Short Story

Action: Day 11 of the Story A Day Challenge

~ CJ René ~ 2 Comments

Today’s prompt is here. Because I did not have much time to fill out yesterday’s story, I used today’s prompt to build on that idea and finish it.
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She knew this presentation backwards, forwards, inside, and out; she gave it a good twenty times a day at least. But she loved it, and her eyes lit up every time. Carnivorous plants were so cool. They found a way to live in nutrient deserts and had so many tricks to attract their prey.

She is just getting to the part about how some of them grew so large in the wild that they can trap frogs and small mammals when shouts and screams reach her from the tiger pen. Her walkie talkie goes off, but other ‘keepers are already running over there. She starts running mid-sentence.
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Hospital: Day 9 of the Story A Day Challenge

~ CJ René ~ 4 Comments

Today’s prompt is to set the story in a hospital. Content warning for child illness and descriptions of a medical procedure.
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Her daughter had been in that hospital bed for weeks, leaving only for more tests or when she would push her to take a walk down the hall to the play room. Seven year olds should not be hooked up to IVs. She should be running around getting skinned knees and getting into little kid trouble. Her other two children were at home, and she knew their father was hiding their questions of when Mommy and Sissy were coming home.
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Ending: Day 7 of the Story A Day Challenge

~ CJ René ~ 1 Comment

Today’s prompt by Becca Puglisi was to write a story that ended with the line: “I clicked off the safety, swearing that if she showed her face today, my room would be the last one she ever entered.” (I made some slight edits to the line.)

Content warning: trafficking (labor), violence, misogynistic slur
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I race home. Running past the houses, proud but in need of care. The sun hitting the back of my neck and threatening to burn or further brown the skin there. I’d left my hat at home, again. Just a few more colorful homes and then there is my door.

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Passions and Obsessions: Day 4 of the Story A Day Challenge

~ CJ René ~ 4 Comments

Today’s prompt by Heidi Durrow is passions and obsessions. I decided to write a story about being the object of such feelings. Content warning: stalking.

 

 

“CAN I GET YOU A BEER?” The pictures on the walls pulsed to the beat. He looked automatically to his hands and then back at her. Bright eyes, kind smile, full lips. Something in him stirred. No, shifted. No, lurched. This girl was hot.

“SURE! THEN MAYBE YOU CAN GET ME A DATE?” He winked at her. She laughed and turned to get the beer out of the fridge. As she cracked it one handed in his direction, he slid his fingers around her wrist and leaned into her ear. “I’m not kidding. Wanna go out sometime?”

“Oh, honey. You are not my type, and anyway, I never commit to dates when I’m drunk. Hell, I never commit to anything when I’m drunk. I want good times with the fewest regrets possible.” She winked at him.

“OKAY.” He leaned back and let go of her wrist. “HOW ABOUT A DANCE THEN?”

“THAT I CAN DO. BOTTOMS UP!” She cracked her beer and started chugging, eyebrowing him to join. He raced the best he could, but she was done like there was nothing between the lip of the beer and her stomach. He watched her lick her lips, and they were off to the living room as some pop punk 90s song faded in.

#

The caffeine headache was just now subsiding, two strong cups of coffee in. She really needed to work on moderating this addiction. Her index finger pushed her glasses back to the bridge of her nose. This paper was taking way longer than she anticipated.

“What are you working on?” Someone slid into the seat next hers.

She jumped. “Oh my god.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you; I just, you know, saw you here and wanted to say hi.”

“Sorry, who are you?”

“Dan. We met at the party last week? You gave me a beer and a dance, but no date.”

“Oh. Right. You come here?”

“Um. Yeah. Sometimes.”

“Right. I come here when I need to do work, because no one from campus comes here ever. Well, I guess not ever.” She turned back to her computer.

“Can I buy you lunch?” She stared at him. “It’s almost noon.”

“No, actually I’m fine. I just need to finish this.” As an afterthought, “Thank you though.”

He didn’t move. She typed out a painful paragraph.

“Look. Dan?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry to be a bitch, but you need to sit somewhere else. I have to work now.”

“Oh yeah, sure. What are you writing on? Maybe I can help you? We-”

“Just let me work, please. You’re a nice guy and all, but I have to be alone to do work.”

“Yeah, okay” He got up and internally kicked himself for missing a class for this.

#

The two women sat down with their martinis, celebrating the end of midterms. They caught up on stresses and dates and plans and all those little things the friends had missed for the past two weeks.

“Angie is going out of town the weekend of April 15th. Wanna come over and have a good ole fashioned slumber party? I’ll provide the cookie dough and liquor. You bring the crappy movies and down pillows.”

“The 15th?” Her friend unlocked her phone and checked her calendar. “Ugh. I’m going to have to be a maybe. I’ll have a draft of my final paper due the week after, so if I’m good and get it done ahead of time, like I always plan, I’m there. Refill?” She pointed to her empty glass.

“Definitely. Tell ’em to make it filthy.”

The women just finished checking their phones when the drinks arrived and were met with approval.

“Do you know that guy, Dan?”

“Yeah, he was in freshman lit with me, I think. Seems sweet, but not your cup of tea, I’d imagine.”

“Yeah, not exactly. I met him at that Pike party at the start of the semester, and now he’s like everywhere. It’s weird.”

“You know how it is. You never notice someone until you meet them, and then suddenly you notice them and it seems like they are everywhere.”

“Yeah, I guess. He just creeps me out. Like sits next to me rather than across from me when he sees me. And he’s always asking me out. I don’t even know how many times I’ve said no. He like brought me flowers before my last midterm. I don’t know. It’s just … it’s weird.”

“He’s harmless. I’m sure he’ll get the picture soon.”

“I know. I just wish it would be now. Anyway.”

They sipped at their drinks.

#

Her first thought when the phone went off was “who the fuck took that off vibrate?” She groaned, rolled over in the bed, and put her pillow over head. She was being very Hollywood right now. The ringing stopped. And almost immediately started again.

Angie banged on the wall. The clock, after she found her glasses and was able to focus on it, said 2:43 AM. The ringing stopped. And started again. Angie banged again. “Answer the phone or throw it in the toilet! I have class in 5 hours!”

Caller ID said “Unknown.” Now she was pissed. “YOU HAVE THE WRONG NUMBER, ASSHOLE!”

“Wow. Way to talk to a friend. Even better that my grandma died today.”

She inhaled sharply. Her grandmother died last semester; tears threatened at the corner of her eyes.

“Dan. It is 2:40 in the morning.” She hissed through gritted teeth.

“I just need someone to talk to.”

“How did you get my number?”

“You gave it to me.”

“No. I didn’t. Dan. I am really sorry about your grandma, but I’m not that friend. You should call someone else.”

“I just need someone to talk to. Please! My grandma just died! There is no one else I want to talk to but you.”

“Dan, you have to call someone else. We are not really friends, and I can’t do this right now.”

“Why are you being such a bitch? I just want to talk to you” She bristled at the word.

“Calling me a bitch is the exact opposite way to get what you want. Call. Someone. Else. And delete my number. You can have it back when you learn to treat me with respect.”

She hung up the phone, saved the number to “Do Not Answer” and put a to-do to block it in her app. It started to ring again, flashing the new name. She denied the call and set it on silent.

She got to sleep again after an hour or so after she finally convinced herself to stop being angry and upset. When she woke up there were 27 missed calls, as many voice messages, and 15 text messages. Every single one from “Do Not Answer.”

#

The public safety office was not the most welcoming place. The woman at the desk looked up from her book and slowly shut the hardback.

“Can I help you?”

“Yeah. I am not sure what … I think some guy is stalking me.”

“Has he threatened you?”

“No. No no. Um, he just shows up wherever I am and then last night he called and texted me from around 2:40 until about 5:00 AM. I just … I’ve asked him to stop, and he won’t, so I need you to do something.”

The officer shifted in her seat and pulled up something on the computer. “Is he a student?”

“Yes.”

“And you are too?”

“Yes.”

“The best I can do is make a report. Nothing he’s doing is really … Look, it’s annoying and he’s an asshole, but I mean, honey, when you look like you do, you’re going to attract some assholes.” Her jaw clenched; she was sick of people saying that. The woman took the details of what had been going on, henpecking them into the computer. Now she was too late to get to class.

“If he does anything new, let us know. Here is my card. Are you on campus?”

“No.”

“Okay. Well, if you have a door person…”

“I don’t.”

“That’s my number on the card. If I am not at the desk, it will ring someone else. But off campus, just call the police first. He’s probably harmless. These boys don’t know how to deal with their feelings and with women that tell them no. He’ll be an asshole for a week or so more, it’ll suck for you, but it’ll go away, honey.”

“Yeah.”

“Just call us if anything changes.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

She slammed the door behind her and ripped up the card. This was total bullshit.

#

The nightmare grew foggy as she pulled awake. She blinked and breathed and told herself to relax. Listening, it was just the same noises as usual: crickets and the sobbing drunk four doors down. No late night phones calls for the last two weeks.

The room was cooler than when she went to bed, and she pulled her comforter up and tucked it around her neck. She still wasn’t relaxed. Her eyes were adjusting to the street light filtering through her window.

She rolled on her back, wishing she could tap Angie awake, even though she would be so pissed. She reached for her cat, but she was not on the pillow next to her or at her feet. She started to sit up to see if she was in the room.

“Hello, Jenny. Now you have to talk to me.”

Getting Home: Day 1 of the Story A Day Challenge

~ CJ René ~ Leave a comment

Prompt from Neil Gaiman via the Story A Day May Challenge. The prompt was “Getting Home.” I decided to take the scene from The Bacchae where Agave brings home her hunt and play with the idea of getting home but then losing home. Enjoy!

Agave did not mind the cuts on her feet and the blood slicking the rocks as she tore down the mountain, prize in hand.  She had been given a great task, and after weeks of worship in the slopes of Kithaeron, her tried patience had finally been satisfied. The women followed. Her women. Lungs burning and fingers gripping into the slicked meat and entrails for all of Thebes to feast and draw the blessings of the gods. The rhythm of the running and the pierce of their victory cries so different from the dances they had shared and the hunter’s calls when the beast arrived.

The stars and moon lit their paths, but Agave could have run home blind. These were her mountains. She had traced the lines and knew each bend in the earth. She knew the feel of ground when it changed as she neared the Theban walls. Her worship had taken her farther from city than she had been, and as she returned her bones thrummed in joy. Her father, her son, her sisters, all here in her Thebes.

Agave leads her women into the city. Their thundering feet turning to flapping against the stone. The great home of Pentheus lays before her, the guts of the building spilled before Thebes. The questions bubbling up in her brain pop before she can catch them. Her holy task still waits. Thebes waits. Her people stare, drawn from their homes to witness Agave’s glory.

The foreign women look on, their expressions betraying no pride in her kill. Her Thebans stare. She raises her blood-gloved hands, hoisting the lion’s head for them to see, and smiles a bloodstained smile.

“Thebans! We are blessed! The gods sent me to destroy the beast among us, and I am victorious! With my own hands and the hands of my sisters, we have torn his life from him and brought home our prey to feast.”

She takes the lion’s head and places it upon the cracked steps of the palace, a silent scream in its mouth.

Agave laughs. A giggle growing into a cackle, echoing in her city. Her voice drops to growling whisper. “You men. Forbidding us to join your hunts. Telling us we are too weak for this work. But you armor yourselves and cheapen the hunt with weapons. You are weak. I looked into the beast’s eyes and felt its pulse in my hands. I faced Death, and I won.

But I will not gloat. I bring our catch and offer a feast. Let us light the fires and pour the wine and revel in the power of Thebes’ women.”

No one moved. The foreigners simply turned and walked away, out of Thebes. Their leader pressing a hand into the shoulder of Cadmus as they passed each other through the gates. Cadmus catches his daughter’s eyes and shakes his head.

Agave grabs her prize and rushes to her father’s feet. She holds up the lion’s head. “Look! Look, what I did today.” Cadmus turns away.

“Are you not proud, father? Look what we have done with our own hands. The gods will bless us, father. Look. I am so much more than you expect. Look!”

Cadmus brings water and presses the cup to her lips. “Drink.” Agave does as she is told. “It is not a lion, child.” He lays a protective hand on her head, and she crinkles her brow. “Not a lion. Look again.”

Agave looks. The lion’s face looks familiar, human. A fog is clearing around it. The eyes are her eyes, but not her eyes. The nose her husband’s, but not his either. She turns back to her father. “Look.” Her son.

“No.” She throws the head away. “No.” Agave looks again. She … no mother could … how did she not know? A cry chases itself through the air, but she barely registers it as hers.

Iron blood threads through the earthy smell of Thebes. She is repelled. The stones scrapping her knees are somehow harder, sharper. She jumps to her feet. Her eyes see again the destruction. The palace brought low and gutted and the blank accusing eyes of Pentheus pushing her away. The air thickens; her lungs reject it. This place is not Thebes.

Agave runs. Her feet no longer know the stones, and she trips, stone catching her knee and cutting down her leg. Her blood pours out an offering to her home. Thebes rejects it, and it remains unmingled with the soil. Cadmus reaches her and presses a cloth to her knee.

“I … can’t stay. Why?” Her mind flicks back to her hunt, to the moment her hands ripped into the beast’s neck, and she scuttles away from him. She cannot be here. She has to leave. Her skin aches for her son, for her home, but neither is in Thebes.

“Wait.” Her father’s command stops her retreat. “I will come with you. And your sisters. We must bury our dead first.”

The sun had risen fully by the time the pyre was ready. Agave said no word and stared unseeing as Cadmus lit the fire. She stood and watched until even the embers lost their glow, severing her finally and completely from Thebes. She did not eat the food they offered and only moved when finally her family was ready.

She dragged her feet over her path of victory, heading back to the slopes of Kitaeron. She stared only at her feet. They passed where she and her sisters played hide and seek. Then the place where she stole kisses from her first love. Where Pentheus had taken his first steps and his first falls. And where he and his friends climbed trees, reaching always higher and higher to make her heart worry he would fall. Then they passed the site of the lion hunt, and finally her place of worship.

Agave did not look back to the stoney walls of Thebes as she crossed the border into where she had never been.