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  • ContactRida 1:45 pm on July 6, 2014 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: C'est la vie, that's life   

    C'est la vie 

    She stared at the screen, eyes blood shot red, spine spasming, and thought, “I don’t have it in me. I can’t create with my tank on Empty.” She had worked 14 straight nights. Sunday would be her first day off. Or so she thought. “Could you cover this Sunday? I hate to ask but we are short.” begged the supervisor. She had put in for a transfer on the 9th night but Corporate denied the request. She was also embroiled in a CNA suspension whom she reported sleeping, “Could you please give another statement as to how many times you saw the aide sleeping and what you did to intervene?” questioned the Director of Nursing in a seemingly innocuous office email. The Company had already settled in two lawsuits of negligent death, now there’s Sleep-Gate.

    “Good morning beautiful,” texted Brian. She had no clue who he was. Maybe from OKCupid. Maybe from that dance club last summer. She didn’t know and had no interest putting any thought into it. “Hi. I’m headed to the gym,” she lied, “talk to you soon,” another lie. She wondered why he kept texting her, “Because you have no interest in him.” she answered aloud.

    But she also had no interest in sex, “The longer I go without sex, the longer I can go without sex.” she remembered saying to her therapist. She didn’t  even have interest in self-pleasure. But her body told another story. When counting narcs with Remi, the half Egyptian, half Russian male nurse, she felt a heavy moisture between her legs, “Great. Just what I need. My period.” she grimaced to herself. When she went to the bathroom to survey the damage, she found clear slippery fluid instead. It seems standing next to an attractive man made her body prepare for an act that was never going to come (tongue in cheek).

    So she sits and writes with no particular purpose, other than to say, “I am still here. Battered but still here.”

    jeff pics

     
  • ContactRida 7:11 am on June 6, 2014 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , treason   

    den of snow and lies 

    The kids teased and bullied Eddie relentlessly, “Hey snow miser!” He only fueled their taunts by being a geeky loner who wrote code like it were nursery rhymes. MIT offered a full scholarship. Finally he could escape his hometown, but memories of his high school years lingered and festered deep within him.

    The CIA approached him after graduation, then the NSA. He would later discover anomalies, hidden budgets, and multi-layered investigations. He had the power to make everyone listen to him and respect him now. He only had to press, “Send All.” Snow miser no more. He would become legend.

    rowing-to-new-zealand

    photo credit: Douglas M. MacIlroy

    rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com

     
    • aliciajamtaas 1:20 pm on June 9, 2014 Permalink | Reply

      Well done. May Edward choose the right bath.

    • patriciaruthsusan 8:28 am on June 9, 2014 Permalink | Reply

      Rida, Good story. I hope all the computer geniuses don’t want to get revenge on someone. Many would be in trouble. Interesting and well written. 🙂 —Susan

    • Nan Falkner 3:56 am on June 9, 2014 Permalink | Reply

      Dear ContactRida, Revenge is sweet as long as it’s done with decent intentions. Like, you wouldn’t want to blow up the world, just to get back at some people, maybe something small would work better. Good story though! Nan 🙂

    • dmmacilroy 1:32 am on June 8, 2014 Permalink | Reply

      Dear ContactRida,

      Den of Snow and Lies (great title) was one of the more ‘out of the box’ stories this week. Multi-layered and crisp, it flowed well and was a pleasure to read. Well done.

      Aloha,

      Doug

    • rochellewisoff 7:27 am on June 7, 2014 Permalink | Reply

      Dear ContactRida,

      Oh dear. Revenge is a dish best served via the internet. Love it.

      Shalom,

      Rochelle

    • wmqcolby 6:19 am on June 7, 2014 Permalink | Reply

      Sharp, SHARP! Good crisp writing, as usual. Great!

      I have a feeling D.B. Cooper would do well with YOU writing about him. Just a thought …
      😉

    • patrickprinsloo 5:24 pm on June 6, 2014 Permalink | Reply

      Clever one. Great topicality. May the debate begin!!

    • Jessie Ansons 8:27 am on June 6, 2014 Permalink | Reply

      A lovely story of rising above! I could picture him sitting there in his slippers about to hit ‘send all’.

  • ContactRida 6:31 am on March 6, 2014 Permalink | Reply
    Tags:   

    Evil rode upon a pale horse. 

    Six six six seared into flesh.

    Nonbelievers left behind must endure Tribulation.

    Hell on earth. Now all believe.

    Pale_Rider___Spiral_by_uilliam444888

    Photo credit: http://fc08.deviantart.net/fs50/f/2009/291/1/9/Pale_Rider___Spiral_by_uilliam444888.jpg

    Post inspired by: http://adamickes.wordpress.com/2014/03/05/six-on-the-sixth-prompt-march/

     
  • ContactRida 7:35 am on March 5, 2014 Permalink | Reply
    Tags:   

    i am telling you i’m not going 

    She played her favorite song by Jennifer Holliday for the last time. How could he tell her to get out of his life? “You’re obsessive! You’re suffocating me! You’re crazy!” he viciously screamed at her. “You weren’t at work. Where were you? Cheryl wasn’t there either.” she hurled back in his face. “I have never lied to you, never cheated on you. You don’t know what love is, do you?” he asked but she could tell he didn’t want to hear her answer.

    She lunged at him with such a fury, she startled him and he fell backward. She leapt forward and grabbed the glass Eiffel Tower. “I promise to love you forever,” he said when he gave her the tower. They were going to spend their honeymoon in Paris after they were married. But he kept pushing back the date, said there was no hurry. She loved him, so she waited, and waited.

    The edge of the Eiffel Tower caught his temple with a horrid precision. She let go of it but it stayed wedged into his skull. He stared at her. Tears streamed from his eyes, then the blood came. It seemed to caress his face. He tried to get up but he only managed to tumble the paintings and plants. She looked down at him. He was very still. His face was not contorted. He looked like he was sleeping with his eyes open.

    “I can fix this,” she whispered to him as she lovingly kissed his blood stained lips. She rushed to the kitchen and flung open the cabinet doors beneath the sink. He was always so orderly, she loved that about him. The lighter fluid was right where he always left it. She grabbed it and began squeezing the clear stream all over the furniture and carpet. She forced the last bit of fluid over the front door. She wanted no interruptions.

    She lit an incense and placed the kitchen knife block over the unlit end. When the embers fell they would seal their bond. She  slowly searched through her Ipod for Jennifer Holliday. She found it and the music filled the room. She removed the throw from the  sofa and placed it over her head as if it was a veil. She laid beside him and embraced him. “I do,” she softly said as she laid her head gently upon his shoulder. The tunes consumed the room, as did the smoke and flames.

    What remains is charred, broken and boarded up. An eerie reminder of the depths of a woman’s madness and a man’s promised love. Judgment was cast so easily but those among us who assign blame to her have never loved with an all consuming passion. True passion is an insidious virus that mutates the heart, the mind and the soul. True passion burns brightly, its flames eternal.

    2010-01-01 00.00.00-53

    SAMSUNG CSC

    SAMSUNG CSC

    http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/03/03/writing-challenge-threes/

     
    • hemmingplay 12:37 pm on March 5, 2014 Permalink | Reply

      This was well-written, but that final paragraph stopped me. It reads as though you’re saying murder is understandable, that it was at least partly his fault because he was pulling back? Passion excuses all things? Feelings trump thinking? It could be that he was pulling back because she was obviously derranged. I don’t see a reason to make excuses for her behavior, even though she died, too.

      • ContactRida 5:17 am on March 6, 2014 Permalink | Reply

        thank you for your reply. that was the whole point, seeing through the eyes of the killer, not the victim. the song that many people love is sorta creepy and stalky, which is why i chose it.

  • ContactRida 10:06 am on January 12, 2014 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: blood, darkness becomes you, , , , knife, , predator, prey, , , victim   

    a darkness inside the light 

    hot tears streamed down her face as she sat patiently. this overwhelming connection to the father she never had  grabbed her by the throat. it choked her. gripped her chest and weighed heavy as she tried to breathe. she slowly looked into the framed mirror. saw someone quietly sitting there she did not want to see. saw the evil she came from. the evil she thought she could consciously hide from. but there it was. staring at her with its tear stained cheeks. she tightly squeezed her eye lids shut, trying to block out the image of her hands.

    “not my hands. not mine.” she screeched inside her head. but the images kept coming. images in black and white, choppy, soundless on old celluloid film. she saw herself walking to her car. her shift had ended at 7pm but there were emergency admissions at the hospital, so she stayed four extra hours to manage the chaos. a usually bustling underground parking garage was now eerily vacant of activity and sound. except for two men changing a tire on their suv.

    “turn around. turn around.” a voice whispered inside her head. she was suddenly thirsty but focused on the men. focused on how they seemed desperately busy. her fingers let go of the car keys. as she knelt to pick them up she saw perfectly placed tarp where the back seats should have been. she saw blacked out windows. she saw an undamaged tire leaning against the back bumper and two men bent over anxiously running their hands over another undamaged tire.

    she processed this information in milliseconds. “turn around. turn around.” plead the voice this time. as she rose, she picked up the keys with her left hand and with her right hand she gripped the small skinner damascus blade her ex gave her as a gift. she always kept it in her purse side pocket, unsheathed. the men were on her left. her car was six spots from theirs. an eight second walk. eight seconds was a lifetime. a calm rushed over her with a clarity of purpose. in eight seconds prey became predator.

    one. she jingled her keys in her left hand as a distraction. two. she removed the knife from her purse as she passed the men. three. the first man grabbed her from behind, pinned her left arm and clasped his other hand over her mouth. four. as he spun her around toward the suv, the second man reached for her ankles. five. with her right hand free she swiftly sliced into the first man’s upper thigh near his groin. she punctured his femoral artery. six. he shrieked in pain and released his grip. seven. the startled partner looked up just in time to see a short blade effortlessly glide under his chin. she severed his carotid arteries. eight. she stepped away and watched them flail like freshly hooked fish until life left them.she carefully pressed the blade against her own neck to create an impression. she dropped it by their bodies. she dialed 911.

    there she sat in the florescent lit interview room of the police station. staring into the framed two-way mirror at a woman she did not know. her mother had been savagely attacked by a serial rapist and murderer. her mother lived but with his seed growing inside her. she was his daughter today. his eyes stared back at her in the mirror, reflecting the icy darkness she tried to suppress. she looked at her hands. they did not tremble. they were his hands, not hers. no. that was a lie. she did not enjoy the fatal encounter but they made their choice. she made hers. her tears were for herself. she wept for the person she no longer was. she wept because that dark passenger  was now the driver. the detective opened the door. she knew her lies would be believed. she knew the darkness inside her would soon engulf the light. she knew she was her father’s daughter.

     
    • Laura 12:09 pm on January 12, 2014 Permalink | Reply

      Excellent! You have an amazing voice filled with emotion and you don’t shy away from the difficult. Jeez, I could feel it through the words.

    • T. Dawn 10:53 am on January 12, 2014 Permalink | Reply

      Wow. This is incredibly powerful. You have a gift of painting a picture that both comes from and evokes raw emotions.

      • ContactRida 12:04 am on January 13, 2014 Permalink | Reply

        thank you. your writing is incredibly intimate and crisp. it’s like you’re evolving into something different. i was totally confused by your new theme. i thought it was some other writer. weird. i thought i knew your writing style, but like i said, it’s evolving… i only looked at your latest post for a second. were you in an accident? (i put stuff off. i still need to pay a 2dollar balance on my tuition. school starts monday) i wanted to get one good post in before all hell hits the fan. funny. i thought my post was bland, lacking depth.

    • VIVIMETALIUM 10:27 am on January 12, 2014 Permalink | Reply

      Republicou isso em VIVIMETALIUN.

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