Tag: indie author

It’s that time again. The fourth chapter, for better or worse, in all its glory. If you would like a refresher, here’s a link to chapter three. Otherwise, without further bullshit, here’s what you came for:::

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Chapter Four

            Sleep did not come to Allyson that night.

            Under normal circumstances, it did not bother her in the least. There was plenty to do at night. She’d balance checkbooks, wash floors, spend time touching the holes in the wood from events that seemed to happen ages ago or just yesterday, depending on her mood. 

            But not this time. No, all she could manage was tossing and turning in her twin size bed. She stared out in the blackness imagining different colors and shapes dancing before her eyes. Nonsense and random.

            Sometimes, she’d squint until she swore she saw her again. It was a her. She was sure of it. Breasts, though shriveled, were still present. Skin like powdered latex. Some of her bones protruded in sections around her shoulders, her hips, the skin stretching almost beyond its means—it looked as though it could split at any given moment. It resembled spiked armor. Beautiful. Deadly.

            At night when the tossing and turning wouldn’t give way to rest, she would let her mind wander. No matter where her thoughts started, they would most often lead to that night. The moment everything changed. She thought it was for the better. Most days it seemed for the better. But sometimes the act got tiresome.

            She tried not to think about it too much. She didn’t want to obsess.

            “Not that you haven’t already.”

            The act consisted of two main scenes. First was the matter of the liquid courage her dead deadbeat relied on so heavily. There was a wall of beer cases in the living room, still full. She’d empty it in the next couple months at the end of the year. It was easier to keep track of when it was present and ready to count. By the end of December, there should be fifty-two. It was easier to buy beer than make up stories about sobering up. She’d bought for her old man often enough for the clerk to be okay with her purchasing alone. Everyone knew who the Alexander girl was buying for.

            The second scene was a little tougher than buying underage. Keeping her father under wraps only came by keeping up appearances. Periodically she stood in front of the mirror. With an open palm, she’d strike herself on the cheek, the mouth, near her eye, her ear. It was by far the least enjoyable part of the ruse, but a necessary evil. It was easier to create self-inflicted cuts and bruises than make up stories of happy family dinners and game nights.

            It was hard pretending to live in a broken home when in reality things couldn’t be better.

            Maybe better.

            A little better.

            The night was long, and she was tired.

            Allyson reached under her pillow, fingers searching for either cloth or drawstring. From practice, she was able to find the opening and grasp the tooth without removing the bag from its home. It was bumpy along both sides from years of plaque eating away at the bone. Had he been alive, this tooth wouldn’t be in one piece. 

            “It’s funny how life works out sometimes.”

            Her words bounced off the empty walls of the room. Deafening.

            If it hadn’t been for her, there wouldn’t be any teeth left in his mouth. In a way, she saved its life. The tooth rolled around in her palm over and over again while her mind jumped from one thought to the next in rapid succession until it landed on something worth pondering.

            Zaquerie Aimes.

            Zaquerie Aimes tomorrow.

            It wasn’t as if he were inviting her to another party. He’d tried that a couple times before. She never kidded herself before; thus, she hadn’t accepted. The invite wasn’t special then. She’d been sitting in a classroom full of people then, and everyone got an invite. Even Allyson. He hadn’t cared then; he’d just wanted to be polite.

            She could see though the bad-boy persona he held onto like his life depended on it. The clothes, the hair, the booze, the cigarette smile, all of it screamed villainy and violence. It was his eyes that gave him away, though. His eyes weren’t dead. Far from it. They reflected the gold in his soul. That boy didn’t have one mean bone in his body.

            “We’re the same, you and me.”

            The words didn’t feel like her own, but the buzzing in her throat said otherwise. Uncomfortably aware of her own pulse, she shoved the tooth back in its place and rolled to her side. Blood rushed to her cheeks, making her face burn. Yes, she liked him well enough. He was kind to her, and while no one was outwardly mean, no one was particularly pleasant.

            Yes, she liked him well enough. He had a nice personality and he was nice to look at. It was nothing serious. Nothing life-changing.

            “So then why the butterflies?” she asked the darkness.

            The darkness did not answer.

***

And that’s it, folks. If you want to read more, you can catch chapters five and six in Voices from the Plains, which should be coming out very soon. You’ll know when exactly as soon as I do.

If you want to stay updated Zemblanity and the progress I’m making on it, be sure to subscribe to my monthly newsletter. I’ll post the sign up below if you are interested.

What did you think? I’m really curious to know, good, bad, and ugly. Shoot me a comment, or if you’re camera shy, you can pass an email along my way.

Have a good one, void. Scream at ya later. xx

Alright, Void. One more update after this one before I hit the no post zone. Let’s make the most of it, shall we?

Allyson is a little creepy. Let’s see what’s up with her now. A little time has passed for both us and for her, so who knows, maybe she’s chilled out?

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Chapter Three

            Allyson was almost certain she would never need to know the difference between one triangle and the next. Triangles were triangles. Three-sided and incredibly boring.

            “My life is a triangle.”

            Only two people took notice of her mumbling; they turned around to shoot her a glare. She looked back down at her notebook, scribbling equations she didn’t understand.

            Four years. Four years since she started this façade, and not a single incident. And it wasn’t from lack of trying.

            Yes, no one ever guessed the truth about her living situation, and that was well and all, but she was bored with it. She wanted more. 

            She attempted summoning up the creature from that night more times than she cared to admit, but nothing ever came of it. It took two years of staying up late and recreating the situation best she could by herself for her to finally give up and accept it for what it was: a fluke. Devil traps were drawings and Ouija boards were toys.

            She might have thought it all a dream if not for the faded scars under her eyes and the speckled holes in the hall of her home. And, of course, the body. Thankfully, it was easy to keep the deadbeat under wraps.

            Allyson never knew her mother. She imagined her occasionally, making up stories to go with whatever face she chose to give her. She didn’t have the luxury of family photos to use for reference. Most often, she imagined her dead. Sometimes in a car crash. Other times during childbirth. She didn’t want to imagine her alive. If she was alive, that meant that she left her daughter with a drunk. Abandoned. And she didn’t want to believe that. Otherwise, she’d be worse than him. No, her mother loved her dearly, but the grim reaper had different plans.

            “Hey, Allyson.”

            She was so deep in thought, so didn’t notice anyone leaning against the front of her desk. Her heart leapt into her throat, thin shoulders rising in surprise that she tried to cover up with a stretch. She furrowed her brow, feigning annoyance.

            Everyone in the classroom, teacher included, was gone. Not the first time she’d zoned out during a lecture, and definitely wouldn’t be the last.

            “Um…yeah?”

            Icy blue eyes traveled up the ripped jeans, up the grey hoodie hiding the lean muscle beneath. She could feel her heart pounding in her throat, her wrists, her eyes, and her lips trembled if she didn’t force a smile. Whenever Zaque talked to her, she’d stare at his eyes. One moment they’d look green, and if she blinked, she’d swore they were brown. Like magic.

            “What are you doing later?”

            Sometimes she would envision the spelling of his name. She’d see it in neon lights hovering over his head. Utterly ridiculous. His parents, hip and trendy as they were, couldn’t settle on a spelling that made sense. Zaquerie Aimes. She didn’t know his middle name, but it was likely just as obnoxious.

            “Probably nothing? Why? What do you want?”

            She kept her half smile and annoyed expression. Sending mixed signals was somewhat of a specialty of hers. Keep them guessing, keep you safe. Besides, no one, not him, not anyone, ever asked her something like…like…

            “Hey, hey, no reason to get upset or anything. I just wanted to see if you wanted to go to a movie or something. And, uh, if you don’t, that’s totally cool. Just offering and whatnots.”

            He held up his hands as if he could push his request on her. She’d watched him do it hundreds of times throughout the year. It didn’t matter if the other person was male or female. It didn’t change the outcome. Zaque was a superhero, and persuasion was his super power.

            She looked him over for what seemed to her like an eternity, searching for ulterior motives of the butt of the joke. If there was something there, he hid it well.

            “No.”

            Short and simple, more to see his reaction than anything, ready to brace herself against the bucket of pig blood that surely rested on an imaginary beam over her head. But nothing. Not even a smirk to prove how gullible she was. His eyebrows raised, mouth down turned even as he nodded in acceptance.

            “Not tonight, at least. My father wants me to run errands for him. Um, I mean, I’m free this weekend, though.”

            The heat traveled up her neck, into her cheeks, and her mind felt fuzzy. Allyson always had a half smile plastered to her face, but it felt like ages since the right side turned up in agreement. A little less forced than before. A little more natural.

            “Cool. Theater tomorrow at four then.”

            It didn’t sound like a question to her ears. He walked out of the room without waiting for a response. As if he already knew the answer. As if she didn’t have a choice in the matter. How dare he. How dare he how dare he how dare…

***

…Well, fuck.

Come back on December 6^th for a final free chapter. I’ll let you know when the anthology is available for your enjoyment! 😉