Truth be told, these are Tuesday’s words, but I adore applying alliteration abundantly.

This is from a 10 minute timed writing and is a little insight into the short story I’m working on, which I was just recently informed I will have to read in front of an audience. What?! Wish I’d known that before I started. Reading in front of my writing group is one thing, but reading my stuff in front of strangers? Eeehh…I don’t know about all that. I suppose it’s good for me, and I’m not one to turn down a challenge easily.

I like this piece, mostly because I’m trying to figure out WHY the owner of the house is the way he is. Is he just strange? Is he creepy? Is he sinister? Is he just doing the wrong thing for the right reasons?

I just don’t know yet. But, writing stories would be boring if we always knew the outcome.

The night closed in around him as he switched off the lights. Silent, the air still and full of must, he stood in the great room, listening. And if he listened with his entire being he could hear them – a tinkle of laughter, a sharp gasp of pain, a cry as welcome as a summer day.

The house hunkered around him, patient, waiting. Pine from the banisters, the roses on the table, soon they would mix with the tang of alcohol and the sweetness of sighed breath.

This was the moment he liked best, with anticipation thrumming through his veins like a thunderstorm. They would come, like sheep to the slaughter, wide-eyed, with fears and dreams as equally dark. They were his to shape like clay molded by careful fingers.

The man sat on the marble floor and as the cold seeped into his skin, he remembered the first time, when recognition had flickered on their faces.

He always remembered the first time.

He lay back, letting the sounds of the old house settle around him. The creaks were his friends, his family, a lover. For once they came, they never truly left. There were pieces of each person scattered through the rooms like trophies of a time long forgotten. He wrapped his arms around his chest and pulled each one in, a blanket that would carry him to the possibility of morning.

That’s it! Hope you enjoyed. So tell me – were you creeped out? Curious? I just wish this dude would tell me what he’s all about. 🙂

All the best,

Kacey

Aww – you made it to the bottom of the page! You deserve a treat. Here’s a poem I wrote:

Hope is yellow

and citrus flavored

like the slant of sunshine

on a sloping roof.

It’s sweet

with a sharp surprise

of tart and sting.

It burns,

bitter flame

with a desire

to consume.

Hope is yellow

and citrus flavored.