WEP - Moonlight Sonata

 

Photo by Martin Adams on Unsplash

Goddess of the Night

I'm a practical, well-educated man and an athlete that enjoys a challenge, adventure, and travel. It's why I joined the Navy after 9 11.

But after twenty years in the service and giving my best in the fight for freedom. The exodus from Afghanistan exposed a weakness. I began questioning my choices. Retirement from command was my solution. However, the change wasn't easy. I sought direction at the Meher Spiritual Center of Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. I wanted peace and healing from what I saw as a spiritual crisis.

Now I'm wondering if I've completely lost my mind.

After a week of meditation and silence, I began to see a new path to my future. On Friday, August 11, the evening of the sturgeon moon, I took a healing walk along the ocean. This night as it was explained, was the season of Leo. Astrologers claim the August moon stands for perseverance and the ability to adapt with time and change just like the sturgeon. Tonight, was all about going inward. Clearing the ballast and making room for opportunity. Which I was open to.

The evening was hot, but the breeze off the ocean made it comfortable. I had a flashlight to help me find the way, but once the moon was high, the light was brilliant and my walk invigorating. Then I heard music, faint at first, but the further south I moved, the more recognizable the tune became.

Then, it dawned. Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata was being played. Even though I was no longer on the property of the Spiritual Center. I kept walking south. The area was privately owned, but I just had to know who was playing this hauntingly beautiful piece.

I came around a high dune and stopped in my tracks.

Standing in the direct rays of the Sturgeon Moon stood an angel. Or was she a mermaid turned human? It didn't matter. Her beauty captivated. She wore a gown of brilliant white trimmed in gold. Her arms were raised to the heavens as though in worship. I thought she was praying.

Her long luxurious hair was the same color as the moon, red with glimmering gold highlights. The breeze lifted the tresses, caressed them, then laid them carefully across lightly tanned shoulders. She was perfection.

Her feet were bare, and the surf kissed her toes lightly, reverently. Watching her, I was frozen in place.

The Moonlight Sonata flowed in an evocative lament.

When she turned toward me, I saw tears on her cheeks, shimmery diamonds she quickly brushed away. What could bring this beautiful goddess to tears?

She smiled, and her deep blue eyes held me fast. Suddenly I was drowning. I felt the cool, clear water pulling my willing body deeper into its depths. Fighting for breath. Her smile calmed me.

Though my heart raced. I relaxed as she moved toward me. Was she walking or gliding across the sand? Did it matter? No, not at that moment, for I knew instantly that she was a gift from God. The answer to my prayers. My future.

Communication went beyond words. Clasped in an embrace, our bodies were one. I could feel her heart beating as furiously as my own. When our lips met in a kiss, the word ecstasy would never describe our response or the carnal nature of our union. The world, the entire universe disappeared, and we were alone. Soaring through a cosmos of indescribable color and beauty, the Moonlight Sonata played its soulful refrain, and we rediscovered our love.

In that kiss, I uncovered the past, saw our future, and recalled our eonian vow of love eternal. She was mine, and I, forever hers. If she'd come to me as a succubus, vampire, or the living dead, I would have willingly given her all and more.

Then the music ended. I opened my eyes, and she was gone. I stood there, unbelieving. Confused. Even the moon had disappeared behind clouds that hadn't existed before that moment.

But she was here, and in the flesh, my moonlit goddess. I could still feel the warmth of her lips, the softness of her skin, the silkiness of her honey-colored hair, and the want in her kiss.

Her absence left me hollow as though she'd taken my soul. But it was my heart that she stole.

I searched until dawn but failed in my quest. Was my goddess a dream? A siren of the Moonlight Sonata or my heart's yearning made flesh under the thrall of a full moon?

Yolanda Renee © 2022

754 words/ FCA

Photo by Rafael Alcure on Unsplash

Photo by Zoltan Tasi on Unsplash

This is the beginning of a love story I hope to turn into a novel.

I would love to know your thoughts.

Tagline: Moonlight thrall or real-life goddess?

XXX

You're Invited to SCREAM!

 

Scream

It's automatic

when danger is near

Scream

help will come

all will be well

 

Scream

at the injustice

scream at the liars

and anti-vaxxers who

spread the fear

 

Scream

when all else fails

release those pent-up emotions

scream when alone

no one will hear

 

Scream

 until hoarse

at the source

a nightmare

 or fright

 

Scream

as a captive unheard

or when

the hero is near

 

Scream

for sheer joy, good news

or to amuse

Scream

for fun and good cheer

 

Scream

Scream

Scream

that's our theme!

Yolanda Renee © 2021

***

The WEP's October Challenge

Please join us for Scream

The Scream by Edvard Munch was a shoo-in for October - this challenge is devoted to the horror genre in honour of the Halloween/Samhain/observances of the other world spirits. Go as creepy as you like. But other genres are welcome too, there’s no genre police here, except that non-negotiable no to erotica.

This is a world renowned artwork symbolising the horror and angst of the human condition. It has since its creation in 1893, become an iconic representation of modern life. Read about The Scream here.

Edvard Munch was a Norwegian born artist who split much of his working life between Berlin and Paris. Mental health issues ran in the family, so Munch had occasion so observe its effects from close proximity. He was much influenced by Impressionists and post-Impressionists such as van Gogh.

The prompt is wide open to interpretations - who will it be that screams? And why – in pain, terror or exultation?

Will it be a human scream that rends the air? Or an animal one? Or a scream from another world altogether? Or will it be a cosmic scream of the planet?

A silent scream in colours, like the one Munch felt in a sunset sky above a fjord? Or an articulated one in sound and words? Just a gasp or piercingly loud? That’s up to you. We’ve got our ears cocked and ready listening for it.

A FLASH FICTION CHALLENGE! 

PRIZES WILL BE AWARDED!

WEP - Freedom of Speech

    WORDS

 I wish you'd never been born

you're useless

moron, I've told you a thousand times

you disgust me

get out of my sight

                have you seen yourself 

                                ugly

          what are you, deaf, dumb, and blind

            you'll never amount to anything

                      you're nothing now

                          straight A's, ha

                     you're just showing off

   can't tell your ass from a hole in the ground

                     stupid is as stupid does

                    idiot, I've raised an idiot

                    I'll never understand you

                              stupid cow

                       get out of my sight

          you are the worst, the absolute worst

                   you've ruined everything

          I hope you live a long unhappy life

                                whore 

         you'll never be anything but a whore

           you were the ruination of my life

                    as far as I'm concerned

                          you don't exist

     I never want to see your face again, ever!

                      © Yolanda Renée 2021

Photo by Zika Radosavljevic on Unsplash

WEP - Your Kiss

 

Photo by Fabrizio Verrecchia on Unsplash

Your Kiss

A connection unbreakable

enveloped in desire

abandonment

lips meet

complete surrender

home finally, home

 

Oh, that kiss

And everyone after

words can never describe

memories will never subside

a want seeking fulfillment

a place only lovers know

 

That kiss

stole my soul

imprisoned my heart

fulfilled every fantasy

more

please, more

 

That kiss

surpassed all dreams

nourished every wish

but time plays a cruel game

distance more harsh

still memories recall

 

That kiss

even today, years beyond

it's

that kiss

that I desire

and my heart requires.

Copyright 2021 Yolanda Renée

*****

Romance & Death - A Halloween Challenge

It's Time!

This year there will be a Blue Moon on

 October 31, 2020, at 12:49 AM.

How cool is that?

Halloween night will be even more special because of it!

Are you ready for all the flash fiction challenges?

To help inspire you, 

I’ve written a short called Blood Moon.
This is the first installment titled
Romance & Death

Enjoy!

Photo by Altınay Dinç on Unsplash

Romance & Death

I loved a full moon, but it always felt as though I were in the wrong place to get the best picture. No matter what I tried, they all lacked the wow factor. So I traveled to the mountains—a place where there would be no inference from the city lights. Just an open sky, hopefully, filled with that lovely, mysterious moon.

        Do you see that picture? It’s mine. I took it that night. Too bad it’s the only thing that my family has to remember me by. An award-winning photograph found in the camera I left behind when he took my life.

        Heed my warning friends. Don’t trust a stranger. Especially one you’ve only dated a few times. A sweet talker who promises you the moon but only delivers death. He told me his cabin in the woods had the perfect view of the sky. What he forgot to inform me of was that it was also a place for torture and death.

          Romance and death, good bedfellows? Nothing of the kind. Date night in the mountains was where I met my end a walk on the side of evil.

        Believe me, the perfect picture isn’t worth your life.

To be continued…

Join me next Monday when

I’ll publish the second installment of 
Blood Moon!

Have I enticed you?

Is your writing muse tingling?

Then join the WEP in October for

the Halloween Challenge!

A Grave Mistake, you ask?

Well, what in the hell is that?

Well, dear friend

It’s the next WEP task.

And believe me

there’s many away

Where errors take sway

Where ghosts and ghoulies will play

and many unorthodox ideas

 rue the day.

So, get out your pens and pads.

We’ve given you

A dare for your best scare

Because Halloween is for all

And who knows?

You may take

first prize for your Grave Mistake!

Write...Edit...Publish

It's too early you say?
I don't agree, not today.
We all need a distraction.
And when it's time to take action.
for this special challenge.
You begin early.
Because if you lose out
you'll surely be surly.

WEP - Urban Nightmare

Photo by Clay Banks on Unsplash

Lethal Weapons

“Hurry, Bill. We’ll be late.”

“Damn it, Gracie! Don’t yell. What’s your hurry? We’re only going down the road.”

“I know, but I don’t want to make a bad impression.”

“Bullshit! Bad impression, in that outfit?” Bill smirked.

“What? What’s wrong?” She looked at her reflection in the refrigerator. “It’s a simple summer dress. We’re going to a barbecue, not a black-tie affair.”

“You look like a whore.”

Grace cringed and mumbled. “You say that no matter what I wear.” Then a bit louder, she added, “I see you added jealousy to your outfit. Stuff it! Let’s go.”

Bill grabbed her by the wrist and wrenched, almost dislocating her left arm.

“Ouch.” She tried to pull away.

He yanked again, pulling her close. His face next to hers. “Go change! Put on something decent!” He let go of her. “NOW!”

Grace stiffened her back but hurried from the room. Tears raced down her cheek. She yanked the dress off, wiped her tears, blew her nose, and threw the new outfit in the trash. She grabbed a conservative pair of black Capris and an oversized blouse. Heaven forbid she show any curves. Flat sandals and the look was complete.

When she walked back into the kitchen, Bill nodded. “That’s better!”

*****

Dinner went well, and the conversation flowed, but so did the beer. Kay’s husband, Ernie, was a friendly guy, and he and Bill seemed to connect. But the more beer they drank, the worse the conversation got.

Grace and Kay cleared the food and dishes and drank a glass of wine in the kitchen while the boys got their boast on. During their conversation, Bill walked in and came up behind her. He hugged her tightly. His hands slid under her blouse for a quick feel. Grace tried to brush him off, making him more persistent. “Come on, babe, just want some of that brown sugar!”

Embarrassed but not willing to cause a scene, Grace turned to kiss him.

Ernie walked in. “Hey, you two, get a room,” he laughed. “Ready to go?”

“Always,” Bill said. “We’re going for more beer,” he told Grace, “don’t wait up.”

“And some fun,” Ernie said as he opened the basement door and grabbed two bats: one metal, one wood.

“You’re going to play ball at night?” Grace said.

Ernie laughed. “Yup, that’s exactly what we’re going to do.” He swung the bat, barely touching Bill on the shoulder. They walked out laughing.

Grace looked to Kay, who just shrugged.

“You want more wine?” Kay asked.

“No, I’m exhausted. I just want to go home and take a nice long, hot bath.”

“That sounds wonderful! I think I’ll join you.” The women laughed as Kay walked Grace to the door.

*****

Grace awoke at six the next morning and realized that Bill hadn’t come home, again. Pissed, she went to the kitchen for coffee. “This is it. I’m leaving,” she said to no one as she pulled a mug from the dishwasher.

She’d been contemplating it for a long time, well, not that long. They’d only been married for six months, but she knew Bill’s womanizing and abuse would only get worse. She had to get out before a child made going impossible. Her problem, no money, and no car, but a bus ticket wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. She went back to her room to pack.

An hour later, packed, dressed, and ready to call a cab, Kay knocked on the door.

Kay looked flustered. “I need your help.”

“What’s wrong?” Grace said and ushered her in.

“I just got Ernie out of jail.”

“And Bill?”

“I’m sorry, Grace. He’s in the hospital.”

“What? “Grace backed up. “No one called. What hospital? What happened?” Panic began to build.

Kay took her by the arm and led her to the living room. “It’s all right. I promise. Just sit down, and I’ll explain.” Kay quickly poured a small glass of brandy and handed it to Grace.

Grace nodded and took several deep breaths, then sipped the drink. “I’m okay. Just please tell me what’s going on.”

“Last night, when Ernie said they were going out to play baseball, he meant something else.”

“What?’

“There’s this game the guys play. But instead of hitting baseballs, they hit…” She hesitated, rubbed her hands together, and lowered her head.

Grace reached out and touched her knee. “What? What is it?”

“They drive around town and swat at the black people on the streets.”

Grace stood. “What? Oh, my God! What are you saying?”

“Ernie’s family has done it for years. They see a lone black person, drive up close, try to get their attention, maybe ask for directions. When the guy leans in, they swat him with the bat and drive away.”

“This can’t be true. You’ve got to be kidding.” Grace stood but was so shocked she could only pace the small room. Her hands in constant movement.

“Why? How? And they did this last night?”

“Yes, but the guy they hit had a gun. He shot Bill.”

“Bill was shot?” Grace felt as though she were in a nightmare.

Kay nodded. “I’m sorry. Ernie told the police Bill was a hitchhiker that he thought was coming from a baseball game. He told them the baseball bats belonged to Bill. That he didn’t even know his name. That’s why no one called you. Ernie threw Bill’s wallet away before the police arrived.”

“Why? I don’t understand.”

“If Bill dies…”

“Dies? He’s that bad?”

She ran to the kitchen to get her purse and keys. “Take me to the hospital.”

“I can’t. Ernie won’t let me. Listen, Grace. I know Bill’s abused you. You told me yourself you’ve thought of leaving him. All I want is to save my Ernie. After all, it was Bill that swung the bat.”

“Oh my god, you expect me to lie for your racist husband while my racist husband is on the brink of death. No way, there is no damn way!”

Grace started to cry, then shake. “I can’t believe this. I just can’t!” She sank to the floor. “Bill never showed any signs of racism.” She put her face in her hands and rethought her words. She really did not know the man. He’d swept her off her feet. How? How could I miss that and his penchant for abuse? “Oh god. Oh god,” she said repeatedly. All she could see was her mother’s face. She even heard her words. “Mixed marriages are trouble. Nothing but trouble.”

Kay sat down beside her and hugged her close. “I know it’s a shock. It was for me too, but despite it, I love Ernie. He’s my everything,” she said, her voice coated with tears. Defeated, Kay moved to the wet bar.

“Listen, you don’t have to do a thing. I’ll think of something else.” She poured more brandy and handed Grace the liquor. “Drink all of it. It’ll settle your nerves. Then we’ll talk calmly. I’ll make sure you get to the hospital.” She watched Grace down the potent liquor.

*****

Kay watched the movers haul boxes and furniture from Bill and Grace’s house.

Ernie came up behind her and put his arms around her waist. He pulled her close. “What would I do without you?”

She smiled. “You’d have ended up on death row ten years ago. You do the job of the righteous, and I do the clean up.”

“I still can’t believe they bought that story. But leaving Bill’s car empty of gas in that lot and with several baseballs inside, convinced them I’d picked him up as I said.” He kissed her. “You are my guardian angel.”

“And don’t forget, putting her body in that hot tub screwed up their chances to determine the time of death. Now they believe Bill killed his wife too.”

“We’re just lucky he died before regaining consciousness. Talk about the perfect crime!”

Yolanda Renee © 2020

Words 1323

My apologies for the length.

Picnic

Photo by Lee Myungseong on Unsplash

Man with Bat

Photo by Damir Spanic on Unsplash

Dear Reader:

A critical moment in history is happening before our eyes. This story was written because I can’t stay silent. I may not have the right to speak, but I want to add my voice to those fighting for justice. Writing is one way I can do that. And while this is fiction, the story is based on reality.

I learned of this sick game. Yes, it was described as a game. I learned about it when I lived in Valdosta, Georgia. I heard it from the mouth of one of the players.

Was he describing an Urban Legend/Nightmare? I have no proof one way or the other. All I know is that the man’s bragging scarred my soul, just as the scene of George Floyd’s murder did.

But I believe that change is coming. Maybe I’m being idealistic, even naïve, but my broken heart says otherwise.

****

WEP - Antigue Vase - Best Intentions

Copyright

BEST INTENTIONS

Angela took the vase out of the package she’d just received in the post and cursed. “All I wanted was the necklace. Instead, all I get is a stupid vase!”

“Quit bellyaching. Nana didn’t have to leave you anything. All you did was clean her house. Velda was her daughter. Of course, Nana’s going to leave her jewelry to family.”

“I know, but Velda doesn’t deserve it. I did more for her mother than she ever did. I just don’t understand. Nana told me that one day I’d be rich. Then she’d wink. You just wait, she’d say. You just wait.” Angela sighed. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, maybe someday you will be rich. Nana was the poorest woman on the block. Despite all those rumors. All poor Velda got was her jewelry and a measly $5000, life insurance payment. From what I was told, she had to use that to cover the funeral costs.”

“Yeah, but that necklace has to be worth something.”

“I heard it’s cubic zirconia, worth maybe a couple hundred.”

Angela sighed. “Oh well at least I have something to remember Nana by.” She picked up the vase and examined it. “Nana doted over the silly thing, reminding me every day to dust it ever so carefully. She refused to put flowers in it.”

“What are you going to do with it?” Betty asked.

“Last month, I sent a letter to one of those antique houses in New York. I sent pictures of all the sides, including the bottom, and I was hoping they’d write back and tell me it’s worth a mint. But instead, I think they just had a good laugh. So, I’ll keep it here on the bookshelf with Nana’s picture."

Betty picked it up and shook it. "What’s inside? It sounds like there’s something in there.”

“Nana said it was a love letter from her husband. The one and the only letter he wrote to her before he was killed in the war. That’s why she wouldn’t allow water for flowers.”

“How sweet. You want to get some tweezers and see if we can’t fish it out?”

“No. I find it kind of romantic. I even shoved a picture of both Nana and Harry inside. Now they’ll always be together.”

Angela put the vase on the top shelf. “As ugly as it is, it still means something." She checked her hair in the mirror. "Damn, now I wish I hadn’t agreed to that double shift tonight.”

“Better get going. Maybe some guy will give you a million-dollar tip?” She laughed and swatted Angela's butt when she walked by. “Go get em, sis!”

A week later, Angela burst through the door of her room to find her sister poking something metal into the vase. “What in the world are you doing?”

Betty jumped and dropped the vase to the floor. It shattered, but amongst the debris were dozens of folded pieces of paper.

“No!” Angela screamed, falling to her knees.

“It’s okay, Angela. Look,” Betty said as she unfolded the bills. They’re hundreds. Must be $3,000 here. Can you believe it? $3,000! Good riddance old vase, you're rich!”

Angela sank deeper into herself. White as a sheet, she groaned. “How?”

“Sorry, sis. I just had to read Nana's letter. I had a dream about it last night. So I thought I’d fish it out. I didn’t mean to drop the damn thing. But sis, $3,000! You’d never have known it was there!”

Angela handed Betty the letter she’d been holding then put her head in her hands and started sobbing.

Betty took the letter and read it. “Dear Ms. Finney: Your lovely vase bears the mark of the Qianlong Emperor who ruled from 1736 to 1796. We’d have to see the vase in person to make sure it isn’t a replica, but the colors and the appearance have all of us excited."

Betty swallowed, "If you’re interested in placing it in an auction…” Betty’s voice trailed off as the tears began to fall, but she continued in a whisper, “And if it’s original, it could be worth millions.”

“Holy shit!” She threw her arms around her sister. “Forgive me…”

 ***

My inspiration for this story.

18^th Century Vase Sells for 19 Million

700 Words

Yolanda Renée © 2020

***

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