Little wonder we stumble in life.

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There was something about the bright lights, the crowd, his smile before the camera, that creeped her out. Because she saw the darkness behind it, the darkness inside when she him bloody, bruised, swollen. When her own knuckles bled as she stared down at him lying at her feet, her eyebrows still drawn tight, her breaths coming in shallow and sharp.

He didn’t remember.

But she did. She didn’t think she’d ever forget. Now every day she was in the same room as him, she remembered. There was something tainted about him now. And she couldn’t say a word, about how much she hated him, about what she’d done. Because she worked with him. Because now, he was smiling, taking food, talking in a light tone. He was friendly. He had never been with her.

There had always been a hidden rage inside her that she kept well hidden. Nobody would ever suspect her. Not even him.

“Hey, Anya, you wanna dance?” he finally asked, walking up to her.

“Sure,” she said, her voice wavering uncertainly as she took his hand uncertainly.

They danced to some unknown club song, playing from someone’s personal speakers. She pretended to like it. She even gave him a fake smile, pretending to like him. But, she kept reminding herself, she could never get that close to him again.

Until he swooped in closer, and she almost fell over backwards, and he captured her in his arms. Her insidee were rioting, but she made herself remain still, remain calm.

“That was a close one,” said Timothy. He smiled, that disgusting, hypocritical smile.

“Yeah,” she managed, flinching under his touch. He straightened her to her feet and let go. She had to remind her she really didn’t like him, because she could feel his assumptions creeping up on her. Men like to tell you exactly what you like, and who you are. They like to pretend they’re desirable to everyone. “Thanks,” she said, a little spite creeping into her voice and flying right over his head.

She went immediately to her room.

He followed her. “Where are you going?”

“Nowhere. Go back to the party.”

“Only if you come with me.”

No, her mind reacted automatically. “I’ll be right there.”

“No, you won’t. Come on!”

He made it sound perfectly reasonable, but she knew it was anything but. It was times like this she wondered about that night, how or even if he really could’ve forgotten. It seemed so ludicrous.


“Is this about me?”


“Come on, I didn’t even touch you!”

“It doesn’t matter. I just need a moment.”

“Okay, but you got to promise you’ll come right back. I’m saving us a dance.”

“Okay,” she said, just to get him to shut up, and he went back to the party.

She didn’t even bother turning on the light when she got inside. Mind roiling in nightmares, she flopped down on her bed, tossing and turning to sleep.

A touch on her shoulder shuddered her awake, and she twisted his wrist hard, sending its owner sprawling to the ground. Even when she heard his screams, she couldn’t stop, separating his arm from the socket. Blood flashed in her mind again, and it sent her fist flying into his face, defending herself from the intruder.

“It’s me, it’s me!” he cried, until another punch collided with his face, knocking him out.

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Unlimit-dead Parking

That car had been parked in the same space every time he had come to the lot. He drove slowly past it again, determined to do something about it but with no idea what.

He parked inside on the first floor, lucking out with a spot right by the entrance and walked back, moving slower, exposed to the pavement, but reaching closer.

The driveway leading to the public lot had parallel parking spaces cut away to the right. He looked into the front window and spotted a disability tag.

His eyes darted up to the curbside sign. Disabled Parking. Of course.

He looked into the rest of the car, but found no more evidence of who this driver was, or how long the car had really been here for.

He called the police. He wasn’t sure entirely, but he thought that it must’ve been the same car.

“Yeah, I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but this car has been parked here for over a week. I’m sure its not illegal but… It’s the lot on George Street, by the way. I just worried… I don’t have time to stick around though… Work.”

“Of course, sir. We’ll look into that for you.”

As he returned that evening, there was a police rope-off, and a massive crowd of civilians, spectators, and authorities. As he passed into the lot from the left, he spotted the problem.

It was that car.

“Excuse me, what’s going on here?” he asked, called across to a fellow in a yellow vest.

“A murder was discovered right near here, in one of the buildings. This is his car.”


Trifecta – Stay with Me

He was my knight in shining armour; I was his damsel in distress. I was glad that he saved me… but I was never really in love with him; I was in love with the idea of him.

A knight. Noble.

Or maybe not. Knights take what they want. He took it from me. He raped women in noble conquests and battles.

He was no knight in shining armour; I was his victim as much as his indebted. I had to juggle my doubts with my admiration.

In the end, it just wasn’t worth it. I took his sword from the main room, wandered through the dark.

He was asleep, snoring quietly. I straddled his body, lifting the sword up.

I plunged it down. He convulsed, struggling like a bull under me. I had to grip my thighs to him to remain upright, but he was strong, even strong enough to throw me off.

Blood seeped through his shirt, creeping down. Soon my legs were soaked. Sticky, disgusting, I tensed my throat, as if I might gag from what I was doing.

I closed my eyes, narrowing my legs tighter. Soon it would all be over.

His body slowed down, soon only rocking me. He wasn’t the only one who takes what he wants. But unlike him, I’d have to flee into a forest.

I wasn’t a knight.

A fairytale prompt using the word for this week’s Trifecta.

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The Ivan Project, #18

He turned to her sharply, full of betrayal. “It was you?”

Tears gathered in her eyes, her chest heaving, the blue silk of her dress crinkling with the motion. “Yes,” she said breathily, “I’m so sorry. I…”

“You killed Monsieur? But why?”

She paused, trying to put off her answer. “It really wasn’t my fault,” she pleaded. “I really wasn’t interested in him, but he was insistent. He kept saying he’d kill for me. One day, he actually promised to do it, and I knew he was a murderer and it was up to me to stop him…

“He finally trapped me in a tiny little room, and there was this look in his eyes, this disturbing mischievous look like he was going to take advantage of me whether I liked it or not. I had to do something… And then I saw the drug on the table. I thought I could knock him out with it, I had no idea it would kill him…” she confessed.

He frowned at her. “I’m afraid you’ve tied my hands. I’ll have no choice but to arrest you…”

“Fine,” she spat angrily. “Arrest the innocent woman! But you should be thanking me!”