Tag Archives: story

Wet


I roll over in bed half-awake, or half asleep. I don’t really know what awakened me; I was having a dream, I’m sure. One of those dreams that so gloriously vivid you’re sure it’s real, but the second you open your eyes, the entirety of it is gone, and you aren’t even sure if it was there to begin with.

I spy my beloved through my sleepy haze, and a tired smile plays on my lips as I spy his naked shoulder emerging from the pile of fuzzy blankets. Even in the minimal moonlight pouring through the blinds, I can see the innumerable freckles dotting his skin like an insane connect-the-dots. I move my hand lazily across the bed to feel his skin beneath mine, but stop short when I feel a huge wet spot.

“Ugh. Gross.” I think to myself. I try to remember if the dream I was having was one of those dreams, and if this soaked area is my fault. I feel myself through my panties and don’t feel anything, but I’m a little more awake now, and begin to wonder what caused the wet spot. I think to earlier and the lyrics to a popular song come to mind: With a little bit of last night on these sheets... I grin in the dark. It’s certainly possible. But any of that would have been dry hours ago.

I bend my leg, and my bare thigh touches another spot, soggy like the first. I’m starting to get grossed out. “What the f?!” I almost utter the question aloud, but fear of waking my Rockstar. I drag my face off the pillow, where my cheek comes in contact with yet another cold, dank spot. I sit up, and wipe my face with my clean hand, sniffing it to see if I can figure out what it is. Nothing.

I try to kick the blankets off, but the dog is lying atop of them, and she’s way to heavy for my sleepy legs to lift. Her ass is facing the head of the bed, of course. It’s as if she is pointing her gaseous tush at our faces just to get us back for those times we leave her in the kennel. Just as I think it, she lets out a silent fart, that is truly gruesome in odor. I shove her butt away, disgusted, and she stands and turns so her droopy lips set right on my arm. I instantly feel drippy, and my arm is soaked like I just got out of the shower. Then it dawns on me.

I knew there was some reason why I didn’t want the dog to learn about sleeping on the bed. Because I didn’t want to wake up in a puddle of drool.

True story, bro.

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Memories of a Warrior Princess


So I woke up this morning, and the memories of one of my past lives came flooding back. Let me tell you who I used to be.

I do not recall my father’s name, nor my mother’s, but I remember the story of how they met. My father was riding his war horse through the forest on a mission from his king, when he stopped by a river to water his steed. As he approached the river, he saw a beautiful dark-eyed woman bathing in the water. He watched her with desire for a long while, until she turned and saw he was there. She was so angry at having been watched in such an intimate situation without having been asked that she picked up a stone from the river’s floor and flung it at the Knight’s head. She had very good aim, and the man immediately crumpled to the ground.

When he awoke, he was disappointed to find that the dark-eyed woman had had sufficient time to clothe her bosoms (and other bodily parts), but he was thrilled to find that she was caring for the head wound she had inflicted on him. He apologized for his indecency, and the woman replied, “It is not up to me what is done with you now. You have seen the nudity of a Gypsy princess. My father will decide your fate, and I must say he generally chooses death for those who offend his daughter’s honor.”

The knight rolled his eyes and said, “Well, perhaps his daughters should not skinny-dip in public rivers then.”

No man had ever before dared to sass the Gypsy princess, (her dad preferring death for offenders and all) and she decided right then that this sassy knight was worthy of saving, so she suggested that instead of going before her father, they should run away. The knight didn’t want to be beheaded, and the woman was gorgeous, so he was all for it. Soon after, I was conceived.

My parents had run all the way to the ocean’s edge, and one day, while my father was gathering supplies, my mother went out to the beach to look for seashells. Suddenly, a pirate shipped approached. As soon as she saw it, she tried to run to find my father, but being largely impregnated with me, she didn’t get far before the pirates overtook her. They boarded the pirate ship and presented my mother to the captain, who was reknown as a wretched and cruel man. He was impressed that my mother showed no fear, despite her precarious situation, and so he decided to keep her aboard and see what would happen.

After a few weeks, my mother gave birth to me, and named me Ula (which means jewel of the sea) because every time she looked out at the ocean, she was unimpressed by the endless miles of water that held no beauty for her. Only a week later, the pirate captain requested my mother’s presence in his cabin with the intent of having his way with her. My mother refused to have her honor taken away in such a manner, so she flung herself over the ship’s rail, and was eaten by a kraken.

The captain was heartbroken, because after only a few weeks, he had fallen in love with my mother’s beauty, and as he looked at baby me, now motherless, he decided he would raise me as his own, and teach me all the skills I would need to prevent myself from suffering my mother’s fate.

I spent the years of my childhood learning the ways of a sword, and the ways of a ship. I must tell you, I’m quite certain the bowels of that ship stunk like unwashed male bodies and much farting, but to me it just smelled like home. The captain loved me as his own, but when I was nearly ten, he told me the truth of my parentage. Because he was the cause of my mother’s suicide, I could not allow him to live, and so I slit his throat with the knife he was using to carve his swordfish. While his blood seeped out onto his dining table, I went on deck and demanded the crew to return me to the beach where my mother was captured. I informed them that I had murdered their captain, and if they did not obey me, their fate would be the same. Because each of them had had a hand in my combative training, they knew that I was not lying, for I knew every man’s strengths and weaknesses.

After a month, we arrived back to the beach where my life had been forever altered before my birth. As I waded to shore, the pirate crew stood aboard the ship with their arms raised in salute, because they all would miss me. I bore no ill will to them, because they had been my family, and because they had only been following the will of their captain when they had kidnapped my mother all those years ago.

I left the beach, and began the search for my father. Though I had never seen him, my mother had described him in great detail to the captain, and he had in turn described him to me before I had flayed him like a fish. As I wandered through the trees, I caught sight of a tiny cabin, and approached with the thought of asking the inhabitants within if they recognized my father’s description. There was a man chopping wood in the yard, and when he heard me approach, he turned, and I was face to face with my father. I knew it was him, because the captain had said my mother described his eyes as cerulean blue, such as she had never seen in her lifetime. I had no doubt that this was he.

When my father set eyes on me, all the color drained from his face. He told me later it was because he thought he was seeing the ghost of my mother as a child. (Apparently I looked alot like her) He said that after my mother had been stolen from him, he had considered returning to his king and begging forgiveness for his desertion, but something had told him to stay near the beach. He thought it was because he was to be reunited with my mother someday, and he could not hide the disappointment that it was me instead. Even so, we grew close, as a father and daughter should, and he was greatly impressed by my skills with a sword.

Several years later, we were hunting in the forest, when my father was attacked by a great bear. I happened to hit the bear straight in the eyeball with my arrow (lucky shot) and kill it. Sadly, my father had been mauled to fiercely that there was nothing I could do for him. He lingered between life and death for a whole week, until finally he asked me to grant him the reprieve of death. As the tears poured down my face, I placed the point of my sword over his heart and pushed. From then on, I was no longer known as Ula, jewel of the sea, but as Brona, which is sorrow.

But the story of my life as Brona is for another time.

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A Kid Story


So my Rockstar’s daughter doesn’t like to read. If you know anything about me, you will realize what a tragedy this is. Anyway, I wrote a story about her, hoping maybe she would get into reading. Sadly, since I didn’t include pictures, she wasn’t interested. Since I have nothing of import to post today, I shall let you all read it.

Last Wednesday, Emily Madison awoke with a jump

and she sat up real quick,

because she heard a great THUMP.

And she felt it too!

For there on her head,

all lumpy and warty,

sat a toad, calm as could be,

acting as though her head was some kind of party.

She opened her mouth to let out a yell

and you never would guess what happened!

Well, a bird flew right in there!

It’s true! I swear!

That bird flew right into her mouth without care.

Now, I have never woke up

with a toad on my head;

neither have I had a bird in my mouth while

I’m sitting in bed.

But I can imagine it would be quite hard to say,

“Help me!” or “What’s this?”

or something like, “Hey!”

Emily Madison, she huffed and she puffed,

but the only thing that even almost came out was, “MMMPPFF!”

That bird in her mouth was stuck in there good.

And the toad on her head wasn’t going anywhere, too.

So, Emily Madison thought hard as she could, and I must say, with the toad and the bird, that wasn’t easy to do!

She thought harder and harder, ’til her thinker was blue,

What could she; what couldn’t she; oh! what would she do?!

If she went off to school with this toad and this bird,

everyone there would think her simply absurd!

And really, that bird wasn’t tasting so great.

When it’s feathers tickled her nose, she gave her head a small shake,

and then, THEN…. “A-A-A-CHOOOOO!”

She sneezed. Then BOTH the bird and the toad flew!

With a PLA-PLA-PLA-PLOOEY!

Emily spit out a feather, and screamed at the top of her voice,

“Well, I NEVER!!!!!!”

Emily Madison never did quite know why

that morning that toad and that bird had stopped by.

But from that morning on, when she got tucked in at night-

She put on a hat, and she shut her mouth TIGHT!

THE END

 

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First Page


This is the first pages of one of the books I’ve started writing. I would have posted the prologue, but I couldn’t find it. You all should read it and let me know if it’s worth finishing. Any comments or feedback would be lovely!

The shadows from the torches danced hellishly against the stony walls. The giant’s steps echoed down the dark hallway as he lumbered, his steps so big that he was essentially dragging her to keep her by his side. His vice-like grip on her shoulder tightened, drawing a squeal from her lips, which she tried to suppress. The giant grunted in amusement. A fetid smell reached her nostrils, just as a hand reached out from the darkness and snatched her wrist. She did nothing this time to suppress the scream that had formed in her throat as she pulled her arm back from the skeletal grasp. As her eyes adjusted to the dim, she saw that the hand was not a spectre, but was connected to the body of a man that looked to be on the edge of death. His watery eyes were sunken deep in his skull, and his emaciated body was supported by the filthy bars he was behind. A gutteral sound came from the prisoner’s throat, as though he was trying to speak, but was to exhausted to form words. She felt a second of pity for the man before she was yanked further down the hall. Her heart began to beat furiously as she realized there were many more bodies in cells on either side of her.  Abruptly, the monster next to her stopped, and she blinked her eyes several times, waiting for them to adjust to the sudden brightness. When her mind understood what her eyes were seeing, her chest tightened as though she had been punched in the gut, and she tried desperately to take a breath. Her mother’s hands were chained and she hung slightly suspended so that the weight of her body made the chains dig grotesquely into her wrists, turning her hands a dark purple, Her beautiful hair had been shorn off, leaving her bloodied and naked body completely exposed. Fairon shrieked and tore herself from her captor’s hold, running to her mother. Completely oblivious to everything around her, she wrapped her arms around her mother’s legs, trying to lift her enough to put some slack in the chains binding her. Her tears mingled with the blood that made her hold slip, and she looked up at her beloved mother helplessly.
“What is this? What an undersized runt of a plaything you have brought me, Kamus. I shan’t be able to do much with this one.”
The voice was purely evil, and it sent a chill to the deepest part of Fairon’s bones. She turned, and  met the fascinated gaze of a man holding  a barbaric-looking whip. She wiped her eyes and met his look with a defiant one of her own. He raised an eyebrow and took a step forward.
“Then again, there might be enough fight in this one to amuse me for a moment.”
Fairon was rooted to the spot in fear, but she bit her lip to keep from crying out, even when she felt the whip like a bolt of lightning streak across her back as she protected what was left of her mother…
Fairon jerked awake and took a deep breath to calm the frantic beating of her heart. Her bedclothes were twisted around her and soaked with sweat, and she stood up quickly to rid herself of the restricted feeling. She looked out the window and saw no hint of the sun’s awakening. No, she thought, there will be no more sleep tonight. She slid out of her nightgown and into her everyday garb, suede leggings and a rough-spun man’s shirt, the collar of silver she wore tinkling softly as she did so. The riotous mass of curls on her head she yanked a brush through; swiftly and efficiently working the hair  into a braid that hung past her waist. She tied it off with a leather strap and pulled her boots on, grabbed her bow,then silently slipped through the cabin and out into the night.
The cabin sat in the middle of a clearing , along with a humble stable and a large corral. The forest surrounding the clearing was dense with trees and wildlife, and Fairon listened to the night’s music as she made her way to the stable. The night was clear and the moon shone brightly, so Fairon didn’t bother lighting the lantern that hung near the door. She stepped into the first stall and was greeted with an affectionate whinny by her horse, Sango. She slid her arms around his neck and breathed in the scent of horse deeply. The smell had a calming effect on her, and she relaxed slightly as Sango nuzzled her.
“Good morning, my Lovely. Sleep evades us both, hmm?” The horse nodded his head as if in agreement. “What say you to visiting an old friend?” She led Sango out of the stable and closed the creaking door quietly. The she grabbed a handful of darkest black mane and mounted the horse with the ease of a lifetime of riding horses. She leaned down, running a hand up the stallion’s glossy neck lovingly, and whispered into his ear. The two had been paired together for so long, they seemed as one as the horse obeyed her whispered command, and they rode into the trees on a path they both knew well.
As the horse followed the well-worn trail, Fairon tried to push the disturbing images of her night terror out of her mind, so she turned her thoughts to the old friend she was going to visit.
Bavrone had been a figure in Fairon’s life for as long as she could remember. When he was young, had been the King’s Bard during the rule of King Worlent, his days filled with spinning tales and singing songs of battles past to the court. His talent for weaving a heart-stopping story was impressive, but the politics of court and the celebrity that came with his position were not to his liking. His nights became dedicated to the study of herbs and medicines, something he had dabbled in before coming to court. Gossip spread that the Royal entertainer had become a healer, and soon he was overrun with nobility requesting cures for various ailments. Celebrity had once again got in the way of his plans, and he relinquished his title as King’s Bard, returning to the highlands of his youth. He had spent his next years concocting new healing potions and selling them to whoever found him. His fame had kept him in business for many years, until he mischeviously started a rumor that he had expired. Occasionally, someone would come looking for the fabled bard-turned-healer, and he would treat their illness; their payment being that they remain silent about the fact that he still lived.
As a child, Fairon had been completely enamoured with the old man, her every waking moment spent at his side. He had been old then; his bent back seeming to carry the weight of the world, yet he moved with a quickness that belied his age. His eyes were buried beneath heavy wrinkles and even heavier eyebrows, but when Fairon looked into them, she saw someone her own age. He had taught her everything about potions and ointments, all the while reverting back to his bard days, regalling her with intriguing tales of great battles and lost loves. In Fairon, Bavrone had found something he had never found in all his years at court; and audience who was enthralled with his tales who cared not a wit about politics or notoriety. By fulfilling his ambition, he had become quite a substantial factor in Fairon’s education.
Sango broke through the tree, and the moonglow gave Fairon a perfect view of Bavrone’s dilapidated cabin. One would never guess by looking at the exhausted building that the man who lived inside had once entertained kings. Fairon smiled to herself as she had the thought, and dismounted. Sango wandered a few steps away, searching for something to graze on. Fairon knocked on the rickety door, but got no response, so she gingerly pushed it open, cringing as it screached in protest. She had urged Bavrone numerous times to repair the door, as it was hanging only on one hinge, but Bavrone had dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand and the response, “If somethin’ ur somain wants tae gie in, they will if it’s fixed ur nae.” Fairon made her way easily thought the cabin, undaunted by the familiar messes that made up the decor. Herbs and vegetables hung drying from the rafters giving the room a rich, organic odor. Shelves of jars and viles lines the walls, and in one corner a brightly-colored bird blinked expectantly at Fairon. She drew some seeds she had collected on her ride from her pocket and offered them to the bird. It quickly took them from her outstretched hand and gave a satisfied nod.
Mumbling came from behind a table covered in plants. Fairon bent down to get a better look at the source.
“Having troubles, Old Man?” she said teasingly.
“Thes pest years ife lived in peace an’ noo fowk come tae test mah patience.” The wizened face peeped above the table for a moment. “Some plants Ah need can scarce be foond near haur anymair. Aam tay auld tae be traipsin’ in th’ wey o’ see ‘at some hen can keep ‘er guidman frae strayin’. Bavrone straightened. “Keep heem fat oan guid food ,Ah say, an’ he’ll be tay lazy tae wander.”
Fairon laughed. “Ah, but what good is a fat husband too lazy for love?”

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