#DailyPrompt: Twenty-Five Seven

Twenty-five sevenThe rain has not stopped, and as you walk through the room, your long hair falling on those beloved shoulders, I think of the day you came back.

That day, as today, the reflection of the grey clouds, the low sunlight, played on your face: the face of a long lost lover, who came back, on that last second of the twenty-fifth hour.

For this miracle, I am forever grateful, as I follow your gracious steps, enthralled, ignoring the sound of artillery beyond the city limits.

You and me know: this is a hundred years war, and soon, there will be more of us than them.

Soon there will be more living dead in this fight than living, and we know that we will triumph, at the last second, of the twenty-fith hour.

#FiveSentenceFiction: Confusion (for Pâris)

René JaquesAs ever, she was pleased to see him, and could sense how much her visit meant to him.

She delighted in the stories he was telling her, followed the spell of his voice, watching his lips intently: she knew of her power over him, and she knew how much she was at his mercy, without him knowing.

Now, in his presence, she forgot the long nights of regret and fear: here she belonged, both mistress and slave, at his side, at the side of this human being, who did not know who she was.

Her eyes on his mouth she was caressing the back of the beloved head: she could feel his body relaxing, getting closer and warmer.

For the power of Aphrodite is beyond mere human understanding.

#DailyPrompt: Opening lines

Inspired by Take my Hunger, Inkubus Sukkubus

Max Ernst ~ “Euklides”, 1945Your love is crashing through my veins,

I do not know where, when it will stop,

I don’t want it to stop – I seek the forever,

And you, I know, you seek this blood,

Still human, for a few more days,

Perhaps… And then I will be like you:

A deathless monster.

Image: Max Ernst ~ “Euklides”, 1945

Full lyrics of Take my Hunger (© Inkubus Sukkubus):

Your love is crashing through my veins
Your heat has far eclipsed the day
Let nought but hunger take the pain
We’ve lived as those who’ve lived for fame

Take my hunger
Break my anger
Steal all madness
Slake my thirst

All those who would condemn our love
Know not the beauty in your sun
We’ll live for that which must be done
Release the bird to soar above

Read more: Inkubus Sukkubus – Take My Hunger Lyrics | MetroLyrics

#FiveSentenceFiction: Rain

RainOn the small balcony he looked at the slow traffic down on the street: the city was near silent, in a thin mist of rain.

He would take a picture of the buildings, at the junction, this time on a high enough aperture to see the drops falling, and the dream-like quality of the scenery.

But now, he felt her presence behind him: and soon her hand on his shoulder, her angel voice whispering in his ear.

She was back, the slim shoulders, the firm thighs, strong hands to handle a strong man.

And the wonderful sex that would follow, as the rain fell on Faust’s city.

#FiveSentenceFiction: Pages

In memoriam: Pauline Réage

Histoire d'OI read the words, the sentences, slowly turn the pages: your novel.

Looking back, through the mist of time, I imagine you, at night, under the feeble light of post-war Europe, patiently moving your pen along the lines, writing for him, just for him.

The woman you invented, was she you, was she your sister, your doppelgänger?

He wanted to publish, you were not so sure, after all, you would be the object of scandal, but his will was stronger: how could you resist him?

The story has survived the winds of fashion, and she, your heroine, is still in our hearts.

 

#SundayMusing: Susan holds the pen

Continuing the never-ending dialogue with those elusive characters, it is my pleasure to hand over the pen to Susan, perhaps the most sinful creation of this writer’s delirious imagination.

Leonard Cohen's quoteI dislike your introduction: yes, I recognise that you have placed me in situations that many readers may find distasteful. But, pray, remember that yesterday’s taboos are today’s fads, and, perhaps even, tomorrow’s traditions. The ancient Greeks and Romans, for example, had habits in cooking, dressing, and, yes, loving, that were anathemas to the Victorians. Und so weiter, and so on…

Still, I rather like what you have written of me and Paul, although, he, has another opinion of you (this will have to wait until he gets the pen!) I enjoyed the beginning of the story, and revel in the new “Retour à Roissy“, which is, really, a new beginning. I felt inspired to write this, and intend to continue the adventures of Myriam and O.  I am fascinated by O, and a little infatuated with the woman who created her. If we try and place ourselves in her time and place, the grim France of the after-War, a time of bigotry and falsehoods, that she could write a story of such audacity, was a miracle.

As for my relationship with Mistress G, I make no secret that we are very good friends – and more. She too is a source of inspiration, and I have learnt a lot from her. I do mean to ask her to train my new pet, you know, the one Paul drilled enthusiastically not so long ago. Miss G and Helen, are, in a nutshell, what I aspire to become, in the fullness of time, with pet. Yes, I hear from your corner of the room, more question marks than I will bother to answer: I do not crave your intimacy. You are the writer, not, underlined, not, my lover.

By the way, you haven’t given pet a name. Shall we call her… Justine? I know, not very original for this genre, but, Justine appeals to me, and it will suit her too. Talking about names, I have to say you confused us, Paul and me, totally, with the tale of the multiple Melissa’s. How many versions are they? Which one is “real”, which one is ghostly?

As for your style, and sense of storyline, well, to be absolutely honest, I think you are far too complicated. But then, it’s up to your readers to judge! See you around…

#VisDare 64: Awash

AwashThe small boat rested on the sand bank, shallow waters rippled by the light wind. She thought of the days spent aboard, alone, the hopes the journey had raised.

She was there now, standing immobile as a statue. In a few hours they would be reunited: her hero, his mermaid, as he used to call her.

Till then, she would watch the sunset.

 

#DailyPost: Climate Control #Fifty

Weather and people’s moods…

 

John William Waterhouse, FloraSunlight brightens her soul, then she’s sweetness and grace.

Low clouds and signs of rain and her eyes go misty: away with her dreams, lost to us.

Thunder and high winds push her yet further away, in a corner of her kingdom inaccessible to mortals.

Gaia is her maiden name.

Image: John William Waterhouse, Flora.