LYRIC O’ THE DAY:
And as hard as they would try, they’d hurt to make you cry.
But you never cried to them, just to your soul.
--Small Town Boy, Bronski Beat
I’m getting my offering for Rachael Harrie’s Third Campaigner Challenge in right at the wire. For this one, we had to come up with a 300 word short story involving a character at the beach in the morning, a foul smell, a sense of boredom, and a surprise ending. This was a challenge in the five senses, with focus on showing, not telling. Finally, just for fun, you could also include the pseudo-words tacise, wastopaneer, and synbatec. I have to admit, this one was the hardest of all. Many thanks to Rach and all the campaigners, judges, and helpers that have made this such an amazing opportunity to meet new folks in the writerly blogosphere. You guys rock!
Neighbors from Hell
The summer crowds are back in Tacise. Tanned and toned collegiates with the vapid stares of youth, looking for a no-strings-attached hookup.
The beach house next door to mine is a rental. Three southern gents moved in for the season with Confederate flags, six packs of Synbatec, and Waylon Jennings on the stereo. Every morning those wastopaneers have interrupted my sleep with the reverb of Classic Country bass.
But today, a sliver of pink sunrise spills under the blinds in my beachfront bedroom, accompanied by nothing but glorious silence.
Yawning, I cat-stretch, enjoying the subtle burn of overused muscles. My mouth is tacky and hot, a rancid stench wreathing my head. I slide my tongue across my teeth, sampling their copper-penny tang.
My gaze drops to the bed, black satin a sharp contrast to the pale sinewy leg partly wrapped in the sheets. I nonchalantly trace the sharp line of his hip, the broad expanse of his chest smooth like an Abercrombie model. Last night, his face was all hard, arrogant lines when I made my proposition. Now his swollen lips and golden eyelashes fanned against his cheeks look cherubic.
Pushing up on my hands, I acknowledge another arm wrapped around my waist, dark hair swirling like spiderwebs against white skin. This one’s face is hidden beneath a cowboy hat, but I can still recall his aquiline nose and dark eyes, full of anticipation and greed when we started.
He became quite a giving lover.
At the foot of the bed, the third one moans softly. Chestnut hair tumbles past his shoulders, one lank strand falling right beside the soft pulse in his neck. Slower than it was last night, but still strong.
My stomach twists, hungry again. There are risks to being a noisy neighbor.
Thought this one fit nicely into the Halloween season. Hope you enjoyed it. I actually missed the deadline by 15 minutes--dang my confusion with time zones, anyway!