Infatuation

skull

Photo by Sue Vincent

“With all the money this latest book is raking in, we’ll be able to go on an extended holiday in the South of France,” Roz Taylor remarked to Valentijn Liske after he signed the last copy.  He was book signing and having his picture taken with fans at Waterstones Piccadilly.  It had been a busy but very pleasant afternoon.

Valentijn didn’t reply.  He stood up, stretched and donned his jacket.  He was ready to escape to his home in Yorkshire.  After thanking and having a few words with the organizers of the event, he left the bookshop.

“I think this is your best novel, so far,” Roz said when they were in the car.  She glanced down at a copy that was on her lap.   “I can see it being made into a film like the others.  Can you imagine how much money will roll in?  We can use some of it to buy and develop the land which is featured here on the cover.  You’ve always entertained the idea of owning a home in Queensland.”

Valentijn turned to her, “You keep saying ‘we’,” he muttered.

Her head shot up and snapped to the left, her eyes wide as they met his.   “What do you mean?” she asked.  “This book was a collaboration.”

I wrote it,” he informed her coldly.

“Yes, but the idea for the cover was mine.  You wanted to have a dead body with a smoking gun next to it but I suggested that you have a skull lying in a field to add mystery to it.”

“And for that suggestion you think you’re entitled to everything?  You’re beginning to sound like my greedy ex-wife.”

She swallowed hard.  “I thought we were in this together.  I thought I was more than your agent.  I thought we had something…”

“Well, you thought wrong,” he snapped.  “From now it will be strictly business between us.”

“But, why?”

“I’ve grown bored with you, Roz, it’s that simple.”

Color flooded her pale cheeks and her eyes flashed at him.  “It’s that little tart I’ve  seen hanging around you lately, isn’t it?”

“I presume you’re referring to Alina?”

“Yes!  I notice the way she’s been throwing herself at you and you encourage her.”

“She’s full of spirit which I rather like.”

“Have you and she…?”

“Slept together?  No, not as yet.  But I promise you it wouldn’t be long before we do–” He was interrupted by a hard slap across the face.  He rubbed his smarting skin, his gaze narrowing.

“You disgust me,” Roz cried as hot, angry tears spilled down her cheeks.  They were stopped at a traffic light.  “Find yourself another agent.  I’m through with you!”  She tossed the book at him, grabbed her bag and pushed open the door, slamming it hard behind her.

Valentijn watched her go, shrugged and then, tapping the glass partition, he said to the driver, “Turn right at the next intersection.  I’d like to stop by the florist.”

“Very well, Sir.”

Valentijn settled back in his seat, smiling slightly as he looked out of the window.  He could just picture Alina’s face when she saw the lavender gladioli.  Lavender was her favorite color and the gladioli symbolized his infatuation for her, a girl almost half his age.  And the girl who had cost him the best agent he ever had.  He hoped she was worth the trouble.

Infatuation is the most fragile kind of love – C.S. Lewis

This was written for the #writephoto Prompt – Bone at Sue Vincent’s Daily Echo.

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Take the Fall

“This is madness,” he thought to himself but yet here he was parked outside of the university, waiting for her.  Sometimes she would be with a friend or in a group and other times she was alone.  And each time, when she saw him, she would look at him without making it obvious.

He had no business being here.  “I should be heading back to the office and finish marking the stack of term papers sitting on my desk.”  Yet, he remained, his eyes scanning the drove of students for her.  Would she be alone today?  He hoped so.  And if she were, what was he going to do?  He hoped she didn’t think that he was stalking her.  He was no stranger to this campus.  In fact, it was at one of his lectures where he first laid eyes on her.  She was sitting in the second row.   He could still remember what she was wearing that day.   And he remembered thinking that her lipstick was way too bright.  How he managed to get through the lecture, he had no idea.

At the end, while other students were crowding him and asking questions, she stood beside the chair where she had been sitting and watched him.  Their eyes met and held for what seemed like eternity before she turned and walked away.  He watched her go, wondering if he would see her again.  For the rest of the afternoon, he could think of nothing else but her.  What was her name?  What was she studying?  Did she have a boyfriend?

Driven by a compulsion he couldn’t explain, he found himself outside of the university the following day, hoping that he would see her.  And he did.  His heart pounded wildly against his ribs when he saw her walking towards his car with a friend.  She was laughing at something the other girl said when she spotted him.  Without missing a beat, she met his gaze directly, making him blush before she walked past the car.

He broke out of his reverie when she appeared now.  She was alone today and when she saw him, she stopped and stood there, staring at him.  Today, she was wearing a black hat, black jacket over a white tee shirt and jeans.  Her hair was pulled together in a side plait, making her look much younger and her lips were bright red.  And then, she moved.  She’s coming towards me, he realized.  Nervousness and excitement filled him.  He ran his hands over his hair, straightened his clothes before getting out of the car.  He leaned nonchalantly against the car and waited.

When she reached him, she smiled and held out her hand.  “Hello, Professor Remington,” she said.

She remembers my name.  He cleared his throat, smiled and shook her hand which felt very small in his.  “Hello, Miss–?”

“Sydney Bradshaw”

“Pleased to meet you, Sydney.”

“I just wanted to let you know that I really enjoyed your lecture.”

“I’m happy to hear that,” he said.  “I have another one coming up next month.”

“Where?” she asked.

“The University of Roehampton.”

“What’s the lecture about?”

“Self-victimization or victim playing.  I will explain what it is, the reasons why people engage in it and the signs.”

“That sounds very interesting.  I’d definitely like to come.”

“I hope you do,” he said.  “You don’t have a boyfriend, do you?”

She shook her head at once.  “No, I don’t.”

“Good.  And I don’t have a wife or a girlfriend.  I’d like to continue our conversation more over cappuccinos.”

She smiled.  “I’d like that too.”

He walked around to the passenger-side of the car and opened the door for her.   They went to a nearby cafe where they the rest of the afternoon, talking over cappuccinos and the following evening, they had dinner at a charming French restaurant.   By the end of the year, they were engaged.

…ignore the risk and take the fall. And if it’s meant to be it’ll be worth it all – Daniel Seavey

Sources:  Genius; Wikipedia; The Daily EvergreenRate Speeches

The Paper

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Photo:  Joy Pixley

She couldn’t believe that she was sitting there, watching a western with Kyle, the hottest and most popular guy on campus.  It felt surreal.  It was that morning when he approached her as she was closing her locker.  He smiled his incredible smile as he offered to walk her to class.

As they walked down the hallway, he invited her over to his house that evening for pizza and a movie.  She accepted, smiling when she saw the other girls watching them.  I bet they never thought a guy like Kyle could be interested in a girl like me. 

He picked her up in his convertible and took her to the family mansion.  His parents were at the opera.  After a quick tour, they ate and then settled down to watch the movie.

When it was over, he took her home.  Outside of her house, he turned to her.  “I’ve this paper that’s due next week and was wondering if you’d write it for me.”  He took out his wallet.

Her heart sank.  Now she understood the reason for his sudden interest.  “I stopped writing papers for other students.”

“Bummer,” he replied.

She got out of the car.

198 Words

Written as part of Sunday Photo Fiction hosted by Susan Spaulding. For more details visit Here.  To read other stories based on this week’s prompt, visit Here.

Source:  Study Breaks

The Dream/Circle #writephoto

circle-of-stones

She stared at the photo, her face turning white as a sheet.  It looked exactly like the place in her dream.  The eerie woods with its tall trees and overgrown grass that looked like hay scattered on the ground and the strange stones arranged in a circle.  She was afraid to tell John for fear that he would think that she having a relapse.

Three years ago, she had suffered a nervous breakdown after and it had taken a long time for her to recover.  She was fine until she started having the same dream shortly after she celebrated her fortieth birthday.

It began with her walking through the woods and it appeared to her that it was in the early 1900s for she wore a gown which swept the ground as she walked.  Why she would venture into the woods unaccompanied, she had no idea.  Perhaps it was the adventurous spirit in her.  She would walk and walk, until she came to the stones.  Curious, she would approach them.  They held a strange fascination for her.

There was something unearthly about them.  She went to the largest one and after a moment’s hesitation, she reached down and touched it.  Suddenly, she was lying on her back, looking up at a man, dressed as a priest dressed in blue and saffron robes and the crackling sound of flames followed by unbearable heat.  And then she would wake up, feeling as if her body was on fire.

What did this dream mean?  Was she losing her mind again?  She was afraid to tell anyone.  She didn’t want to go back to the psychiatric ward.

Her hand trembled as she held the photo.  She would show it to John and ask him about it and she had to be perfectly calm about it.

After dinner that night when they were relaxing on the sofa, she showed the photo to him.  “John, I saw this in the desk drawer,” she said.  “When was it taken?”

“I was working on a story about Temple Wood and I found this photo in the archives.  I think it was taken in the early 1900s.  It was in these woods where it is believed that a missing adolescent girl was burned alive on this large stone–known as the Druid altar.”  He pointed to the same stone she had touched in her dream.  “Her name was Alice Frawley.  She would have been forty if she were still alive today.”

She felt a cold fear clutch at her heart.  “Do–do you have a photo of her?”

“I believe so.   I’ll go and get it.”

He returned a while later and handed it to her.  “Sorry, it took me so long to find it.  I’m not sure why it wasn’t with the other photo.”

She took one look at it and fainted.

Startled, he took the photo out of her hand and examined it closely.  He scrambled to his feet and ran for the photo album.  He flipped through the pages until he came to the photo of Annie when she was a teenager.  His face went white when he saw the uncanny resemblance between her and Alice.

This was written in response to the Thursday Photo Prompt – Circle by Sue Vincent’s Daily Echo. Click on the link to read other stories inspired by the image.

Source:  Voices From the Dawn

Spotted

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Photo Credit: James Pyle

He watched them. The boy was preoccupied. The little girl was hidden from view by the large boxes. If he were to walk up now and take her, no one would see. He’d left the engine in his pick-up running just in case he had to make a quick getaway.

Perspiration broke out on his forehead and his heart was pounding. They had promised him that he wouldn’t hurt another child—that he had responded well to the therapy but here he was watching his next victim.

He reached into his pocket for the lollipop and other goodies to lure her. Getting down on his haunches, he called out to her in a low voice. “Hey, little girl.”

She turned, smiling when she saw him. He showed her the candy and her face lit up. She moved closer.

Then he heard the siren. Too late, he thought as he was hoisted to his feet and handcuffed.

The child’s mother ran out and grabbed her. “What’s happening?” she asked the officer. “Who’s that man?”

“A sex offender, ma’am. Someone saw him hanging around, got suspicious and called us.”

“Thank God!” She hugged her daughter tightly as the squad car drove away.

200 Words

Written as part of Sunday Photo Fiction hosted by Susan Spaulding. For more details visit Here.  To read other stories based on this week’s prompt, visit Here.

Source:  Lifescience

Outlook

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PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

He sat there watching the people pass by, enjoying the summer afternoon.  Some of them stopped to drop money into his basket while others passed by as if he were invisible.   Some glanced at the prosthetic leg and then at him, pity etched on their faces which set his teeth on edge.  It was bad enough that he was sitting here begging, something he never imagined he would ever do but to be pitied?

And then he saw the blind girl.  She was smiling.  Her world was dark but she was smiling.  He felt ashamed.  I can see and walk.

100 words

This was written as part of the Friday Fictioneers challenge hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.  For more details, visit Here.

To read stories of 100 words based on this week’s prompt, visit Here.

The Best Feeling

When they met she was in a fashion show,

dressed in a spotted fur Coat and a crown

of flower jewelry around her head.  She

was doing it as a favor to a friend in the

fashion business in support of a girl’s

right to education in Africa.

 

He was there sitting in front and when

she strutted down the runway, he took

notice.  Their eyes met and held for

several minutes before she turned

and walked off.  After the show, her

friend introduced them.  It turned out

that he was Rémy Vasseur, the name

behind Vasseur wineries.  He was a

household name in Provence where

his vineyard was situated.  He owned

a chateau there as well as in Nice.

 

He was a very attractive and charming

man in his early fifties.  Widowed with

a twenty-something daughter, he had

not shown any interest in dating until

now.  Without wasting any time, he

invited Marcelle to lunch.  Flattered

and completely enamored of him,

she readily accepted.  He took her

to an expensive but cozy restaurant

and over a gourmet lunch, they got

to know each other.

 

She enjoyed his company so much

that when he asked to see her

again, she agreed.  So, lunch that

day led to more lunches and dinners.

Then, they took impromptu trips to

Rome, Barcelona, Athens, Montenegro and

Turks and Caicos.  They stayed in

separate rooms and so far, he hadn’t

kissed her or made any advances.

 

Things were moving at a

comfortable rather than a rapid

pace which suited her.  They went for

walks after dinner, sightseeing and

dancing.  By the time he took her to

his chateau in Provence, she was in

love with him.

 

What she loved about him was that he

didn’t flaunt his wealth.  It was just a

part of him and he carried it with such

humility, always mindful of those who

were not as fortunate as he and loved

to give to charities.  He was deeply

religious too and always credited God

for his wealth and good fortune.

 

It was when they were sitting on the

stone bench in front of the fountain

that he proposed to her.  Her eyes

almost popped out of her head when

he got down on his knee in front of

her and opened a little black box.

He took out the most exquisite

ring she had ever seen.

 

His eyes met hers in a steady gaze as

he said, “Marcelle, I never thought that

I would fall in love again until I met you.

When I first saw you I felt as if time and

my heart stood still.  I had to meet you

and when I did, I had to get to know you.

These past months that we have been

together have been the happiest for me

but they’re not enough.  I want to spend

the rest of my life with you.  Will you

marry me?”

 

“Yes,” she cried and watched through

her tears as he put the ring on her finger.

 

He stood up and pulled her to her feet.

“I love you,” he whispered as he put his

arms around her waist and drew her

closer to him so that their bodies were

touching.

 

She smiled up at him, his face blurry.

“I love you too,” she murmured and

watched in anticipation as he bent

his head, her heart thudding.  They

were about to kiss for the first time.

As their lips touched, she thought,

The best feeling in the world is kissing

someone for the first time when you’ve

really wanted to kiss them for a long time.

Source:  Pinterest