye could see. And then from the distance, a figure began to approach. At first they were nothing but a tiny black spec on the horizon, and as they grew closer, their form wavered and wiggled in the desert heat. Eventually, he came close enough that I could see it was a man.
He appeared to be a perfectly normal man, not particularly tall nor broad. His manner, as he continued to walk toward me, was casual, not at all threatening. He wore a well-tailored suit of black and silver, and his long black hair was left loose around his shoulders. He had just a shadow of a beard on his rather handsome face. Nothing about him was sinister or threatening, and yet as he continued to approach me, I found myself filled with a sense of impending dread.
When he finally stopped a few feet away from me, I could have sworn that his eyes flashed for just a moment before settling into a bright green. “I have come.” He said to me, his voice cheerful like he was greeting an old friend.
I reached for the cross that hung around my neck and thrust it forward. “Get thee back, Satan! You have no power over me!”
I expected him to flee, or to hiss in pain, wincing away from the power of that holy symbol. Instead he just watched me for a moment as if I were performing some silly card trick. The silence stretched between us for so long that I actually began to feel a little silly. Imagine that, facing the great deceiver himself and feeling like the stupid one for evoking God's protection.
Finally I tried again at banishment, thrusting my cross forward one more time and shouted “In the name of God the Father and Jesus, his only begotten son, I cast you out and back to hell where you belong!”
“Well, that was entertaining.” He finally said, still looking unimpressed by my attempts at protection. Not for the first time, I began to doubt myself. I knew who he was with the sureness you feel in dreams, but it was God I began to doubt. Was this a test I had to pass or was I myself simply unworthy of him? Had I lost his very protection?
“Why are you here, prince of lies?” I asked him, the tiny cast iron charm on the end of my necklace the only thing standing between us.
And that's when he smiled at me. “Prince of lies. What amusing names you humans come up with. I'm here for you, David. You begged for answers and I have come to give them to you.”
“You speak only in lies, Lord of Darkness! I don't want to hear anything from you!” I shouted, filled with righteous anger. Surely this was a test. I thought about the trials of Jesus, how he was approached and tempted in the desert by the very same being that was now speaking to me. Would I, too, be offered my every worldly desire? I knew I was strong enough to say no to those at least.
“Now now, David. You're being terribly unfair here.” He said to me with the same casualness as if we were discussing baseball scores or the weather. “I know your people have all manner of opinions about me, but I haven't told a single lie. Have I said one single untruth this entire time?”
“Do not let the Devil gain a foothold! For there is no truth in him. When he speaks, he speaks his native tongue, for he is a liar and the father of lies!” I shouted back, sure that he would flee cowering from me at last like a little mouse running from a roaring lion. “I submit myself to God! I resist you and you will flee from me!”
Instead of running away, he actually looked disappointed. Can you imagine it, Mrs. Luxeley? The Devil was disappointed in ME! “Oh come on now, David.” He chided me with a shake of his head. “You jumbled those verses all together and you know it.” He was right, and I did know it. And I felt ashamed. “Now then, let's cut to the chase.” He continued, more serious now but still in a friendly way. “I've come to answer your questions. You are free to believe what I tell you or not, but I don't see anyone else lining up to answer them for you.”
I knew I should remain on guard, but I was weak. I allowed my arm to lower until I dropped the cross back to my chest. “And what do you want from me in exchange for these answers of yours?” I asked him.
He tilted his head a little, and all I could think of was a confused dog. “Want? What could you possibly have that I want?” There was no animosity in his question, just an earnestness.
“You asked the lord Jesus to kneel.” I refuted, still feeling quite safe in my righteousness. “Will you ask me to kneel at your feet, Satan? Or do you want my life? Perhaps my very soul?! I warn you now, Deceiver, they have BOTH been turned over to God! I wear HIS brand like a holy cattle!”
He laughed a little, his voice so cheerful that I almost wanted to join in and laugh myself. “You humans are such wondrous creatures. You never cease to surprise me. A holy cow. Please tell me, was that an intentional joke or did it just slip out? And what in the world would I want with your life or your soul? Stick them in a jar?” He laughed some more, then turned and began walking away, waving his arm to bid me to follow.
As if my feet had a mind of their own, I began to follow him, the sand grains crunching softly under my steps, but his were completely silent. He left footprints just as I did, but somehow only mine caused any disturbance.
“So,” He finally spoke again. “What do you want to know?”
Questions flooded my mind. What happens after we die? “What is God's true name? Are we doing things correctly? Were all the stories true? What was Heaven like? Instead I asked, “Why are you helping me like this?”
He turned his head to look at me and smiled. His smile held such genuine warmth it filled me with a sense of peace. I felt completely safe in that moment. “Are you sure I'm helping you?” He answered me.
Despite his words, the pleasant feelings did not fade. “What do you mean? Are you saying you're here to harm me?”
“No, David.” He replied. “Nothing I do and nothing I say will ever be with the intention of harming you. I don't need to.”
When he looked away, the peace fled and my previous sense of dread came flooding back in to take it's place, but this time it was also laced with anger. “Don't need to? And why is that? You leave your dirty work to your demon underlings?” The anger gave me a boldness to confront him that the dread never would have allowed.
Once again, his answer was not at all what I expected. He laughed. “Demon underlings. That's funny. I'm going to have to remember that one.” He paused and turned to look at me again, that same warm smile lighting his face, although it did not spread to me this time. “Let me tell you a little story, David.” He then turned away and continued walking. I followed. “I'm sure you know the popular version. Six days of creation, Let There Be Light, and all of that? Of course you do. Well, that's not quite how things happened, but I won't bore you with the nitty gritty. Suffice it to say, what you call God is responsible for the creation of your universe.”
I was taken aback. I didn't know how much of what I was being told that I could trust. Was I really being given true knowledge about creation and the creator? They said the best lies were laced with truth. I was also a little surprised that the Devil would use a phrase like 'nitty gritty'.
“This is not the only planet where life bloomed, of course, but this is the only one where humans came to be.” He continued, our steps following the rhythm of his words. “You have always been such an interesting species, you know. Such clever little things. God was especially enamored with your kind, and even said that your species would rise above all others, soon. Superior even to the, uh..what do you call us? Ah yes, angels. I, as you know, disagreed.”
“Your ego made you rebel against the Lord and that's why you were cast from Heaven and sent here to Earth.” I accused him.
He just turned his head and smiled that smile at me. “Oh. Is that what happened.”
I felt nearly crushed under the sudden weight of my doubt. The story I had always been told was that there had been a war in Heaven. Satan and his traitors had been cast out, doomed to roam the Earth until the second coming. Was that also wrong? “Are you saying it isn't?”
Instead of answering me, he laughed softly, the sound as melodious as the tinkling of silver bells. “Such clever little creatures you are. And so sure of yourselves. No wonder you had such big expectations put upon your tiny little shoulders. But as I said, I disagreed with your God's opinion. You were special animals, sure, but you were still animals. Prone to violence and corruption just as much as any other beast.”
He stopped walking suddenly, and I turned my attention away from him for the first time. We had somehow reached the edge of a cliff. Far below us was a city, but not one I was familiar with. Cars ran through the streets like colorful serpents. Billboards advertised all manner of products. I could even see a few megachurches scattered throughout, with their steeples lit up like a Las Vegas casino.
“We argued for a little while, and finally we made what I guess you would consider a little wager. I was given the chance to prove that you would fall short of expectations. That, while you were special in your own way, you were not, what's your word, divine. I even said that you would turn against your very creators, given the right incentives.”
“So you pretended to be a snake. Tricked Adam and Eve into the first sin and separated us from God.” I cast my accusation at his feet, expecting him to either deny it, or claim it.
“Oh, is that what I did?” He asked me, casting his gaze back over that far away city over the cliff.
Finally I had my target, and I could aim my emotions away from myself, no matter how flimsy the reason. “You are the one who first introduced death and sin into the world! You're the reason we all fall short!” I pointed at him as if my very arm was a javelin I could throw along with my curses, to further wound my enemy. You would have been very proud of me at that moment. Not that I deserved it. “You, through your envy and selfishness, caused the ills of this world!”
“I've certainly been a busy guy.” He replied calmly. There was no hint of mockery in his voice, and yet I still felt as if he were laughing at me.
“And now you've come to tempt me. To test my faith!” I felt so confident in ignorance. Surely I would pass this test and finally cement my place in God's good graces. I would feel his hand upon my brow and his voice in my ear for I would send the evil temptor packing and prove myself worthy of his grace.
When he looked at me again, his eyes were so filled with sympathy that I was suddenly filled with a desire to weep. For the fate of myself, for all of mankind, for the entire world. “You don't need me to do that, David.” He said softly, and the truth of his words shattered me like brittle ice. “Your people like to blame me for a lot, but what have I really done?”
Grasping weakly at any straws I could find, I scrabbled through my memory for any evidence I could think of. “Job!” I spurted finally. “You argued that he was too pious, to perfect, and if you were allowed to take everything away form him, he would turn against God.”
“Ah yes, the Book of Job.” The Devil said. “He had a bit of a bad day, didn't he.”
“You took away his wealth, his children, gave him boils and ruined his social standing.” As I listed his crimes, my self-assuredness began to fall away.
“I suppose that is how the story was written, wasn't it.” He simply accepted my words with his usual casual demeanor, while admitting nothing.
“Are you saying it didn't happen that way?” I was ready to call him a liar, but the Devil is far more clever than I, a mere man.
He returned my question with a question. “Is that really what you want to ask me?”
A new feeling of dread gripped me in icy fingers then. “Am I... Are you here because... I am to be Job?” As easy as it is to say that we would give up everything for the Lord, when I was faced with the actual possibility of it, I was afraid. I didn't think I could do it. I wasn't that strong.
His next words did not set me much at ease. “In a way, yes. You and all of your species, but the ills you suffer are ones that you do to yourselves.”
“Your shadow has been cast over every evil!” I shouted, growing desperate now.
“Really?” He asked. “What did I do?”
“Hitler!” I yelled, throwing out the most obvious example of history's atrocities. “He was one of your own!”
“Ah, I remember him. Became a leader of his lands, started a war, and his actions led to the deaths of a lot of people. That was quite a dark time for your species. But there have been a lot of those, haven't there.” He pauses a moment, looking back over the city. “He never came to me for advice. If I recall, there were a lot of other people who were eager enough to follow his example without my intervention.”
I searched my memory for even more depots of history. “What about Pol Pot? He killed so many of his own people.”
“So he did.” The Devil replied. “But that wasn't me either.”
With increasing desperation I threw out more names. “What about Stalin? Mussolini? Atilla the Hun? Genghis Khan? North Korea?!”
He shook his head slowly as I spoke. “And all of them were human.”
“But surely you take the blame for all the... the murders and violence, rape and theft, your influence over us causes us to act out! And when you whisper your poisonous lies into our ears, how can the average person stand a chance?”
Instead of answering me, he lifted a hand and pointed to the city below us. With a clarity only found in dreams, I was able to see everything clearly down there without ever moving closer. Immediately, I saw what he was pointing to.
A young woman screamed in terror as she was being accosted by a group of men. The men were a range of ages and ethnicity, all of them wearing colored bands wrapped around their biceps. They laughed and sneered while surrounding the woman, snatching away her purse and tearing her clothes as they shoved her between them like some inflatable toy.
Several people walked by, but most of them merely bowed their heads and hurried their pace. One or two paused and watched, thinking about interfering, but in the end, no one did. By the time the men were finished and walked away, the woman was left curled up and sobbing on the sidewalk, and still no one stopped to offer her assistance.
He pointed again, and I witnessed a man getting stabbed in the stomach while he was being robbed. His wallet and watch were snatched away, his phone broken and left just beyond his grip as the thief ran away, leaving him to bleed out in the alleyway.
Another point of his finger brought my attention to a couple arguing until one of them struck the other. Then to a drug dealer selling his wares to a teenager. Then to a child suffering abuse. Then to a starving dog, chained to a wall and shivering while its bowl remained empty. Then to a small store being robbed, the owner with hands raised, facing the barrel of a stolen gun. Then to a house being robbed while the owner was away at work.
“Enough!” I cried, unable to take any more.
“Who do you see?” He asked me kindly, lowering his arm. Do you see hordes of demons preying on the populace? Do you see me giving anyone instructions? Whispering in any ears? I've been with you this whole time. Have I instructed you to go out and do anything?”
“No...” I reluctantly admitted. “Not yet at least. But, you said you came here to prove you could corrupt us. Surely you've had some hand in our downfall. What else would you do?”
He looked at me again, and once again there was such a kindness and understanding in his eyes that it made tears prick at the corners of mine. This was a being who saw us, who saw our true nature and accepted us for it. Maybe even loved us because of it, rather than in spite of. “All I ever do, and all I have ever done, is to watch. Many of your people like to blame me for all manner of things, but I don't have to do anything but observe.”
I only had one card left to play. One bullet left in my chamber. My final hope. “But what about death? What about disease? Children getting cancer, hurricanes that destroy people's homes, floods that drown entire towns or earthquakes that destroy cities? Don't you send those? Don't you feel even a little guilt for the lives lost and devastation caused?”
He smiled a patient smile, like someone about to explain a complicated fact to a confused child who was just not quite grasping it. “You think I'm the one behind natural disasters and disease? Really? Tell me, David, who created your world?”
Those words struck me like a canon ball. I was violently flung back into the waking world, coated in sweat and panting as if I'd just run a mile.
I'm sure you all noticed how distracted I was while delivering the sermon last Sunday. My heart just wasn't in it. And that's because I was still thinking about the Devil's words. It took several days, but I have finally come to grips with the truth.
I have already tendered my resignation as pastor and the church will send someone to replace me soon. If I have left anything personal here in my office, please simply throw it away. By the time anyone finds this letter, I will have already moved out of town. Please do not seek me out.
Mrs. Luxeley, if you are indeed the one who is reading this now, I have one final request. Tell the congregation that I love them, and I am sorry. I hope your faith remains stronger than mine ever was, and that it brings you peace. The truth is often not kind to those who seek it.
Maybe some day, like a lost sheep, I will be returned to the flock, but I can not lead if I myself am lost.
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At this point, I know where I want it to start and where I hope it will end, and let the story figure out how to get from point A to point B by itself.
Oliver Mills shivered and tugged his tattered coat a little tighter around himself. The worn material did little to increase his warmth against growing chill. It warned of the coming of a harsh Winter. Oliver hated Winter in the city. Why couldn't he have found himself homeless somewhere warm, like Florida or California?
Bitterly, he kicked an old rusty can in his path and listened to it's rattling protest while it tumbled down the littered asphalt. More cans were strewn across the old street, along with used needles, crumpled papers, and other detritus that seemed to gather in the abandoned corners of the world where humans resided.
Oliver often felt a kinship with the trash. He too was abandoned and unwanted, left to collect with the other undesirables in dark and abandoned places out of the sight of more civilized folks. If they couldn't see him then he didn't exist and couldn't disturb their perfect little lives. That was how it worked, right?
He gave a derisive snort. He'd been one of those so-called civilized people not so long ago. He had a great job, his hot young wife had been the envy of all his friends and co-workers, he had a big house and three children and one more on the way. The American dream. And it had been his. Life had been perfect.
And then that sniveling little prick had come sniffing around, sticking his nose in everything and messing it all up. What was his name? Hobson? Dodson? It could be Dickweed for all Oliver cared. So what if he had been embezzling a little from the company? It was HIS company! And it wasn't like he took much! He just skimmed a little here and there. And only when he needed it. He never got greedy.
Braces for little Becky, a boob job for Tonia, a little coke here and there when he needed it. He sure could use a little bump now. The cheap booze, when he could get a hold of it, took some of the edge off, but it tasted like battery acid and often left him feeling worse than before he drank it. Not that he ever let that stop him. Although he was far too sober at that moment for his liking.
Suddenly, his attention was caught by a small flash. One of the piss-yellow street lamps reflected off of something off to his left. Chances are it was just some empty booze bottle, but for some reason, he felt compelled to investigate. His pity party momentarily forgotten, he made his way closer to where the strange glint had been.
At first he failed to see anything amongst the scraggly patches of grass, broken pieces of glass, and crumbled beer cans. A passing breeze rippled an old sheet of newspaper like the wiggling butt of a stalking kitten before it stilled once again. Somewhere in the distance, a car alarm cried out it's warning before being abruptly silenced. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Oliver was just about to give up when he suddenly spied it. Half-buried in the dirt lay the tapered neck of some kind of exotic looking bottle. It was a deep purple color of opaque glass with what looked to be gemstones encircling the rim. Chances are it was some over-priced wine bottle, but Oliver stepped closer and decided to go ahead and fetch it, just in case it was worth something. Maybe worth as much as a bottle of Wild Turkey.
Carefully he grabbed and tugged at the bottle, which came out of the ground easily. He then began wiping off the coating of moist dirt that clung to it, exposing more colorful gemstones hidden beneath it. The bottle had to be some sort of weird antique or something. That should bring in a pretty penny to someone. Might even get him something decent to drink for a change.
As he gave the bottle another good swipe, it suddenly began to vibrate in his hands. He cried out and nearly dropped it in his surprise. Only the promise of booze kept his fingers clenched tightly around his prize.
It was fear that fused his hands around the bottle when a strange blue smoke began pouring out of the tip, gathering in a menacing cloud high above his head. Oliver opened his mouth to scream, but his voice was too afraid to leave the safety of his throat. He felt as if his entire body had been transformed into lead, and all he could do was stand still and watch his fate unfold in front of him.
The cloud continued to swell, until it finally began to swirl slowly into itself, forming into some kind of shape Oliver could not immediately make out. Familiar features began to take shape within the cloud, a man's bare chest, long powerful arms, a head, and was that a face? As he watches, the cloud transformed itself into the torso of a blue-skinned man, his arms crossed over his chest and his head bowed with eyes closed. Below his waist, he remained nothing but a tether of blue smoke leading to the bottle's mouth.
“What the hell!” He finally managed to exclaim in amazement. “Did I go and find myself a damn genie?!”
The blue half-man's head slowly rose and his eyes opened, looking down at Oliver passively. The wisdom of eternity was in those pale blue orbs that looked at him with something akin to boredom. “I suppose you could say that.” The genie replied with a booming voice. “And because you have found me, you will be granted three wishes. Do you want power? Riches? Immortality? Speak the words and it shall be yours.”
“Wow!” Oliver exclaimed, then let out a puff of laughter while he almost danced. Sure, every kid had heard the old fairy tales about genies and wishes, always dreaming of what they would ask for when they found their own magical lamp or bottle, but everyone knew those were just stories. It wasn't real. And yet, here he was sober as a stone with his hands holding one of those very magical items. It was his turn. He was being offered his wishes. Anything he could dream of was his for the taking.
He took a moment to calm down. He didn't want to say something stupid and waste one of his wishes. “Ok, give me one moment here to think.” He said, closing his eyes and steadying his breath.
It took only a moment to decide on at least one wish. After six long years on the street, he was more than ready to return to civilization. Hot showers and a warm, soft bed that didn't smell of urine and stale sweat. “Ok, for my first wish, I wish for my house back.” He said.
“Consider it done.” The genie boomed.
“That's it?” Oliver questioned, looking up into the other being's passive gaze.
“Yes.” The genie replied simply.
“Wow! Wowie wow!” Olvier replied, doing an excited spin in place. His wife had kicked him out as soon as his misdeeds had come to light, the divorce papers arriving while he was sitting in jail, awaiting his court date. His kids had refused to even look in his direction when he'd tried to talk to them outside of their school. Well they were all about to be sorry. They would ALL be real sorry, soon enough for discarding him like human trash.
“Ok, for my next wish, I wish for more money than I could ever spend in my whole life. I never want to work another day in my life, and I don't want to pay a single penny of it to the government!” Oliver demanded.
“Consider it done.” The genie said again.
“This is so great! I have my life back!” Oliver cried in victory. He released the bottle with one hand so that he could pump his fist at the sky. “Yes!” Suddenly a shadow crossed the man's happy features and the excitement faded away, replaced by bitterness and anger. “Wait. I still have one more wish, right?”
“That is correct.” The genie answered, his voice as emotionless as his timeless eyes. The genie did not judge, he did not care. He merely waited patiently for the choices to be made.
A slow, sly smile crept over Oliver's features, his eyes narrowing as he contemplated his final wish. “Alright then.” He said slowly, his voice becoming cold and calculating. “I wish for that asshole that got me into this situation in the first place to face a very gruesome, painful, humiliating death. I want him to really suffer. Teach him a real lesson before he dies. That will teach that little prick to ruin my life.”
“It will be done.” The genie boomed, then began to disintegrate back into a heavy cloud of smoke, before being sucked back into the jewel-encrusted bottle. Within moments, the smoke was gone and the bottle began to vibrate once more. But this time, it began to shrink within his grasp until it flattened out and transformed into a crisp ten dollar bill.
Oliver looked down at the bill in his hand in confusion. Had the genie left him with a tip? Was is cab fair or something? Why would he need this? His home was just an hour's walk away, and his bank account should be stuffed to the brim with all the money he would ever.... need.....
A chill ran through Oliver's body, instantly turning his hot blood to ice. The genie was gone. There was no way to take back or change his wishes anymore. It was too late. He slowly lifted his head, staring at a graffiti-covered brick wall that his eyes did not see. They widened in growing horror as comprehension slowly dawned.
“Let me see your hands.” I requested curiously. Obligingly, he held them out to me. They were working hands. Strong, thick fingers were rough with callouses, the knuckles swollen from years of hard labor. Dark stains covered each fingertip and filled in the tiny lines of his skin and around his nails.
Something about his hands put me at ease, comforted me. I gently grasped his left hand and brought it closer so I could inspect it more, running a fingertip across the thick callouses of his middle finger. I flipped his hand back over, inspecting the small nicks, cuts and bruises across his skin. A handful of freckles and thick blue veins colored the otherwise pale flesh. Aside from the black staining.
Still holding his hand in one of mine, I reached out with the other to touch his wedding ring. It was a thick band of silver with thin stripes of black on either end. It spun easily on his finger, the metal warm.
When I moved my attention to his thumb, black filling the tiny cracks and creases, he almost turned shy. “Yeah, don't pay any attention to that.” He protested with his West Virginia drawl as I ran my finger across the darkness. “I have some stuff to scrub that off I just-”
“It's ok.” I cut him off. “I like it.” And I did. I felt very safe with those hands, every wrinkle and crease telling endless stories I could spend forever reading. I looked up into his eyes and smiled. They were a soft blue, like a cloudless morning sky with just a tint of wildness. Friendly lines crinkled the corners. With a playful grin, I brought his hand up to my mouth and nibbled one of his toughened fingertips. “But you should really tell me to stop.”
“Why? Do you want me to?” He challenged. “Tell me you don't want it as much as I do and I'll never bring it up again.”
I couldn't. I didn't even have that excuse in my favor. I knew I was about to cross a boundary I never had before, one I had set for myself. I knew eventually I would come to regret it. But I didn't yet. He was safe, and at that moment, I needed safe. “I do so enjoy you.”
“I knew it!” He exclaimed triumphantly, gripping my fingers. It sent small shivers through my skin.
“I should scare you.” I said softly, stroking my thumb across his large knuckles, enjoying the feel of the grooves in his skin.
“Why?” He challenged me again, one of his strawberry blond brows rising while his mouth twisted into a smirk.
A war raged inside of me, a dark monster demanding to be fed, trying to shove aside the gentle creature I was normally. “Because I would tear you apart and break you. I am not gentle with my toys.” I explained softly, wishing he would understand the true depths of the conflict that burned within. “You would be bound and blinded, completely at my mercy. While you died of thirst, at most I would lick your lips.” I sighed in defeat as his smirk turned into a grin of desire, casting my gaze back down to the hand I so gently stroked. I wanted to feel it stroking me as well.
“Break me. I heal quick.” He still didn't understand what he was asking for. I didn't know how else to make him understand.
“I don't want to break you.” I pleaded. “I promise the pussy isn't worth it.”
“Now you let me be the judge of that.” He replied, placing his other hand on my thigh.
I let my eyes drift over him slowly, taking in the black ball cap, the long sleeved shirt and blue jeans. In my mind I saw him hanging and stripped bare except for his jeans, his wrists attached to a chain in the ceiling. “You could always invest in a fleshlight, you know. It would be a lot less painful.”
He dared laugh at me. “No, baby. I want to walk into your world.”
His head was bowed in my imagination, a thick iron ring around his neck. “I don't want to hurt you.” I confessed. “Even while I desire it. You're my friend and so I want to keep you safely away from that darker side of me.”
He threaded his fingers with mine, as if he knew how vulnerable I was to gentleness and affection. My gentleness was a trap. His was a ploy. “Tell me how you would hurt me.”
I looked away as images returned to my imagination. His bare back was striped with healing lashes, his arms and chest a bouquet of blooming bruises. He was trying to lift himself on the balls of his feet to ease his straining shoulders. And that was foreplay. “Please don't ask that of me. I want to be nice to you. You don't realize what you're asking for.”
“Only because you won't tell me.” He slipped his hand from my grasp and slid both of them down my leg, pulling my foot into his lap. With a single rough fingertip, he began to trace the simple tattoo he found there. “How bad would you really treat me?”
In my imagination, I slide my hand between his jeans-clad thighs, hearing his weak moan when he hardened beneath my fingers. Despite his agony, he still desired me, and I planned to make him pay for that desire, even though I wanted it. He was so beautiful in his helplessness, his need, and I would continue to deny him all but the barest of pleasures. A light touch here, maybe a pat there, a 'Good boy” now and then.
No! I shook my head to clear it. Despite his flaws, and no doubt there were many more than even I knew, I still held this man in high esteem. Who, after all, was more deserving of my respect than a West Virginian coal miner? There was no way I could give him what he thought he wanted. “How would you explain the marks to your wife? And there WOULD be marks.”
He waved away my question and continued to play with my tattoo, running his fingers over my ankle. “I get hurt at work all the time.”
“But I don't want to hurt you, Steve.” It wasn't really a lie. I continued fighting a complex battle within, wanting to please while simultaneously needing to make him pay. Somehow I managed to shove the monster back down below and the softer side of me won out, for the moment.
“Fine, then.” He said, looking back up to capture my eyes in his. One of his hands began to slide up my calf towards my knee. “Don't hurt me. Make love to me, Tera.”
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