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Members' Choice Voting Poll June 16th - September 15th

View Poll Results: Please vote for your favourite piece!
Be on My Side by Nick Pierce 0 0%
Real Possibilities by Waterpoor 0 0%
Family Room by Simplywords 0 0%
Seventh Day Adventists by Beefheart 0 0%
She by Ink 0 0%
Next by Ethan Blake 1 50.00%
Twelve stormy Hours - The Conclusion by Phoenix Lazarus 0 0%
Pantom Shag by Maidahl 1 50.00%
Multiple Choice Poll. Voters: 2. You may not vote on this poll

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  #1  
Old 09-16-2012, 12:26 PM
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Default Members' Choice Voting Poll June 16th - September 15th


For your convenience all the nominated pieces are in this thread as well as the other one. Have fun reading them again and don't forget to vote for your favourite piece! Remember you have two votes, use them in one poll or divide them between both.

Thanks all nominees for making this possible and thank you members for nominating these fine works.
Good luck to all who have been nominated.

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Last edited by Devon; 09-16-2012 at 04:21 PM..
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  #2  
Old 09-16-2012, 12:34 PM
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Default Be on My side by Nick Pierce

Deleted by member, no longer available for voting.
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  #3  
Old 09-16-2012, 12:36 PM
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Default Real Possibilities by Waterpoor

Real Possibilities

The smell of bullshit and horse piss hung like pine smoke in the air. The last sounds of the announcer’s voice and the cheers and clapping hands from the grandstands had been carried away by evening breezes. Grease soaked corn dog wrappers scuttled across empty parking lots. A pair of lonely dogs kicked up little swirls of dust as they hunted for the remnants of abandoned turkey legs.The rodeo livestock lolled in their pens, quietly eating fresh cut hay and rolled oats. Night time was slipping in from the mountains and quickly devouring the tail end of day's light.

Elmer Hawkins stood in the center of the arena, his painted clown face streaked from sweat and his baggy pants and shirt stained and dirty with bull snot and mud. He looked like he too, was waiting for darkness to swallow him. It had been a tough day. Twice, cowboys had gotten hung up on bulls, helpless and flopping beside the huge animals bent on destroying their tormentors. It was his job to step into the chaos of flailing horns and sharp hooves to dislodge the riders and protect them from angry bulls.

The bulls had won, come out ahead of both he and the riders he was supposed to save. One cowboy suffered a broken arm, getting a great applause after waving his good arm at the crowd as he was leaving the arena for a ride in an ambulance. The other cowboy had been stepped on, maybe breaking his sternum. And he, himself had taken a vicious hit on the hip. He’d been saved from more bashing when another rider ran out and waved a coat at the bull before outrunning him and climbing the arena fence.

Thoughts were flowing through Elmer’s mind like corn through a well fed goose. Unconnected stuff like his grandmother crying when he left the ranch and hit the rodeo circuit, “That will be the death of real possibilities, just like it was for your grandfather.” Real possibilities might have been a foreign language for all he could grasp its meaning.

His mind shifted to a mountain meadow on his father’s ranch, its lush grasses filling the cattle herd, making them sleek and fat. And a buckskin horse carrying Dorothy Winslow across that little green slab of Montana and right out of his life. He knew that he had once traded all of her possibilities for this aching hip and a lonely truck camper.

Sometimes life seemed tangled and snarled like a forgotten rope in the hay barn and he wondered what the hell he was really trying to accomplish with his rodeoing. Maybe he was too old to be running from bulls. Twenty-two years was a good run for any athlete and he considered himself an athlete. He ran every day, drank in moderation and kept his weight under control even when his belly sent him pictures and smells of the meat and potatoes meals of his youth.

He let the pictures and smells slide from his mind allowing the nighttime quiet to filter in and make him sleepy.. Two teenage girls stared at him and tittered at the sight of the old clown walking from behind the chutes.

He opened the faded door of his camper and was immediately greeted by a lingering wet kiss.

“Damn it, Jouncy. Why would I want you to kiss me after you’ve spent the day licking your butt.”

The fat English Bulldog stood wagging her tail from the middle of her back to the end and looking at her master with affection. “Come on. It’s time to pee. Just don’t think I’m chasing after you tonight.”

The moon was climbing the backside of a nearby mountain, silhouetting tall pine trees. Elmer stood like a child watching an airplane as the first of its light broke from behind the trees and put new definition into the night. He glanced at the empty announcer's stand and wondered if he was really ready to turn his back on rodeo. He let Lila slip into his mind and felt awed at her interminable patience with him. She would see him limp into the house with his bruised hip and there would be no condemnation in her eyes. Her gentle patience would soothe the sore spot like horse liniment and he would feel nurtured and full again. His boys would give him admiration and love he worked hard to earn and they would ask to go to his next rodeo. Nighttime always showed him the spot his family filled in his life. Jouncy was his buddy, his constant bridge to thoughts of home but she didn’t always keep the lonelies away.

He called out to the dog and helped her lift her girth into the camper. Digging around in a cupboard with a broken latch, he found a bottle of Christian Brothers Brandy. For a moment he held it as if looking for answers floating in the amber liquid. Finding none, he unscrewed the cap and took a long drink. When he finished the drink he put the bottle away and started undressing, looking forward to a warm shower in the tiny stall that constituted the camper’s bathroom.

His baggy pants lay on the floor and he was examining the purple and red bruise on his hip. He jerked when his cell phone rang. He grabbed it and seeing the originating number, answered and said, “Yeah,” in a gruff voice.

“Sheriff Hawkins,” his dispatcher said. “I’ve got bad news for you. A body was found up on Rainbow Creek.”

The phone was silent for a moment, then Elmer said, “Well shit! I’ll be along soon as I can.”
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  #4  
Old 09-16-2012, 12:37 PM
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Default Family Room by Simply_Words

Whisk me off to a summers park
forget the dog piss and pesky kids
anything beats this mournful room
with its death-scorched walls
and coffee spills

No small talk
not today
bigger things swell our minds
please let him be okay

In she walks
the nurse
her face lying to herself
about how she does this all the time
and that 'its just a job'

She takes a moment
breaks her news
two of us scream
two of us silenced
by the reality of loss and life
and its fragility

Its always someone else
though not today
today its us
and today its pain I never dreamed
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  #5  
Old 09-16-2012, 12:38 PM
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Default Seventh Day Adventists by Beefheart

On the Seventh day
there was rest.
There was also masturbation,
but mostly rest.
God had a six day work week.

On the First day
He made lips and tongues
for kissing.

On the Second day
he made hands
for groping.

On the Third day
he made nipples
for sucking.

On the Fourth day
he made genitals
for fucking.

On the Fifth day
he made eyeballs
for seeing.

On the Sixth day
he made assholes.

On the Seventh day
there was rest and masturbation.
The great voyeur upstairs said,
"Good luck with temptation."

But I just don't understand--
would a divine creator
really create assholes?
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  #6  
Old 09-16-2012, 12:38 PM
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Default She by Ink

She’s a writer, a radical, a fighter
She’s got a bad bark, but you know she ain’t a biter
Never thought of any graduation
Writing for the feeling, seeking publication
She needs a breakthrough, to pay accommodation
She isn’t earning shit, behind on her taxation
Next thing you know she’s facing allegation
Pleading guilty to a jury, blames her desperation

Now, she’s a
Gun runner, rebel and a stunner
Whoring round town, let the wives know that he done her
Bikini body, a mannequin for figure
No commodity of modesty, a finger on the trigger
Crop top and a cutout for the cleavage
Motel lover, by the morning burning bridges
Wallet stealer, weasel wheeler-dealer
A street-smart gal, keeps a man in her tequila
A wild-stallion, undomesticated
Never slowing down, always intoxicated
She works the ghetto, boot-heel stiletto
She satisfies the guys with an orgasm libretto
She got a tramp-stamp tattoo, addicted to taboo
Very different girl from her seventeen debut

All she ever wanted, was a book in publication
Instead she found out that drugs were her salvation
I guess all writers are damned to a death by suffocation.
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  #7  
Old 09-16-2012, 12:39 PM
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Default Next! by Ethan Blake

Within the halls of emptiness
do silent teardrops fall,
to deafening screams of apathy
from unsympathetic walls.

The dying light, all fury spent,
lends shadow to the tears,
as swallowing the fading spark
oblivion draws near.

What of promise? What of hope?
Where sleep these allies when,
eternal darkness drinks the tears
and envelops what were men.

No anchor hold, no hope, no light
No rescue from abyss,
as eternity greets the darkness ask,
All of that
for this?
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  #8  
Old 09-16-2012, 12:40 PM
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Default Twelve Stormy Hours - The Conclusion by Phoenix Lazarus

TWELVE STORMY HOURS


CONCLUSION

As Jayne looked around, through the newly-supplied light, her senses struggled to take in a room which seemed to positively assault her senses-seemed, indeed, to assault credibility, itself!

Looking up, she saw that the illumination issued from a polished, wooden, candle-filled chandelier, replete with teardrop-shaped crystals, hung from the ceiling. Looking down, she and George were sitting on a massive round double bed, with purple-pink satin bed clothes and pillows, trimmed with gold, and matching the long curtains of the window. Each of the two pillows had a big bright red love-heart on it, and the top sheet had a group of identical hearts printed on the front-in a love-heart shaped formation, themselves!

The walls of the room were bright pink, but adorned with drapes, that matched the bedclothes, complete with more bright red love hearts, which were also painted or printed on the pink walls themselves, in rows and columns, from top to bottom and side to side! The two flaps of the shutters of the window they had entered through were open either side of the window frame. The shutters were made of polished smooth solid light-brown wood, with the grain still visible. Each shutter flap had a small love-heart carved in the middle. Hanging upon the wall, by the window, was a clock whose body was made of the same light brown polished smooth woodwork as the shutters. Its hands and Latin numeral stood in relief in gleaming gold against the white face. The clock itself was shaped like a heart!

Looking to the left, beside where George now sat beside her, she saw a table by the bed, which seemed to be made of pure gold! The stand on which it mounted appeared to have been cast in the form of a small nude boy with a slightly chubby face and figure, and curly hair, with angel-wings on his back, and carrying a bow, loaded with an arrow, with the string pulled back, taut with one hand, and ready to fire. Jayne recognised the figure on which the table was mounted, as an effigy depicting Cupid, the boy-god of love. Looking around, Jayne realised that, four more candle flames, one in the upper centre of each each wall, augmented the light from the chandelier, as they illuminated the room from their glass and metal casings. Their metal, too, appeared to be pure gold. They hung from wall stand,s atop each of which was another small gold model cupid.

On top of the table nearby, sat another very large candle-almost improbably large, in fact - burning bright, as it deposited molten wax in its metal dish. Beside that, was another bottle of champagne, on ice in a metal bucket. Next to it, were two more champagne glasses, both tinted pink. Jayne suddenly saw that the gold table, like the clock on the wall, was heart-shaped, and, as Jayne continued to look around, she suddenly noticed the very bed, on which she and George now sat, was not totally round but was, itself, shaped like a love-heart!

‘My goodness!’ exclaimed Jayne, laughing incredulously. ‘I….! This…!’ The latest surprise seemed just utterly beyond words!

‘Ya never seen anythin’ like it in your life-yeah!?’ said George. ‘Me neither-but hey, it’s right for us and it’s right for the moment, and that’s all we need right now-so just go with the flow, babe!’

Jayne’s eyes went back to the heart-shaped clock. It showed just fifteen minutes now until midnight, and its ticking could be now heard, counting down the moments to the impending consummation, loudly, inexorably. Just for a second, Jayne’s mind flitted back. Apropos of midnight, or rather midday, she recalled something. Midday, nearly twelve hours before, had been when she’d finished collecting her lost purse, from the police station. She had heard the clock strike noon. Just after that, with the rest of her day free thenceforth, she had found her copy of Twelve Stormy Hours, the romance novel, in her car, and begun to look forward to her date with George. Twelve Stormy Hours! How apt! For, in the twelve hours since then, it had all been building, with slow anticipation, to the final intense passionate climax of the evening that now loomed, just moments away now-that which she had longed for with Mr Dalrymple, all those years ago, but was not to be. But it was very nearly time now, oh yes, yes….! In a moment, it was to be! With a man yet more wonderful than even Teddy Dalrymple had once seemed-though he’d finally disappointed her so bitterly! The pounding of her heart was deafening in her ears, now, as the blood rushed to her face. Her mind and body thrilled with anticipation.

Jayne’s eyes jumped, for a moment, to the portal, the open window, they had just passed through. Outside, the huge full moon hung, bright and clear, against the dark blue backdrop of night sky. As she watched, the large round shaped distorted-and morphed into a large, white shining love heart! As it did so, there was a glissando of harp strings, and she heard the sounded of angelic sounding high choral voices. In the night sky, she saw, flittering about, a luminous white Cupid, its small wings fluttering, bow and arrow at the ready. The Cupid’s eyes met hers, and it grinned-then winked, holding its bow ready and undischarged-just waiting for the right moment. It all seemed almost beyond sublime now-maybe even just a little ridiculous! Why, if she didn’t know better, she might well have thought this was some vision of a disordered….

George stood up and seized the bottle of champagne, on the table. With all the quick aplomb he had shown back in the club, he popped the cork, between thumb and forefinger. Once more, a foaming torrent shot forth, discharging itself through the air and across the room

‘That’s what you do to me honey-make me pop my cork!’ laughed George. Jayne laughed too, a little uneasily now, for some reason.

When at last, the surging jet of liquid subsided, George poured them both a drink. Jayne leaned across the bed, where she sat, to take her drink. George sat back down on the bed, beside her.

‘Why, I do declare I am not accustomed to drink so much of a night as I have done tonight, George,’ said Jayne, as she sipped from her cup. ‘I do believe I really feel most strange. I do believe the drink has gone to my head-or something ….’ And somehow, through all the excitement and although everything had felt so good and right, up to now, Jayne now began to have just the tiniest nagging feeling that something really was not quite right….

‘Hell, kick back and enjoy it!’ said George. ‘This is a special night-our special night, remember!? To the rest of our lives together!’ he said, raising his glasses.

‘To that!’ cried Jayne, trying to forget her qualms. She chinked George’s glass with hers.

‘Down the hatch!’ cried George, and drained his glasses, in a single gulp. Jayne did not drink, this time.

‘I-I don’t think I will,’ said Jayne, as George stared enquiringly at her full glass. ‘I’ve had enough to drink tonight-in fact, I think I may have had too much. I really do feel a bit strange, to be honest.…’

‘No worries, babe!’ said George. Taking her glass, he put it, beside his empty one, on the table, then stared silently at her, his face inscrutable. Suddenly, he reached down and began to strip off his shoes, which he flung to one side

‘Only one act of this little drama left for us, now!’ he said, as he discarded his socks, to follow his shoes. He took off his hat, then bow tie, then jacket, each in turn, hurling each of them casually aside.

‘Er, yes…’ said Jayne, a little hesitantly, now. She slowly, almost reluctantly, pushed off each red high heel with the foot of the other leg, as George tore off the waistcoat beneath his jacket.

‘Come, my gorgeous!’ he cried, grabbing Jayne’s shoulder.

‘D-don’t you think you should extinguish that candle, first?’ she said, nervously, pointing to the large candle on the bedside table, near George. ‘It might fall over and…’

‘Sure thing, hun!’ cried George, seizing a metal snuffer that suddenly seemed to have appeared from nowhere, and extinguishing the wick, from which a thin trickle of black smoke now trickled. ‘We don’t want any fires startin’ in here-exceptin’ the one we’re ‘bout to start, ourselves!’ He began to unbutton his shirt, feverishly, as Jayne watched him, a curious apprehension filling her. This should be the last and best chapter; the consummation; the climax- but still there was that nagging feeling something was not right…. She glanced once more at the walls, and as she did so, something made her stared in sudden disquiet.

‘George’ said Jayne, uncertainly. ‘I thought those walls were pink, with red hearts, when we first arrived, just a moment ago-but now they’re white, with pink hearts…’

‘Don’t question, dearest!’ exclaimed George, standing up now, as he unbuttoned his shirt. Throwing it one side, he advanced towards her side of the bed. ‘Just enjoy!’

‘But-but things don’t just change their colour, just like that-not in real life…..’ she muttered confusedly. ‘You know George, I’m not really sure about all this, at all…..’ Suddenly, she felt real fear rising within her.

‘Here’s somethin’ to stop ya bein’ distracted by those pesky walls!’ said George, and, raising his hand, he clicked his fingers again. At once, the overhead chandelier and four wall lamps were all extinguished. As the light vanished, the standing figure of George became just a black silhouette, framed against the window. Moving forward, and descending onto the bed, he climbed across the bed clothes toward her. As he did so, the moonlight illuminated part of his face-and for a moment he looked….But no, it was impossible, Jayne told herself. Next moment, George was upon her.

‘Come to me, my darling!’ cried George, and, seizing Jayne, he found her lips with his. Jayne felt herself fall backwards under his weight. She wanted to protest, to say they should take this all just a little more gently, and savour it slowly and tenderly, as the special occasion it was. However, with George’s mouth over hers, and his weight pinning her to the bed, she could neither act nor speak.

As Jayne fell back, her head fell back onto one of the pillows, which was half-upright. Propped up in this manner, she was able to see, over George’s shoulder, the open window. Outside, in the night sky, the glowing Cupid was still hovering. As she watched, she saw it meet her eye, then grin eagerly, almost fiendishly, baring all its teeth. The cupid aimed its bow at both she and George-and drew back the string some more. The next moment, Jayne saw a glowing pale fiery arrow shooting towards them both. The arrow struck George’s back, and dissolved there, in a flash of white flame and pink sparks. At that moment, she felt a curious electric feeling, diffusing through her body from George and the magical arrow that had just struck him. At that very moment, his tongue found its way into her mouth. And now, Jayne no longer felt fear, or unease, or any sense anything was wrong. Suddenly, all these thoughts and feelings had dissolved, in the face of the sheer, pure animal lust that now began to fill her.

They rolled over, together, and Jayne was now lying on her side, facing George and no longer pinned down by his bulk. Yet, now, when she could have struggled free or protested, she did neither-nor did she wish to, now. She now just wanted to lose herself, to enjoy the moment, as George had entreated. Eagerly, she felt George’s fingers, groping at her back and drawing down the zip there. She began to murmur encouragement, drawing one arm out of a sleeve, then pushing herself up a little, on her bare arm, to enable George better to lower her bodice. Finally, her other arm was free from the bodice too. She felt George’s hands at her breasts, and, soon, inside her bra. Next, they were behind her, at her bra fastening. In another moment, the garment had been thrown aside.

And now, Jayne was as excited and active in the shared endeavour as was George. The pair of them both grappled with one another’s lower garments, with mingled grunts, exhortations and cries. In a few moments, both were wholly naked. Then, George was against her-then inside her. Jayne felt George begin to thrust.

She stared up at George, as his big blue eyes held her gaze, intently. The light in the room seemed to fade and become focused solely on George’s broad, handsome face, stared back down to her. In the background, the love hearts on the wall seemed now to hang, in blackness, lit like neon, their light pulsating, jumping manically from one colour of the rainbow to another, then yet another-then exploding in bursts of incandescent rainbow sparks, like the fireworks by the hilltop. As she watched, George’s face seemed to change, shrinking and becoming round, and red-cheeked, as his moustache wilted away, while his slick dark hair curled and lightened. Suddenly, it was as if the boy Cupid himself was making love to her!

The face above lengthened again, becoming long and thin, and its hair lightened. It seemed it was now the tall, blond barman inside her, whose long head itself had a phallic quality, was smirking down at her, as he winked at her again; and then, the face was changing again, broadening, hair darkening, but not back into George, but a face with small dark eyes, one with a scar beneath-a face she knew, somehow….But, before she could react, that reassuring moustached handsome visage, with the gorgeous smile she knew and loved was back, above, and, in that moment, she knew all was safe and well.

And now, it seemed to Jayne, as if all the amazing unbelievable things she had experienced tonight were not so amazing and unbelievable. They now no longer seemed so wonderful, because, compared to the feelings now surging inside her, nothing else could be. With every new thrust, every new second, she convinced herself her pleasure could rise no further, and with every thrust, every second, it seemed to redouble. It felt now as if she and George were melting together and becoming one with each other, and the world around, and that she, George and that world were all nothing but sheer pleasure. She was aware of screaming continually in ecstasy that was painful in its intensity.

Finally, feeling herself on the point of collapse with the very extremity of what she experiencing, Jayne felt George collapse, and now, she did so herself-neither of them with energy left for anything but breath. Everything was a blur. She could see nothing clearly, being only vaguely aware of objects around her-but she could hear now her partner, the man who had shown her wonders beyond anything she could have dreamt. He was saying something. She could not tell what. She was happy to just know he was there, with her, as she lay there, happy to do and feel nothing but this warm glow of pleasure. Finally, she made out something George was saying.

‘Blimey!’ exclaimed her companion, gruffly, clearing his throat, noisily. ‘I certainly weren’t expecting this! Cor, wotta palaver!’

It meant little to Jayne, right now. It was just as something distant, not properly understood, but comforting in its familiarity. Jayne just murmured very faintly, and closed her eyes. Her companion coughed-then burped, loudly.

George sat up, and looked down at the limp, grey-haired, half-naked figure by his side, in the small patch of moonlight they lay in, from the full moon above, shining through a gap in the treetops nearby. He could hardly believe what this evening had turned into! He’d just expected a pleasant bit of chat, when Carla arranged the blind date. How wrong could you be!

As George sat up, and pulled up his lower garments, he belched again, and ran his fingers through his greasy, untidy white hair. His black-framed thick glasses, already partly dislodged, fell from his face, and, with a quick curse, he retrieved them. As he did so, he saw, reflected in the lenses, by the moonlight, the gleaming metal of that filling that filled the front one of his upper front teeth, between the dull white, or yellow or blackened teeth which did not cast a shiny reflection. Seeing the filling, he performed the tongue-click and eye-blink tic he did when he became aware of it, then returned the spectacles to his small, round, podgy face. He returned the glasses to his own nose, then located the scruffy brown and black checked cloth cap that had fallen from his head, and donned it once more.

The small man in the shabby suit now once again looked down at Jayne, beside him, on the grass verge by the churchyard footpath. She lay on her back, her skirt ridden up, eyes nearly closed, murmuring incoherently as her head rocked a little from side to side, her breasts exposed by her discarded bra and the fact the bodice of her dress which now lay, in folds, around her abdomen and waist, towards which the skirt was now bunched up, exposing Jayne immodestly.

George suddenly gave a quick, nervous look around. For all they knew, someone might have been watched them, they had been so carried away! There was no one to be seen, though-however, someone might appear at any moment! Close by was an especially large gravestone. Could somebody be hiding…? No, he was being daft!

‘Come on!’ said George, suddenly. ‘Let’s get you covered up, love!’ ‘Too cold to be uncovered, for long, tonight,’ he muttered, and indeed, the mild autumn air of the daytime had now become cold and sharp, with nightfall-just as the warm golden-brown of autumn leaves nearby, now look coldly blue, grey or black in the night light.

George seized the pair of black knickers which lay near her feet, and threaded them over the one of Jayne’s flat, no-nonsense shoes which still remained on her foot-the other had fallen off, during their melee, and now lay nearby. He then threaded the free leg-hole over her over foot, before pushing the pants quickly up, under her skirt. He picked up her discarded bra, which lay unfastened nearby, and placed it over her breasts. Pushing Jayne gently onto her side, he fastened the bra again. Returning her to her back, he drew up her dress bodice, and threaded first one limp arm, then the other, into the sleeves once more. Then, rolling her back onto her side, George now pulled up the zip at the dress’s rear, which had been unfastened from neck to waist.

In all these attempts to protect Jayne’s modesty, George showed the instincts of the gentleman he truly was-the gentleman who had been trying to take care of Jayne, since he realised there was a problem. He’d only fully grasped something was askew, despite earlier hints, when he got back to the table with a glass of wine for her, and seen her making curious movements to a song played over the loudspeakers, as if dancing in her head. She’d raved over ‘his’ song and gulped down her new glass in one, George had decided to take her aside and call a taxi, using the pub payphone. Unable to get her address, he’d sent the taxi to his house-but got out early, with Jayne, embarrassed by her loud talk of ‘flying.’

Reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket, George drew out a small packet of crumpled cigarettes, and put a cigarette in his mouth. He had told Jayne he had no fags, when she said she did not smoke. But, he’d had some at the ready, for the second they parted, such was his craving, which had even driven him to mime smoking with that pencil in his pocket, in the pub, as a distraction from his urge. That had been about the time the chat had first become a bit odd….

He pulled a cheap plastic lighter from his trousers, and awkwardly tried to light it a few time, before the flame for his smoke lit. He’d tried earlier, in the recreation field, by where they’d alighted from the taxi, and where Jayne had sat down. His lighter wouldn’t light, yet she ‘d seemed to think he was doing magic, when it sparked, mumbling about ‘it all’ being ‘beautiful,’ whatever that meant. That was before the sudden manic burst, when she’d half-ran half-staggered until they got to the churchyard. When she saw the church, she had raved about it, and them living there, with children. He had humoured her. Then, she had collapsed on the verge. She was clearly gone on booze-but he hadn’t gotten her drunk on purpose. In fact, she had not had all that much to drink at all, just a few glasses of wine. Not enough to get anyone drunk. She must have had more, much more, in a short time before he met her, with it not having got to her head when they first met. What other explanation could there be….?

George lit up now, and puffed. As he did, he reflected on what had just happened. The temptation had just been too much, of course. He’d just sat down beside her, trying to humour her, while using his lighter flame for illumination, in the dark cemetery. She had seemed to be having some sort of weird vision. She had even seemed a little scared- God alone knew what she had been seeing. So he had cuddled her, to reassure her, and then….well, it had just all spiralled out of control! What other bloke could have resisted: especially one in his position, for he had never even had the chance to do-well, this, before! Suddenly, after all those years of zero success with women, he had had this classy woman-still attractive, in her own way, despite her age-showing willing! Of course, he had not told her he had no previous experience in that way, nor that the lady friend he had told her of was just platonic. How can you tell someone that, in your fifties? She would have thought it weird or pathetic, no doubt.

Hey, but he had risen to the occasion, alright, he thought, feeling a sudden surge of pride! It may have been his first time, but it had not shown, of that he was sure! He had been sceptical about this whole ‘blind date’ thing friend Carla had set up-but look how it had turned out! This may have been his first time, but it sure wasn’t going to be his last! Surely she would agree to see him again, after being as delighted with his efforts as she was. There would be more magic moments like this-in more salubrious settings, of course, like a nice cosy double bed…

‘Come on!’ said George, shaking Jayne. ‘My house is just nearby! You can sleep on the settee! I won’t do anything-you know that, don’t you!?’ And he was quite sincere, gentleman that he was.

He shook Jayne, but, save for a quick moan, and a momentary flicker open of her eyes, she seemed to have passed out.

George thought of hoisting her upright, then walking her away. However, someone might intervene, concerned for Jayne, thinking he was taking advantage. He thought of another taxi, then recalled he had not enough left, after paying the last one. Should he look in Jayne’s purse, for the fare-but no, that would be just out-and-out ungentlemanly!

‘Alright, then,’ said George. ‘I’ll stay here beside you, ‘til you wake up, make sure you’re okay! Cor, wotta palaver!’ He checked his watch. Five minutes to midnight. Good God! He did hope she woke up, soon, enough to come with him, of her own accord. He didn’t much fancy camping out here, for the next few hours. Wouldn’t do his achy joints a lot of good, staying outside for long, in the nippy autumn air!

He was about to settle down beside her, when suddenly he felt the call of nature, from the drink he had consumed. He decided to avail himself of the very large gravestone, close by.

‘Back in a sec’, love!’ he muttered, and struggling up, he staggered over to conceal himself behind the stone, coughing noisily, as he did so.

Despite appearances, Jayne was conscious, dimly taking in what was being said-though her brain was making little sense of it. She was just aware enough to register her companion’s departure from her. However, this did not concern her. She was happy to just lie there, enjoying the warm, beautiful glow enveloping her, better than anything she had ever known in her entire life. Thus, she did not really care what her partner had just said, nor that he was just leaving-for she knew that he would return, she knew and trusted.

In her state of unmindful bliss, Jayne, did not much heed the cry of surprise, followed by the impact of fist against bone and a cry of pain from George. A more muffled thump was followed by a gasp. There was scuffling, a faint crack, and a heavier impact against the ground. These sounds, in quick succession, all blended into one, vague murmur to Jayne, as she lay there, enjoying that oh-so-beautiful feeling.

Presently, her ears heard footsteps and, opening her eyes, languidly, she saw, once more, a figure standing above her. The moonlight revealed a square, firm jaw, and dark hair, flat, as if slicked back. Jayne’s heart rallied in joy.

‘So, my dear, you came back to me!’ whispered Jayne.

‘Sure did!’ exclaimed a thick rasping voice, deep, but young, very different to George’s.

And at that very police station, in the very room in which Jayne had sat that day, the pastel-green walls lit by a light bulb, while, in the curtainless window frame, the headlamps of police cars, orange glow of forecourt streetlamps, and white orb of the full moon, shone against the black of night. The square-faced police sergeant sat, at the wooden table in the room, a notepad before him, and pen in hand, looking with sleep-deprived languidness at the two figures sitting across the table from him. One of them was a young woman in her thirties, with dark, curly hair, the other an anxious thin youth in his late teens, with unkempt hair. Both wore sombre expressions.

‘You see, I suspected, the second time I saw her, close up, in the toilets-especially her eyes,’ the woman was saying. ‘A bit later I said something to him!’ she said, indicating the youth to her right.

‘That was after she started acting sort of odd!’ the thin youth took up the story. He sounded as nervous as he looked. ‘The bloke she was with took her out of the pub. She didn’t seem to know what she was doing. I-we-were worried –are worried about her!

‘So let me get this clear, then,’ said the sergeant, reading from his notes. ‘You allege that the other barman at the pub felt this woman had been rude to him, at the library, where he also works, and, as a result, when serving her the first drink she purchased, he-under cover of transferring an item in his pocket into his wallet-added, from his wallet, something to the drink: this being a paper tablet which he had intended for his own consumption, after work?’ The youth nodded.

‘And this tablet contained a hallucinogenic substance-namely, LSD?’ continued the sergeant.

Another nod, and an apprehensive look, from the youth.

‘And can you describe this lady, and her companion, at all?’ said the sergeant, his pen and notebook poised at the ready.

‘Well, she was sort of very posh and very smart looking…’ the young man began, hesitantly.

‘Very dignified, well-spoken,’ chimed in the young woman, ‘when we first saw her…’

At that moment, the town hall clock could be heard striking. Looking at the round clock on the far wall, as the first strike sounded, the police sergeant saw from that there would be eleven more strokes

And, as the church clock sounded the final strike of midnight, the answering sound of the town hall clock, about a second out of sync with the church clock, was heard, like a distant echo, within the churchyard itself. As it faded, the short stocky man, kneeling upright astride Jayne, and panting heavily, finished zipping up his jeans, and scratching the crescent scar beneath one eye, as his small eyes, glittering in the light of the full moon, focused on Jayne’s semi-conscious face.

Seeing them, outside the pub he had remembered Jayne, somehow. Angry after George’s curt comment upon his staring, he’d driven after their taxi, despite being drunk. When they’d got out, he’d ditched his stolen car and followed on foot. He had witnessed their congress, at close range, unheeded, and could hardly believe what he had just seen, as he had now recalled how Jayne sentenced him, once, as a magistrate. She had also glared at him only that afternoon, at the police station- as he now glowered down at her.

Jayne’s greying hair was matted with blood, and had now fallen largely loose from the severe style it had been done up. One eye was swollen shut, while the other peered barely open, her glasses now broken and askew across her face, stained with the blood running from her nose and mouth. The long, narrow face, and pointed chin were now disfigured by deep purple bruises and abrasions. Similar marks, and the impression of teeth, were visible on one of the naked breasts exposed by the dress torn down the front. Her undergarments lay discarded nearby, as did her handbag, its pristine blackness now sullied with dirt, as it lay, beside Jayne’s bare, muddied and bruised legs.

Turning his head, the young man saw George, staring. However George could no more discomfit the young man, with his cold gaze, than Jayne could now disconcert him with a frosty gaze, as at midday, for George now lay, lifeless, where the young man had deposited Jayne’s gallant lover and protector, after breaking his neck with a yanking headlock. George’s dead eyes stared sightlessly, now; wide, like his mouth, the incredulity at his evening’s experiences now frozen on his face. The kneeling figure, accustomed defensively to quick vigilance and perception, shot a quick glance all around. No one else could be seen approaching. Nor could he hear anyone, or anything, nearby.

The man rifled the discarded handbag, and quickly removed the leather purse. With practised swift method, he leafed through the compartments, throwing aside the driving license, credit card, library card and other personal cards, while stuffing notes and coins into his pocket. This done, he tossed the empty purse into a nearby bush, then tore a strip of material from Jayne’s dress.

‘Most grateful to you, madam!’ the young man muttered, sarcastically, in his rasping, thick voice, as he quickly wound the material into a coiled, strong cord.

‘Yes, my dear!’ muttered Jayne, smiling weakly, revealing now-cracked, broken teeth, as she responded to what she believed had been said. Her bloodied, split lips were now as red as those of the lipstick-adorned image she had seen of herself, at the peak of her beauty, in the mirror.

‘I know these twelve hours are just the beginning…’ she whispered, hoarsely, as the grinning young man, breathing heavily with excitement, even more at what he was about to do than had just done, wound the black strip slowly and carefully around her neck.
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Old 09-16-2012, 12:41 PM
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luckyme (Offline)
The laughing one
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Default Phantom Shag by Maidahl

we lie down only on the couch
by chinese take-out and the nightlight
only after rice wine, we kiss.
i am high for this.

i think about sex
more than i should.
i dream up phantom shags
and think, one day
he’ll want to.

But he prefers chicken wings.
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