“Don’t let yesterday take up too much of today.” -Will Rogers
Thursday, August 31, 2017
Monday, August 14, 2017
The WEP is all about the prompt
and this month it was
Did you take the challenge?
Just add your name to the list.
But if you're here just for the stories,
DL after the name means 'direct link' to the story.
FIRST LOVE NEVER DIES
Mathew taught me how to catch a football, and was Romeo to my Juliette in the school play, my first kiss, and my first love. Mathew became my friend in grade school and my lover in high school. When an opportunity to go to England for college arrived, he insisted I take it. For the first year, we tried maintaining a long-distance relationship but failed.
He met someone else, and I had to let him go. It was only fair. I’d left him. When I came home to bury my parents, I found that he’d not returned after college. No one knew where he was. And then the reunion committee sent out the invitations to our ten-year class reunion. I had to go. He might be there.
He caught my eye, and it was as though all those years between hadn’t occurred. His smile told me all was forgiven. Still the most handsome man in the room, all muscle, with deep blue eyes, and dark curly locks. He was just as I imagined, unassuming, funny, and sweet. I couldn’t believe I’d ever let him go. I hoped this time it would end differently.
“You never married?” I held his hand in mine. “Me neither.”
“How could I, you were living in another country.” Mathew grinned, and my heart melted.
“You do realize that air travel has been possible since the last century?”
He laughed. “I’m a pilot. I’d better be aware of that fact.”
I was impressed. I knew he graduated with an engineering degree, but I didn’t know he’d learned to fly a plane. “That’s wonderful, congratulations!”
“I’d love to show you the night sky. Would you fly with me?”
“I’d love to. When?”
“Now. I only came to this shindig to see you.” He squeezed my hand. “Ready to blow this popsicle stand for some adventure?”
“More than ready.” Those were the last words we’d said to each other the day he saw me off at the airport for my flight to England. Time stopped. The room disappeared. The music and noise faded as he pulled me into his arms and kissed me. Long and deep until I was breathless. Just like our last kiss, but this time, we left together.
His Piper Cub climbed into a purple sky with stars lighting the night like millions of shimmering LED lights. It was beautiful and romantic, a view that brought tears to my eyes. We floated through the air. Silent, and comfortable, exchanging sly glances. Emotions were high, the night was filled with possibility, promising passion, and love.
Mathew landed on a patch of land just south a small chalet in the Rocky Mountains.
“I’ve dreamed of bringing you here for years. You don’t mind, do you?”
“No, but, where are we?”
“My home away from home. A place where we can have our own private reunion.”
“I’d like that,” I said as we walked hand in hand to his cabin. I was anxious but thrilled. This reunion couldn’t have been sweeter.
The cabin was an A-frame, with a view of the valley below. I assumed a forest surrounded the lake that reflected the stars above, and I imagined the mountains ahead and above us. It was lovely, I couldn’t wait to see it in the morning sunshine.
We went straight to his bed and made love in front of a fire. That night the reunion was physical, sensual, and more satisfying than anything I could’ve imagined.
“Can you stay?” he asked as I lay wrapped in his arms.
“I wish I could. I have an interview Monday morning. The job of a lifetime in Paris. Can you come with me? Is there anything holding you here?”
He pulled me close. “I’ll think on it. Now sleep, morning will be here soon.”
After several hours, I awoke to a stranger. Mathew had secured me to the bed with handcuffs, blindfolded me, and proceeded to beat me viciously with a leather strap. I cried, screamed, whimpered, and begged him to stop.
He did, but not until my body was a mass of bleeding welts.
“Why? Please tell me why?”
“You made your choice ten years ago. Now I’ve made mine.”
“I don’t understand?”
“Neither did I.” Was all he said.
He left me alone, still handcuffed to the bed posts. Unable to move, I slept, cried, and screamed for release. I don’t know if he was there. Was I alone or was he watching?
That night, he returned. He threw me into the shower then he attacked again. He raped and stabbed me repeatedly. I prayed for death. But the God’s would not release me from hell. I passed out but awoke just as he threw me into a new hell hole. A cellar where women that looked like me had died. I counted ten in my search for safety as a storm broke overhead.
The smell of death was beyond reason, but decaying bodies, loss of blood, and a flooding grave meant the end will come soon. The winds howled, and the rain came down in sheets. Soon it was pouring into the chamber. I knew the grim reaper had lost patience. My blood mixed with the rising water and I wondered how long I could hold my breath. I laughed instead and watched the water rise. The other bodies began to float in a macabre synchronized fashion as I realized that the man I’ve loved since the age of seven was a serial killer.
I’d created a monster?
The memory of that night will never leave me. Especially when Mathew came back for me. He lovingly stitched up my wounds and nursed me back to health. Now, when he takes a new victim, I clean up the mess.
Mathew still doesn’t believe that I’d never leave him again. But each year he adds length to the chain around my ankle. Someday, I’ll earn his trust.
Yolanda Renee © 2017
Monday, August 7, 2017
An awesome blogging friend, C. Lee McKenzie, author of some truly fabulous YA novels, and a blog called THE WRITE GAME has chosen me as Featured Author for the month of August. I am beyond honored, and truly thrilled for this great marketing opportunity.
THANK YOU, LEE!
And she's sharing MY BOOKS!
It takes a true artist to pursue his victims in the art of seduction, and Stowy Jenkins is no exception, especially with blood as his medium.
The axe struck again and again. The surrounding snow-covered mountains echoed each chop. Muscles rippled, and sweat glistened on a bare chest, but with each strike, the tension eased from Steven’s body. Jena’s rejection and Reed’s continued dismissal from key crime scenes had him searching for answers, and the mountains of the Brooks Range was the place he always found them. His Uncle Sky Quinn’s cabin had always been a sanctuary. After his Uncle Atian was murdered, Quinn, an Inuit tracker, became Steven’s honorary uncle and took over as his mentor and trainer. But Quinn was much more than that to Steven, and while calling him uncle was a sign of respect, he knew Quinn thought of him as a son.
“I had several days’ work out here,” Quinn said when he handed Steven a bottle of water. “Appreciate your efforts. You remind me of Atian. He used to do the same thing when troubled.”
Steven grinned, drank half the bottle of water, and poured the rest over his head. “It’s just what I needed.”
“The water or the work?”
“Both.” Steven began stacking the wood.
Quinn picked up a couple pieces of wood and added them to the stack. They worked together in silence until Quinn asked, “What’s going on?”
Steven put the last of the wood on the pile. “There’s a monster killing young women in Anchorage.”
“Why do you think he’s doing it?”
“Because he can. Because he gets off on it. Because the bastard has the means.”
“So, he walks among ordinary folk, his evil cleverly hidden.”
“Exactly. How do I unmask the beast?”
“Make him come to you.”
“If I were his type that would make it easy,” Steven frowned. “But I think this monster means to make the state bleed.
“Such creatures are cunning. You need to make yourself known to the beast. Get in his way. But, remember, if you bait a grizzly, be prepared for a ferocious fight.”
A killer plays cat and mouse with a young widow against the snowy backdrop of an Alaskan winter.
World damnation is a psychotic man’s goal, but two obstacles stand in his way, greed and a dedicated detective.
Flames burn between a hardboiled cop and a gifted artist, but soon extinguish as another man’s obsession ignites into an inferno of desire, driving him to destroy the object of his madness.
Wednesday, August 2, 2017
What are your pet peeves when reading/writing/editing?
My biggest pet peeve regarding READING is when the story ends in a cliffhanger. In other words, buy the next book, and I’ll let you in on the real ending. HATE, HATE, HATE that!
Setting up the next story in the series is great, but I think a writer needs to tell a complete story in each book!
I’ve no real pet peeves regarding WRITING other than the fact that it takes me much longer than I’d like, but I’ve never been disappointed in the result.
I find the EDITING process the most fun. I’ve found that the true story reveals itself after I’ve handed off what I originally considered a finished story to a talented editor. Once they’ve made their suggestions the real work begins, and the book really begins to shine.
Thanks for stopping by. I can’t wait to read your pet peeves!
The awesome co-hosts are Christine Rains, Dolarah @ Book Lover, Ellen @ The Cynical Sailor, Yvonne Ventresca, and LG Keltner!
Be sure to say hello and thanks!
There’s a new WEP Challenge this month.
An interesting prompt – think class reunion, family reunion, long lost friends reunited – where does this prompt take you?
Sign up and share your story here!