The Queen Bitch

I stare at my reflection in the mirror. Long straight black hair and bright blue eyes, with a mischievous smile on my face. The outfit I’m wearing is bold and sexy, short dress with platform heels.
I grab my purse and keys and turn one more time to check myself out in the mirror. I’m going to light it up today.
                When I get to the studio the photographer’s jaw almost drops. “Darling you look stunning! Who did your hair and makeup today?” He asks. I laugh a little. “I did, you know I have more talent than just modeling right?” I say. He gives me a little smirk before clicking the keys on the computer.
He brings up the shots from yesterday’s shoot. It was Halloween themed and I was dressed up like Medusa. “Amazing as always Clyde.” I tell him. We go through each shot analyzing them together, when my phone starts buzzing from my person.
                I dig it out and see whose calling. Boy Toy #1 as expected. “Hello handsome.” I answer.
“Hello yourself sexy.” He says back. I smile and give Clyde a wink as he shakes his head.
“What are you doing tonight?” He asks me, the desperation in his voice strong. I pause for a bit before speaking. “Honey you know I’m a busy women, tell me something that’s going to make me want to see you.” I say with such fierceness in my voice you could have called me the Queen Bitch. He doesn’t say anything at first. “I don’t have all day lover boy.” I tell him.
“Well how about you and me at Club Ice? Drinks, a little dancing, and maybe something fun afterwards, if you catch my drift.” He says. I’m practically asleep at this point. “Boring, sorry sweetheart, but that just doesn’t cut it with me.” I say and hang up the phone.
                “You are so harsh darling.” Clyde tells me, not looking away from the screen.
“No, I’m just truthful. I go to the club almost every night and he thinks that’s special? Please.” I laugh. Clyde laughs with me. “I need someone who will take me on a wild ride.” I say. Clyde looks up at me from the computer. “What exactly is your take on a wild ride?” he asks one eyebrow raised. I smile at me. “Well first off we need a man with muscles who definitely owns a motorcycle. He doesn’t come swooping in with flowers or shit like that, no he just shows up and tells me to hop on. Then he takes me somewhere completely off the grid and by that I mean somewhere dangerous and off limits, no trespassing allowed. When we get there we find a nice spot and just start going at it. Hot and dirty sex with my sexy muscle man. When we get finished I’ll tell him to close his eyes, saying I have a surprise. That’s when I’ll sneak out the back, steal the motorcycle and drive off into the sunset all on my own!” I say. Clyde is staring at me with an amused expression.
                “Darling, you are one bad bitch.” He says. I smirk at him. “I know.”

Stilettos and Scotch

            I am the woman that mothers warn their good boys about. I am the woman that bad boys drool and fumble over. I am the woman that could make an angel fall and a demon crawl. Long dark ringlets frame my sun kissed skin, my golden orbs swallow your soul, and my rose petal lips are mine to use to savor the taste of your sweat and blood.

            Tonight I walk out on the town. The only bar awake at this hour, one that plays live music till the wee hours of the morning, is the only place to have fun this night. And this night, fun will be had. My six inch stilettos walk on the ghosts of those who have fallen in my wake as I make my way there, the music thundering ahead of me as a procession to my coming.

            As I enter the dim lit building, red and white lights flashing and swaying in ways that make it obnoxious to even have your eyes open, Sunglasses at Night goes through my head and I wonder if I should have brought my sunglasses with me. But then I make eye contact with the bartender, tilt my head as if I am looking down on him, and he licks his lips and smiles in a sheepish way and waves me over.

            “Can I buy you-I mean, get you-I mean,” He fumbles. It’s perfect.

            “Scotch.” I smirk and trace my finger along his. He gulps and laughs in a way that makes me think of Dopey.

            My drink get to me before anyone else gets theirs, and I walk away. I don’t hear him holler for the cash, I do hear someone demand they get their damned drink. Drinking the scotch at the edge of the crowd, watching the band, I wonder if there is a point to toying and taunting. And then I make eye contact with the bass player, and he misses a note. I smile into my glass. There is a point.

            Before the bar closes, before the band leaves, I get my entertainment. The bass player fumbles his moves and is in shock at how bad he is doing at his best act. I take control, make him mine, I make him pur and keen and ask for my contact information afterwards. I give him the e-mail of the dominatrix agency I work for, the number is for the phone sex business I work under, and I give him the address to a porn shop I frequently go to.

            He was fun, but I want a real man.

Challenge #88

Sup!

The challenge for this week was to write a story as your alter ego! If you would like to join us for this challenge, please do! Send us your own work for Fan Friday to inkedfeathersfink@gmail.com!

Catch ya later!

Below The Surface

I sit in the bath tub letting the warm water relax my body. It’s been awhile since I’ve taken a bath, especially one like this. I used to hate taking baths as a kid. Strange to think of how much I depend on them now.  As the steam rises up from the tub I take a deep breath. I reach over to the corner of the tub where I keep my cigarettes and lighter.   Grabbing the box in my hand, I take a peek inside. All that’s left is one cigarette and it seems fit considering the circumstances.
                I light up the cigarette and inhale the sickly sweet nicotine, my last cigarette for my last bath. 
After taking another long drag I dip the tip of the cigarette in the bath water and listen to it hiss. Closing my eyes I take one last breath before going under the water.
                I stay like that for a long time until my body begins to sink further and further down. The shooting pain comes now like millions of pin pricks all across my skin. I can’t help but thrash around in the dark water. As many times as I’ve done this I never get used to the pain. My lungs feel like they are about to burst when suddenly I break to the surface. I am no longer in my apartment bath tub in San Francisco, and no longer am I twenty-four years old.
                I am in Maine, in my old home with the claw-foot bath tub. Bubbles upon bubbles surround me as I sit in the warm water. I am six years old. My beautiful mother is sitting on the bathroom room floor right up against the tub and she’s reading me a story.
                “And the King said to the Queen ‘We only have four days left till the celebration! We must prepare at once.’ Away they went gathering supplies.” I smiled, the child-like innocence filling within me like it always does. Only this time it was bittersweet. I look down at the bubbles and start playing with them. My mom stops in the middle of the story. “Sweetie what’s wrong? I thought you loved this story?” A twinge of panic goes through me as I realize I’m not acting how I should.
“It is my favorite Momma! I’m sorry I promise I’ll pay attention.” I say. When you go to the past there are things you can’t mess with, especially with a time zone as sensitive as the one I’m in.
“Alright then, one more chapter and it’s off to bed. Don’t want you turning into a raisin now do we?” She says smiling at me. It breaks my heart into a thousand pieces, but I just smile back and laugh.
                She keeps reading me the story and I wish it didn’t have to end. I can’t leave this bathtub, or else I’ll be stuck in the past doomed to relive my life again. I’ll have to watch my mother die all over again, and it’s the one thought that keeps me from getting out of this tub.
“And they all lived happily ever after, The End.” The story ends just like it always does, with a happy ending. But not for me, I have to go back to a future without my mother in it.
“Thank you for reading me my story Momma!” I tell her. “Can I have my special towel tonight?” I ask her. It’s the same thing I’ve always asked every time I come here.
“Of course sweetie, let me go grab it okay?” She says. I think of the bright green towel with the frog on it. It was one of my favorite things as a child and my nostalgia gets the best of me.
                I take a deep breath and plunge beneath the surface of the bubbles, holding my breath until I feel my body begin to sink. Farther and farther it goes and I brace myself for the pain. Only it doesn’t come this time, I feel only a cold chill. I begin to panic underneath the water, wondering why I’ve never felt this sensation before. Suddenly I’m rising to the surface fast than I ever have before.
                Strong hands pull me to the surface as I cough and gag for breath.
“SUMMER?! Are you okay? SUMMER?” I open my eyes to find someone I’ve never met. A handsome stranger who is holding my naked body. I stare at him with fear in my eyes.
“What the hell were you doing?” He asks me. I don’t answer; I just keep staring at him as the realization dawns on me. I’ve done something wrong to the chain of time. Something was changed, somehow someway and now a stranger whom I’ve never met is in my house.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” He asks me with concerned eyes. That’s when I know he’s not just any stranger; he’s a stranger who’s in love with me. But what did I do wrong? What did I change? I think back to what I might have done and that’s when it hits me. I always told my mother I loved her, before she went and grabbed my special towel. I didn’t say it this time, I was too wrapped up in having to say goodbye to her forever. My heart aches from the knowledge that I’ll never get to tell her I love her again. Suddenly I’m crying and my handsome stranger is there, helping me out of the bath tub, wrapping me in a warm towel.
                “Shhh it’s okay Summer. I’m here okay? I’m here.” He comforts me. I knew it was stupid messing with the past, but somehow with my handsome stranger holding me, It doesn’t feel like it was a mistake. It almost feels like it’s meant to have happened. That’s when I look down and see I’m wrapped up in a lime green towel with little frogs on it. 

Timewave

Leslie jumped from the table, a mouse scuttling past her legs as she made the drastic dive. Her head hitting the edge of the blue cupboard and knocking her unconscious. The television blared in the background about the first black president of the United States being elected.

Waking up a few hours later, at least to Leslie's perception, she found herself with a massive headache and in a cold and dark meadow. Looking around, she wondered if someone had thought she were dead, and decided to just dump her body somewhere instead of calling the cops. Rubbing her head and getting to her feet, she made her way through the woods, hoping to find a hiking trail, a bike path, or even a road that would take her back to civilization.

After almost two hours, Leslie started to panic. What if there was no road for more miles than she could walk? What if she had been going in the wrong direction? Should she have waited for daybreak? Shaking her head, she knew that freaking out would do her absolutely no good, and she sat down on a nearby boulder. And that's when she heard the shuffling footsteps coming from the direction she had been coming from.

originally she had thought that it had been the wind, or her own fears lurking in the back of her mind coming out to hound her at the worst possible time. But as she slowly turned her head towards the sound, she realized that her prayers might be answered. A warm and hazy light was permeating through the darkness of the entangled tree limbs that she had been fighting tooth and nail to get through. Standing, she called out, a nervous and hopeful smile splayed across her lips as she did so.

The smile dissolved, however, when she saw a lithe and muscular man step through the trees, wearing a loincloth. Fumbled words passed her lips as grunts passed his. Stepping away, she bumped into another man who had stepped up from behind her as silently as a spider climbs its way onto a hand. Turning abruptly to face him, she found a club hitting her head and an enveloping blackness welcoming her back.

The next time Leslie awoke, she was in a barn. Hay stuck to her hair and clothes as if she were a human scarecrow. Climbing out, she made her way out of the hay and the barn, slowly, remembering the men from the woods. Finding a farmhouse outside, she instantly recognized it as her great-great-grandparents farm. Meaning the the barn she had woken up in was the house her parents had remodeled before she was born after the farmhouse had been eaten by termites. Leslie only recognized the house from pictures, and as she continued to stare in disbelief, she saw her ancestors come out of the house and head towards the barn. their hands together and a bucket of something in each hand, she felt light-hearted to see the couple so happy.

And then she realized that she had possibly gone insane, or somehow traveled through time. Either way, the last time she had interacted with someone, it had ended with her getting knocked unconscious. Stepping backwards and attempting to turn and run, she tripped over herself and hit her head against a wooden fence that kept the pigs in during the winter.

Hearing sirens, Leslie awoke and felt her eyes water from the bright light in the ambulance. She didn't move or speak, afraid that if she tried to do anything, she would be sent hurtling through time to just get knocked out over and over again through all of eternity. The ambulance driver asked the other EMT if they were going to vote for Barack Obama the next day. The EMT shrugged and said it would be interesting to be a part of history. The first black president of the United States of America was a pretty big part of history, according to him.

Challenge #87

Hey guys I'm sorry I uploaded this challenge a little later than intended.
But! The challenge for the week is to write a story that is set in the past.

This could be your own past or a completely fictional past its up to you!

If you would like to submit a story you can email us at inkedfeathersfink@gmail.com

thanks everybody!

Thirteen Teacups

My grandmother was an eccentric old lady. Her house was filled with all kinds of crazy things. For example she had a taxidermy squirrel dressed in a tuxedo. His name was Herbert.
                But the one thing that really intrigued me as a kid was these thirteen teacups that she had lined up. They were all numbered too, with each number uniquely and delicately painted on.
One day I asked my grandma about them.
                “Grandma, why do you have these?” I asked. Out of the things my grandmother owned, these were the things that peeked my interest.
“Samantha do not touch those! They are very delicate.” Was all she said to me. Over the years I would bring up the question and I would always got the same response no matter what age I was.
               
                But today I am staring at a box with my name on it, and my Grandma’s Will rests in my hands.

“Samantha as you know these teacups are very special to me. I know that you will take great care of them. But you have to make me a promise. The first Friday the 13^th that these cups are in your possession you must start a tradition. You must drink a special kind of tea in the first cup on midnight the first Friday the 13^th that you have these. Then the next time you must do the same, but with cup number two. So on and so forth. Now you may be wondering why I am asking you do this and what it all means. But I promise you that if you do this, you will start to notice changes in your life. Changes that are amazing and unbelievable. Please Samantha I know you will not let me down. I love you so much my darling little girl.”

                I stare at the paper, reading the paragraph over and over. It makes absolutely no sense what so ever. But yet my curiosity gets the best of me.
I grab the box and lug it up the stairs to my crappy little apartment. I carefully set the box down and open the door. I peer down at the box with my name on it, excited to open it and investigate.
                When I get inside I set the box down on my tiny kitchen table and open it very carefully. On the top of the box is a piece of paper with a ‘tea’ recipe for Moonbrew Tea. It’s the weird tea that I apparently have to drink out of each cup. I go down the list reading each ingredient. There are cloves and peppermint, cinnamon and licorice root and orange peelings. It sounds like a strong flavored brew, but delicious as well.
                I carefully grab the first cup I see that’s wrapped in bubble wrap. Taking my time I carefully unfold it to find one of my favorites. It’s the number 6 cup, with its dark midnight blue and swirling gold design. I stare at it for a moment as the nostalgia of the item washes over me.
I remember days when I would visit my grandma and my eyes would always drift to this cup.
I sigh before setting the cup down. I can’t help but miss my grandma as I go through each and every cup, remembering the designs and wishing I knew what they meant.
               
                After I unpack all the cups I go to my calendar to find when the next Friday the 13^th will be. Goosebumps travel up and down my arms when I see that the next Friday the 13^th is next Friday.
I get that weird feeling in the pit of my stomach when something weird and unexplainable happens, and all I know is I can’t wait to find out what this all means.

-The first Friday-

I am giddy the whole day at work, just watching the clock and waiting till I can go home. The ingredients for the tea are all waiting for me at home along with the first tea cup.
“You are acting weirder than usual today. Must be because it’s the 13^th.” My coworker jokes.
I smile at her. “Yeah well you know it’s a weird day.” I say.
“It’s only weird if you make it weird.” She says. At that exact moment the power goes out in the office. 

                They send us home for the day, unable to fix the power problem. I am so excited that I practically speed on my way home.
I get everything set up for that night, hoping that something magical will happen. The first cup sits on my table with a bright number one painted on the side. As the clock ticks closer and closer to midnight I begin brewing up the tea. The wonderfully spicy smell fills my whole apartment and I smile as it already begins to soothe me. I bring my old tea pot over to the table and fill the tea cup. My grandmother never said anything about a special chant, or anything else I had to do while drinking the tea. I put on my favorite Fleet Foxes album and sit back and relax in the chair.
                I take a sip of tea just as the clock strikes twelve, waiting for something to happen.
I take a couple more sips of the tea, which tastes delicious, and I look around my apartment. I’m expecting something amazing and wonderful to happen, but nothing does. So I just keep sipping my tea and listening to my music. Maybe this whole thing is a silly game my grandma made up to trick me, but even if it is I don’t mind because I’m suddenly the most relaxed I’ve ever been.
               

The next morning I wake up well rested and happy. The sun barely peeks in through my curtains.
I get out of bed and open the curtains to find a one hundred dollar bill stuck to my window, flapping in the wind. My spine tingles as I stare at the bill. A small gasp escapes me before I open the window and quickly grab the money. I stare at it dumbfounded as if it must be fake. But it looks like it’s the real thing and I hold it close to my chest smiling. The first cup of tea has done its job and I can’t wait to see what the next twelve cups brings me. 

The Escape

            The seven houses looked down on the river. I looked up at them, every morning, hoping to live in just one of them when I grew up. The brick, the ivy-covered, the white stone and the wood; each house was an amazing work of art that I wished to be a part of.

            My own home, a trailer on the other end of the city, dust covered and practically dilapidated, housed me for my whole life. For thirteen years I lived there with my father, a man who drank frequently and conversed rarely. A dreary and hopeless life is what I was given, and I wanted more. Thankfully, on the twenty-second of July, I met a girl named Naomi.

            Tall like the houses that looked down on the river, long brown curls that reminded me of the waves in the river, and gorgeous green eyes like the ivy on some of those houses; I found her to be perfect. She found me to be entertaining and a drastic change from her usual crowd. But after telling her my dreams and after helping her with hers, she eventually helped me with mine. She helped me get through high school, especially Science class. She was a genius when it came to chemistry and the combining of molecules. It all just seemed like numbers and letters to me that didn’t mean a thing.

            She was my best friend.

            Seven years after we met, after we became friends, we moved in together at the 22^nd St Apartments. They were on a hill that let us see the seven houses overlooking the river, if we squinted really hard. Thirteen years after that, after getting our degrees from college and getting work, we scraped our money together and got a house on the river, we could see the backyards, or at least try to, of the houses overlooking the river. Those seven houses stayed out of my reach, but when Naomi passed away when our child turned seven, the seven houses didn’t matter anymore. I buried her on the twenty-second of July, and I escaped with her thirteen years later.

Challenge #86

Hey all!

The challenge for this week is to write a story that incorporates either your lucky numbers, or your favorite numbers.

If you would like to join us with a piece of your own work, please do! Just send us your work via e-mail at inkedfeathersfink@gmail.com for Fan Friday!

See you later on Wednesday!

It's called a Trap

            Looking through the bushes, I can see them. The tall ones that walk on two legs, sometimes four, sometimes, they have multiple limbs made of metal, and that is really freaky. They come in different sizes, colors, and their fur changes in different ways as well. But they are all the same. I have seen what they have done to my kind.

            When I was just a hatchling, I saw the small ones throw stones at my family. When I was old enough to fly, I saw the elders release their house trained flea bags on my brothers and sisters, laughing as they pounced and chewed. When I became old enough to build my own nest, men and women continued to chop down the trees I made my home in. The last one, a few days ago, when it dropped, left me crippled due to a branch crushing my left wing.

            Watching them, I can see them laugh and smile, I wish I could see them suffer as I have.

            “Aw! Poor birdy,” I jump at the sound behind me, I look back and try to fly away, but the pain is too much and I end up hopping onto my chest. I can feel the stubby little fingers pick me up, and lift me into the palm of their hand. The fingers stroke my back, and it is comforting and disgusting at the same time. I’m scared and angry. I don’t want to die.

            I’ve been captive for a month now. They have me in a cage, my wing is bandaged, they feed me, they pet me, they ask me to sing. They have been kind and I hate them for it. I know it is a trap, I know they want me to let my guard down so that they can feed me to their flea bag of a feline that focuses its attention on me whenever I am let out of the cage for bandage changed. I can see its eyes glaze in hunger when it sees me.

            Once, the humans let it sniff me. It licked my head, and rubbed its massive grey head against my tiny yellow one. I trembled in fear, but held my bowels. I retained my dignity.

            “Time to fly little one,” the large red-headed woman said, opening the cage and pulling me out as gently as a human can do anything ‘gently’.

            “No! Mommy! I want to keep Thunder Wing!” The son shouted, snot coming out of his nose from crying too hard.

            “Her name is Princess Peony! And she needs to go home to rule her kingdom!” The daughter screeched. She was the one who had found me and taken care of me the most. She had begged her mother to let them keep me until I was healed. Her mother had said no, until she had done what humans do bet, and thrown her mother’s favorite Elvis ashtray against a wall.

            Setting me on the open windowsill, the woman held her children by her sides and they looked eagerly towards me for some reason. I looked around for the grey cat, or some other form of danger, and saw none. I looked outside, tested my wings, looked back at them, and then jumped.

            Three weeks later, I came back to the house and sat on the windowsill. I had a grasshopper in my clutches. A gift. The boy saw me, squealed, and opened the window. He grabbed me, held me close, and I couldn’t remember why I had come back. Humans are vicious creatures.

Black Mamba

They fear me. Of course they should fear me, for I am a dread inducing creature. My very nature is to cause panic in the other creatures around me.
                I can kill creatures that are half my size, because I am dangerous and deadly and this is why they fear me.
               

It’s night time and I slither through the grass looking for my next meal. I sense each smell waiting for the waft of something yummy. That’s when I feel something bigger than me come closer. Instinctively I go into defense mode. I hiss at the creature that is only a few feet away from me. Still the creature does not get my message; it keeps getting closer to me.
                My next instinct is to lash out and bite and that’s exactly what I do. With a quick snap my fangs sink into flesh, injecting my venom. I withdraw and slither back into the bushes, waiting for the creature to die.

“FUCK! A fucking snake just bit me. Shit..Oh my god. Oh my god.”
                “Dude calm down, just calm down. How bad is it? Where did it go?!”
                “I don’t man..Oh dude I don’t feel so good..I-I-think I’m gonna pass o-“
                “Jason? JASON?! SHIT DUDE WAKE UP! WHAT THE FUCK? Oh my god where did it go. Fuck man..Jason?!”

                I  sense another creature near the first one that I had bitten. I hope that the second creature takes it as a message to stay away from me. They are too big to devour so I slither on into the grass looking for something easier to digest. They should have known to fear me.

Challenge #85

Hello everyone!

The challenge for this week is to write a story from the point of view of a wild animal.

If you would like to join us for this week, please send us your own work, be it a short story, poem, or some piece of art, to inkedfeathersfink@gmail.com for Fan Friday!

See you all on Wednesday!