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The Hidden Fortress
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I remember.


The feel of him, of him on me, the roughness of stubble, smoothness of skin. Weight and solidity.

I remember smell. Morning breath, aftershave, toothpaste. I remember not caring.


I remember taste. His mouth on mine. Whisky kisses. Salt on skin.

I remember vision. The crinkle at the corner of his eyes. The curve of his thigh, the curve between his neck and shoulder. The line of his back under his t-shirt. The way the hair ran down from his chest to his navel and beyond...


I remember sound. ‘I think I love her’ he said.


Memory sucks.

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:heart:For Valentine.:heart:


So there we are, sat up the tree, waiting for the herd to come by below. He’s got the dart gun, and a look of juvenile petulance on his podgy face. It’s up to me to pick the pair we want for the breeding programme.


‘Here they come.’

He grunts, shifting chubby buttocks.

I watch the herd closely, noting interaction, general condition.


‘That one,’ I point, ‘ ..and that one there.’

The first dart strikes home cleanly. The subject jerks slightly, looks bewildered.

‘And that one.’


He fires.


The dart hits the next in line.


Cupid’s a lousy shot…..

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Cracking the Code.


In the beginning, it seems incomprehensible, but she is persistent. As she reads further, it starts to make sense. She picks her way carefully, amongst pictograms and a minefield of arcane terms, and takes a deep breath.

She thinks she understands, although she has a deep-rooted dread that if she is wrong, her carefully-built structure will collapse under the following weight of confusion.


Slowly, she makes connections. It’s not easy, but mentally and physically challenging.

It takes shape before her eyes. Things fall neatly into place.


Cautiously, she moves a finger.


The screen lights up.


‘You are connected to broadband.’

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Home Hairdressing.


Typically, he only wanted one thing.

OK, I’d let my hair down a bit, but that’s not any reason for him to think I was that sort of girl. I may have been out of circulation for a while, but I’m not naïve, so when he got That Look in his eye, I backed off pretty quickly. Of course, he started in with how unfair I was being….



I knocked him out with the chamber-pot, and left, the way he’d come in. Well, almost. I left him the plait.


Swords cut neatly enough, and I always fancied short hair.

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Paradise Lost


Welcome to Heaven.


Oh. You didn’t realize??


What? Mistake? Hah – dream on, sucker. OK, OK, let’s look at your records, no need to scream so much. Don’t wake the Shoggoths!




You never realized?

Look - Sin makes God mad, right… so Who do you think might be happy about that?




Why should making Big D happy end you up in misery?


S’the great paradox.


Sin – and you end up in Hell, which, unlike here, is a really nice place. Warm, good music, nice company.


Be a miserable, witch-burning, pious son-of-a-bitch and - welcome to Heaven!


God loves misery.

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Mr. Mojo Risin'


“She won’t come to the damned door.”


Don’t you love her madly -


“She’s an adult – there’s nothing you can do.”


“She won’t answer her phone – ”


Waiting, waiting for the sun -


“Let it go.”


“Her recycle box was full of vodka bottles.”


Squirming like a toad –


“I thought we agreed you’d stop driving by.”


“I could hear those fucking songs from the street, over and over -”


Ride the King’s Highway – ride it West -


“We’ve talked about your need to play the hero - ”


“She needs –“


“She wants to be left alone.”


She took a face from the ancient gallery –


It was his.

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With apologies...or possibly thanks, to Barbara Cartland.







A shooting pain coursed through her sylph like body as he drew her to him. His enormous manly boot pressed down harder on her dainty in-step. Heavens! Would he never let her go?


She felt her innermost being lurch as his lips held hers in a seemingly unending kiss. He was redolent of kippers & Sherry. He drew her closer yet. How was this possible. He would be behind her if this kept up.


It truly seemed they'd be joined for eternity.


Her doll-like alabaster hand gripped the Madeira decanter & brought it down on his raven-haired crown.



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Not about arrowheads.



What I Should Have Done




Heading home after a long day, I'm sitting at a red light in my 1/2 ton truck. A little sports car roars up behind me. He starts honking.


I obviously can't go on red, you can't see oncoming traffic because of bushes.







He's in a hurry. Probably thinks I'm some old biddy, can't hear, doesn't know the gas peddle from the brake, or drive from reverse.


He's wrong. There's reverse! There's the gas peddle! As I floor it and we fly backwards, I can still hear him honking, but also faint screaming.

My hearing's pretty good too.

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Wind of Change


His heart is still racing; his shirt is sticking to his back as he sits in front of the Riverside Café. In his pocket his thumb is running along an inch-thick wad of bills, all hundreds.


It had been rudiculously easy to take the money – an open door, a distracted clerk … spur of the moment.


The waitress … Just his type. If he lets her see the money, she might be interested …


When she turns, he puts the money next to his cappuccino.


Her eyes widen.


A sudden blast of wind hurls the bills across the square, and into the river.

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OK he helped me out, but then it all turned sour - he was in trouble, he thought I could help, he figured I owed him…. Yeah – I’d said I would but, c’mon….let’s be real!

I wasn’t too keen. I mean, he was…. well, not my type, you get my drift? I didn’t want to get involved - I had a position to think about, responsibilities. But my parents… Oh puh-lease! My dad started in with all the ‘your word is your bond’ crap.

So I did.




It doesn’t always work out.



It’s bloody wet here in the pond.

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Granny, what big teeth you have.


“Ludicrous,” he’d sneered and, enamoured of his own wit added, “Literally hare-brained.”


I’d just shrugged as he put away his little recorder and sauntered out the door, chortling, “Shapeshifters, my ass.”


Dumping the damned tea out of my Shelley cup and replacing it with Talisker, I thought about which of the bastards around the corner I disliked the most – they all kept pit-bulls – and unleashed my mind.


I’d chosen well – his was an alpha and they’d all followed us as I led the way, snarling and panting and baring our teeth.


“Anthropology student mauled to death!” screamed the headlines.



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Thinking the unthinkable ain’t that hard…and once you have the hang of it, doing follows pretty fast. My life in one sentence.


“…to be taken from this place…”


I’ll make no excuses. Do the crime, do the time...hah!

Do I deserve this? Depends where you stand. I’m not going to make your mind up for you.



They’re waiting. In the shadows, in the weeds at the bottom of the river, buried in the dank earth….they follow, constant companions, silent but for the ticking of their claws on potholed roads.

In the dark behind my eyes.


Hanging will be mercy.


(thanks to jana for the key phrase that got this one finished xx)

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Ash Nazg


It starts as it ends, in heat and desire.


I was made to be with him, but war and fortune tore us apart. Lost in darkness, I wandered far, desired by all who saw me, fated to bring disaster to all who tried to take me. I ached for him, cried out for him, but he was ever lost to me.


Then - I heard him in my dreaming, called out – he sent his riders for me.

I worked my way back to his side… a long, hard road.


And now, falling into fire, I feel his doom within me….

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Oh no! Not again. Who would DO this.... dump them on the porch and run.


So pathetic in their little box with newspaper all around. I've a mind to just shut the door and ignore them. Damn! It's supposed to freeze tonight.


Why do they keep doing this to us. Don't they know we're in the same boat as them.....we can't just eternally absorb their discards. Heartless bastards!


My family won't put up with much more of this. Where do I put them? Crap! I'm so not up for this.


Hmmmmm? More zucchini bread....muffins....in meatloaf? Zucchini fudge?

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In my mind, I walk childhood streets, long-lost and sun-drenched, cats on the roof-tiles, the cool of the deep wells.

I move on and out, to the grey cobbles of my adolescence and the mean alleyways of the city; awareness of conflict and the pain of bruises colours the storefronts and dims the bright lights of memory.


One autumn day, I changed.

Moved through the adult world, touching, tasting, feeding on sight and sensation. Becoming the hunter, not the hunted.


It’s a long way from ancient Rome to the clinical whiteness of the rocket.

Undying, I thirst for your future.

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