The Beginning of a Short Story

Kira used to love summers.

Until, her ultra-conservative father decided to cave into mid-life crisis, purchase an engine-red Porsche and have an affair with his Executive Assistant; a woman twenty years his junior.

Her mother got the short end of the stick in this bitter divorce. She got stretch marks, saggy thighs, drooping boobs and a dilapidated Buick.

Kira couldn’t stomach the sight of her father anymore, and instead of living with him and his silicone bride-to-be in suburbia, she moved with her mom to a microscopic studio in the middle of WeHo.

The building is ancient. It dates back to 1940s, and the lobby still has remnants of Art Deco in the ceiling and the molding of the walls.

Other than that, the hallways reek of urine and boiled cabbage. Some of the lights are broken and it makes it very hard to navigate down the hallway at night, not to mention super creepy. The elevator hasn’t worked for months, and the windows get broken at least twice a month by the crazy junkies that like to huddle outside, by the dumpster.

And, the building is plagued with uninvited guests.

Roaches.

Kira encountered one while sleeping on a sofa bed that she shared with her mom. She turned on her side and there it was, staring boldly at her on her mom’s empty pillow. It didn’t even scurry off until she screamed and jumped out of bed!

Since then, she triple-checked the sheets before going to sleep, and never left food on the counter or the table anymore.

Kira pushed open the moldy door to the studio, with her foot, and walked inside.

It was unbearably hot and stuffy.

She slumped her backpack down on the floor and walked towards the opened window.

The sweltering heat wave smacked her face and with it, brought the thunderous sound of honking, sirens wailing in the distance and smells of greasy, fast food.

Kira shut the window and turned on the decrepit A.C.

At first, it coughed up dust, but then after an hour it began to blow out cold air, and with it, brought a foul stench of rotten eggs.

Kira let out a deep, exasperated sigh and wondered if her life would ever get better.

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The Beginning of a Short Story

A Purple Dream

Streaks of gold bid an intimate farewell to the cotton-candy clouds. The fiery sun gracefully sank behind the green hills and stained the sky above with a soft, copper glow. The remaining traces of light flickered through the dense trees and evaporated like spilled champagne.

A young woman kicked off her strappy heels, grabbed a fistful of her long, tulle skirt and made her way barefoot across the sea of emerald-green grass.

With a pensive expression on her face, she hummed a familiar tune; a tune she fell in love with as a child, and slowly walked towards a lonely pergola.

It stood amidst the evergreen field.

Lush strands of Wisteria cascaded down from its wooden ceiling while its roots snaked down the pillars and dove deep into the ground below.

Underneath the sea of fuchsia, lavender and white flowers hung an old, wooden swing.

The young woman carefully sat on it.

Her long fingers wrapped around the ropes and with a light kick of her foot, she pushed off the ground and swung back. Then forward, and then back again.

Memories of childhood waltzed through her mind, and with every high swing she had forgotten her worries.

Suddenly, a young man appeared on the horizon.

The sight of his face sparked a sweet, cashmere-soft feeling in her heart. Even though the evening was warm and inviting, a ripple of shivers ran down her spine. Her insides twisted into a cherry-knot at the thought of them being alone, at last.

He walked inside the pergola and with him brought a dark, starry night.

The darkness, however, was speared with hundreds of fireflies. They fluttered above the blanket of green grass and illuminated the pergola, and those inside of it.

He quietly stood by one of the pillars, with a slow, mischievous smile on his lips, and his hands thrust into the pockets of his meticulously pressed slacks, and watched her swing back and forth.

Their stares were aligned and their eyes burned with desire, but neither one spoke nor found the strength to close the intimate distance between their bodies.

The two lovers remained apart, yet their hearts were as one.

A Purple Dream

The Tale of a Dubious Prince

Once upon a time, in a kingdom of darkness and pain,
Lived a dubious, little prince with a hollow heart.
He sat on a skeletal throne and butchered souls.
And his favorite pastime was to conquer and burn.

He enjoyed torture, blood and impalement most of all.
Hence why his foes called him a bloody monster, a tyrant and a wild boar.

Those who lived in the kingdom were very afraid,
For the prince was volatile and simply deranged.

He ruled his homeland with an iron fist,
Hence why the people called him a beast.
Those who opposed him were beheaded and flayed,
For the prince lacked a heart – mercy was not in his veins.

He was ugly, repulsive, scarred and insane.
And although he was small,
He was fearless and strong.

He mounted warhorses – ponies were given to slaves.
And he’d charge into battle, yell out, “Ye shall fall to your knees!”
Before slaying his prey.

After battling foes, burning temples to ash,
Disembodying the innocent, ripping hearts from their chests,
The dubious prince dove into raping his conquest.

Virginal maidens only lasted a night,
Early next morning, their bodies were trashed,
Into the gutter, with the rest of the quarry;
Damaged, deflowered and ready to bury.

The tale is woeful, morose and dreadful,
But the reign of the prince did not last forever.
He was finally slain by a raven-haired maiden.

She beheaded the tyrant, placed the crown on her head,
Settled into the skeletal throne and assumed his place.

The tale of the raven-haired princess has yet to be told,
No one knows if her kingdom will flourish or fall.
But beware she will not be a puppet, a fool or a dolt.

She will rule as she pleases,
And if protests arise, then the sword that she used to butcher the tyrant
Will once again be ready to strike.

The Tale of a Dubious Prince