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Weird But True |
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A 65-year-old London woman, Iris Sommerville’s was killed in a freak accident while walking through a park during a thunderstorm. Apparently, the underwire bra she was wearing attracted a bolt of lightning bolt and she was instantly electrocuted. |
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Did You Know ~ |
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Hagfish use their sucker-like mouths to bore into decaying carcasses. They then live inside the dead animal as it rots away. |
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Pilfered Motions
by Sean
Wilt
©2008
1st
Fiction Sale
(This tale is being sponsored
by Matthew Daley)
Midnight Cafe. The name suggested an exotic place where
Goth teens discussed their miserable lives. Instead, it resembled
a 1950s diner. An old jukebox played songs from the last fifty
years. The white countertop contrasted with the bright red stools
and booths lined up along the windows. No menus though. I don’t
need them because I never ate here. I preferred watching the
patrons and listening to their conversations. I drank a lot of
coffee. It was the price of admission. Everyone
probably thought I was a moody writer or something but I didn’t
give a crap.
I visited many times; sometimes excited and sometimes disappointed
but I always left with a sense of satisfaction. I
appreciated disappointment and fulfillment —two
different emotions with distinguishable tastes.
I looked at my wristwatch. 2:13 A.M. I started to get up
and walk out but I saw her. She dressed in the "traditional" Goth
manner, black on black. I wanted to kiss her dark pouty lips.
Long, flowing black hair flipped around when she entered and shook
off the early morning mist. Her luminous blue eyes betrayed her
look—too bright and full of life.
Sadness lingered over her like perfume, fresh ocean air to me.
She sat down in one of the two-seat booths in the corner. The
waitress came around and took her order. Moments later, coffee
arrived. I had to introduce myself; her burden needed
lightening. I’ll take all of her sadness away.
I moved to her table and leaned against the wall. I stared at her
for a moment before I made my approach. She fingered the scar
lines on her wrists. I winced in sympathy.
"Hi there, my name is Darren Gregory. May I sit down?"
"Get bent."
"I respect that. I’ll leave you alone."
I started to walk away but she said, "I’m sorry. My name's Daphne.
Please stay."
I sat down and we talked for a while. Idle chat designed to mask
our intentions. Still, I had a good time.
 We left the cafe and watched the sunrise. It didn’t move me
like it usually did. I had to do something. I clouded her mind
with lust before we went to her apartment. I told her mine was
being fumigated. Her place was a sanctuary filled with
sadness, a tribute to the color black.
We raced into her bedroom. I picked her up and threw her on the
bed. We made love. In fact, I tried to count her orgasms but lost
track. We formed a bond, one where I recharged my emotional
batteries by draining hers. Her emotions were like smoke; I
breathed them in, and replenished myself. The orgasms covered the
transference quite nicely. I finished with her and left the
apartment while she slept.
She’ll wake up without emotions for I absorbed her emotions
into me. Hell, she’ll become a psychotic monster. It might be an
improvement for her. In any case, for me, the sunrise is
going to be especially spectacular today.
by Sean Wilt, Indiana
©2008
Sean is 32 years old. He's currently working on my MA in
history. He says he keeps keeps himself busy between studying,
being employed and writing. This is hi first fiction sale! |
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