Rosi S. Phillips's Blog, page 5

Hatchet (Flash Fiction)

This is a piece of flash fiction. It's about a struggle many of us will, or have, faced. How can we live with ourselves when we've done something abhorrent to protect those we care about? I wanted to capture that question, examine it as much as I could. I hope I did a good job.

***
I'm in pain. Physical, mental pain. The high’s worn off and my demons are staring me in the face.
I'm ashamed to even look at myself. I knew my pupils are dilated eclipsing the blue irises, and it's all streaked with red veins. I never used to take drugs. Straight and narrow; that was the road I walked, punctuated by the occasional bump and dip.
That was before her.
Even thinking about the woman makes bile crawl up my throat. I haven't eaten for a couple days. I don't want to. My dad's starting to notice. It's getting to be a problem. My entire life is getting to be a problem.
"Bury the hatchet, Jules," I say to my reflection.
I gnawn a hole thrown my cheek as ants crawl along my skin and my hair bursts into flames. That's how it feels anyway. The dealer told me coming down would be bad; he hadn't lied.
Reaching for the faucet, I turn it on, cup my hands under the cool running water, and splash my face. The cold invigorates me, wakes me up, slaps me in the face. I need more than that.
"Bury the hatchet, Jules," I mumble under my breath as I remember what I did was right; was good and fair and...
I snarl at myself in the mirror, wanting to smash the liar staring back at me in the face. "Bury. It."
What I did wasn't right. No matter what topping I put on my shit, at the end of the day, it's still shit.
I bite down hard on my cheek and wince as blood flows over my tongue. I swallow, and it hits my stomach with the impact of a rare steak. It hurts. I need to eat.
I run my wet hands through my hair and stare back at my reflection. I smile, but it's forced. So I'd killed a dangerous serial killer. That was great! I'd saved at least a dozen intended victims, rid the world of one more evil, and saved a kid.
What did it matter that the woman had been my lover? That we'd been engaged? Looking to adopt? She'd killed people. A lot of people.
"You did the right thing." I’ve been repeating that to myself for five days, fourteen hours, and about fifty-seven minutes. I'd shot her just as the clock chimed the hour.
I hear a knock at the door, but before the person on the other side can speak, I call out: "Just a second."
That’s a lie. I need more than a second, and more than cold water drying on my face. More drugs would be destructive, but great. It would help with the speech I about to give. Help me smile and blink past the flashing cameras and say that I would continue to serve the great city of Minneapolis, continue to protect and honor the badge.
I wasn't the first officer to shoot someone close to them, someone they knew, and I wouldn't be the last.
"Bury the hatchet, Jules," I say to myself again. 
I force myself to stand straighter as I adjust the tie on my uniform so it's neat. I pick up the uniform hat and tuck it on my head, wide bill covering my eyes.
I was a murderer about to smile and play the savior. I'd killed someone. That stain would always follow me, always be apart of me. I just had to take it one day at a time, make a speech, smile at my partner, and get drinks with friends. I'd still be a killer, but maybe the meaning would change over time, switch to something like protector.

I reach out for the doorknob and pull the door open. My trigger finger twitches, but I just ball my fist and stride out. Everyone thinks I did something right. Maybe I did, maybe I didn't, but none of that matters now. This wasn't for me, it was for all the families I'd saved, all the people alive because I pulled the trigger.
That's why I need to do this. Accept the pain as a new part of me. I just got to wrap my bloodied hands around a shovel, dig a grave, and bury my hatchet.

*If you liked it, please consider voting for it on tallenge. http://www.tallenge.com/vote/vote0.aspx?vid=b3b7d69f-8c99-4d46-a609-476e0329b6bc 

Author Spotlight: C. Rose (Works)

Since I've been posting my stories and poems online, I've met a lot of wonderful writers. That is why I have decided to do an author/poet spotlight whenever I meet a truly remarkable individual over the web. I'll do an online interview with them, and post some of their content, and links so you can read more of their work.
Here is some of C. Rose's favorite works (note: each new poem is separated by three red asterisks):
***Against the WindOne by one we walk down the lane Jane and John turn left at the corner Scamper past the white picket fence and leap into the open arms of their parentsOne by one we walk down the lane Mary and Beth turn left at the corner Flop onto the freshly mowed lawn and laugh at their parents scoop them upOne by one we walk down the lane My brother and I turn right at the corner After a block the pavement ends We stick to the side of the road Even though his shoes are getting muddy I make my brother walk on the dirt side It's safer The wind picks up My frizzy hair two days unwashed Flusters behind me My brother clutches my arm He still thinks the wind can carry him away I used to think that but it never did My feet firmly planted on the road I lead my brother home The wind resists, pushing us back Warning us away But where else have we to go?I hear shouting before we enter the alleyMy brother flinches but I lead him on wailing cursing mocking smashing I feel him quiver against me

We skip the splintering step

the door stretches above me

tall and ominous and uninviting***
Raisins: SenryuI'm sick of waitingFor your shriveled promisesLike rancid raisins
***Call of the Drum: VillanelleI heed the call of master's drumA call that can not be outrunBut at what point do I succumb

Nobody knows from where they comeWe only know they've just begunI heed the call of master's drum

Ka Thrum - Ka Kra - Ka Kra - Ka ThrumThey've heard the drum, go one by oneBut at what point do I succumb

An inner beat we can't flee fromDon't wage a war that can't be wonI heed the call of master's drum

No notion of what we'll becomeMy people gone I come undoneBut at what point do I succumb

The sound takes me and I go numbNo more to feel the loving sunI heed the call of master's drumBut at what point do I succumb***
Roses: Tanka

A dozen red onesDethorned passion on my stoopI do not want thisToken of his love for meMy secret admirer***Icy Road: Terza Rima

It's too dark to read in the car.I need to know the next wordCould be “bitter” or “bizarre”

Both would make the sentence absurd.All around us is an ocean of whiteSigns and signals beyond blurred.

Magically, the car takes flightBut the seat belt won't let me go.Pretty please, can I have a rewrite?

I wake to the world wavering to and froAnd the high beam lighting up center stageMy book and Daddy strewn on the pristine snow

Like the first few words breaking in a blank page***Sun: Haiku

Kissing my frecklesYour warm touch caresses meWish you wouldn't set
***
Fickle as Fate: Sonnet

You hear the men who cry of fickle FateSo shocked she gives her gifts to other menAnd so they enter life's absurd debateOn how to make her theirs alone again

Knock once on wood to call her out, or twice.Throw salt about and rub a rabbit's footWith fingers crossed they blow on lucky diceUntil their bank accounts are left kaput

For one last joke on these poor mortal menThe trick that always takes them unawaresWhile she may choose to bless them now and then,That lovely lady, she was never theirs

And now, dismissed by fortune, doomed by luckAt least they've learned to never give a … duck***Neat Little Box

He looks at me.I look at him.He sees my sloppy braid,my jeans with the shredded cuffs,the cartoon on my hoodie,the bite marks on my pens.He looked at meand put me in a neat little box.I look at him.I see his gorgeous hair,his gorgeous eyes,his gorgeous mouth.I looked at himand put him in a neat little box.We pass each other.I do not look back.I doubt he looked back.Because we know who the other is.He is in his neat little boxand I am in mine.There is no getting out of it.A happenstance inspection,a first impression,a set of characteristics,and already I know,and I know he knows,that I am in my neat little boxand he is in his.So we won't look back.He will find someone in a box like his.
And I will sit here alone.

Author Spotlight: C. Rose (Works)

Since I've been posting my stories and poems online, I've met a lot of wonderful writers. That is why I have decided to do an author/poet spotlight whenever I meet a truly remarkable individual over the web. I'll do an online interview with them, and post some of their content, and links so you can read more of their work.

Here is some of C. Rose's favorite works (note: each new poem is separated by three red asterisks):
***Against the WindOne by one we walk down the lane Jane and John turn left at the corner Scamper past the white picket fence and leap into the open arms of their parentsOne by one we walk down the lane Mary and Beth turn left at the corner Flop onto the freshly mowed lawn and laugh at their parents scoop them upOne by one we walk down the lane My brother and I turn right at the corner After a block the pavement ends We stick to the side of the road Even though his shoes are getting muddy I make my brother walk on the dirt side It's safer The wind picks up My frizzy hair two days unwashed Flusters behind me My brother clutches my arm He still thinks the wind can carry him away I used to think that but it never did My feet firmly planted on the road I lead my brother home The wind resists, pushing us back Warning us away But where else have we to go?I hear shouting before we enter the alleyMy brother flinches but I lead him on wailing cursing mocking smashing I feel him quiver against me

We skip the splintering step

the door stretches above me

tall and ominous and uninviting***
Raisins: SenryuI'm sick of waitingFor your shriveled promisesLike rancid raisins
***Call of the Drum: VillanelleI heed the call of master's drumA call that can not be outrunBut at what point do I succumb

Nobody knows from where they comeWe only know they've just begunI heed the call of master's drum

Ka Thrum - Ka Kra - Ka Kra - Ka ThrumThey've heard the drum, go one by oneBut at what point do I succumb

An inner beat we can't flee fromDon't wage a war that can't be wonI heed the call of master's drum

No notion of what we'll becomeMy people gone I come undoneBut at what point do I succumb

The sound takes me and I go numbNo more to feel the loving sunI heed the call of master's drumBut at what point do I succumb***
Roses: Tanka

A dozen red onesDethorned passion on my stoopI do not want thisToken of his love for meMy secret admirer***Icy Road: Terza Rima

It's too dark to read in the car.I need to know the next wordCould be “bitter” or “bizarre”

Both would make the sentence absurd.All around us is an ocean of whiteSigns and signals beyond blurred.

Magically, the car takes flightBut the seat belt won't let me go.Pretty please, can I have a rewrite?

I wake to the world wavering to and froAnd the high beam lighting up center stageMy book and Daddy strewn on the pristine snow

Like the first few words breaking in a blank page***Sun: Haiku

Kissing my frecklesYour warm touch caresses meWish you wouldn't set
***

Fickle as Fate: Sonnet

You hear the men who cry of fickle FateSo shocked she gives her gifts to other menAnd so they enter life's absurd debateOn how to make her theirs alone again

Knock once on wood to call her out, or twice.Throw salt about and rub a rabbit's footWith fingers crossed they blow on lucky diceUntil their bank accounts are left kaput

For one last joke on these poor mortal menThe trick that always takes them unawaresWhile she may choose to bless them now and then,That lovely lady, she was never theirs

And now, dismissed by fortune, doomed by luckAt least they've learned to never give a … duck***Neat Little Box

He looks at me.I look at him.He sees my sloppy braid,my jeans with the shredded cuffs,the cartoon on my hoodie,the bite marks on my pens.He looked at meand put me in a neat little box.I look at him.I see his gorgeous hair,his gorgeous eyes,his gorgeous mouth.I looked at himand put him in a neat little box.We pass each other.I do not look back.I doubt he looked back.Because we know who the other is.He is in his neat little boxand I am in mine.There is no getting out of it.A happenstance inspection,a first impression,a set of characteristics,and already I know,and I know he knows,that I am in my neat little boxand he is in his.So we won't look back.He will find someone in a box like his.
And I will sit here alone.

Author Spotlight: C. Rose (Interview)

Since I've been posting my stories and poems online. I've met a lot of wonderful writers. That is why I have decided to do an author/poet spotlight whenever I meet a truly remarkable individual over the web. I'll do an online interview with them,  post some of their work, and links so you can read more of their stuff.
Today's poet is C. Rose. I virtually sat down with Rose and asked her a few questions.

***

Hey, C. Rose! Should I call you C or Rose?
Rose is fine, thanks.
Great! I’m so happy you could join me today, Rose. I love your poetry; it really is fantastic. So, let’s just dive in then, alright. First question: What does your writing process look like?
When I'm writing poetry I have two possible processes. 1. When I'm not particularly inspired, I start with the rhymes, and then discover a theme that fits well. 2. When I'm inspired, I write free form from start to finish like “Against the Wind” and “Neat Little Box”.
Oh! Free form, that’s interesting. So, it’s more of a flow thing, writing when it comes to you, right? I loved Neat Little Box, it was one of those poems that really spoke to me, got under my skin. Okay, next question: do you have any strange writing habits (like standing on your head or writing in the shower)?
I love whiteboards. I dislike that with computer screens and sheets of paper you can't see all your thoughts at once. I keep a stack of blank loose leaf with only possible titles written at the top of each page next to a good pen. That way when I'm on a roll everything is set up. Sometimes when inspiration strikes, it comes as the last line of a poem and I have to work backwards from there, like with “Icy Road”.
Wow, that’s an interesting process. White boards… Hmm, I’ll have to give it a try one day. So, Rose,  I know your poems inspire a lot of other poets—myself included—but are there poets that inspire you?
Hemingway's “Iceberg Theory” is the core of how I write. I jump in knowing that 9/10th of my ideas will never leave the white board. For example I probably had near a hundred possible words and phrases written, before narrowing it down to create “Sun: Haiku”.
*eyes bulge* A hundred? That’s a lot. So, is there a specific writing style you take after, and use?
I consider my writing style under construction. I enjoy challenging myself to different forms and writing prompts. At my current stage, I give more to the mechanics of writing than to emotion, but I understand they go best hand in hand.
Under construction? That’s an interesting way to look at it. What do you consider to be your best accomplishment?
I am proud of the success my “Promote Me!” project has had on Writer's Cafe. The last contest had near 400 submissions, and readership of the winners increases significantly. Through it I have met some great writers and feel like I am making the most out of the site's resources.
That’s incredible! I knew the promote me group was popular—that’s how we met after all. hehe—but I didn’t think it was so massive. That’s amazing that you were able to do that and get over four hundred submissions. I guess this next question should be hard with the way you’re headed: where do you see yourself in ten years?
Somewhere it rains. Somewhere the winters aren't so painfully cold. Even if I don’t become a writing all-star (I am realistic about the odds), I imagine a lifestyle for myself where I have the time and space to continue to pursue writing.
That’s nice, but I’m guessing Canada is out of the question? LOL I wonder then, have you always like to write?
Yes, but not poetry. When I was a teenager I didn't write a word of poetry because I didn't want to fit the 'emotional teenage girl' stereotype. So I stuck to stories. I'm glad I got into poetry, even though I resisted it for years.
“Emotional teenage girl” stereotype? LOL I fit that one to a tee when I first started writing. So,  what writing advice do you have for other poets?
You don't have to pour your soul into every piece. You don't have to limit yourself to “writing what you know”. Delving into word play has value. Trying to embrace something you know nothing about has value. I've never walked home from school. I've never been neglected. And yet I was inspired to write “Against the Wind”.
Fascinating. I’m assuming with all the poetry that you’ve written, you get a lot of reviews. Do you read your reviews, Rose? Do you respond to them, good or bad? And do you have any advice on how to deal with the bad?
I always read my reviews. They are great motivation to keep writing and can guide me in their opinions of what is or isn't working. I always respond to the bad, though I usually wait a few minutes to make sure my response is not defensive. I sometimes respond to the good. I don't always know what to say to a compliment. “Thank you” feels too generic, but what else can I say? Besides, I don't want to drag the reviewer back to my writing if I can't add something new to our conversation.My advice on how to deal with the bad is to try and see it from their perspective. I once had a reviewer say “well this is a whole lot of nothing isn't it”. I waited a day until the comment didn't feel so personal, and then realized that by associating an accent with a foolish character I had insulted the reviewer. My response was to apologize for offending them, but I also pointed out how “whole lot of nothing” was too harsh. They ended up apologizing too. Sometimes all it takes is pointing out, as neutrally as possible, that the review was insulting.
That’s great advice I need to take myself. *nodding head* What is your least favorite part of the writing process?Sitting still and following through with a piece after the inspiration has already run its course.
Haha! I have ADD so I totally understand that. I can hyperfocus or I can’t focus on anything at all. *wide grin* So, um, is there one subject you would never write about as a poet? What is it?
Sex. I respect it as a valid topic for other poets and authors, but I'm not planning on trying my hand at that topic any time soon.
Oh! I would love to know why, but I think your response would be personal. Sex is, after all. Okay, what are you working on now? What is your next project?
I’m juggling several projects. My personal favorite is an online comic I am co-creating with a long time friend. We spent years in a heated debate over the plotline and characters. At long last we are in agreement and (I hope) are a few months away from posting.My next poem is titled “They don’t tell you”. It is an attempt to move away from technical poetry and try my hand at emotional poetry.
I’ll have to read it. What is the one big thing you want people to know about you and your poetry?
I am more concerned with mastering the power of words to move others and create beauty, than conveying a particular emotion of my own. I understand this is not standard for a poet, but I would prefer poets from the other school of thought stop implying my way is lesser or even pitiable.
Well, you are certainly on your way. You have a very precise, yet eloquent speech that draws a person in and makes them think. I’m sure everyone is wondering this: where can people find your work?
I have a few pieces scattered on other sites, but most of it is on Writer's Cafe and I spend most of my time there too. http://www.writerscafe.org/clange
Nice, nice. What is one of the main messages you want people to take away from your poetry?
I hope that they feel like it was worth the read, like something shifted in them, at least for a little while.
Awh, that’s nice, Rose. I definitely feel that way when I read. *soft sigh* It’s like I’m back in my childhood, memories are dredged up. It’s good. Do you see writing as a career?
Definitely. The only question is will I be doing technical writing for others or creative writing for myself. If my own writing falls through, I hope to make a living writing instructions for independently developed games. My family is big on games. My father has sold several different games. My brother created the card game “Nexus” http://nexuscards.wikispaces.com/, and I am currently play testing my game “Five Mages”.
Wow! That’s really cool. So, are you all like a family of techies? And this is the last question I promise!
Pretty much, but my mother is an artist. She’s always turning our family photos into paintings and sketches that will be wonderful to hand down to the next generation.
Really? That’s awesome! Okay, I want to say thank you so very much for doing this interview today. It’s been great talking with you and learning more about you. I hope that everyone will read at least one, if not more, of your poems. I know I’ll be scouring the writers-cafe for your aforementioned poems. :)
Thank you for interviewing me, Rosi! I had a fun time and it made me think about what writing means to me.
No problem! Oh, so I helped you? That’s funny. I thought it was the opposite. :) But I’m glad you enjoyed yourself, and that you were able to take the time out and do this little interview with me.
*All of C. Rose’s poetry can be found on writers-cafe.org, and a few of her poems can also be found on my blog.*

Peaches and Bane (So I'm Not a Vampire?)

If you don't know these names, then there is a problem.  Below are the first few chapters of my new Mystery Girl series. In it you'll meet Peaches and Bane and their friends. Trust me, you're going to laugh. It's unlike anything Ive ever done before. I hope you enjoy!

***

Prologue: To be Un-dead or Not to be Un-dead, That is the Question So... I'm pretty sure I'm a vampire. I'm not going to jump the gun and declare myself a blood-sucking, night-walking, sun-hating vamp just yet, but I'd bet my last bar of chocolate I'm right.See, at the moment, I'm lying on this super tacky metal slab freezing my—if I was a man—balls off, with this scratchy, washed-way-too-many-times sheet over top of me. Oh, and I'm butt naked.  Now, I've seen about a ba-gillion crime shows and I'm almost positive that I'm in a morgue. Just one more thing that proves my whole vampire theory.But I guess you're probably wondering "why was your first thought vamp?" The main reason: I died. I'm one hundred and ten percent positive about this one. You see, it all began at my super-duper hot now-ex-boyfriend’s house. Me, being the cute and sincere girlfriend I am, decided to bake a batch of brownies and take it over to his place. Did we (mainly I, since both we both knew I always end up eating two-thirds of the little pieces of chocolate heaven) really need brownies? Hell no! I was, well... am, pushing a size sixteen, and my long, bottle-red hair just ain't covering up that double chin anymore. Getting back on track, I brought brownies. Rob and I had been dating for about two years, give or take a month—which in my mind is six months too long without a commitment of either shared living quarters or a ring. But I'm a patient girl, and I thought Rob was worth it. He had this whole cute boy-next-door thing going on, and was just a little wilder cause he had a motorcycle. Did he ride it? No, but he had it, and that was all that counted.Again, I'm getting off topic. I do that a lot. My mom says I have ADD, but she acts the same way so I think it's more genetic than anything. Some parents share hair color with their kids, my mother and I share a short attention span. But back to the reason I'm pretty sure I'm a vampire and one hundred percent sure I'm dead. I went to see my boyfriend, yada, yada. Brought brownies, yada, yada. Caught him fucking the Chinese take-out man— Oh, wait! I didn't get to that part yet. Yup, I found my boyfriend ass up, taking it from behind, while our Chinese take-out guy rammed a pretty impressive piece of equipment in his ass. To say I was shocked would be an understatement. I hate to be one of those people, but I really would have preferred to see my boyfriend with his dick in a size negative one, supermodel chick instead of the way I caught him. It wasn't just a blow to my self-esteem, but also a blow to my womanhood. There's nothing like seeing your boyfriend getting the business from another dude to remind you of that extra muffin you ate, and the  few extra pounds you'd put on lately. I, being the entirely rational person I am, stood there and screamed my head off like a banshee. Of course, Rob heard, but instead of getting limp and having his dick fall off as it should have, he came. That about sealed the deal for me. I turned in a whirl of neon pink skirts and marched out the front door. At the front steps, I realized I still held the freaking brownies in my hands, and instead of just taking them with me, I decided to chucked them while I took a step. Clumsy me stepped wrong in my matching neon kitten heels, turned awkwardly on my ankle, fell, and cracked my head on the pavement in front of his house. All I remember is a hazy feeling of pain, my ears ringing, and then darkness. I also think I remember seeing blood, but it just could have been a distorted image of my pink dress, because I'm pretty sure the thing had flown up and I was flashing God and everyone. So, here I am, laying in what I assume is a morgue with a very fresh memory of my death; my very humiliating, very embarrassing death. I just hope Rob lied to my parents and whoever came to collect my body, and made up some believable story about how we were having passionate sex in front of his house, and he was just soooo good that I came and died. Now that is a death I could get behind. Got sidetracked again. Silly little Peaches. Oh, right, I totally forgot to tell you my name, it's Peaches. Well, my nickname is Peaches, but my real name is Georgia Kent. In grade school my grandma used to come and pinch my cheeks and say: "chubby little cheeks, just like a peach, and good enough to eat." From that moment on I was ridiculed and my nickname became Peaches. Now, I'm Peaches the Vampire. Wow does that sound stupid and wrong. But I mean, what other explanation is there to my sudden rebirth in a morgue? Scenario one is that the brownies I may have 'sampled' on my way to Rob's house were contaminated, and I was now a zombie. Only thing wrong with that scenario was I didn't smell myself decomposing, I could form complete thoughts, and I was craving chocolate, not brains. Scenario two would be that I'm in a coma. This one I could maybe get, if I didn't feel freaking, freezing cold—I mean like Hell's probably warmer the little box I was in. And why would I imagine myself in a morgue if I were in a coma? That didn't make any sense. Plus, I read somewhere that people in a coma don't dream, and it doesn't really feel like a dream but cold, harsh reality. Option three—which is the one I'm sticking with until someone or something, proves me wrong—is that I'm a vampire. Fact: I got a mosquito bite two weeks ago that hasn't gone away. Maybe it wasn't a mosquito bite but, like, a vampire bite. And, aside from the whole zombie thing, I don't know any other creature that can come back to life, Frankenstein excluded. Then there's the possibility that I could still be alive, but the paramedics must have been really stupid if that's the case. With all the technology we have, I find it un-be-lievable that they wouldn't have made, damn sure I was six feet under before they placed me in a morgue in preparation to be put, well, six feet under. You know, Peaches the Vampire is starting to grow on me. Has that sort of epic quality like Dracula or other vampires I can't think of right now. Vampire Peaches. Yeah, I can get behind that.
Chapter 1: Maybe It's Cranberry JuiceAbout ten minutes into lying on that deathly cold slab, I decided it was high time to move my vampire ass into gear. I mean if Twilight, Blood Ties, Moonlight, Buffy, Angel, and the million other vampire movies and shows were right, I had super speed, super strength, and very soon I'd need blood and a dark place to sleep when the sun rose. Though since I was in a freezer for dead people, I wasn't sure if it was night or day, I decided to chance the odds based on the whole 'vampire internal clock’ thing. But then again I could've just me made that one up. Mustering my strength, I lifted my once flabby, weak human arms and used my new vamp strength to push the door open and then watch it fly off the hinges and into the wall. Sadly, this didn't happen. The door barely gave a creek under my vampire strength and it sure didn't fly off anything. "No big, powers probably just need time to... uh, get here or something." Other vamp movies portrayed new as being as weak as newborns. Since I was a fledgling vamp, maybe the same applied for me. Meh, that explanation worked. It took forever and a day to finally get that stupid door open, but sheer force of will got the job done. I was surprised no mortician came to see what all the racket was about, but it was probably well past midnight and everyone was probably home. Now, I'd like to say my emergence from the freezer was elegant and graceful, but I'd be lying my big, fat but off. I pushed too hard and the momentum sent me flying, head first, out onto an equally cold white tiled flooring. If I wasn't already dead, I'm pretty sure the impact would have killed me. "Stupid, baby vamp strength." When I was at full vampire super-strength, I would lift an elephant with my pinky just because. I got up and looked around the room. It was pretty big with three silver rolling trays in the middle with a lamp overhead and a giant wall of square, silver refrigerator. I have to say; those TV shows really got it right. I guess I that was one of the reasons I wasn’t freaked out about the whole death and morgue thing. "Clothes, clothes, clothes," I mumbled as I looked around for a lab coat of something to throw over my nakedness. I spied a work jacket in the corner, and an instant outfit idea came to me. I picked up the sheet that had fallen off after my dive and twisted that around my body in a strapless dress sort-of-way. I cringed at the hairy ape legs I was sporting but promised myself a hot shower and a razor later. I threw on the jacket but couldn’t button the thing up. Apparently becoming a vampire hadn't made me instantaneously, super-hot. That sort of sucked, because going through the rest of my undead life as a size sixteen sounded about as appealing as a low fat, dairy free, gluten muffin. I shuddered at the thought. My stomach rumbled at the thought of food, but drinking some rando's blood didn’t hold as much appeal now that I was actually among the ranks of the undead. How actors made the process of drinking that sticky, metallic stuff look so hot and sexy amazed me. But then again they had darkened cranberry juice or something. “Hmm, cranberry juice.” I shook my head as I stepped out of the room and into the white-on-white hallway. “Get your head in the game, Peaches.” I had this terrible habit of talking to myself in the third person. My friends liked to count how many times I did it in a day. I really cut back from the hundreds it used to be, but every so often it creeps up on me. Though now that I thought about it, I really wouldn’t have to cut back anymore. I mean, I no longer had any friends because everyone knows vampires can only be with other vampires when they’re newbies or they go on a rampage of blood, guts, and gore. I wondered how long it would take me to get to that stage; probably not long given the rumblings in my tummy. “Oh blood, oh blood, oh where can you be,” I sang quietly as I walked through the building, peaking in different rooms in the hopes of finding my new liquid food. “Don’t you know, don’t you know, I’m freak-ing hungry.” On the fifth door I opened, I smelled blood; not like an overwhelming amount, but like someone got a bad cut that needed stitches bad. Sadly, my fangs didn’t pop out and I didn’t go psycho over the smell of it. Again, I chalked it up to me being new. I spied a glass fridge in the corner with baskets of blood inside. I peaked in and saw blue and red baskets with blood bags that with the Red Cross symbol on them. I snatched an O neg bag and closed the fridge. “Yum. Blood.” My voice might have lacked excitement, but that was only because when I was a human blood grossed me out. I guess the transition just, like, took longer. Maybe it had something to do with my age. I feel like twenty-seven is sort of old in vamp years. It was particularly old, decrepit, and nearly expired in human years. Maybe because I was older it was talking my powers longer to emerge. At least, that’s what I told myself. “Bottoms up, Peaches,” I sighed to myself as I sank my teeth into the bag and got... nothing but plastic. Several minutes of gnawing on the bag later, and I finally poked a hole in it. It was sort of like drinking a super gross—I mean delicious, Capri Sun. So the taste wasn’t the best, but maybe O neg wasn’t my favorite. Plus, I bet it would have tasted a lot better from the warm, heart-beating source. Still, blood tasted like, well, blood. And after two minutes of trying to gag it down, I decided that maybe blood wasn’t really what vampires ate. I mean, Marcelline on Adventure Time (one of my guilty pleasure shows) just sucked the color out of red stuff. Maybe the same applied to me. Maybe red apples, cranberries, and cherries were what I needed to eat. Well, I had all of eternity to find out. But, first things first, I needed to find a way out of the creepy blood and dead bodies infested place. There was no going home, but I’d been, uh, camping and I could rough it for a night. Plus if worst came to worst, I could see if my vamp mind-control powers came in yet. Now that would be cool!
Chapter 2: Pot Calling the Kettle Black It didn't take me long to find a way out of the morgue, or should I say University Hospital. That's right; I was undead in my old alma mater. A few feet to my left was Chittenden Hall, and right behind that were a bunch of other halls. It was both comforting and creepy to be back at my old school, especially considering it was summer and there was no one around. It didn't exactly give me a warm, fuzzy feeling to be a vampire on campus. Oh! That could totally be the next title of a movie! Then, reality set in and reminded me that while the bright, full moon and empty university did paint a great vamp horror flick, it didn't really work for me considering I was the ideal candidate to be killed first. I was white with bright hair, though it was red instead of blonde, and big. Don't get me wrong, the quaint charm of the place was still there, but it was all starting to give off every horror flick vibe ever made. "Fuck." It was the only thing I could think to say as all my bravado and most of my naive hope fled the building. For one, the closest I'd ever come to 'roughing it' was setting up a cozy little pink tent and a portable DVD player on the deck of my house. My mom brought out cookies and classic funny camping movies. Then, when I had to go to the bathroom, I just opened the door to my house and moseyed on up to my bathroom. Yeah, I'm a regular outdoorswoman. I could always break into one of the buildings or hope that a door was open somewhere, but there were two problems wrong with that. The closest thing I'd come to breaking in was watching it done on TV, and I was hungry. I didn't trust myself not to go H.A.M—Hard As a Motherfucker—on some poor unsuspecting cop and suck all his blood out. I mean, maybe I could live off of strawberries and red wine for the rest of my life, but that was a discovery for another day. "Why am I not surprised to see a white woman alone at night on this campus? There must be a stupid, willful endangerment epidemic going around," a deep, male voice snickered. I'm surprised I didn't get whiplash with how fast my head turned. There was no one on the sidewalk with me, just a flickering streetlamp. The place was practically screamed that a serial killer was going to step into its sporadic spotlight, and smile at me. I tried to peer into the darkness, hoping that some of those stupid—I mean awesome vampire powers would finally manifest. "Who's there?" "Oh? Can she mean me?" "No shit I can mean you," I bit off, cranking my neck this way and that to see into the shadows. I didn't know what I would do if the voice really did belong to some kind of slasher, bad guy but screaming and begging for my life were at the top of my list. The irony of my thoughts set in a second later. Here I was; the freaking walking dead worrying about a serial killer. What was the worst he could do? Kill me? Been there, done that. And, I mean, I watch a lot of karate movies, so I was about 99.9 percent sure I could take the guy on. But instead of a dude, a fat black cat strolled out. The thing twitched its tail, and—if cats could look aggravated—gave me an aggravated look. "Well, aren't you the pot calling the kettle black?" I looked hard at that cat, because I was pretty sure it had just spoken to me without opening its mouth. Oh God! Was I becoming crazy from hunger? Was the next step me breaking into the drugstore and stealing all their dried cranberries and strawberry soda? "And she calls me fat," the voice snickered.
"Mind saying that again?" I had no problem picking a fight with a cat if the thing really was talking to me. When I was nine, I almost punched a parrot because it kept saying y breath smelled like butt. Am I proud of that? Well, maybe not, but that stupid was a total dick. "Ah, so you can hear me. That's quite interesting." The cat moved towards me and circled me like I was prey. It was weird considering the thing could come to about my calf. A sort of weird fear came over me, one I couldn't explain. It was like that time I was watching Craig Kosicek, this nerdy fifth grader, getting picked on by these douche-y seventh graders. One minute they were pushing him around, and he was saying quit it, and the next he had one of the guy's ears in his mouth and was biting it off while he punched another dude in the face. The kid went from sweet and nerdy to viscous animal in a second. That's how I felt about the cat. "A more apt word would have been frightened," he said as he came to a stop in front of me and sat back on his haunches. "The story was unnecessary.” "Maybe I'm missing something here, but cats aren't supposed to talk, right?" Aren't I clever? No shit cats didn't speak! It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure that one out, but the whole dead girl and talking cat thing had me using half my normal brain cells. It only occurred to me a second later that the cat could be a shape shifter or fellow vamp. Maybe I was giving off a supernatural vibe now that I was a vamp that welcomed all the boogie men and paranormal romance stars. Hmm... Maybe I'll meet a single alpha werewolf with a dark past and a giant schlong. That would be perfect. "The better question would be: why are you hearing me?" His tail twitched as he got up and turned back into the darkness. "And could you please think of something else besides sex? It doesn't exactly help your case when all I can get out of your mind are quick, jumbled thoughts along the same lines as Sookie Stackhouse and Stephanie Meyers." The fact that the cat was well versed in vampire pop-culture surprised me. Weren't all supernatural beings supposed to be like centuries old, use big words, and talk with a transylvanian accent? I heard a metal jingle come from the shadows the talking cat was in. "What do you mean 'help my case'?" The cat emerged with a set of keys dancing on his tail. With a quick flick of the appendage, he threw the keys at me and I caught them with my face. Nothing like a cold, metal key to the forehead to wake a girl up. "Never mind, it's not important now," the cat replied. He sat back down on his haunches, licked his paws, and gave me a curious look. "Would you mind driving me back to my hotel? I'm a bit tired, or I'd do it myself." Was a cat actually asking me to be its chauffeur? This day just couldn't get stranger. From dying to finding out I'm a vampire and then meeting a talking cat, I'd have the best story since, like, Jesus. Maybe that's how I'll get rich! Sell my life story to Hollywood. "And hope that they don't either call you crazy or give you to the government for testing? Smart girl aren't you?" I flipped the stupid cat the finger. "You know what? You can just drive yourself home!" I turned sharply, willing to take my chances with the school buildings and security. "Fine," the cat said flippantly to my back, "but you're not a vampire. So you can stop thinking that you're going to bite some security guard. You won't." Again, I wasn't sure how I didn't break my neck with how fast I turned. Oh, and if cats could look smug, this one was looking like he just convinced a canary that his mouth was a nest. "What do you mean I'm not a vampire? Of course, I'm a vampire." He shook his head and licked his front paws again. "No, habibi, I'm a vampire. You, however, are a mystery." I barked out a laugh as I looked at the pudgy cat and watched his tail flick in agitation. "You? Shouldn't you go find Sabrina or something, Salem?" The cat stood up and stretched his limber body, the action looking more dangerous than a killer brandishing a gun. "Ah, Sabrina the Teenage Witch joke, how original. Are you going to drive me, yes or no?" So those were my options. Trek into the great unknown with a talking, fat, black cat who claimed to be a vampire and said I wasn't a vampire, or take my chances with the university. I couldn't even count how many heroines had been given a similar choice of one or the other, this or that. Why were there always only two choices? Why not like three or ten? "Are you really a vampire?" I finally asked because well, I couldn't really think of another choice. "Yes. Are you going to drive me?" I sighed. Here was my life. I went from K-Mart manager to cat chauffeur in the blink of an eye. "Yeah, what the hell." I clicked the keys to unlock the door and spied a smooth, sexy red-hot Lamborghini fifty feet away. I couldn't help the low whistle that came out of my mouth. "I'm Peaches by the way." I said as I walked side by side with the cat to the sports car. "Bane," the cat supplied. "And if you think of a pun, I'll scratch your eyes out." It was on the tip of my tongue too, or the tip of my thoughts. What a name for a cat, but it worked perfectly for my situation. Peaches the vampire and Bane the cat. "You are wrong on so many levels, habibi," Bane purred into my mind as we walked together to the car. Chapter 3: Birthday Suit Crisis mode. Here I am, faced with God’s gift to womankind in the bed—naked!—next to me. I mean, mother fucker, this dude was hot. I mean fiery, smoking, scream-your-head-off hot! Chiseled features, rock hard… everything, and chocolate skin you just wanted to take a bite out of. I couldn’t help it. I freaked out a little. Okay, I lied. I freaked out a lot. I dashed to the bathroom, and just barely stopped myself from slamming the door. I flipped on the shower and started pacing around the room. I didn’t even notice how nice it was, or how shiny and new everything looked. One thing was on my mind: the black Adonis in my bed. “Ohmygod. Ohmygod. Ohmygod.” I couldn’t think of anything else. I tried to scream my head off, but it only came out as a little squeak. I crouched, made myself as small as I could, and tried not to freak out more. It was just... me, Georgia Kent, didn’t get to sleep in bed with men like that. It didn’t happen—not in this world anyway. If I wasn’t being confused for a lesbian because of the hair choice, I was being attacked or snubbed for my weight. Long ago, I’d understood that I would have to settle, have to live with having 'good enough' instead of great. Of course, even that was messed up because 'good enough' ex-boyfriend, Rob, had been gay. Which all proves my point: sexy, hot men did not sleep in the same bed with me unless we were re-enacting Misery. The bathroom started to steam, and I started to sweat. It was only then that I realized I was naked. Yet again, I was butt naked. I came crashing to my knees with my palms flat on the heated, black marble flooring. Did I have sex with Chocolate Thunder over there? Oh my God, would I have gorgeous, caramel babies who look like little angels with soft, curly hair and exotic eyes? In that rather large bathroom, naked on all fours, I designed a whole life for myself and this mystery man. I mean, my imagination went above and beyond, past insane and right into bat shit cray. I looked at the ceiling through my mess of red hair and shook my fist dramatically. "Why God? Why me? How could you do this to me?" Yeah, it surprised me when I didn't win the part of Little Orphan Annie in my fifth school play. I had melodrama down to a science. Shake fist. Rant. Cry. Plead. Look up and see naked Adonis in the doorway of the bathroom. Wait. One of these things doesn't belong. "What are you doing, Peaches?" the man said, looking at me like I was crazy. Well, I mean I was acting a bit bonkers, but he was also standing there in his birthday suit. And then his voice hit me. I don't know why the voice didn't register automatically, but a second later it did and my jaw dropped to my boobs. "Bane?" He raised a questioning brow and stepped right over me like I was a puddle in the floor. It was only then that I realized it hadn't been fat the black cat named Bane had been sporting yesterday, but muscle. He looked over his shoulder and winked at me, the kind of wink that let me know he knew he was hot, knew my panties had gone up in flames, and knew that very soon I'd be under him. Man, did the guy have chatty eyes. It took me another second before a good dose of modesty and reason kicked in, and I grabbed a towel and wrapped it around myself. Yeah, like that was going to do any good now. I looked up to see Bane step into the shower and water rush over his brawny muscles like it wanted him. That's right, the water was horny. And so was I. I couldn't help what my eyes did, if I wanted to. Suddenly they were looking at the back of Bane's head and the next they were looking at his butt. Oh, and what an ass it was. Tight and round, the type of butt you could bounce a quarter off of. "Peaches," he said warningly as he grabbed the soap. "Out." Apparently I was a dog now. I glared at him, spared one more, longing glance at his tight, muscular body then stormed out of the bathroom. I could tell when someone needed their privacy. Thankfully, time away from the super-hot Bane allowed me to think, and take note of a few things. One thing I noticed immediately was that we were in a really nice hotel suite. Not room, suite. There were clothes for me in the closet, and they all looked like my size. It wasn't like what you see in the movies, with rows of shoes and jewelry and stuff, but there was a skirt, pair of jeans, clean underwear, and the bare essentials. It was also dark outside, which didn't really help Bane's 'you're not a vampire' case. There was a mini fridge, thankfully, and a pack of M & M’s. I decided to put my red theory to the test while I waited for Bane. I didn't change into the clothes because I wanted to shower first, but I did pop a squat in front of that refrigerator and meticulously sort through little pieces of chocolate candy. I didn't really eat the red ones but instead sucked off the red sugar coating. My stomach rumbled and grumbled in protest to the meager offering of sugar-flavored spit. "What are you doing?" I didn't whip my head this time. Bane had this habit—could I really call it a habit if I've only known the guy for twelve hours—of sneaking up on me. "I'm eating." He came around and I could smell fresh, slightly musky male. Hmm... I almost licked my lips. He barked out a short laugh. "Are you licking the sugar of the red M&Ms?" I looked up, and up, and up at him. Damn he was tall. "And what if I am?" My shoulders squared and my tongue was limber and ready to lash out at him if he said I wasn't a vampire again. While eating, I'd thought a lot about what he said and how I didn't believe jack squat of it. For all I knew this man could have been a serial killer, the mosquito that bit me, or not the cat named Bane at all. His lips quirked. "I am the vampire named Bane." I bit the inside of my cheek and winced. "Whatever." He sighed and vaulted over and onto the couch. "Go get a shower and get dressed. We're going out." I scrambled up and slapped my hands on my towel-clad hips. "Don't I get a thank you for driving your sorry ass back home?" He threw me a roguish smile. "Thanks for driving my sorry ass back home." I stared into eyes that, on closer inspection, were dark brown and not black. I so wanted to punch him in the face, but the guy had answers, and boy did I need answers. I turned around and stomped in the direction of the bathroom. "Stupid prick." "I heard that," he called out as the TV blared to life in the living room. "Good."

*Want to read more? Full story (sadly unedited, but I'm working on that) is up on Literotica, Mibba, Wattpad, Booksie, and Webooks.*

Poet Spotlight: Christian Gallagher (Interview)

Since I've been posting my stories and poems online. I've met a lot of wonderful writers. That is why I have decided to do an author/poet spotlight whenever I meet a truly remarkable individual over the web. I'll do an online interview with them,  post some of their work, and links so you can read more of their stuff.
Today's poet is Christian Gallagher. I virtually sat down with Christian in and asked him a few questions.
***Hey, Christian! Thanks for stopping by.
No problem, Rosi; thanks for having me.
Of course! Let's get started then. I want to first start off with saying I love your work. It's really fantastic, and very descriptive.
Thanks. I really enjoy writing it.
First question: What does your writing process look like?
Chaotic and incoherent at times. I literally brainstorm for hours until I have something totally unique and off the wall. I form lines in my head and try to format them in verse. Then I try to put it all together in a perfect cohesive piece of work, that hopefully will send a powerful message and a visual one.
Interesting. That must drive you crazy sometimes. LOL Alright, second question:  Do you have any strange writing habits (like standing on your head or writing in the shower)?
Honestly, I do push-ups and squats when I'm writing. I feel it helps with blood flow and keeps the endorphins going.
Really? That’s... ehem, nice. *blush* Okay, moving on. Third question: Just as your poems inspire other poets, what poets have inspired you?
T.S. Elliot, Poe, and Walt Whitman.
Oh, I love them! T.S. Eliot's The Waste Land is a classic as is walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass.  Fourth question: What do you consider to be your best accomplishment?
Making it through a hard life and not being buried six feet deep. I still have a long ways to go but I am proud of where I am, considering where I've been.
Wow. I would love to pry, but I’m not going to. I’m just happy you weren’t buried six feet under so we can do this interview, and I get to read your work. Next question:  Where do you see yourself in 10 years?
I hope, and I pray, to have a great writing career in any form or fashion. I love the freedom it gives me and to get my creativity out to others. I want to be able to affect others in a positive way.
Awh. That’s fantastic. Have you always like to write?
Every since I was a teenager I was writing, but I lost it for a very long time. I forgot the ease at which I do it and the relief it gives me.
Nice. I’m glad you found it. So, what writing advice do you have for other poets?
Just write from the heart and don't let anyone influence who you are as a writer. Be unique and push the boundaries of what is known as "poetry".
Great answer. I might have to steal it LOL I’m joking of course. So, I have this problems myself, but do you read your reviews? Do you respond to them, whether they’re good or bad? And do you have any advice on how to deal with the bad?
I try to respond to everyone uniquely but sometimes falling behind I have to give a short "thank you." I use the bad as a learning device. You're not always going to write something that everyone likes.
Ain’t that the trust. *nodding head* What is your least favorite part of the writing process?
Dealing with ADHD and trying to sit long enough to get the jumbled information into a cohesively written piece. Other than that, I could write non-stop, I love it that much.
Haha. I have the same issue. I’m like a squirrel when I’m writing. I know you love writing, but is there one subject you would never write about as a poet? What is it?
Racism. I do not nor condone racism. I see grey when I see people. Everyone is equal and are just as human as I am. Inside we are all the same color.
Well said. *smile* So, Christian, what are you working on now?
Next thing will be concentrating on "The Guardian of Dreams,” which I hope will turn into a novel series, assuming I can get myself to sit and do it.
Oh! Very cool! What is the one big thing you want people to know about you and your poetry?
That it comes directly from the heart and is a product of a chaotic mind that longs for order.
Where can people find your work?
For now most of all my poetry and lyrics can be found on Writers Café. I will hopefully be putting together some writes that will warrant publishing, soon.
Well, I look forward to seeing your work published some day—hopefully soon. *wink*Thank you so much for stopping by, Christian. This was definitely eye opening, and a lot of fun!
*You can check out Christian Gallagher's work here: http://www.writerscafe.org/chrismicha77

Poet Spotlight: Christian Gallagher (Poems)

Since I've been posting my stories and poems online. I've met a lot of wonderful writers. That is why I have decided to do an author/poet spotlight whenever I meet a truly remarkable individual over the web. I'll do an online interview with them, and post some of their content, and links so you can read more of their work.

Here is some of Gallagher's favorite works( note: each new poem is separated by three red asterisks:

[image error] imagine
imagine... the possibilitiesof the impossibleare possible
imagine... you are here with menext to mea part of me
imagine... slow subtle kisses running along your skinfirm strong hands caressing your fearsreleasing them back into non-existence
imagine... your body below the canopy of mineresearching the contours of your soulconnecting it back to the Heavens
imagine... your hands held above the top of your headreaching for the infinite light of lovereleasing it into the darkness of your universe
imagine... wrapping me inside your womb of timeweaving new pathways into the vital life line of your beingas I enter the cascading walls of your heart
imagine...us existing in the confines of spaceas we close the gap of distance in betweenthe separation of you & me
Just imagine... you & mein ourpossibleimpossibleofpossibilitiesin imagining.



***

Par-a-dox : something (such as a situation)that is made up of two opposite things and that seems impossiblebut is actually true or possible.
~
He said "Why are you always on my mind?"Her response "Because I need somewhere to sleep."
She said "Why are you always on my mind?"His response "Because I need a reason to exist."
~
There are two versions of my life.That exists on two parallels.Both equally lucid.Both seemingly impossible.Because something so amazing,shouldn't exist.
One version -You dance in my mind daily.
The other -You dance on my perceived reality,through spatial distance.

The Paradox:
Am I thinking you into existence?
or
Are you thinking me into existence?
 ***

Transit of Venus
On the other sideAs the war split the world in twoI let go of your hand and said "Goodbye" to you
I saw your heartDrifting into the battlefieldsLeaving scars that would never heal
From the underside My heart ripped my chest in twoLeaping out to come after you
Not far behindThe moon and neighboring stars alignedJoining forces to be by our side
Just on the edgeOf the gap in-between the worldThe moon and stars gave my heart a hurl
It landed hardIn the warring side of the EarthDrawing swords it began the search
Now guided byThe stars brilliant internal lightYour heart began to shine so bright
With swords in handIt charged through the dark forcesAnd with our hearts it stabbed the sorceress
From the darkI saw you coming back to meAnd the stars returning to the galaxy
So from here on outWe will stay closer than we've ever beenInside me you will hide if it ever happens again
Now,We'll watch from afarAs she's born into the lightHer blue eyes will pierce the night.

***

Pink Romance
The shedding of cherry blossomsFalls upon her facePink romance slips its breathUnderneath the lure of her skinThey dance amongst her spiritEmbracing her essenceBecoming her
Twinkle little starsIn her eyesDust her in electric dreamsDraw her into your heartShe is now a part of you tooNow release her back to meCovered so elegantlyIn pink romance
Whispered in reverberationKeeping her in secretThe jewel of the galaxyEchoing her back down gentlyUpon the flutter of dragonfly wingsCarrying her into the nightSparkling in pink romance
She's asleep and waiting for me once againWhere I always find her in my dreamsWaltzing the island I built for herCovered in cherry blossomsOn shores of diamonds covered in pink romance.

***
[image error]

Star of the Horizon

Will you lie with me in loveFrolic through fields of seeded dreamsSleep on soft pillows of spoken wordsFrom the forever waterfall we will leap
I can see the horizon of dancing starsKnowing your eyes light them up brighterOn the water they burn holesAs I watch your soul transform them higher
I wanna be in your arms tonightJust once is all I needTo guide your heart into meSo I will wait here on the edgeHanging on every wordOf the world...thatYou are to me
So open your eyes and seeWhere the horizons meetCause I will forever beUnder the stars of you and me
I fell into you hardNot even my dreams were safeYou invaded every partAnd filled in all the empty space
So,I wanna be in your arms tonightJust once is all I needTo guide your heart into meAnd I will wait here on the edgeHanging on every wordOf the world...thatYou are to me
I know that the miles stand in-betweenSo,Just look at the horizon and seeCause I will forever beUnder the stars of you and me.

***
[image error]

Candyland.
~
The scent of Apple Blossoms was lofting from the steam exiting the gap in the bathroom door
It was as though it were leaving satisfied, having fulfilled its purpose and okay with its reincarnation
I could imagine the exotic wonders that it had seen
As it surrounded your body with an epic dance of seduction
Fogging the mirrors view from seeing you touching the places of blessed sins
As your hands glided to and fro - in and out
Each stroke causing ripples of pleasure to quiver the smooth muscles of your frame
Brain-tingling sensations ushering in the thought of me entering the shower door
Looking you in the eyes, reaching a forbidden place of animalistic desires and me reading every thought, as you succumb to what is about to happen
No resistance as I pin you against the back wall and turn you around in a dominant position
My hand gripping the back of your hair pulling your taunt lips to mine
The other hand slowly running its way to the now pulsating calls of your throat
Squeezing, has you feel the life being drained and given back by another
You are now in realization that this moment is under my control
Your back now arching, telegraphing your desires of what you want done
But lest you remember that I control you
And I the author of this moment
Whimpers echoing deep from within your core vibrate down my abdomen into my now throbbing & aching sword
As it readies to stab and slay your deep animalistic needs
Both wrists are now in my full control and your hands are now pressed firmly to the tiles
Keep them there and don’t move them
Both of my large hands grab you by the waist pulling you onto me
You shutter in animation as I enter your sweet dripping forbidden fruit
Your Garden of Eden is now sinfully mine
Fevered in my erotic state I pick up the pace
Each stroke gaining momentum - pushing out moans from the animal deep inside you
And then I begin to feel the elixir beginning to build deep from with inside my loins
As it rushes up through my medicine stick, injecting you with copious amounts of the cure
The beast now releases its last deepest moan of satisfaction and retreats to its slumber


As do I.

Fun Facts: Tuoni

So, I'm reading the first book over (CFT) and I realize that I absolutely love Tuoni's character. I mean, he was really fun to write for me, and is unlike any character I've ever written.

So here's a couple of Fun facts:
The name Tuoni is actually the name of the god of the Underworld in Finnish mythology. My mom loved this little bit because she's Finnish.
Most of the rhyming things Tuoni says i.e. "My mind flickers like a flame on a wick. Answers come to questions unasked. And I am nearly dead." are actually lines from poems I wrote. I write a lot (like a ton!) of poetry, and I really wanted a easyto incorporate that into the story. Tuoni's character fit my strange poems to a tee.
Tuoni was not molded after anyone and I've never met anyone like Tuoni. I might have watched a show, or even read a book, with a character similar to him (though I can't recall any of that) but he's not modeled after anyone like most of my characters.
*And here is one of my favorite scenes featuring Tuoni is Can't Fight Time :

“Do you know what makes a truly good story, Nina?” he asked suddenly.
Nina could tell that he was in another place. She decided to treat him like she treated her father, with the sort of patience and softness a parent had for a child. Smiling gently, she shook her head and waited for him to continue.
“One that is both fantasy and reality. In a world that mirrors ours, so we can understand it, see it, but never go there. But you have gone to that world, my dear.” He turned and smiled widely at her, like she’d just told a very funny joke. “I’m not sure if you’re human.”
Nina felt her spine stiffen. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”
He turned away and looked straight ahead, repeating the chant: “My mind flickers like a flame on a wick. Answers come to questions unasked. And I am nearly dead.”
The king paused, almost like he had no choice, like an invisible tether cut him short. “You are nearly dead, Nina, and yet you know so much more than you should.
“My opinion is irrelevant. It is like a mouse having an opinion about a lion—” he turned and bared his teeth in what only a fool would call a smile. “You could crush all of us under your paws.”
Nina studied his profile, wondering if he was absolutely brilliant or completely bonkers. She decided on the latter. “Tuoni, I—”
“We’re here,” he interrupted, letting go of her hand to push open a set of double doors.
Nina hadn’t even realized they’d still been walking until he stopped. The doors spread wide and lead out to a balcony the size of a small room, shaped in a half circle. “Come,” Tuoni beckoned.
Her hands closed around the railing of the balcony, her eyes stretching wide to see the town, quiet and dark, then further to a forest so thick, that light couldn’t penetrate its canopy. “It’s beautiful!”
Tuoni chuckled softly as he came to rest beside her, elbows on the railing. “It is, isn’t it?” His voice held a note of longing.
“Tuoni...” Nina paused, not sure what she was asking for, not sure if she had the right to ask it.
There were too many questions buzzing in her head, some she couldn't even put into words. Instead of trying to narrow it down, search through her chaotic thoughts, she asked the first question that came to her lips. “What’s happening?”
There was something mysterious, yet comforting about the crazy king. Nina had a niggling feeling that he wasn’t really crazy, but rather trapped in a place where time blurred together and spun out until it eclipsed everything—consumed as it destroyed.
“We’re a dying people, my dear.” The king blew out a tired breath he hadn’t needed to take and gave her a waning smile. “Our blood has been left too long, never leaving, always the same. Humans were our only ties to keep us from the past, and without them we are slipping, falling back.”
“What?” Nina asked softly when he didn’t continue after a few moments.
The king’s blue-diamond eyes flashed with something like loathing, but Nina didn’t feel like it was directed at her. Still, the intensity behind it made her shiver and draw back.
“Absolute power corrupts absolutely.”
The man spoke in riddles, and it was driving Nina up the wall. One minute she’d think he was sane, and the next they’d be back to square one. She didn’t even know why she bothered. Nothing she learned now would help her anyway. Reapers, crazy kings, and mad scientist gods. None of it really mattered. Sure it made for a great story, and a pretty cool autobiography, but that was for people who had time.
People who had a life. Why bother with it all? Why bother with anything that wasn’t Grim?
Shaking her head, Nina returned her gaze to the softly glowing city. “I don’t understand what you mean.”
Tuoni’s voice seemed far away, once again in another time and place. “We are dying because we have nothing to bind us. Our humanity was stolen through time, because we stole humanity’s time. Circles.” The king’s voice became almost lyrical, his eyes glazed over; “We crave nothing, but there can never be nothing. The void is filled with power, absolute and corrupting, destroying everything like it used to. We slip back into the past and we die.”

***

Alright, those were some Fun Facts about Tuoni. I think I might do Fun Facts about all of my characters because they are all extremely complex.
Okay! Till next time!

My Plan

I know, I know: the best laid plans of mice and men go awry. I've heard that one enough times in my life to give me a serious case of planning fright, but I must forge on.

So, here's the plan:

In August I will—come Hell or high-water—publish A Grim Love: Can't Fight Fate. I will also be publishing the completely edited (hopefully I can find an editor) version of Flirting the Fence, with maybe a new title, So I'm Not a Vampire?, and the complete final revision of A Grim love: Can't Fight Time.

Why am I doing this you ask?

Well, part of the deal I made with my mom (that's write I have a mom I have to make deals with) is that I don't have to go to summer school or work (I have a two day a week job) so I can write. And since I have all this time on my hands, she's told me to move my butt and get everything out there. Yes, she is my biggest supporter, but also my nag-iest LOL

Anywho, that's the plan. And since my mother is also a techie—not a treckie LOL—she'll be taking care of my website along with a family friend of ours.

Now here's what I need from my fans (I'm going to assume actual people and not just bots are reading this):

 1) In the next two weeks So I'm Not a Vampire? will be finished. It is a short novella, but really funny. I need editors and beta testers. If you become either/or, you will be mentioned in my book and even have a character named after you! Incentive, incentive.

2) By the last week of July (little over a month) Can't Fight Fate will be finished, and I need beta testers. I already have an editor (love ya Matt, and I hope you'll still edit this for me) but I need my readers to tell me if I'm doing something right or wrong.

3) Same thing for Flirting the Fence. I hopefully have an editor, but I need beta testers, people who haven't read the story before but like contemporary erotica. At least that's what I'm calling it. And if anyone has an idea for the title, please let me know!

4) Last one. I need at least two beta testers for Can't Fight Time. The book will be complexity finished and revised in two weeks, and I need people who have NOT read the entire book to help m out. I need fresh eyes on this people.

What you'll get. Anyone who helps me get's a free copy of the book, either print version or e-book. They also get to give me their input (I think this one is great), and will be acknowledged in the book.  Um, um, um... I think those are all my incentives. But honestly, you'd just be doing me a huge favor and helping me become a better writer, so I can write more things you like.

I anyone is up to the task, email me directly! rosisphillips@gmail.com

Randomness, my Website, and a new scene

I don't know what it is about this week, but AGL has just whacked me in the face and said "write me now!" It's a very demanding story. LOL

But that's not why I'm doing this. So, I know some of you are a little angry that I'm (yet again) redoing the first book, but I promise that it is the last time. Cross my heart and all that jazz. I am also working on CFF which should be out in August, I'm making no promises though.

My website will be launched around the same time that the second book is out with an excerpt of the third book. I'm trying to write them all sort of simultaneously, but that's a chore.

Now, other stuff.

If you haven't heard yet, I'm also writing a new story which a lot of people have told me they liked. I need a lot more help on this one because it's sort of just a flow on conscious type thing and I think I'm too close to it to take a step back and see the big picture. So anyone who wants to read a funny vamp story, please hit me up (email me).

That's it for my updates. But here is a peak at one of my newest scenes from the first book (don't worry, there aren't many and you won't have to buy them to read the scenes):


“So glad you could make it, Your Highness.” The condescending words greeted Grim as he strode into the council meeting, and up the length of the room to take his seat at the head of the table.
Grim raised a brow at the council member’s tone, raking the other reaper with an equally condescending look as if he was measuring him up and finding him lacking. A hush settled over the room as Grim compacted his scythe and pulled the power back into his body. Sixteen members surrounded him, eight on either side of his chair, curving around the wooden, oval table. Brocade tapestries covered the windows with sconces placed on the walls in between them to provide light. The room was medieval at best, yet the creatures inside were not. Many of the reapers surrounding Grim were older than him by centuries, and many considered themselves higher than him because of it.
A smile flitted across Grim’s mind, though the action could not be duplicated on his skeleton face. He knew from experience, from centuries of training to serve in the compactly he was about to be forced into, that age was simply a number and that experience was what made a king.
Grim didn’t rise to the taunt thrown at him, but instead dived into the matter at hand. “I heard a PeaceKeeper found the remains?”
“Yes,” Samuel, an older member said with a rustle of his black cloak. Silver, thread vines lined the edges of the garment drawing attention to the red roses the silver threaded through. “Ashes were found outside of Diyu. It looked like three sets.”
Grim felt irritation rise and his power begin to seep out. Diyu was only a day away from the castle, barely any time for a reaper. The fact that the culprits of these acts were getting closer to his home did not make him feel well. From what Uriel and their father had told him, almost every province in the Bloodspurn Kingdom had suffered some kind of attack. Yet no one knew who the attackers were or who their victims were. The fact that no one had reported the reapers missing infuriated Grim and left a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.
“How many does that make?”
Someone coughed and another council member answered in a soft feminine voice. “Thirty-three, Your Highness.”
Grim felt his carefully constructed barriers break and his power saturate the room, until the tapestries swayed gently and the flames within the sconces flickered. Usually he could temper himself, command his power as an extra appendage, but finding out that a huge majority of his citizens had burned alive past the bone and right into ash angered him beyond his control. Someone was sending him a message, testing him as no one had done since the first few Bloodspurn Kings went on a killing rage to ensure their power.
Grim had wanted to be different, set a new example for his people. He didn’t want his kingdom to be revered as the fiercest or the bloodiest. War was not his aim, but Grim feared it would be an inevitability. One reaper was bad enough, but thirty-three was a slaughter. Thirty-three was a war.
“We think it is the Castoffs,” Krithi the only female reaper on the council said again. She was the only one in the room not wearing the cloak and bones ensemble and dressed in modern clothes. She was also the only member Grim had appointed himself.
He turned to her, staring her straight in the eyes. “But do we know it as a fact?”
She looked down and then cast her eyes around the room at the other council members. “No.”
This brought them all back to square one. Grim also suspected it was the Castoffs, but there were two things wrong with that assumption: one) if it was them, then they would have to go to war and Grim wasn’t sure the Bloodspurn Kingdom would win, and two) he was already engaged to the only daughter of the Castoff King. To attack now would be pointless and end in mass casualties and bloodshed. The only reason for their marriage was to avoid that outcome at all costs.
Grim sighed, long and loud as he leaned further back in his chair. “What are our options than?”
The man who had first spoken, lashed out again with vicious, condescending words, “Is that not while you are here, Highness? To provide us with options and to command your loyal servants?”
For years now, Grayson Raeborn had been challenging Grim. From the moment the Bloodspurn King had begun to lose his mind and Grim had taken over, the man had decided he wanted power and control. But everything came with a price.
Raeborn was willing to sacrifice his position, his family, and his own self in his pursuit of power. The man had lived centuries, manipulating which ever king came into power because the former was assassinated or some other thing. Grim knew that the most dangerous job in the Underworld was not of a Collector, Messenger, PeaceKeeper, Council Member, or Guard, it was that of a king. Paws, that’s all kings were; discarded as soon as they became inept and replaced with another pawn, by another Council. He had known this since birth, that the monarchy was simply a figure for the people to love and support. Grim knew that the real power lie with the Council of Guardians and the Watchers. His father had accepted it in exchange for having the one thing his heart desired. His father had forsaken his power, so that he could break a rule without consequences.
Grim was not his father and would not make his mistakes. The man would continue to challenge him, needle him until he seceded power and became another figure head. But that was not the person Grim wanted to be. He was going to be king, that had been his birthright always, but he would choose the kind of king he wanted to be.
“You challenge me, Grayson,” Grim’s words were soft, not a question but neither an accusation. He rose fluidly from his perch. “We are in a time of crisis, and you sit there and play power games.
“Have I not been lenient in my response to your attitudes? Have I not been fair?” Grim placed his hands on the back of the other reapers chair and felt Raeborn’s power lash out at him like a cornered animal. The temperature in the room dropped, so cold that the council members noticed the frost collecting on their cloaks and the icicles twinkling in the air. “You have tested me for the last time.”
Grim’s voice boomed with power as he stepped aside then hauled Raeborn’s chair back until it slammed against the wall. He was in front of the reaper in a second, hands gripped around the arm rest, body blocking the other reaper in. “I hereby sentence you to three centuries in the Puluto Desert.”
The command was absolute, laced with power even a reaper could not escape. It was the power passed down from each Bloodspurn King, absorbed from the ashes of their victims. He didn’t use it often, had never used it with a Council member, but then there had never been a point before.
Angry and outraged power flashed out, trying to coil around Grim, but with a single word he suppressed it. “Stop.”
Fear permeated the council room, thicker than any soup. It was a great motivator, fear. It was what built his kingdom, what had sustained it for years. Grim knew that, understood its place in the grand scheme of it all, but he did not like it. Fear was temporary, a thing that could be overcome by something even more powerful. Devotion, love, loyalty, those were the things of substances and eternity. Grim understood this, accepted that he would need them, and do anything to get them.
He turned away from Raeborn and to the council at large. “This inner bickering and power struggle will come to an end now. I am your king, the one you have sworn allegiance to. If you would like to challenge me, to try and manipulate me as your tool, then you can join Raeborn on his journey.”
Silence reigned in the room, and Grim knew he had just cemented his role. Too many of his people had died; too many things had been left unchecked for him to continue to pussy-foot around the issue at hand. He had to step up, accept that he would be king, that he would marry a girl many considered the enemy, and accept that he could not just think of himself in first person anymore, because he wasn’t just him, he was every single reaper in the Bloodspurn kingdom. They were the only ones who governed him.
“We are all in accordance then?” Grim spoke the words softly, his gaze lingering on every member of the council. No one turned away, no one spoke out of turn. This was a new beginning, a new term in their history.
Grim gave a quick nod and then summoned a fog to conceal his form as he shifted into his human skin. Half a blink later he stood before the Council of Guardians in form-fitting black slacks and a blue fisherman’s sweater that matched his eyes. He would not conform to their dictates, not suffer their nonsense. He was who he had always been, a Bloodspurn King. It was time he started to act like it.
Striding purposely back to his chair, Grim spared Raeborn a glance. “You may start your journey. Leave immediately.”
With mechanical movement Raeborn rose and then left the room. The minute the door closed, it was as if Grim could breathe again, like a huge weight had been lifted.
“We can take PeaceKeeper trainees and post them in different locations, ones that have not been targeted yet, but ones we suspect might be.” With that one line, thoughts and ideas began to flow easily in the room. Every council member voiced their opinion or ideas on the best course of action to ensure no other reapers in the kingdom died.
Grim relaxed back in his chair, letting his tight muscles unwind. This was the kind of council he wanted, one that was bent on the protection of the Bloodspurn people. Still, he could feel the dissension in the room, old ways clashing with the new. It would take time, Grim knew, to reach a state where each member thought of themselves as an extension of their province, but they had made headway.
And as all eyes turned to him for his thoughts, Grim knew that he had made the right call; that despite his lack of choice, being a leader was who he was. “It is decided than,” his voice boomed around the room as he stood abruptly. “We proceed with the wedding, but we keep close watch over the Castoffs. Take a few Royal Guards and place them in vulnerable regions. Try to find out who is killing our people, and what makes them a target. And if you have any other concerns or would like to speak to me privately, do so.” With that said, he left the room.