Here we go. I also have detailed judge comments on the 5 entries that were culled. I’ll post later this week if there are no objections. She made some really sound points.
So you have until midnight New Year’s Eve to post your next line.
Ladies and gents, Have a Very Merry Christmas and Most Joyous New Year!
1. I stared at the nine men of my supposed dreams. Of my nightmares, more like, and theirs too judging by their stunned expressions as they stared back at me.
The show’s host said, “What’s wrong, Princess?”, the overdone innocence in his voice making it clear: this was no accident.
Horror and impotent fury spun through me, mingled with hatred of him for making me reveal the filthy trick the show had played on me.
“I’ve dated all of these guys,” I said, speaking with a calm I didn’t feel, not wanting to show him or the cameras how shaken I was. “And you knew that, Peter, since I listed them all on my application form, soâ€“”
Peter said, “No, I suppose you really can’t be on a dating show with your exes” in a tone suggesting he’d never thought about it quite that way before and what a fascinating world view I had. Then he smiled and said, “Madeleine-Cora, gentlemen, we haven’t quite been honest with you. You’ve been given various explanations for why you’re here, but now it’s time for the truth: the ten of you will spend the next twenty-one nights on an island at a secret location. You will live together and fend for yourselves, building a shelter and scavenging for most of your food.
2. During the course of his quest, Dair Curator had lost count of the number of women he’d slept with. He didn’t care if he’d gotten a reputation for being a womanizer. He only cared about correcting his mistake. Angels don’t make mistakes, especially ones that cause the death of a Mortal.
Looking out the apartment window at the red sun slipping beneath the rolling green hills, the twinges of homesickness threatened to grip his body again, like an addict gone too long without a fix. Even now, to ease the sensation of worms slithering all over him, he fought the urge to brush off imaginary creatures and pace. The longing for home a soul sickness, he had to control his body’s yearnings in order to survive in the Mortal World long enough to complete his mission.
“Why don’t ya come back to bed, so we can make it an even six times, Honey?”
He shot a glance at the bottle-dyed blonde who stretched like a contented cat on the queen size bed. Dair knew he’d given Gwendolyn just enough to leave her craving for more, but now the time had come to show her the letter.
3. Shattered like a goblet on a tile floor, Sarah Wild’s dreams lay in a tattered heap of shredded white silk and gossamer tulle. Her dress went from bridal perfection to remnants for the ragbag with her quick frenzy of ripping and tearing. She stomped from the remains of her dress and kicked it into a pile against the large tri-fold mirror.
A slow wiggle of her fingers conjured a fireball hovering above the palm of her hand. Bouncing it like a volleyball, she spiked it into the combustible material. Quicker than the flick of a wand, all that remained of her wedding dress was ash floating in the air-conditioned breeze of the bridal salon.
“I’m glad you already paid for that.”
Sarah whipped around at her sister’s mocking ‘I knew this would happen’ tone; ready to fling a fireball her way as well. Her head pounded with each heartbeat at the familiar pitying look in Suzannah’s eyes. She tore her gaze away, pointing a shaking finger at the longhaired, lowlife standing beside her twin.
4. “Ever heard the phrase ‘out of the frying pan into the fire’?” Dan muttered as we stared at the huge black mirrored doors.
“You know, that’s what I love about you, always the optimist,” I said, trying to convince myself there was no reason for my reflection to look so nervous. Beyond the doors subterranean bass pounded, vibrating through my chest like a warning. A warning I had to ignore.
“We can still leave,” Dan said, sounding calm but looking grim.
“This will get me off the hook with Lord Marco,” I reminded him. And, frankly, repaying a debt to the oldest vampire in Seattle was the only reason good enough to get me to walk through these particular doors. Into Maelstrom â€“ darkest of the city’s dark clubs â€“ and, worse still, into a meeting with the vamp who owned the place.
Dan frowned, rubbing the fading scar on his right wrist. “It will get you off one hook.”
5. For someone with Kate Atkinson’s unique talent, finding England’s most infamous pirate had been easy. Catching him, however, was proving more challenging as Black Jack Snow darted like a cat between the bawdy houses, alehouses and hovels squatting along the south bank of the Thames.
“Curses,” muttered Aunt Winifred between bosom-heaving breaths, “we lost him.”
Kate could think of more appropriate words than “curses”, most of which she’d overheard earlier while waiting for Snow outside a particularly unsavory tavern, but she refrained from using them in her aunt’s presence. Instead, she rubbed the talisman clenched in her fist. The midnight blue sapphire felt smooth against her thumb and the gold band of the gentleman’s ring grew warm.
In a steady voice, she chanted the words her mother had taught her many years ago before her death.
“Through this ring which I hold,
Through these eyes which I see,
Show me the one I seek,
Show him to me.”
The ring burned, branding her skin, but Kate didn’t let it go. If she did, the connection linking object to owner would be severed and the only chance she had of finding the one man able to help her would be lost.
6. Remorse, the malicious shit, saddled up and rode Sierra Talbot’s heels like a haunted horse the day she blew back into the heart of Simon, Michigan.
A town she hadn’t seen or lived in for five years.
A town she hadn’t missed.
“Take a left here,” Carrie Swanson said, flapping her hand at an unmarked intersection lined with a decaying array of single-wides. “And then *tell me* I didn’t hear you right.”
“I wish I could,” Sierra said, wishing more with each passing mile this entire episode would turn out to be a bad dream. But the nerve-gnawing reality of her situation slammed into her one vicious pothole at a time as she crawled deeper into Simon’s dejected underbelly.
Sierra Talbot was back and headed for the wrong side of the tracks.
“You’re going to live in your grandfather’s old house?” Carrie said, a healthy dose of cynicism lacing her voice.
7. There was only one coherent thought in Francesca’s mind as she huddled on the closed toilet seat, twisting her hour old wedding band. She needed to get the hell out of there, and fast.
“Easy said, harder done,” she muttered, the sound of her own voice bolstering her flagging courage.
Walking out of the reception with her head held high, lace veil floating behind her was worth a try, but she doubted she’d make it as far as the manicured lawns, let alone the wrought iron front gates. Marcus Airedale wasn’t going to willingly let his new bride just waltz off his estate, with enough evidence to finally convict him of murder.
She managed a lopsided smile as she patted the USB flash drive tucked into her French lace bra. It was all there and short of him strip-searching her in front of their wedding guests, he’d never find it. Now all she had to do was get it out of the country without anyone else dying.
As the outer door opened letting in a blast of music and laughter with a waft of all too familiar scent, Francesca froze, one slim silver shoe dropping off her foot. She held her breath, watching the door handle slowly turn until it came up hard against the lock.
8. “You look like a man who knows how to be wicked.”
Theron tore his gaze from the crowded club he’d been scanning and looked toward the bleach-blond bombshell rubbing like a cat against his arm. A heart pounding bass echoed through the dark room, making her words hard to decipher, but there was no missing her intent.
One long, white-tipped nail trailed down his chest as she puckered her heavily made-up lips, leaned in close and took a deep whiff of his scent. “I like to be wicked,” she purred. “In fact, handsome, I bet I could show you a thing or two that just might amaze you.”
Theron doubted it. In the lengthy expanse of his life there was little he hadn’t seen or done for that matter.
He gently pushed her finger away and went back to scanning the club for the gynaika he’d been sent here to find. Every instinct he possessed said she was in this room somewhere.
9. It seemed ironic that his own marriage should come undone at a house party whose sole purpose was to celebrate the promise of another.
From where he stood in his friend’s library, Marcus Elliot, the Duke of Westbrook, was able to stare out the library window and at the view beyond. A typical English garden laid spread out before him and, further in the background, the gentle hills tried vainly to beckon his gaze. A sense of lazy peacefulness seemed to permeate the scene, dotted here and there with those energetic few who had managed to leave their beds after last night’s festivities and were now slowly strolling the grounds.
Yet, as he stared so intently out the window and at the picturesque scene before him, Westbrook saw none of it. Not the glimpses of sunlight filtering through the leaves, nor the fluttering of the flower petals as a summer breeze kissed their smoothness. And certainly not the serenity of the couples wondering aimlessly along the many paths, the women of which contently twirling lacy parasols. Rather, the image in his mind’s eye was predominantly that of his wife and the turmoil rolling around in his soul a result of her softly spoken words from the night before.
I love you.
Just thinking about them made the words settle like lead in a gut that had not stopped churning since hearing her speak them.
10. They spied the dog first, lean, long-legged and pale as a moonbeam in the darkness. It passed through the woodland like a wraith, gliding silently from one night shadow to the next as Hugo de Mercure watched from the battlements â€“ and waited.
“Over there,” the youth beside him hissed, pointing towards a taller, darker shape trailing the hound, “to the right of the great oak.”
With a barely audible curse, Hugo turned from the parapet and swept down the narrow staircase, the soft leather on the soles of his boots barely making a whisper despite the haste of his flight. At a small wooden door set deep into the stone rampart he stopped and drew his sword, bracing his back against the stone. Moments later the soft click of a latch being lifted brought his body to attention and his sword arm up.
The moonwraith hound streaked from the blackness of the opening and Hugo dropped his sword – no more than the breadth of a horse hair in front of the taller figure swathed a dark cloak.
He heard a sharp intake of breath followed by a soft chuckle as the woman turned towards him, her face as pale and ethereal in the moonlight as the animal she followed.
“My Lord should take care lest he startle the magic from my soul,” the apothecary said in a voice too low for a girl but too musical for a man.
“Mistress Mathilda should take care to follow her Lord’s directions lest my sword – or my brother – remove more than her magic,” Hugo snapped.
11. “I’m not giving her this.” I stared in horror at the inscription on the back of the huge diamond tennis bracelet, the curvy, flowing writing a mix of sentimentality and ownership.
For B, my Love Shack(le) baby
B, for Britney, who just so happens to be my cousin…and the current secret fling of my married boss, Mason.
“Give it to her, Jenna,” Mason said calmly as he shuffled through the pile of paperwork on his large mahogany desk. He puffed out his chest, and underneath his white dress shirt, I could see the outline of the red M on his black superhero uniformâ€“God help you if Mason overheard you calling it a costume.
M stood for The Machine, which Mason Wallings, mild-mannered businessman and CEO of MetalCo, became many years ago after a freak accident on tour in a local auto factory. Local newspapers speculated Mason had more mechanical body parts than naturalâ€“and, of course, people throughout the years have wondered which parts were metal, and which weren’t.
If the rumors were true, there were plenty of women who could comment on The Machine’s parts, including those “private” ones he couldn’t seem to keep tucked away.
I glanced away from Mason’s chest and fought the urge to roll my eyes.
12. Emma Morris looked out the back window of Zelda’s Magical Diner at the rows of tomato plants heavy with the red fruit, and something free and wild inside her unfurled. The lush garden mesmerized her, so different from the hardscrabble Texas ground she’d known until she was fifteen and her parents bundled her off to her aunt Zelda in Wisconsin.
This summer, ten years later, the abundance of plants wasn’t the only attraction. A man hunkered down to pick tomatoes, his back to her, the sun playing shadow and light across his skin. In her mind she pictured his eyes, the rich brown of the earth, gazing into hers as if he saw something precious.
Rubbing her goosebumpy arms, she heard the floor creak behind her and caught the scent of jasmine.
“Don’t you love the way Duncan’s T-shirt clings to him when he sweats?” Ling stopped alongside her and sighed like a sad summer breeze.
Emma froze, unable to answer Ling, unable to tear her gaze from Duncan, her instincts screaming at her to run. She gripped the windowsill, her nails digging into the wood, hanging on until the screams hushed to a whisper.
13. “Ah, baby, that’s it…just a little…um, yeah…” he urged, his low ragged moan changing to a satisfied growl. Sweat droplets beaded around his receding, yet still dark hairline, and if he opened his eyes to look at her on top of him he would think she was enjoying herself as wellâ€“she’d slid her lips into a sexy smile to hide her revulsion.
Crumpled satin sheets clung in damp patches around her knees; her muscles quivered like a lioness ready to pounce, but she cautioned herself to wait, knowing the outcome of this planned encounter even if he didn’t. To temper her impatience she brought to mind the refrain from “Another One Bites the Dust,” letting it run through her head in a slow easy beat.
“You like it when I do this?” she asked, and increased her rhythm in time to music only she heard; faster, harder, squeezing him with her inner muscles, bringing him to the edge, denying him.
He grabbed her hips with his bony, surprisingly strong hands, trying to buck his way deeper inside, and her resistance changed the sex into a struggle for dominance. How fitting that this time she wielded the power, and he would lose.
His determined dance for domination ended moments later when he lost control; his body stiffened, then pumped wildly beneath her. The force of his orgasm subsided, but with the need to keep him distracted, she used her breasts to full advantage, massaging them against his age-sunken chest.
Still humming to herself, she slipped her hand beneath the pillow, her fingers searching, then closing over what she sought.
14. Lissa, Princess of Horvald, waited for Death. She stood, still and silent in the dank chill of the Great Hall, determined to meet her fate without cowering in fear. But fear hovered, beating against her mind like moth wings, relentless and inescapable.
Her father, the self-proclaimed King of Horvald was gone, swallowed up in the vicious cycle of victory and defeat. Now there was no protection for her, no way of avoiding the steady creep of defeat as it seeped through the walls and curled under the doors, like a foul, poisoned miasma.
He wanted her, this Warlord called Death.
He’d killed her father and now demanded she appear before him to beg for mercy.
But she would not beg. Nor would she come at his call, like a whipped dog. If that meant her life was forfeit, then so be it.
15. Chocolate was made for moments like this. Standing for the first time on a Japanese street corner, I reached into my purse for the Hershey Kiss I had stashed in the zipper compartment for emergencies, but came up with a handful of brown ooze and an empty foil wrapper. Feeling the pulse of the city rushing all around me, I scanned the mirror-covered skyscrapers wearing their neon signs like fancy hats. So this was Tokyo.
As I waited for the light to change, the streets teamed with people scurrying everywhere like anti-bodies battling for a place in the blood stream. Looking at the chaos around me, I still couldn’t believe that a simple dare from my best friend had me standing more than five thousand miles from home. One minute I was innocently eating a tuna salad sandwich, the next I’m in mid-chew agreeing to a proposition that would change my life.
According to my best friend Linda, her dare was just what I needed; a good swift kick in the ass.
When the signal blinked green and I began weaving my way through the bustling crowds, it struck me; Linda was right.
I strode down Tokai Boulevard toward the family of complete strangers I’d be living with for the next year.