Victoria Ann

I’ll Jimmy your John. I also write stuff, so please read that. Thanks. <3

[victoria-ann-writes]

Daily Short Story

Not a soul had seen her face in fifty years. She took a hammer to every mirror in her house, and nearly never went outside. On the few occasions when she did go out, she wore a heavy, black veil to cover her face. Normally, neighbours might find this strange; however, we did not. We’ve taught our children and grandchildren how strong this woman is, and how all of us would feel if he went through what she has. 

Today I turn fifty-two, the same age as the woman living at the end of our block. I hurry up and wrap the platter of cookies I spent the morning baking. There’s lemon crinkle, chocolate chip (with both milk and white chocolate chips of course), sugar, strawberries ‘n’ cream, and even Oreo cookies. I smile to myself, satisfied with my job well done. I hurry up and put my sandals on and walk out the front door. 

The sun is bright in my eyes, the sky is clear and beautiful. Though it’s rather warm out, it feels nice on my slightly shrivelled skin. I smile at the neighbourhood kids as I walk down the sidewalk towards the seemingly abandoned house at the end of the block. The slight breeze pushes my semi-short, dark hair in and out of my face. I try to tuck it behind my ear to no avail, so I decide it’s probably best to ignore it. 

Finally, I stand outside the gate of the mysterious house. The brick walls are now lined with thick vines and the lawn is slightly overgrown. I take a deep breath and unhinge the lock on the rickety, old fence. The rust on the hinges squeaks as I push it open. I walk down the stone pathway towards the front door when I notice a window with its curtain wide open, an unusual sight for this house. I quicken my step to the front porch and finally set the platter on a little table next to the door so I don’t drop it. Amazingly, the glass door doesn’t squeak as I open it to get to the wooden door on the other side. I knock as hard as I can.

Breath. I knock again. Several more heartbeats go by before I try to open the door. It’s unlocked, weird. I scoop up the platter in one hand and walk in the front door.

If I was anyone else, I would’ve left the cookie platter on the doorstep and left. Not me, I need to make sure Vee is okay. See, the woman who lives here, at this mysterious house at the end of my block, is my best friend. Her name is Venus June. And my name is Luna Elizabeth. Vee and I were born on the same day, in the same hospital, at the same time. Our moms wanted us to be friends because of this fact alone, but Vee and I were meant for so much more, adventures that my parents would never be okay with. Vee and I both tried to lead normal lives with husbands and children, but her attempts all failed. Her husband and two sons perished in a house fire ten years ago. She’s worn the veil and refused to come out of her house since. 

I take off my sandals next to the door and walk to the kitchen on the right, setting my platter down on the counter. “Vee, it’s me,” I yell through the house. “I’ve brought you some cookies, they’re on the counter.” Where could she be? Before I can think about my options, I grab a nearby flashlight and begin to look through the house for my friend. I cleared the first floor and suddenly got a shiver down my spine. What the hell?

[victoria-ann-writes]

Daily Short Story

Where did my story begin? Maybe the question should ‘where did my story end’? No matter, the beginning of the end was a single quote. A meaningless, back-handed comment. A comment that has rung out and bounced around my head for fifteen years, a whole decade and a half. It goes a little something like this:

“Look at you, sacrificing yourself for others! when did you get a heard? I thought you’d lost your moral code long, long ago."

Looking back, there’s plenty I could relish in regret for, for three eternities over. But that’s not what my job you see. I am a field agent for Sanctus Sacro - we all call it SS because it sounds badass. Every agent here is dead, more or less. Our families have mourned us while we attended our funerals, where some John Does were laid to rest under our names. Our wives, children, parents; they think we’re goners, that we left this world without a choice. But really, we had every choice in the world to leave them. And choose we did. We chose each other.

I even attended my own funeral, from a distance of course. I watched as my fiance held our five-year-old son, Charlie, close to her. I watched my son drop a single white lily across the top of my casket, while my fiance dropped a white rose beside Charlie’s. I watched as my fiance broke into tears and dropped to her knees beside the grave, yelling to the heavens to bring me back. 

I’m here with my twin, Raven Skye Reyes. They call her Rogue, as you’ll come to know. My name is Spencer, Spencer Neil Reyes. The guys call me Neo, like the guy from The Matrix. Seriously, my nickname is a character from a movie and Rave gets fucking Rogue, it’s unfair. Anyway, we make up two of about ten in our little section of the Bureau, the FBI that is.