Wednesday, July 18, 2012

His Love - 3WW

Droplets of early morning dew kissed the fragile strands of her daily ritual. Day after day, I'd watch intently as she created her masterpieces. I admired her fervor, her attention to the finest of details. 

Sunlight, warm and fragrant, also witnessed her labor from above. I used to be jealous of its intrusion and never wanted to share her but no longer.

I realize now we were always alone, this weaver and I. 
Our journey together would end soon and she would move on to another, her memory of my devotion fading before the day was over.

I loved yet hated her for it. 

Though she hadn't yet begun to touch me, the hot, sticky feel of her rising hunger pumped a ribbon of terror through my veins. As if she sensed my hidden turbulence, the shade of my death paused as I lay in a frustrated tangle.

Several eyes, fathomless pools of obsidian, caressed me gently while she asked.
"Are you comfortable?"

Relieved to know she still cared that much for me, I began to weep.
"Very much so."

She leaned in close, the breath of her whisper thrilling me one last time.
"Then let us begin." 

Her beautiful smile was the last thing I remembered...

© Copyright 2012 by Ren Thompson July 18, 2012

3Word Wednesday: Feel, Shade, Tangle

Monday, July 16, 2012


I was dressed and waiting for my taxi to arrive. Michael had left already. His private limousine had been on standby and, as I watched from the window, he'd been whisked away without a backward glance. He didn't ask me if I needed a lift, not that I would've accepted.

It was an understanding between us, when we embarked on this affair; a weekend of  pure bliss, uninterrupted by our everyday lives. I wasn't available, not in the way he deserved so I treasured each second I had with him. Once the moment of his imminent departure arrived, we shared a final kiss and then he would leave, the memory of his lingering scent the only thing I had to hold me until our next tryst. 

The clouds had moved in sometime during the afternoon, chasing the sun away. Now the gentle patter of rain followed by fingers of water, streaked the windows like mournful tears. 

I sighed, feeling the weight of my solitude. 
Rainfall was not meant to be endured alone.

I straightened up when the familiar yellow vehicle came into view. I hurried to the door, checked my purse for everything and grabbed my tote. The ride down the elevator was quick, unlike when I first arrived. It seemed like it couldn't move fast enough.

When I reached the lobby, I nodded to the concierge before stepping through the revolving glass doors. The doorman on the other side immediately held an umbrella over my head as he escorted me to the waiting taxi-cab.

Once I'd thanked him and climbed in, the door was shut behind me. I adjusted my cape, and smoothed a careful hand over my up-do. The cab driver maneuvered his way into traffic, his eyes meeting mine for brief second.

We didn't speak for the entire trip for which I was thankful. The swish-thud of the windshield wipers, the shhhh of tires against the wet asphalt and the occasional beeping horn of an irritated driver broke the silence. 

When the taxi pulled up in front of train station and parked, I reached for the door handle. I never had to pay as my lover took care of my expenses for me. He promised to take care of me always and I took him at his word.

I paused when the cab driver suddenly turned to lean an arm along the back of the front seats. His warm brown eyes, lightly creased in the corners, held a gentle smile and I blinked against the sudden stinging of my own.

When it came, the familiar rumble of his voice engulfed me in a warm, safe hug.
"Don't make the same mistake I did, sweetheart."

I averted my gaze, feeling the blush of guilt climbing my face. I tried to keep the defensive tone out of my voice but failed miserably.
"What would you have me do, then?"

My father sighed and looked out of the side windows. When he held out his hand, I reached to entwine my fingers with his. A thumb rubbed against my knuckles while he considered what advice to give me. I waited with my heart in my throat. 

Daddy sighed again and lifted my hand to kiss my fingertips.
 "If you love him, don't keep him waiting."

All I could do was nod, as a single tear slipped down my cheek.

© Copyright 2012 by Ren Thompson July 16, 2012

Wednesday, March 28, 2012

Delphine - 3WW

The remnants of something fragrant jostled his memory. Max paused, uncertain. He glanced around, frowning before silently berating himself for his moment of weakness.

Delphine had left him about five or six months ago, unable to cope with his passions. She had been so eager, he mused, so willing to employ her ideas and opinions on whatever projects he’d embarked on.

But over the years it had become too much for her, she’d said.

He stood in the open doorway to their bedroom, his heart leaden with sadness. She refused to meet his eyes as she went from closet to bed where the suitcase had lain open.

“You haven’t changed.” Her voice held a trace of accusation. “I thought that once you got it all out of your system, we could move on, think about having children.”

He searched his mind for that particular topic but came up embarrassingly blank.
“I don’t recall…” His voice trailed off and he fidgeted.

“Of course you don’t.” Delphine went to the bureau and opened up the top drawer. “You never seem to recall anything when it came to kids.”

“Del,” He began but she put up a hand, stopping his next words. “No, Max. It’s too late for further discussions. I’m leaving and that’s all I care about right now.”
And with a final snap of the suitcase, and a quick look around the room, she was gone…

Max sighed.
It was always near sundown when memories of her were most vivid. Her laughter, the way she would tilt her head to the side while he talked, her arousal whenever he caressed her just the way she loved.

Regret coated his tongue and filled his throat.
He never meant to hurt her. He never meant to ruin things between them. If he could go back in time, he’d do things differently.

He ran into her a few days ago. She appeared happy to see him, judging by the way she threw her arms around him in an enthusiastic hug. He returned her hug, breathed in her special scent. She felt the same, he thought, yet slightly different. Before he could figure it out she pulled out of his arms.

“Oh Max, how are you?” Delphine’s warm brown eyes searched his. She gripped his hands. “I’ve thought about you everyday.”
“Have you?” Max smiled, skeptical.
“Of course.” She laughed and struck a pose. “What do you think?”
And that’s when he saw it.

Max knew he should’ve done things differently, should’ve had the talk with her but it was too late now.

She was stretched out on the old kitchen table, spread eagle, her limbs bound with the very nylons he used to slowly peel from her smooth legs. Her mouth was bound with duct tape. Clumps of congealed blood caked one side of her head, the dark blonde strands of hair sticking to it.

Max loved to twine his hands in her fragrant hair. He lifted a lock and pressed his lips to it.  His eyes met hers. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

Dropping it, he moved to the counter and pulled the filet knife out of the block before turning back to her.
“I’m sorry, my love.” He said quietly.

When her tear-filled eyes caught the glint of metal, she arched her back and yanked on the restraints. Even though her screams were garbled behind the tape, he could tell the force of them by how thick the veins in her neck were bulging.

She was always such a fighter, he thought in admiration, such a fighter until she decided not to play anymore.

His eyes roamed over the swell of her abdomen. No, Max decided, he never wanted children and should’ve spoken up sooner.

“I’m so sorry.” He said again as he gently, yet methodically, applied the knife. 

 © copyright 2012 by Ren Thompson March 28, 2012