Arlene Lagos's Blog, page 13

Free The Beast

Free the Beast

by

Arlene Lagos

He had a hold on me and he knew it. No matter how hard I tried to get away, or how far I tried to run, I always came back. He was intoxicating, lethal and delicious. The lines in his face, the corners of his mouth; they drew me in and stirred my inner beast.  It was impossible to deny him. I tried avoiding eye contact so my knees wouldn’t buckle or my heart wouldn’t stop from his penetrating stare. But it was no use; just the feel of his warm breath on my neck and my body would surrender instantly. I was powerless against him; which is why I had to kill him.

The ride to Castle Basco from my cottage was long, but I needed time to think. The king would be there, but he wouldn’t be expecting me. Our “meetings” never took place on the castle grounds. We always met up at the villa he had set up for me outside of town. I hated that I had allowed this charade to even happen in the first place. He was married to the queen after all; and even though she was well known to be a cold, vapid woman for whom he had no love for, she was still his wife.

Our affair began two years ago when the King showed up at my shop for riding lessons. Like all powerful, charismatic leaders, he had a wild streak, a penchant for the dangerous. Clad in a leather jacket and pants, dawning sunglasses and black leather boots, he exuded sexuality. I let him take my best chopper for a spin which was appropriately nicknamed “The Beast”.  We ripped through the woods, down dirt roads and through secret hideaways. He challenged me to a race, laughing as he sped off down a steep hill and around dangerous corners as if he’d been doing it his whole life. Near the end of the day, we stopped to rest at a nearby meadow, our hearts racing from the rush of our adventure and when I looked into his eyes, my heart exploded with such intensity that I kissed him. Before I could come up for air or reason, his lips crashed against mine, our bodies intertwined on the soft plush grass as we lay there naked, laughing and breathy.

He came back every weekend after that and like a teenager before prom I waited for him. As time went on, the guilt set in and I tried to pull away but he wouldn’t hear of it. When I wouldn’t meet him at the villa he started coming to my loft, my work and even once at the grocery store. I even tried to leave town once, but he found me and I submitted to his charm. His possessiveness was becoming overwhelming but I had nobody to turn to. I had no choice, I had to kill him.

Poisonous berries grew in the forest behind the villa. I took a handful home and mashed them up until they formed a liquid. I would travel to his castle and lure him away for a romantic picnic, then pour him the fateful wine. As I rode towards the castle I began to wonder if this whole thing was a bad idea. What had I become? This wasn’t me. I wasn’t a monster. I was stronger than this. Next time he comes around, I will make a clean break. I will let him know that it’s over.

Filled with confidence, I turned around and began my journey home when something in the distance caught my eye. I pulled off the main road down a windy path and peered around a large oak tree where I saw a body lying stiffly on the ground next to a mound of dirt. It was the Queen! She was dead! There, standing next to her with shovel in hand and blood on his shirt, was the King! I let out a gasp that caught his attention.

“Anna?” he startled.

I blinked.

“I…I didn’t love her. I tried to leave her but she wouldn’t let me go!”

There was a long pause.

“I understand,” I replied finally.

“I knew you would Anna.”

He threw his arms around me then noticed the picnic basket.

“What do you have there?” he asked.

“Stuff for a picnic… I was going to surprise you,” I hesitated.

“Anything good?” he asked.

I drew in a deep breath, looking at the hole in the ground, his dead wife, the shovel, his eyes.

Looking back at him with steady voice I responded.

“The wine is to die for”.

Never Alone

Never Alone

I was only nine years old when she left me. Her frail body lay lifeless on the hospital bed, eyes still open as the last hint of breath escaped her pale lips. With heads hung low, my family stood over her, crying and mourning her loss. But, I couldn’t put my head down; I couldn’t take my eyes off of her.

Suddenly, I saw her mouth slowly open and a faint light pour out. It became brighter and brighter as it circled above her almost blinding me.  Frozen in my steps I stood, unable to speak and desperately hoping someone else would look up, but nobody did. They didn’t see it. It made a straight line up to the ceiling, a tumble of brilliant orange fog that spilled in the air above her then slipped out a nearby window. My knees finally unlocked and I ran to the window, pressing my face against it, hoping to follow the light, to see where my mother was going next.

Someone grabbed me from behind to try and console me, or perhaps they thought I was being rude running around and looking out the window at such a time, but I couldn’t help it. That was my mother’s essence and I didn’t want to lose it.

“Wait for me!” I screamed out the window, as the light lingered on a nearby tree branch in the park of the hospital grounds.

“Brandon honey, it will be alright,” said my Aunt Susan.

I turned back around to a room full of tear-filled faces staring at me, reaching out their arms. I looked back out the window at the essence hanging off the branch, getting ready to move on, impatiently waiting for me to make up my mind.

Slowly, I turned and faced the crowd of relatives, mapped out a path to the door and before I could change my mind I sprinted across the room, through the door, and down the stairs. I ran as fast as my legs could carry me and it was a good thing too, because when I got to the tree, the essence had started to move along.

Across the hospital parking lot and into a nearby field she flew overhead, slowly dipping lower and lower as if she wanted to make sure I could catch up. After a few minutes we reached a creek where she lingered above the waterfall, creating a perfect rainbow that stretched overhead. We use to come here a lot before she got sick. We would swim, skip rocks and even go fishing. I never knew my father, but that didn’t stop my mom from teaching me all the things a father would teach a son. In a way, she was both, and so the loss seemed twice as hard.

She made her way to the other side, teasing me to move forward. I was always afraid to cross the creek, even in the shallow end, but as she moved along I knew I had to, or else I would lose her. Even in death, she is teaching me to be strong.  Safely across the creek I continued to follow her, gasping for breath, my heart beating wildly and my eyes filling with tears at the sheer pain, love and heartache I was feeling.

When we reached the main road I realized we were outside of Tuckerman’s ice cream. She was lingering around the lamppost, causing it to shine even brighter than usual. She used to take me here every Sunday.

“What’s the best day for dessert?” she’d joke.

“Sunday!” I’d answer.

That joke never got old.

As I stared up at the glistening light of her essence, I felt anger fill my heart. I was angry that I couldn’t see her or touch her or talk to her just one more time.

“How am I going to live without you mom?” I yelled.

I felt my voice crack as the tears poured down my face. My hands trembled. Anger shot through my veins and I started bashing my fists against a nearby building.

She began moving again, down the street in the direction of our house. How can I ever step foot in that house again knowing she’s not there?  Knowing that she will never be there again? I was getting tired, but she kept moving. Running on emotion, I picked up the pace and ran as fast as I could, keeping in time with her, with every street, every corner, and every driveway until we reached ours.

She lingered around the tree in the front yard. The one with the tire swing she had put up for me last summer. I slowly walked over and sat inside, wiping my face with my sleeve then wrapping my arms around the tire as if I was hugging her. Resting my head against the rope, I held on for a while, slowly swaying back and forth as if she was holding me in her arms, rocking me back to a happier time.

By now I had calmed a bit and she was making her way into the house through my bedroom window. I was hesitant at first, but I didn’t want to lose her. I carefully stepped up to the front door and with hesitation I opened it and stepped inside the hall. My legs froze. I couldn’t move. I didn’t want to be here, in this house, knowing I would never see her face in it again.

My knees began to tremble and then a surge of anger ripped through my belly up into my chest and I began barreling up the stairs knocking pictures off the walls with my fists, pushing hallway furniture and plants out of my way and disregarding the sound of them smashing on the floor as I plowed by. When I got to my bedroom at first I couldn’t open the door because I was shaking so badly. I began punching and kicking it repeatedly until it finally flung open, landing me face first on the floor.

Tears soaked the beige carpet beneath me as I clenched my nails into it, screaming in pain. My heart ached and my stomach was turning. I couldn’t pick up my head; I didn’t want to look at the world. But she wouldn’t let me give up. Her light flickered off a snow globe that had landed on the floor directly in my line of vision. She had given me that snow globe just this past Christmas.

I crawled towards it, picked it up and cradled it in my palms, looking it over as if for the first time. The light circled throughout the globe and then quickly bounced up and out towards my dresser. I stood up and found myself staring back at my own reflection. My eyes were red and puffy, my nose runny, my lip was cracked and my fists were bleeding. The light surrounded the mirror.

“I can’t lose you,” was all I could say, over and over again.

Then I finally saw her. She was in the mirror, standing next to me. We had the same eyes, the same chin. The same dark hair and freckles around the nose.

She smiled and my heart lifted. We stood there, staring at each other in silence until finally she leaned over and whispered into my ear.

“I love you,” she said.

“I love you too, mom,” I said.

“I will always be with you, for I am in you, right here, always,” she put her hand on my heart.

I put my hand on my heart as well. I could feel her inside my heart, lighting me up as she always did. Making everything better, as she always had.

Slowly her reflection crossed over onto mine and then faded away.

She wasn’t gone. She was just inside me now, inside my heart forever, and as I live she lives, as I breathe she breathes. She is the light that guides me, and reminds me that I am never alone.

This story is dedicated to my childhood friend Theresa “Terry” P. Jones who died tragically on October 11, 2011 at the age of 37, in a fatal car crash leaving behind her young son.  I dedicate this story to her and her son in hopes that he finds peace with her death.

 

Assumption Lake

Award for “Best Discovery” in the August Short Story Contest

Assumption Lake

by

Arlene Lagos

My first night at the campground was lonely. There was a mix-up with my lot reservation, leaving me stuck on THIS side of the lake instead of the BETTER side, with nothing to look at but my obnoxious neighbor and her gaudy, off-season Christmas lights.

Sipping my wine and enjoying some opera, I look out my window, only to be distracted by “daisy dukes” flipping burgers on her tiny grill beside her cheap patio furniture. Her curly blonde hair, sitting on the top of her head like a bird’s nest, and awful music blasting out of her rusted tin can of a trailer was no comfort.

I fell asleep while reading, only to be awoken hours later to something shaking my trailer. I look out the window and spot a huge tornado coming right at me. Within seconds it ripped through the park, smashing windows and shaking the motor home. My heartbeat increased as I spun in the air, clenching the walls for dear life. Eventually everything crashed down, and I opened my eyes only to find myself in the middle of a cornfield about a mile from the campsite. My motor home was in pieces scattered along the ground and a giant shard of metal was buried deep inside my leg.

“Are you alright?” says a voice.

I look around and there standing beside me, covered in bruises, was my neighbor. Of all the luck.

“That was pretty wild. I thought for sure I was a goner. My name’s Rita by the way,” she extends her hand with a smile.

“Victoria,” I said reluctantly. I tried to stand up but my leg wouldn’t let me.

“That looks bad, we need to wrap that right away.”

“Maybe we can just pull it out,” I said.

“NO! Don’t do that, you’ll lose too much blood. Right now that shard is keeping you from bleeding.”

She proceeded to make donuts holes out of some t-shirts she found and covered the shard, creating a tourniquet.

“There, this should hold until we can get you to a hospital.”

“I don’t think I’m going to make it,” I said, wincing in pain.

“Everything’s going to be just fine, you need to stay positive!”

“Whatever.”

“Tell me something about you, what’s your story?”

“My story? My story is I’ve lost everything! Or hadn’t you noticed?” I sobbed.

“So… a tornado ruined your expensive motor home and your fancy clothes. It is just stuff! I can’t believe your life was spared and all you care about are your things! Typical rich girl.”

What nerve she had to assume that about me!

“I’m not upset about the motor home or my fancy clothes! I lost a very special locket that my husband gave me.”

“I’m sure money bags can get you another one princess.”

“No he can’t, because my husband, Jonathan, is dead. He died last year of a rare blood disease. I’d explain it in more detail but I wouldn’t want to frighten you with fancy words.”

“Oh is that what you think? That I’m some uneducated hillbilly? Well for your information, I have an MBA from Harvard, lady.”

“Well for your information this “typical rich girl” lost her house to foreclosure after her husband died and she couldn’t make payments on one salary, so this “fancy motorhome” is the only home I have!”

There was a long silence. We had both assumed the worst of each other without having ever had a real conversation.

“I’m sorry about your husband, I had no idea. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions,” said Rita.

“I was also rude, I assumed things about you based on…ouch!”

The pain in my leg was excruciating. Suddenly, everything went dark. When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed with a doctor standing over me.

“Where’s Rita?”

“You mean the woman who brought you in? She came back this morning and made me promise to give this to you.”

He handed me a letter and a little black box. I opened the letter and it read:

Victoria- I went through the wreckage yesterday and found something I thought you might want.

I opened the box and couldn’t believe my eyes. She had found Jonathan’s locket.

I was speechless.

“You know, if that shard had moved even half an inch down it would have cut your artery and you would have lost your leg? That woman saved your leg.”

“That women is my friend, her name is Rita…and she saved much more than just my leg.”

Photograph by Carsten Peter, National Geographic

The August Short Story Contest required that we fill the criteria below:

Setting: a campsite, park, garden, or vineyard 



 3 Highlights: a city divided (in two or three), an earthquake or storm, a box with something inside 



Story Plot: your choice 



Theme: optimism vs. pessimism – 
(For example – hopefulness and confidence about the future or the successful outcome of something vs. a tendency to see the worst aspect of things or believe that the worst will happen; a lack of hope or confidence in the future.) 



Missing Person: Kirsten Ashley Smith

MISSING PERSON:

Kirsten Ashley Smith, goes by Ashley, has been missing since 1am this morning, 8-2-12, in the Myrtle Beach area. Last seen with Cameron Stephens. She is 16 years old. Please, PLEASE,  look if you are close. Call, text, or message me if you have any information.

 

REFLECTION

1st Place Winner of July Short Story Contest

REFLECTION

by

Arlene Lagos

Five faithful years together and he shacks up with my best friend. I was lucky enough to glance over at a text that backstabbing harlot sent to him.

“Meet me at the carnival,” it read.

My anger rose inside my chest as he exited the apartment, his lips dripping with lies about having to go in to work on a Saturday. I was furious! How could she try and steal my boyfriend from me?

Arriving at the town park, I was full of bad intention. Pulling my hat down further over my eyes until the lid touched the top of my sunglasses, made it easy for me to not get noticed before I could get my proof. I walked around but couldn’t find them. Then I thought I caught a glimpse of the back of Jason walking into the house of mirrors. There was a girl in front of him with blonde hair. Her face was hidden, but I knew it was Jenna. My best friend since we were kids. How could she do this to me? They walked in further and then I made my way inside. When I entered, I could hear giggling so I followed the sound until it led me to a room that I couldn’t get out of. Suddenly it went dark and I heard a voice in the shadows.

“This isn’t how you want this to end. You should sit down and talk with Jason, give him a chance to explain,” said the voice.

“Who’s there?” I asked.

“Give him a chance to explain? What other explanation could there be for him being on a date with her best friend? He’s obviously cheating. You should never trust anyone,” said a second voice.

“I’m scared in here, can someone turn on the light?” I whimpered.

“You don’t have all the facts. You should ask him point blank why he is here with her,” said a third voice.

“Oh like he’s really going to tell her the truth!” said the second voice.

“I’m sure there’s a perfectly good explanation, you don’t have to be so negative all the time,” said the first voice.

“Stop talking!” I yelled. “Who are you people? What’s going on?” I asked.

A light flickered in the distance casting a shadow upon three mirrors all reflecting images of…me. There was one of me crying, one of me angry and one of me happy.

“I don’t understand, how can this be happening?” I asked.

“We are you, all three of us, all the time. We help you make your decisions based on your intellect, your emotions and your rationality,” they said in unison.

“But I am still confused. I don’t know what to do?” I cried.

“Do what you always do”

“Don’t do anything”

“Try something new,” they whispered.

A breeze floated by me, then a butterfly wisped through a crack in the doorway. Compelled to follow it, I stayed on its trail where it eventually led me to the exit. Catching my breath, I stood shaking and trying to digest what just happened. 

Across the park I saw Jason again. He was standing on a sound stage putting up a banner. Jenna was there too and as I watched them laughing and joking with each other, I began to cry and clench my fists in rage.

The thoughts running through my head were scrambled and I honestly wasn’t sure what I was going to do when I reached them.

Breathing heavier now, I became lightheaded from the emotional state I was in and could barely contain the tears ready to burst from my eyes, that I had to stop for a moment and close them before I passed out.

After a few minutes I got my bearings and lifted up my head moving full speed towards the sound stage until I saw something that stopped me dead in my tracks.

 A brightly colored banner hung perfectly across the top of the stage with the words-

“Michelle, will you marry me?” splashed across it.

My jaw dropped as I stood there in total awe. He’s going to propose to me? He’s going to propose to me!

 A swarm of different emotions spilled around inside as my heart sunk deep in my chest. Sitting down on the ground, I hung my head in shame. I had let trust fly out the window without giving it any thought and now because of my rage, all I felt was embarrassment and shame. Wiping the last tear from my eye, something landed on my knee. It was that same butterfly. It sat there staring at me, and I back at it. It was beautiful, speckled with several colors, as I was speckled with many emotions. It was a symbol of change, an ability to grow emotionally, to create more positive reflections of myself and to learn to think before I act.

Puzzle Piece

Reblogged from beyondearthseries:

Everyone, at one time or another thinks to themselves, “I don’t belong”. It is a natural fear that occurs when you feel off your game or you feel as though everyone else, “gets it” but you. Even the ones that always seem to “get it” feel lost in the shuffle some days.

To me, life is one enormous puzzle. Some of us like to be in the middle of everything surrounded by everything and everyone because it makes us feel less alone.

Read more… 111 more words

This has been a very popular post in the past, so I am re-blogging for those of you who haven't had a chance to read it. Enjoy!

Vodka: The New Cure

I’ve been developing this theory for quite some time now about the healing properties of Vodka.

I believe if you drink vodka, it will kill whatever is trying to kill you.

Call me crazy…( I won’t care, because I’m too busy drinking)

but here’s some line items I put together in support of my theory.

1. The name “vodka” means water, which we all know we should drink at the very least 64 ounces of a day.

2. Back in the 1400′s the word vodka referred to chemical compounds such as medicines and was considered a medicinal drink. (as in, it could cure you from stuff)

3. A number of Russian pharmaceutical lists contain the terms “vodka of grain wine” and “vodka in half of grain wine”.  Bet you wish you could call in THAT prescription to CVS and have it covered by insurance!

4. As alcohol had long been used as a basis for medicines, this implies the term vodka could be a noun meaning ”to dilute with water”. Grain wine was a spirit distilled from alcohol made from grain (as opposed to grape wine) and hence “vodka of grain wine” would be a water dilution of a distilled grain spirit. So it hydrates you like water and cures you like medicine. Um, yes please!

5. Most vodka today is produced from grains such as sorghum, corn, rye or wheat.

(Fiber IS necessary in a healthy diet)

6. Some vodkas are made from soybeans (great source of protein), grapes (they are a fruit) and even sugar beets(Its on the pyramid in the vegetable section).

7. Vodka mixed with diet sprite is considered the drink of choice if you are looking to keep your calories down.

8. Vodka has no smell…which is great if your a mom and you need to hide in your room and cry and drink your vodka and then go back out into the house and pretend everything is fine.

9. If you are cleaning your house and you run out of cleanser, guess what, you can use vodka. So handy.

10. It looks like water, so if you want, you can even bring it to the gym. Nobody will know the difference. It’s not like they can smell it! (See #9)

So drink up and remember, with the rising cost of health insurance, you might just want to settle on the $9.99 special. You can even get it in cotton candy flavor! Can you say THAT about liquid percocet?

*Disclaimer: In no way is any of this information something you should take seriously. If you are under 21 and reading this, don’t do anything stupid and try to sue me, I have no money dude. If you are even younger and you are reading this, than there is a good chance your parents aren’t around because they are getting drunk on vodka right now. Mostly because you drove them to drink. Because you didn’t clean your room, do this dishes or got a bad report card. Punk. You should show them some respect by getting your friend with the fake ID to pick them up a bottle of vodka, just so they can tolerate you.

FILM SPOTLIGHT: III

Reblogged from beyondearthseries:

FILM SPOTLIGHT:

III

III is a 3D horror feature film being produced by TBA Productions, LLC; an independent 2D & 3D media production company based in Charleston, SC. The film is a hybrid of a slasher film with a creature feature twist in the vein of H.P. Lovecraft. TBA Productions is using practical effects to maximize the 3-D version of the movie and is filming a 2-D as well.

Read more… 1,387 more words

The Moment

The Moment

Pulling up in a cab at the Port Authority Bus Station, a shimmer of light in the distance caught her eye, causing her to look over her shoulder. There in the hot July sun was the one building she had dreamt about. The place where she would one day be listed as a best-selling author. A heartfelt sigh escaped her lips as she whispered to the universe “someday”. Then she spun around on her heel and walked proudly into the station knowing that someday would come sooner than later.

*Beyond Earth Series coming soon to a bookstore near you…

Masquerade by Arlene Lagos

“Winner of Best Romance”

Masquerade

by

Arlene Lagos

 

I’ve spent most of my life living on a small island just off the coast of Maine, a wonderful tourist attraction in the summer. My family and I owned a modest grocery store that we took turns working at.

Growing up here had its pro’s and con’s. There were only fifteen kids even close to my age on the island. We attended school together every year at the little brick house at the bottom of the hill. In many ways, it was great because we were all so close. So close, however, that it was only a matter of time before we broke off into couples as our parents before us did. That’s how I came to be with Roger.

We lived three houses down from each other, attended the same school and when that ended, neither of us went to college. Instead, we became our parents; I worked the cash register at the store while he bussed tables at his father’s Inn. My future was already written. I’d be engaged soon, then married, pregnant and before I know it I’ll be walking my own kids to the same school at the bottom of the hill.

Except that I don’t want this life. For over two years now, I’ve seen my friends around me happily except their fate, but something inside of me wants out. I want out so bad that if I could run off the island without sinking I would do it. The problem wasn’t Roger or even the island. The problem was that I wanted more. I wanted to see the world, meet new people, and experience new things.

I always loved summertime when the tourists would come to stay and talk about the big cities they lived in and all the experiences they had. I would eagerly listen to their stories, hanging on every word that dripped off their lips and then go home at night and dream about someday being able to do the same.

Then one day, opportunity knocked and I answered. A traveling dance troupe out of NY was spending the weekend on the island. They were having a masquerade ball at the only place that had a big enough banquet room, The Wayside Inn…where Roger worked. I had often dreamed about auditioning for a dance troupe like this. Perhaps if I could sneak into the masquerade party in disguise and dance for them just once; maybe they would like me and take me with them. A foolish girl’s dream, but I had to try.

Nighttime arrived quickly and the music from the festival was singing through the trees as people lined up to enter the Inn. Nervously, I stood there greeting people with a nod or a wave hoping nobody from the island would recognize me.

Everyone was dressed so colorfully and the music was blaring, bringing the entire island to life. “This is what I want,” I whispered to myself. I watched in awe as people broke off into groups and danced. I knew my time was coming and I was ready. Then something strange happened. Everyone cleared the dance floor and Roger walked up on stage with his father to make an announcement. The blood quickly drained from my face as I prayed they had not recognized me.

“Thank you all for coming to our beautiful island, we are happy to have you here. Our honored guest has arrived and I believe is ready to dance for you. Ladies and Gentlemen, Serena Ayer.”

The spotlight came on and I stood up in shock. My parents, neighbors and friends all got on stage; their eyes fixed on me. My favorite song was playing, the one I’d been dancing to all these years, all this time. I pulled off my mask and let down my hair. Tears were rolling out of my mother’s eyes just as they were mine. They had done this for me. They had brought them here…for me.

The crowd stood up and began clapping in unison cheering me on. This was my moment and without further hesitation I leapt onto the dance floor and danced for my life. My heart was exploding with freedom as I looked around the room staring at the friends and neighbors I spent my whole life with, the same people who pulled together for one moment to make one girl’s impossible dream, possible.

I wrote this for the June Short Story Contest from my writers group on LinkedIn.
Here was the criteria I had to follow:

Setting: A Waterfront Location

Theme: Planning can lead to success or a desire to escape

Inner Conflict: Someone does not want to be there (the reader should find out why – Example: it is revealed that someone has a fear of boats)

Highlight: a camouflaged villain, a mask, or a disguise

Genre: your choice (Mystery, Romance, Suspense, Thriller, Sci Fi, Fantasy, Horror, or a mixture)
Type in English – a minimum of 500 words, a maximum of 750 words.

Above photo courtesy of: Michael Whaley, Curtain Ninja Productions