Blue (Part 1)

It started out as a burning chunk exploded from a dying world. Not that it was the burning chunk exactly, it was inside the burning chunk, hiding, tucked in and sleeping. When the fire was quenched by the lack of oxygen in space, it evolved into a comet, it’s tail all full of dead dreams. Space was icy and inky and indifferent to it, buffeting it with other chunks of dead worlds and tossing it into gaseous belts before expelling it again. It was also indifferent to space, asleep and dreaming its way across the universe. Hundreds of years gone traveling.

Scientists took note of it in the night sky. They talked to one another about its approach. They calculated it’s impact and quickly became bored, labeling it NOT A THREAT in green. It would burn up in the atmosphere and meet its death as a harmless shooting star. The Astronomer named it Lucky Strike in a fit of humor and put a sticky note up to show where it would cross the night sky just in case anyone wanted to make a wish.

Penny, dressed in leggings and NASA tee, saw it. She was outside staring up, trying to remember a few more constellations. It was her first day in her VERY FIRST apartment and she could see the stars above the nearby woods twinkling. It was an improvement over her old view of skyscrapers and electrical lines. She was a bit lonely having never lived alone before and she wished on the bright shiny streak.

The atmosphere ate the dead planet, burned it screaming away into gasses, leaving the seed. Naked and light, it didn’t have the velocity to fall properly. Caught on the night breeze, the seed was buffeted around for hours before “crashing” into Penny’s flower pot.

Not being a gardener, Penny paid no attention to the outside. She spent her time at work and inside her home unpacking boxes of books and pillows and things she should have thrown out ages ago but didn’t feel like going through just yet. She hung pictures. She cooked dinners. She ordered pizza so friends would paint her bedroom a lovely apple green. She would go to her job without sparing a look for the pot and the strange green shoot pressing it’s way up between the clover and dead zinnias. She would come home from work carrying a bag of groceries and completely miss how the shoot was now a foot high and sporting some impressive blue leaves.

Time passed. The weather grew cold. The impressive blue leaves turned black and that would have been that if the pot hadn’t been so toasty and warm up against the brick house. It went to work growing under the surface. Roots, tendrils, tubers, lines of communication, lines for food and nutrients, water traps, all snaking around inside the pot. Months of darkness spent growing stronger. It lived on rainwater than snowmelt, then rainwater again as the sun warmed the earth. It sent up branches and unfurled them into leaves.

Penny had stopped for a pizza. She juggled it and a bag of french fries. She needed the keys and they were in her pocket. The pizza tilted dangerously. Sighing, she placed it on the ground and with a harsh word for any ants that were hanging around, she dug into her coat for the keys. They came loose and dropped right in front of her pot.

“Whoa,” Penny exclaimed.

She was eye level with greenhouse size cobalt blue leaves with lovely lilac veins. The alien plant rustled its leaves in greeting. Penny took a picture of her social media. Smiling she patted the leaves gently, telling the plant, “You are beautiful.”

No one could identify the plant. Penny’s friend Sam was a gardener. She had never seen anything so blue! The internet accused her of putting blue dye in the soil. Her mother said it was probably global warming. Penny got it a bigger pot. She fed it carefully with plant food. She watered it for good measure when it was dry. And after Sam noticed the plant looked a bit sad, Penny started talking to it.

Penny liked to think she and her plant which she named Blue, she didn’t have the best imagination, were friends and her wish had come true.

Take a Deep Breath

DeShaun reluctantly climbed into the raft. He unnecessarily tightened the straps on his life jacket as he settled into his seat. He hooked his feet under the seat in front of him and grit his teeth. A skinny white guy in long black Bermudas, black long sleeve tee, black aviators and a black life jack hopped in next to him. He flashed DeShaun a smile. “Wow, we are like total opposites,” the kid said waving between them awkwardly, “What with your skin tone and your white clothing. Like you’re a photograph and I’m your negative.” The kid chuckled.

“Yeah, not with your hair,” he argued and touched his gravity-defying natural hair.

The kid looked away and self consciously ruffled his dark brown hair to make it poofier. “Well, yeah this isn’t a photograph anyhow, this is real life. And, real life has real consequences.” He pointed a bony thumb at the people loading into the raft behind them. “For them. Not you. You’ll be alright. Just when it happens, take a deep breath. Okay, DeShaun? Big breath.”

The kid mimed several deep breaths. DeShaun rolled his eyes even as a cold shiver ran down his spine. The idea to get off the raft and go home was growing. Not that he could, Talia Elkin had suggested the white water rafting trip. He couldn’t let her see he was nervous. He offered her his best smile. She caught his gaze and winked. A spray of water hit her. Everyone laughed, except the goth kid. He just stared at DeShaun. His eyes could barely be seen behind his sunglasses and DeShaun was glad of it. Kid was weird.

Goth kid leaned back and said, “Hey guys, why don’t we skip the class five rapids today? I ate a big lunch. Might puke.”

Giggles erupted. A chorus of ‘no’s escaped the group.

“I tried,” Goth kid said with a shrug, “Remember that…after, yeah?”

DeShaun thought he might puke.

The guide ran through safety measures. “Grip with your feet. We are going to hit some gnarly rapids. If you are thrown out of the boat, get into the ‘down river swimmer’s position.’”

“Hey man, you should pay attention,” the Goth kid said as he put on his helmet.

The guide explained the commands. DeShaun found himself intently listening. The guide said the waters were rough but not terrible. He schooled them in how to hold the paddles. The kids behind him, Talia, Ram, and Alison were shoving each other and knocking helmets. The Goth kid ignored them, gripping his paddle.

And they were off. Paddles dropped with hard smacks into the water. The water was calm-ish. The sun was shining. The air smelled like water, plastic, and sunscreen with a hint of fish. DeShaun began to relax. The Goth kid was whistling merrily as he paddled. It sounded like a pirate song DeShaun had heard in a video online. Ten minutes in, and he had relaxed enough to enjoy himself. The water spray kept him cold. He looked cool in front of Talia. The weird kid was keeping his weird to himself. It was all good. He was one with Nature or some crap.

“We’re going to his some class two rapids. Should be a little bumpy. Nothing to worry about,” the guide shouted. “Remember to listen to me.”

The Goth kid sang out, “Fight, flee or surrender!”

Talia tittered.

“Dude, shut up.” DeShaun hissed.

“Defeat you can’t deny,” he warbled, “Better give up in the first place…”

“Sing it, Goth kid,” Talia shouted.

DeShaun’s eyes flipped to the guide as the boat hit the rapids. It was bouncy but bearable. He gritted his teeth against the spray. He choked on it, half blinded. The boat started to list then tip heavily to the left.

“High-side!” the guide shouted.

DeShaun through his weight right. The Goth kid didn’t. He reached out to grab him but the movement knocked the aviators off his face. His black eyes glowed red. DeShaun recoiled. The guide shouted instructions. The raft dissolved into chaos. The kids behind them were screaming.

“Or drown in the blink of an eye,” the Goth kid sang calmly as the boat capsized.

DeShaun took a deep breath.

 

The End.

Lyrics from Running Wild – Pirate Song

Honey, I’m Home

I used to have pets. They were good company but one by one they died and I didn’t have the heart to replace them. I had been single for a decade. Still youngish at 40 I wasn’t worried about it. I was lonely sure, and nights were a bit cold in my drafty apartment but I managed. I even got in the cute habit of yelling out, “Hey honey, I’m home,” every night as I tossed my laptop bag onto the hall table and my keys into the bowl.

It was a silly thing to do. It wasn’t hurting anyone and for a fleeting moment it made me feel like I was in a 50’s sitcom and my significant other would be waiting in the living room, maybe not in a dress wearing pearls with a martini but maybe with a pizza and some mixed drinks. And if they weren’t there in real life, online ordering apps handled the pizza end of it.

Friday, I opened the door after a long day of being called an idiot and all I really wanted to do was skip right to the drinks. I opened my mouth to greet my imaginary partner and sighed. What was the point? Shrugging, I ignored my black mood and called out, “Honey, I’m home! Did you miss me?”

“I did, darling,” a voice called back.

I dropped the laptop bag on the floor. The tantalizing scent of pineapple and ham pizza drifted to me in the foyer. I walked down the hall to the living room. Curled up on my sofa was a petite brunette with a pixie cute in silky striped pajamas, holding two drinks. “I made you a seven and seven. We’re out of rum,” she said and made a face. “It’s gross but it gets the job done.” she took a sip to prove her point and grimaced. “I am sooooo um, well drunk. Work was traumatic. You?”

“I-ah, it was also traumatic,” I replied wondering if I had had a stroke.

She waved for me to come closer. I did, magnetically pulled to the sofa. I collapsed next to her and she handed me the drink. I sipped it, coughing. “Gah, this is revolting.”

“Mm,” she agreed.

I gave her a sidelong glance. Her eyes were so brown they were black. Her skin was a nice medium tone like a natural tan and a hint of cleavage could be seen where she had misbuttoned the top two buttons on her pajama top. Shapely legs were pulled up under her and she had one hell of a wicked smile.

“You are my dream girl,” I told her.

Her cheeks flamed red and a giggle escaped her. “You’re in a mood,” she commented, flipping the pizza box open. “Get a slice in you before you puke up all that whiskey.”

I ate a slice. It tasted fine, not like LSD or any other hallucinogens. Not that I would know. Listen, it tasted like ham, and pineapple and lovely mozzarella.  My drink tasted like suffering which is what whiskey always tasted like to me, so it wasn’t the food.

“How long have we been together?” I asked.

Her smile faltered, “Janie, don’t ask questions like that. It makes me think you don’t want me here. Don’t you want me here?”

Something in her eyes glowed oddly. I blinked and it was gone. My dream girl smiled and grabbed my free hand. Her nails were manicured in a matte black giving me the illusion of a wolf’s claws. Her skin was warm and the scent of pizza, whiskey and something wild hit me. Her smile was wistful.

“I do want you here,” I replied. “I must have hit my head or something at work today, honey. I’m sorry.”

That pleased her and she squeezed my fingers. The black in her eyes started to fade to a root beer. She tugged on my hand until we were half in a cuddle. The shock to my system was instant. I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had wanted to touch me, let alone huddle up on the sofa together. Her warmth seeped into me.

“Am I dreaming?”

She frowned. “Janie please.”

“I’m just… happy you’re with me,” I said when her breath hitched, eyes flashing black again. Whatever she was, she wanted to be with me and as she placed a gentle kiss on my cheek, I realized I wanted her to be with me too. “I can’t remember your name.”

“Janie,” she warned.

“Fine,” I said. I wasn’t allowed to ask or know who or what or where she came from if I wanted to keep her. Was I that lonely? Had I been fooling myself with my little game? Had I called something into existence? Someone? Was she a demon? Did I care?

She slid her free hand up my thigh.

No.

I did not care.

“Do you want me to stay,” she asked, a hint of points showing in her smile.

“Yeah,” I said, “Stay with me.”

Her smile was brilliant.

Honey, I am home.

End.

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Take Out

The house music boomed, making her hot blood pulse. Cloven hooves tapped out the beat setting the anklet to jingling with its tiny golden bells. Her wings were furled but the black feathers gleamed purple and green with iridescence. Her fellow demons had laughed at her for sneaking out of the Underworld to visit humans without being called by them. Soul-stealing was a jumping business in this economy. No need to go on soul scavenging trips when sad little pathetic humans were tripping over themselves to get talents or wishes granted.

She didn’t want a soul for the devil. She wanted one for herself, a pet human, a friend, or lover. She dressed the part, in a form-fitting black leather dress that did nothing to hide her ample bosom and long neck. Her tail, hooves, and horns were all painted with purple glitter. The party would be the perfect place to snare a tiny beating heart.

A human male with dark eyes and fluffy hair approached her with a bottle in each hand. He was thin, shorter than her by half a foot, although as a demon she was nearly seven feet tall and taller still if you measured the horns curling back from her head. He had horns as well, paper-mache ones painted in vermilion. The beers were sealed.

“Wow, great costume! Are you a demon?” he asked, “I’m a demon. I couldn’t get the wings right but I did the tail.” He spun and wiggled his butt. “I put a string on it, so I can control it. Made it out of weed barrier. I’m a landscaper. You want one? It’s sealed.”

The whirlwind of conversation amused her. She nodded and he popped the cap off of a beer with his bottle opener shaped like a shark. He handed it to her, popped his own cap and clinked his bottle into hers. “Cheers!”

“Cheers?”

He drank half his beer in one go. She followed suit, unsure of the drinking customs in this time. He winked and polished his off. She raised her eyebrows. He grinned brightly. She was unsure of how to proceed, so she stared. The smile on his face dimmed.

“Am I bothering you? I can go. Only, everyone inside is dressed as TV characters and you and I are the only demons. Thought it might be fun to hang out with another demon for a bit,” he said.

She grinned, showing him miles of sharp pointy teeth. “Yes, we demons should stick together.”

“Good, great,” he said, laughing in relief. “Want another beer?”

“Yes,” she said, amused with her new human friend.

He disappeared and reappeared with a small bucket full of them. She let him open her beer for the second time and he flipped the caps into the bushes with a bit of flare. He took a sip but didn’t chug it, so she copied him.

“So, what made you want to be a demon for Halloween?” he asked.

Ah, humans did like small talk. Demons not so much. “I was looking for someone to go home with.”

He flushed. “You-what?”

“I came here to find someone to take home. Haven’t had any company in a few centuries,” she explained, knowing he would never believe her honest truth. He would think her funny with metaphors.

“Oh,” he replied and downed his beer. It seemed to give him strength for the next moment he offered, “I could go home with you. If you want me to.”

Sometimes it was too easy.

fin.

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Slaughter

“I’m going to carve 100 pumpkins,” Laura said.

My daughter held up a rusty steak knife and lightning flashed behind her. Thunder rolled across the heavens and all thoughts save two were blown from my mind on a Halloween breeze:

  1. Where the heck was I going to get 100 pumpkins?
  2. When did my daughter get that steak knife?

“Darling,” I said, “that’s a lot of pumpkins. You’re seven. Last year we did two and we both needed to have a nap.”

Laura wielded the knife like an ancient Viking warrior. “I must have pumpkins, Daddy.”

“Great, I’ll bring the car around.”

My little princess sheathed her rusty sword in a little scabbard she had made herself from one of those felt sheets that were foam instead of felt, so a foam sheet thing from the craft store and I made quick calculations on both of our tetanus shots. She was unconcerned. I decided to roll with it. We had had a tough year and if pumpkin slaughter would make us feel better, why not?

Out of the car as soon as it stopped, she drew her steak knife and charged the patch. I handed my credit card to a surprised teen with bright blue hair and an apron that said, ‘Happy Acres.’ I should have known she would eventually go on a berserker rage. It was in her blood. I had once tried to cut down a tree with a butter knife while in a similar mood. I texted Carrie, my wife, a picture of our daughter dragging pumpkins into a pile by their stems with the caption, ‘bonding.’

I waved at the teen and he brought me a jug of cider. I chugged it. Laura was now randomly stabbing the pumpkins. I sighed and approached the murder scene. Laura grinned up at me. She was dripping in pumpkin juice and had managed to get the top off of one of her unfortunate victims. I offered her the jug of apple cider.

She took the jug and handed me the knife. I stabbed a pumpkin. I know I should have taken the knife and been a responsible adult. I didn’t. I just stabbed the pumpkin again, forming a crude triangle eye. My daughter doused herself in apple cider and let out a war cry. Another rusted piece of cutlery appeared in her hands, a spoon this time, and she attacked the guts of a scalped pumpkin.

Her wide gray eyes were bright with excitement, joy, and an eensy bit of crazy. I called the teen over as my little Viking carved her first pumpkin by caving its head in. “We’re going to need more cider,” I told him.

“And donuts,” she said as she bit into a pumpkin, growling.

God, I live for Halloween.

End.

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The Apple Thief’s Friend

The deer was not majestic.

Behind the chain link fence, the deer had his tongue out in a blep. He was scrawny and undignified. Lane eyeballed him and he stuck his tongue out at her before blinking. Lane, dressed in deer patterned leggings and an oversized sweater, held her white bucket tightly. It was loaded to the brim with gala apples.

“No,” she told him.

The deer tilted his head and licked the fence. Lane rolled her eyes at the deer. She pointed to the ‘no deer in the orchard sign.’ He was unimpressed and stomped a delicate hoofprint into the wet ground. Nose twitching, he tilted his head toward the gate.

Lane’s sister approached her with her own bucket brimming with Granny Smiths. “I’m going to make a pie and some turnovers before I let Mom turn the rest into apple butter or oooo jam! Whatcha doing?”

“Talking to this deer,” Lane told her sister.

Allison was in black leggings but her sweater was a smaller version of the one her sister wore. She did her hair in the same braids as Lane even though hers was cornsilk to Lane’s fawn-colored hair. They had the same green eyes but Allison was not one to talk to deer.

“Deer don’t have vocal cords,” she remarked.

It was just like Ally to be literal and factual and scientific. Lane ignored all of it and pointed to the deer who was still scrawny, still undignified, and still offering her an unobstructed view of his tongue. Lane huffed.

“He wants to get into the orchard,” Lane remarked as the deer bobbed his head as if in agreement. “I’ve told him deer aren’t allowed by indicating the sign.”

“Deer can’t read,” Allison countered.

“It’s a pictogram,” Lane argued. “See,” Lane said to the deer as she pointed to the cartoon version on the sign, “This is you, and this is no. Savvy?”

The deer stared. Blinked twice.

Allison shook her head. “I’m going to get some Winesaps too. You coming?”

“In a minute, I’m in the middle of something here,” Lane said.

Allison bounded away with her bucket of apples. Lane stared at the deer. The deer stared back.

“I’m not letting you in,” she told him.

He blepped.

“Seriously, you can’t come into the orchard, it’s not allowed,” Lane insisted.

The deer’s eyes went from hers to the gate and back again.

“No.”

The deer’s eyes went from hers to the gate and back again.

“No, stop.”

The deer’s eyes went from hers to the gate, paused, he pawed the ground, and looked back again.

Lane looked to the heavens. When she looked back, the deer was still there. The deer was still staring. He was still poking his tongue out at her adorably with his scrawny undignified person. Lane opened the gate, stepping back out of his way. He bowed.

“Yeah, you’re welcome. If anyone asks, I was never here.”

The deer slipped into the orchard and disappeared into the trees.

The End.

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Hay into Blood

At night DeShawn watched the stars. He could just about see them from his small room in the basement. There was only one of those half sized windows but he was lucky and it overlooked a grassy field. He loved to see them twinkle and slowly change positions as the seasons changed. The stars were his comfort, his company. He loved the night.

Mother didn’t let him keep the window open during the day, but at night he opened it and star gazed. The sun was so bright it would probably hurt his eyes. Mother said it was a ball of fire, high in the heavens and not to worry about it. He’d never see it. He sighed. Mother never let him leave the room. She said it was for his own protection. Mother said others would want him if they knew and she said he looked different from the other children.

Mother’s skin was warm and honeyed. That must be what normal people skin looked like. His skin was almost the same color as charred wood. His eyes were as green as new grass, Mother said. Tall and thin with elegant fingers that stretched long enough to do the delicate work Mother left for him. He wove straw into dolls. He made necklaces with the thinnest silver chains and fragile beads of glass. When she was pleased with the work, she gave him cakes decorated in rainbow sprinkles. When he broke a bead, or his hay doll wasn’t as pretty as she’d like, she left a dirty cup of water and the crusts from a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. It was enough for him to smell the jelly, smell the peanut butter but never taste them.

DeShawn loved the delicate work and he tried to make his necklaces resemble the stars that he just felt knew him and loved him. The night was his true friend. When the moon was full, he would stand in the beam of light that blasted into his small basement and made his skin glitter and shimmer. He would bathe in moonlight all night long, feeling more awake and alive than on the moonless nights.

Tonight he was bathing in the silver light when it cut off suddenly. Worried, DeShawn raced to the window. If Mother had found out he opened the window at night and blocked it, he would die!  There was a shadow leaning against his window. It was probably a rabbit or a raccoon. He tapped. The shadow bounced away. In seconds it was back but the light bled in around it. The shadow backed off a bit and resolved itself into a face.  The face was rounder than his own, yet still sharp, and silvered by moonlight. She was scared but she tapped back. Grinning, he placed his long fingers on the window. The girl put her hand up to match and a wonderful sound escaped her, light and breathy.

“Open up!” she called through the glass. She mimed unlatching it.

He did and a blast of icy air hit his face. She made the sound again, her eyes crinkling pleasantly. He found his mouth turning up in the corners, the feeling making his face stretch pleasantly. She reached her fingers through and grabbed his hand and shook it up and down. Her skin was several shades lighter than his but still a wonderful rich brown and her skin was cool in the winter air.

“Tia,” she said.

“DeShawn,” he replied.

“Come out,” she ordered. “I’ll buy you a soda at the corner store. I found some quarters in the laundry room. We can share a bag of chips.”

“Why?”

“I’m lonely. I’m not the type of girl that can keep pets or friends. I was sitting here because it’s the best view. You have the best view,” Tia said, awestruck.

“What’s lonely?”

“You, you are lonely. You want to be my friend and eat chips with me,” Tia informed him.

Accepting that, DeShawn asked, “What are chips?”

Tia made the sound again and it felt different this time. It was at him instead of with him. He frowned. She reached a hand through and tapped him on the nose. He sneezed. She made the sound. He echoed her, feeling oddly light. “Potatoes sliced thin, fried and salty as all get out. You’ll love them. Come out.”

“The door is locked. Mother is afraid someone will steal me away in the night,” DeShawn confided.

“Of course she is,” Tia said, “She should be. Your mother sells magical necklaces and dolls that can control others. Papa says she must have a changeling in her basement. I told her it was stupid. But here you are in her basement. Do you make necklaces?”

DeShawn nodded. “What’s a changeling?”

“I don’t know. Papa is old and he says ‘old ways are the best ways.’ You seem too young for the old ways. Come on, do you want to eat chips with me or not?” Tia asked impatiently.

“Doesn’t anyone else want to eat chips with you?” DeShawn asked.

Tia’s eyes were full of tears. “No, I told you; no pets, no friends. They don’t like me here. Do you like me?”

DeShawn felt funny as if his eyes were stinging. He reached out to touch her hand. She gripped tightly. The skin of her hand was cool and smooth, and a bit spongy. It was interesting to touch someone. He turned his mouth up again. Mother never touched him. Would Mother’s hand feel like Tia’s? Was that what touch felt like? His own hands felt thinner, less spongy.

Tia had touched him. She wanted to feed him and she liked the view.

“I like you.”

“Can you come?” Tia asked wistfully.

“Will you take me to a place where I can see all the stars?” DeShawn asked.

“Sure, we can go anywhere you want,” Tia said. “We can go out on the ocean in a boat. We can climb a mountain. We can do anything as long as you take me with you. I don’t want to be lonely anymore.”

DeShawn felt funny. His face was wet. Was this lonely?

“I don’t know how to get out,” he said.

“Take my hands,” Tia said. “You’re skinny enough to slip right through if I help pull you.”

DeShawn stared around at the only home he had ever known. There wasn’t much to look at, it was a dark room with one frayed rug and a dirty old cot. He grabbed a few of his shirts and a pair of jeans and wrapped them in his blanket. He left the dolls but grabbed a necklace. Maybe Tia would like it. He handed the bundle to her. She took it.

He felt his nerves fray. “I’m scared.”

“Me too,” Tia said. “What if you don’t like me?”

“What if I promise to like you?” he asked. “Will you show me how to live outside my room?”

Tia nodded. “I’ll show you how to live under the stars. Promise to stay with me forever.”

“Okay, I promise.”

He piled boxes of beads and hay up. Standing on them, he reached for her hands. She gripped him and pulled. She was strong! He struggled through the small window and flopped onto the grass. Tia stayed with him, while he touched the grass and felt the cold wind on his skin.

She stared at him. “That was too easy,” she said and slapped a bracelet onto his hand. It burned against his skin. “I’ve always wanted to have my own faerie.”

DeShawn shivered. He stood to run as Tia’s eyes flashed blood red. “What are you?”

“A monster,” Tia said. “A vampire that you promised to stay with.”

“Is that why no one likes you?” DeShawn asked. He wanted to leave but felt compelled to stay. The need to stay was tingling in him, warring with the need to go back home where he was safe.

“People don’t like you if you kill and eat them,” Tia said.

“Are you going to kill me?”

Tia showed her mouth full of sharp teeth and made the sound again. “No. I really am lonely.”

DeShawn sighed, shoulders relaxing. Tia was still better than Mother. Tia grabbed his hand again and squeezed in a friendly manner. She let go, and stepped back, giving him space that he wasn’t sure he wanted. He liked the feeling of connection. Maybe it would be okay. He was still afraid.

“I think I was too.”

“Not anymore,” the vampire said. “Your promise protects me from your magic. So you can’t hurt me. And I did promise to show you the stars. I can formally promise not to eat you if it will make you feel better. It’s not as binding as a fae promise, but I am a monster of my word. Besides, you already loved and lived with a monster most of your life, what’s one more?”

DeShawn stared at the night sky. He could see so many more stars from this monster’s side. He reached for her hand.

The End.

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