Posts Tagged ‘Fresh’

Midnight Snack (Short Story Excerpt)

January 16, 2017

author-3

1.

February 4th, 2017.

Stark City, Oregon.

6:59 p.m.

Gabriel Lester craved blood. Lots of it. Fresh and hot; straight from the jugular of his prey. He hadn’t tasted the rich, red delicacy in what felt like forever, and being a creature of the night, he needed it.

Like humans need air.

So, stomach churning, Gabe looked up at his two unsuspecting victims, and grinned—baring his long, white fangs.

Now, they’ll know true fear!

For a moment, no one moved. The man and woman across the table looked at Gabe with what seemed like fear welling up in their eyes. Fear of what he intended to do. Still smiling, Gabe curled his hands in imitation of Count Orlok in Nosferatu, then the man let out a disgusted groan.

A groan which jolted the eleven-year-old boy back to reality.

Instead of a dark, dreary castle in the Romanian wilderness, Gabe sat in a bright, cheery dining room. His family lived in a small, two-bedroom house in the Dibert District. He liked it there, but his stepfather, Ronald Keene, didn’t.

Ronnie didn’t like much of anything.

“Take those out, Gabe! Don’t bring that crap to the dinner table!”

Gabe’s grin faded.

Aw, man…

“Where did you get those, Angel?” Gabe’s mother, Marcy, asked, glancing at Ronnie.

“From Dad.” Gabe took the plastic vampire teeth from his mouth and stuffed them in his pocket. “He got them out of a gumball machine, said they were magic. Pretty cool, huh?”

Ronnie, a big man with a fat belly, meaty arms, and a flat-top hairdo, chortled and reached for his beer. His third can of the night, and nowhere near his last.

“Well, Ronnie’s right. You shouldn’t wear those at the table.”

Gabe nodded. “Sorry, Mom.”

Ronnie belched—“Bruuup!”—and shook his head. “Marcy, why do you keep calling him ‘Angel?’ He’s almost a teenager…”

Marcy turned to Gabe with a maternal pout. “Because he’s my little angel.”

“Great.” Ronnie sighed, took another drink.

Ugh! I miss Dad already.

Deflated, Gabe stared at his plate. Steak; so well done it looked like burnt leather. Mashed potatoes; good, but tainted with garlic. And his least favorite vegetable of all: Brussels sprouts; chewy and bitter. A worse dinner he couldn’t imagine; all of it dictated by his stepfather’s brutish tastes.

Poor Gabe. The combined aromas alone killed his appetite, but he had no choice. He had to eat it.

Every last bite.

“Hey!” Ron barked. “Don’t let your meat loaf!”

Gabe looked up, resentful of Ronnie’s tone. He didn’t find the joke funny, but knew what it meant. “Yes, Ronnie,” he droned, picking up his fork and knife.

“How were the three days with your father?” Marcy asked. She looked haggard, wore a nervous smile. Eyes flitting from Gabe to Ronnie, Ronnie to Gabe.

“Uh, we just hung out. Talked a lot. Watched movies.”

“Oh, God. Your father and all those old monster films.”

“Yeah…”

Setting his beer down, Ronnie let out another hearty “Bruuup!

“When does he leave again?”

Gabe sawed into his steak. “This weekend.”

Ronnie laughed. “Lenny’s going on the road with his fruity little theater group again, huh?”

“Now, Ron—” Marcy began.

“What’s the name of the show this time? The Amazing Life of Professor Crabapple?”

“The Life and Times of Professor Appleton,” Marcy corrected.

“Whatever.” Ronnie shook his head. “Prancing around a stage ain’t no example for a boy. I can’t believe you married that pansy.”

Clutching his utensils, Gabe’s eyes narrowed.

“Now, Ron—”

“Well, at least you two have a real man to take care of you now.” Smirking, Ronnie cut himself a hunk of dry steak and stuffed it into his mouth. “A guy like Lenny just doesn’t understand what’s important in life…like having a family.”

You asshole.

Trembling with the urge to jam his fork into Ronnie’s eye, Gabe turned to his mother. Marcy shrugged, gave him her usual apologetic look:

Don’t take it personally, Angel.

But of course, he did.


If you enjoyed this excerpt, please subscribe, like, and share.

Show support on Patreon @ https://www.patreon.com/jesselynnrucilez

Thank you for reading!

JLR

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Lucifer In High-heels (Short Story Excerpt)

May 2, 2016

August 16th, 2017.
Hinckley, Oregon.
4:23 p.m.

Disgusted, Lance Felder held Ursula’s hips as she gripped the oak headboard. Moaning, the thin, oversexed woman ground her pubic bone into his upper mandible. Painful, but not unbearable. Ursula had wanted to make love—again—but Lance hadn’t been able to muster the strength for another mattress rodeo. So he’d begged off, claiming fatigue—not mentioning the half bottle of wine he’d polished off after lunch—and offered her what he called “his specialty” instead: a Felder Tongue Ride. With a sigh and a roll of her Botoxed eyes, Ursula had shrugged off her silk robe and shoved him onto her king-sized bed. Then she’d climbed aboard, straddling Lance’s face while he forced his tongue onto her flesh.

Not that Ursula tasted bad. Not at all. She groomed and took care of herself. She just didn’t taste young. She didn’t taste fresh.

“Oh, honey!” the enraptured woman moaned, rocking her hips to and fro. “Oh, Lance, baby! Oh, yeah! Just…uh!…oh, yeah, right…THERE!”

Yeah, yeah, yeah, Ursie. Just get off already.

When she had, Ursula slid to Lance’s right, collapsing in a sweaty heap. Hands pressed to her face. Lips sputtering. Legs quivering. Bleach-blonde hair a mess. Lance couldn’t help but notice the graying roots, the veins in her weathered hands.

“God, Lance! You do that so well!”

“Thanks, babe. You know I love getting you wet.”

With an inner sigh, Lance rolled over and gave Ursula an obligatory kiss. She thrust her tongue in his mouth. He winced but reciprocated.

“What a day. Think I’ll take a nap.”

“Sounds good, Ursie.” I guess fucking and lounging by the pool all day is pretty tiresome.

“Wanna join me?”

Lance sat up, hoping his desperation didn’t show. “Uh, I’d love to, babe, but I got some work to do.”

Ursula grinned. “The novel, eh?”

“Yeah…the novel.” Just another piece of my heart. Destined to be ignored.

“Is it as good as the first two, you think?”

You mean the first two that were rejected by every publisher on both coasts? “Oh, it’s even better.”

“That’s great, darling! I can’t wait to read it…”

“When it’s finished, babe. You know that.”

“I know.” Ursula yawned, exposing capped, bleached teeth. “But you know I get impatient.”

“Oh, I know,” Lance replied with no trace of sarcasm.

“Hey, would you be a doll and mix me a rum and Coke.”

“Yeah, sure.” And I’ll be sure to take it easy on the Coke.

Another yawn. “Thank you, honey.”

Lance climbed over Ursula—enduring another kiss—and strode into the hall. Barefoot. Shirtless. His upper body toned and tanned. Dark hair jouncing on his shoulders. A thick beard hiding his forlorn expression. He wore a pair of ripped designer jeans, slacker style; low on his hips, top button undone. At thirty-two, he still looked twenty, but felt much older. A Bohemian soul, no longer young at heart.

All that money, and all she does is drown her troubles in booze day after day…

 

Hands thrust in his jean pockets, Lance turned left, walking down the wide staircase.
The day had gotten off to a bad start, and promised to end even worse. Lance had awoken next to Ursula, slipped out of bed without waking her, and crept downstairs. The maid, Louisa, had wished him a good morning and started a pot of coffee. Outside, Lance had gone through his morning workout of push-ups, crunches, and twenty laps in the pool. Then, coffee in hand, he’d opened his e-mail to find two rejection notices from two different publishers:

Dear Mr. Felder,

Thank you for your recent submission. Unfortunately, this doesn’t meet our publishing needs at this time. Feel free to submit again. Good luck publishing your novel elsewhere.

Sincerely,

Publisher-at-large.

Two of those in one day. Talk about heartache.

Lance had sat, head in hand, for awhile, then plunged back into his current novel. The story of a man traveling cross-country by train, en route to see his dying father one last time. A good story. A worthwhile story. A story he had to finish. Lance had gotten a few strong sentences down when Louisa appeared to inform him that Ursula had awoken. Of course, he didn’t have to drop everything and rush to her side…but he did, anyway.

Gotta keep the bread buttered.

Ursula always slept in the nude; said it made her feel young. Looking at her naked form, Lance couldn’t help but notice the wrinkles and creases creeping into her flesh. She tried, though. Oh, how she tried. Personal trainers. Weird diets. Plastic surgery. But Father Time had grabbed hold, and wouldn’t let go. She had twenty years on Lance; old enough to be his mother. Still, he’d climbed back into bed as he had so many mornings and reassured Ursula as best he could. Still beautiful. Still desirable. They’d begun in the normal way, but after growing tired of her desperate kisses, Lance had flipped her over and vented his frustrations at not being published with every thrust.

And Ursula had loved it.


“Lucifer In High-heels” was published in Ramingo’s Porch Issue #1, now available @ Amazon.com:

https://www.amazon.com/Ramingos-Porch-Issue/dp/0998847658/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1511617834&sr=8-1&keywords=The+Ramingo%27s+Porch

Thank you for reading!

JLR


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