Do you need, desire or crave a new challenge? Are you open to sharing your dark side? Then read on.
Do you have a dark side?
Or, think you may have one. Or indeed worry that you might have one. Or, for that matter, worry that you don’t and would like one? If so, join me here each week for dark | side | thursday.
Over a period of 52 weeks, I am writing a story. A dark story that will unfold as the weeks pass. Each Thursday, at 13:00 UTC, I will post a new chapter. Each chapter will be exactly 500 words long, and will be accompanied by a photograph. You can catch up on the story so far by clicking here on dark | side | thursday
Share your dark side?
I invite you to join me either by writing your own dark story, week by week, or, if that is too much, by dropping by, now and then, perhaps when the mood suits you or, perhaps, when it doesn’t, and by sharing a photograph, poem or a suitably dark piece of prose. To cross over to dark | side | thursday create your post, tag it dark side thursday and link to it by clicking on the dark | side | thursday badge below, where you can also find all the contributions so far. Or you can simply share your link in the comments section of my weekly post. And, should the mood take you, you can add the badge to your post.
dark | side | thursday | thirtytwo
She smiled, and laughed.
A twisted girlish grin, lopsided, her dark eyes widening, her lips, moist, pinched and puckered, as if to kiss. But kiss she did not. She leaned over him, lips brushing his with a quick upward flick, leaving him wanting more, his mouth open, ready to taste her, even bound as he was. Needing. Aching for more. Of her. All of her.
The sirens did not abate. The lights flashed. The road ahead endless. He strained against the ties that bound him.
He felt her body hover over his, his arms pinned and absent. He felt her hot breath on his face, felt her sliding up and over his prone and strapped down body, belly rubbing over his, soft thighs spreading, squeezing, her breast soft, teasing, taunting him. Slim, delicate, fingers stroking and caressing the cracked contours of his face, her body pinning him, enfolding him, devouring him.
Memories of a cold white hospital cell. That time, long ago. Their bodies shared for brief moments. Given and taken. Wanted and feared. The pain they shared. And all that followed.
The dust. The blood. The fear.
Her lips grazed his, flickered and fluttered, never quite connecting, never lingering, her tongue licking and teasing. Again, and again. He ached. Her body rocking against his, a perverse parody of passion.
Unable to move, his body straining, hardening yet withdrawing, she took him and made him hers. Pain flashed along his arm. Light fading, vision blurring and darkening as the dwindling tunnel of his vision squeezed and contracted around him in time with the practised, clinical, movements of her body. His breath fading as he felt snow begin to pile up and cover his prone body. Cold, wet, snow. Fanciful crystalline flakes, tumbling and floating in front of his eyes, iridescent and flickering. He struggled to breathe. Her cold, dark, empty eyes looking into, and through, his, as he felt her tighten around him. And, all the time, sirens screaming, lights flashing, snow flakes falling, gathering, smothering, stifling him. Her eyes grew darker and receded, he heard her cry out, with the voice that had haunted him for so long.
He felt the pressure of her body recede. His wanting to rise up off the boards to which he was strapped,to follow her, to feel her lithe body pressed firm against him, to feel her hot breath on his face, her wet mouth pressed against his.
The impact was intense.
The sirens stopped. Dead.
His body, and the boards to which he was strapped, slammed into the tarmac with a fierce wet smack. He couldn’t help connecting this with the sound her body made against his as she had rhythmically soared and swooped above him.
He tumbled, over and over, feeling, far away, his face tearing as his body slammed into and across the empty wet road. The ambulance, a mangled blazing wreck, smashed against the razor-wired concrete.
Lights flashing blue and red.
Not again. He thought.
The portal to dark | side | thursday opened on the twenty first day of may in the year twenty hundred and fifteen and will remain open for fifty two weeks.
thirtytwo | fiftytwo