How about something Halloweenie? Here is a snippit from A Halloween Tale, a NC 17 M/F Razor’s Edge available now from Changeling Press!
A Halloween Tale
Crawling across a wasteland, clutching her only salvation to her chest, she is battered, torn, and in need of tender loving care. She’s almost ready to give in to the darkness when an angel of mercy with a body made for sin comes to her aid.
But things aren’t always what they appear, and by the end of this Halloween tale, there’ll be hell to pay — even if she does get her way.
A Halloween Tale
One more step, just one more.
The dark was an oppressive, living thing. It pulled from me everything that I was, forced me to face the demons I thought no longer existed. It chilled my soul.
If it were not for the tattered ends of the book I carried — my salvation — I knew I would have curled up and wasted away in the cold, unforgiving dark. But because I could feel the power, the strength, the innate rightness in the thing I held, I trudged on.
On hands and knees, I crawled. With one arm braced against the rough stones of what I prayed was the right path, the other clutching the book to my mostly bare breasts, I inched along, only my senses leading me.
How long had it been since I last saw daylight? How long had it been since I felt the warmth of the sun on my flesh, or moved without pain or fear? How long had it been since I felt hope?
My muscles burned with the effort to hold me somewhat upright. My hearing strained as I moved, hoping they would not find me again. They wanted what I had. They wanted to possess me, to own me, to rip away my freedom, my soul, and my reason. They wanted me as they had left all the others who dared attempt what I was doing — mad, gibbering, and insane. It was not a fate I would accept. I would not be like the others, the lost and confused, terrified husks of what they used to be. That was not my fate.
So I crawled, holding in my whimpers of agony, praying to whoever was listening that I would make it through this with mind and soul intact.
Something was running down my face — tears, blood, something worse — I didn’t know. But it was there, and the fact that I could feel it told me one thing: it was warming up. I had been numb for so long, so cold, so frozen, and then suddenly I could feel.
Warmth. It enveloped me; it caressed my stinging face, turning away the burn of so many scratches and scrapes. It caressed my arms, flooded my veins and surrounded me with light; the light that is all good and welcoming. I shivering from the force of holding myself upright, straining with the effort of holding the book closer to me.
And then I heard someone speak.
My name rolled off his tongue, his voice a foreign, exotic thing that made my flesh tingle and my spirit yearn for what used to be so many days before.
“You don’t have to be afraid,” he whispered. I felt the words surround me, the brush of his warm flesh like the gentle movement of wings as soft as down as he slid in behind me.
But with his words, a fear so great filled me that I couldn’t move. Suddenly I was so very afraid, and his arms were so very warm and familiar.
How could he feel so safe and warm when all I could feel was a growing horror? Confused tears ran down my cheeks, and I began to tremble in earnest.
“Let me help you,” he insisted, pulling me closer to a well muscled, dependable chest, a chest that offered protection and so many wonderful unspoken things that I found myself leaning into him as much as I could. “I just want to help ease your burden, if only for a time.”
He sounded so sad for me that I wanted to comfort him, to tell him some polite lie, despite my obvious predicament — anything to get the sorrow out of his voice.
Then I realized something. The sudden warmth, him just being there, the feeling of comfort I felt…
“I am dead.” I forced the words out from between my cracked lips. “I am dead, and you are here to lead me into the light. I have failed.” The words rasped my sore throat, sending fresh waves of agony through me while at the same time they confused me.
How could I feel pain if I were dead? Was I now being punished for my arrogance? I managed to tighten my fingers around the book, feeling its leather bindings bite into my skin.
“No, you are not dead.” His breath caressed my ear. It made me shiver and began to awaken my blood in a completely different way. “I will not let you die.”
Then suddenly the hard rocky ground beneath me was as soft as a bed of feathers. I whimpered as I sank into the comfort it offered, easing the agony my knees had become.
“I would never lie to you,” he assured me in his dark, chocolaty voice, and then I could feel his hands running slowly up and down my arms, skirting along the one that held the book. “I could never do that to you. I can’t tell a lie.”
I began to shudder again but not from the cold. I wanted to turn my head to look at him, this man who was fast becoming my salvation, but I still couldn’t move much, and suddenly a fluffy softness covered my eyes.
He loomed over me, his body fitting perfectly against my back, the roundness of my bottom settling perfectly against his groin, his thighs backing mine. And everywhere I touched him there was growing need, heat, and light.
One of his hands caressed my stomach, just below where I clutched my precious book, then slid downward, his pinkie barely brushing my pubic bush, sending fire racing through my blood.
“Let me ease you,” he said. I quivered as my body began to burn in a very good way.
I knew I had to go on, to keep moving and not stray from my given path, but would there be harm in taking a small break, in accepting what he so generously offered? I could allow my bruised body some pleasure before I moved on to what could very well be my doom.
I am not a hero. I am not some great warrior filled with righteous justice and the urge to be just what others expect of me. I could never be that. I was too human, too fragile, too filled with fears and anticipations, and pain and expectations that were all too selfish to allow me to be a hero.
Yet I could be allowed this one break in the agony my life had become. I would be free of my burdens for just one brief moment.
“I-I,” I managed, holding back the pitiful sob lodged in my throat. “I-I…”
“Shh,” he whispered. His free hand wrapped around my shoulders and eased me back upright. “Don’t speak.”
I felt the touch of his wings pulling me in closer, and then I was filled with light once more. My breath tore through me, my heart pounding, my mind mixing into a jumble of contradictions.
I hurt, but the hurt was less. I hungered, but a different hunger was growing. I ached, but the ache had moved into more private places. I wanted, but the want to succeed in this venture was morphing into a great, horrific need for sexual gratification.
I could feel the firm softness of his cock as it came alive against the skin of my bottom, the damp tip sliding along the crack of my ass. I felt it moving and growing, I felt its heat and its strength, and it made my knees weak and my pussy wet.
I relaxed into him fully, feeling all his heat and his maleness, feeling the protection he offered and his desire.
Yes, I felt his desire and I matched it. I wanted him.
“You are beautiful,” he whispered, a hand leaving my body to run through the tangled, twisted mess my hair had become. “I can feel your determination, little one.” He breathed against the shell of my ear. “I can feel your strength. I can feel your hunger. It all calls to me.”
I could do this. After all I had endured, all I knew I had yet to face, I could take a little pleasure for myself. I am no hero — I am not that noble — and I am that selfish.
Ready to put the Hump in Hump day? Warning! HARD NC17! Serious BDSM, Tentacles, M/F… he puts the DOM in DOminance…. just saying… From the Upcoming Changeling Press Release… Perfect Sense….
I love going walkies with master.
It is one of the few ways I get to see the sun. I spend so much time indoors—
But I am not complaining. Being His pet is better than being His breeder or being used for His more dangerous appetites.
There were tales about the other, the watcher who caught His attention- the people in the serving halls still speak of his screams, his torments, his cries of pain and ecstasy when he was caught, of how he was shared about with Master’s favorites. I don’t think I could bear that, to be so ill-used, but I know my place.
I am His pain slut. The other is for fear and the chase. Thought there is always an element of fear when He uses me, I know I will not be harmed badly enough for Him to have to seek a replacement so soon. I am disposable but He seems content to hold me in his thrall for the moment. What is my life when His kind seems ageless? I know I merely hold His fancy for the time he spends here and when He wishes to move on I will be executed so no other can claim they possess what He once held in His home or I will be turned over to become a breeder and bear more of His already numerous children.
The other could be cut at any moment, when his flavor is no longer appealing to Him, and he knows it. The other lives in constant fear and He prefers it that way. Master says fear adds the perfect spice to the other’s flavor, that it is addictive to the young hunters He trains and serves as a grand reward. The other will be at the mercies of his flavor and Master’s whims for a long time.
That being said, Master is the most dominate male in this region and He knows it, loves relishing the fear His very presence causes and enjoys flaunting His privilege. He wants us, his playthings, to always reflect this. So when we go walkines, there is usually a reason—to gloat or to bring another to ruin.
This day, Mater dressed me like I was a show of his power and what He could claim and dominate with little effort.
My breasts hung hot and bare between the straps of the leather harness that twisted and wrapped around my body. It formed triangles around them that held then high and full, on display for any to see was we passed by.
“Lovely,” Master spoke to me as if I were a scared animal, which in truth, I actually was in his eyes. I could not control my trembling and he smiled knowingly as he slapped my breasts, chuckling as they quivered and shook and my nipples grew impossibly hard. He leaned forward and—
“Master,” I groaned and had to fight to keep my hands at my sides where he placed them unfettered. He sucked my nipple deep into His hot mouth, His tongue dancing along its hardened peak sending tremors down my spine while His teeth nipped at the sensitive skin around it. “Please—“
He tensed at my voice and then I held in a scream as His teeth clamped down hard.
I dropped my head back as my pussy throbbed and wetness flowed freely. Master knew that my body reacted to His rougher caresses, my body making its pleasure known in a liquid rush that painted my thighs shiny. I locked my trembling knees and endured silently. He had not given me permission to make a sound. His punishment would not have me forgetting any time soon as my nipple throbbed and burned.
“Very good,” he praised as he backed off, licking at the bite marks surrounding my nipple. Master did not break the skin this time. He didn’t want me marked too badly. “And I have a present for my very good girl.”
He produced a small brass colored clamp that a pair of crystal bells attached.
My breath caught at their beauty. I had seen them before, gifted to highly placed mistresses and pleasure slaves. I had never though to receive such a valuable gift.
I looked down as he tenderly pinched my still throbbing but very much reddened nipple between two fingers, rolling and pulling at the hard peak. I bit my lips as my knees began to shake. I so wanted to moan at this gentle treatment, but I managed to keep my lips sealed. Instead I stood there and watched as he pressed the little clamps open.
Oh God, the thing had barbed teeth. They looked like wicked metallic mouths that were going to savage my breasts. I whimpered softly and Master shot me a glare, but allowed my trespass to go by unpunished. Yet he glared at me as he gripped my breasts, forcing the nipple to distend.
The clap snapped down on my tender flesh with a hard bite that had me biting my lip as I struggled to hold in my still. White-hot pain flared trough my breast and down my back and for a moment pain was all I knew. But as I stood there, quivering before him, the pain began to transmute from a screaming inferno to a warm throb that left me panting and my empty pussy clenching helplessly. As much as I wanted those crystal bells, the teeth on those damn clamps hurt and the pain left me feeling so empty, so hungry. I felt tears well up in my eyes as He rose up to his fullest height and stare down at me.
“Such pretty eyes,” he praised. “I love them when they cry for me. Are you going to cry for me some more, my pretty little bitch?”
He reached out and plucked the bells, making them swing painfully on my abused nipple. I wanted to pull back but instinct had me throbbing my chest forward for more. Master grinned as he swatted my beast mush as he had before, but this time, the shock of pleasured pain was followed by the delicate tinkling of the bells. They made the sweetest sound. Somehow that sound soothed me as much as Master’s words
“Such a good little girl,” he praised again. “And if you are really good while we are out, I may give you the other one.” He slapped my thigh and I parted my legs slightly. “Would you like it right here?” he crooned kindly, his fingers slipping over my wet swollen clit before his fingers drifted lower to pinch at the lips of my labia. “Perhaps here, but you have to be really good to get it here.” He smirked before steal entered his voice. “You want it here, yes?” It was like he dared me to respond, to protest. The clap seemed to tighten around my nipple and I was at a loss to speak. What could I say that would not get me into trouble? Wither way he would do what he wanted. If I nodded or showed that I wanted this terrible gift he would call me a vain selfish spoiled thing and possibly pierce me there as he threatened to in the past. If I reacted negatively, he would probably places several of the wicked clamps on my labia and my clit while be fucked me raw without granting me the mental and physical release of a climax.
So I did nothing, I stood in my place, chest heaving, bells tinkling, and my arousal sending my aroused secretions to drip to the floor between my spread legs.
“Smart little bitch,” master praised before he drew back his and —
I whimpered at the white-hot explosion of pain and pleasure as he lightly slapped my pussy. Oh God, I think I may have had a small orgasm at the strike, but I kept silent ad on my feet was waves of heat flashed through my body. My pussy clenched once or twice and then relaxed as my hunger grew. It was by no means enough to give me the full glorious orgasm that Master could deliver, but he was a shamed reminder of what I had become. I wanted to weep for my sorry self and at the same time, I wanted to challenge him, to make him give me more, as was my right.
My mind spun, wanting to enter into the haze subspace where it didn’t matter what he did to me because everything would be pleasure, but I could not eve have that escape. Master demanded more of me and I had to me cognizant to respond.
So I stood there, tears welling in my eyes and I waited, trembling knees and breath tearing in my throat, soundless, I waited.
He turned back to the table where the rest of my outfit lay and picked up the next piece I was to wear.
I tilted my head, as I looked it over, not understanding what I was seeing. But as he attached it to the leather breast enhancer, I realized the red leather straps were the bottom of this harness.
“Spread,” He demanded, swatting the inside of my thigh, making me widen my stance on my shaky legs.
A thick red strap connected to the harness between my breasts and Master jerked it taunt before running his hands over the bared skin of my stomach and hips.
The leather was ungiving and hard but I held my place, waiting to see what he was going to do next.
I didn’t have to wait long. He reached to his table and pulled out the familiar wide butt plug he used to split my ass wide.
I began to shake at the sight of it. That wide black plug meant that master was going to torment me before I was allowed to come and my traitorous body writhed in joy. I had been so conditioned to be what he wanted that my ass was already twitching, eager to be filled.
“You like this, nasty little thing,” he purred, laughing as he reached for a jar of the lubricant he preferred and dropped the plug in. “Look at you, straining forward, eager for out walk and play time.”
He had not changed his mind about the walk it seemed, yet there was still something he was not telling me. It disturbed me but my body was slowly taking over. What use did I have for thought when master was going to gift me with enough pleasure to make me scream. He only pulled out that butt plug if I was a very good girl… or he had fresh torments in mind.
As I stood there, he reached for another strap. With his nails raking gently over my dark skin, my nerves reacting to this stimulation, he leaned in close.
“Yes,” he purred. “Such a naughty little nasty bitch should be kept all safe and bound. You like being bound, don’t you? You like knowing that I will protect you in this way?”
This strap went around my waist and bucked firmly over the single strap that hung from between my breasts, holding it steadily in place.
As the leather warmed, it felt as if Master indeed was wrapping me up tightly, protecting me in his own way, ensuring that only he would be the one to use me as he pleased.
The terse words had me spinning around automatically, but I didn’t move fast enough for him.
With a grunt, he gripped the rear of the harness where it rested against the my back and slammed me against the wall.
The bells tinkled madly and I began to tremble. He was going to punish me. He was going to hurt me. My heart began to race and a sob tor its way form my throat.
“Shh,” he soothed, almost mockingly. “Its what nasty little bitches like you want, yes?”
His hands ran thought my wild mass of curls on my head as he leaned in close, his breath caressing my face bore he began to lick up my tears as they feel over.
“You tremble so deliciously in my arms,” he moaned, pressing against my ass.
I could feel his hard cock pressing against the thin leather of his pants, all that separated him from me. I couldn’t help it. I thrust back at the familiar feel, shaking as I held back a moan and more tears flowed form my eyes. He was going to hurt me so bad… so good… so… it was all mixed up in my head. I didn’t know what he wanted! The game had just begun and I knew I was going to burn.
“Shh,” he nuzzled my face, chucking as my ass pushed into him again. “Yes, you know who owns you, don’t you little one?”
His hands gripped my hips and be began a slow grind against me.
I hissed as his hand fisted in my hair and he jerked my head back,
“But if you know what’s good for you, you dirty little thing, you will hold the fuck still.”
A sharp nick to my neck punctuated his words and I fell still, my hear racing, panging as he pulled my head back further.
My hunger roared thought me, my empty pussy flowed with arousal and yet I forced myself to hold still. I didn’t want to push him. In this position he may fuck me or he may whip me… I didn’t want to be whipped. Some part of my mind screamed for me to be good while the rest of my thoughts spun crazily. Sub space and its peace beckoned but I knew better than to give into its siren song. I had to stay still and be good.
“Nice,” he licked my face once more and I felt him groping beside in, heard the clink of the glass jar as he pulled the pug free.
He backed up enough to grip my cheeks with his hands and I jumped when I felt his tentacles flow over my backside.
He laughed as he spread me wider and they trailed over my trench and asshole, teasing the delicate flesh.
I held my breath as he did this, trying my best not to push back into the touch, praying that he would not split me open like this.
It felt so good and it was never enough and it made he scream and beg for my release that he would not give. And the effect lasted for days and I didn’t want that torment again, hands strapped to my side because I had displeased him, flat on my back while my pussy leaked all over the table and he sat in a chair and watched. He would watch as I cried as my slick lubricant covered me form waist to ankles, and I went crazy until I was a sobbing limp thing eager to be fucked in whatever hole he deemed worthy.
But it was not his deadly, delicious tentacles that filled me. Instead I felt the brush of the tapered end of the butt plug as it began to seat itself within the guardian muscles of my ass.
“Open for me,” he demanded and I did my best to relax in his grip. He was not releasing my hair and this exaggerated arch made it harder to relax the muscles of my ass. “You like this,” he coaxed as his tentacles wiggled the plug.
My ass burned and I choked back a sob as my muscles relaxed and he slowly began to push the plug inside.
I bit my lip, my eyes wide as I felt each inch as it slipped inside me. The tapered end began the stretch and my body wanted to push back into it. But I controlled my breathing and my body and panted as I felt my ass slowly stretch around the pug, greedily pulling it in until I was seated fully inside me, heavy, nerve burning, delicious… I wanted to get fucked so badly but it was not my decision to make. This was all for Master, my body was his –
I blinked as I felt myself slipping into sub space, but I managed to hold on as master smiled at me, his silver eyes glinting as he exposed his sharp teeth fully.
“Good girl.” He praised as he uttered a guttural word in his home language and the pug began to gently vibrate. ”And if I had the time, I would pull this plug out and pound your ass until I grew tired of it. But alas, we have places to be.”
He stepped back and I became aware of truly how cold the room was with his body head suddenly taken away.
My head dropped forward and my hands, hand that I had no idea were fisted, relaxed against the wall.
My ass burned around the vibrator, my empty pussy throbbed, and I wanted the oblivion of subspace so badly…
It’s time for your Hump Day Hump….
This one is from the WIP Angel Falls: Sunspots. Its the beginning of… The Date! LOL The part of Winston will be forever played by Cherrod Cheeky-Monkey Cook…. Man, don’t get him started… Winston, not Cherrod… LOL
Winston’s golden eyes gleamed at Bryan as he stepped inside the nurse’s home for the first time.
He didn’t know what to expect, maybe paintings of the Serengeti or huge African masks and wooden figures that depicted gods and goddesses of the past—but what he got was something completely different.
“It looks like Better Homes and Cosmopolitan Living had a bastard child and birthed it in your livingroom.
He paled a bit as the words flew uninhibited out of his mouth, but relaxed as Winston’s loud laughter filled what could have become an uncomfortable silence.
“Oh I needed that, handsome,” Winston chuckled, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes as he stared down at him. “You know how to start a date off right.”
“I didn’t mean to insult—“
“None taken,” Winston continued to chuckle as he closed the door on the outside world and ushered Bryan deeper into his home. “I love plants and I crave modern unanimities,” he explained. “Not all of Africa is wild jungles, dry deserts, and poor long breasted women and their starving children covered in flies.”
“I know that,” Bryan flushed red-hot as he realized he had been unconsciously thinking those very thoughts.
“You were, but its okay,” Winston moved closer to him, his gait as graceful as ever. “You American’s have been conditioned to think that thought the wonders of media and charity driven commercials. Don’t sweat it. I know you are no bigot.”
“Not making a very good first impression, am I?” he relaxed as Winston’s kind smile got his heart pumping a little faster than normal.
“You made your first impression when you put yourself out and in the way of danger for your friends,” Winston answered, reaching out and brushing a hand down the center of his chest, stopping just above his embarrassing pudge. “That is the man I see when I look at you.”
He offered Bryan another bight smile and the poor man realized that all that rapidly pumping blood was finding a nice tight home right in his crotch.
He cleared his throat nervously and took a step back, looking around the room again.
Winston’s house was a huge three story Hudson Bay design of stone and brick. The picture window that dominated the front of the house was filled will all sorts of tropical plants and flowering vines. It was a hectic kaleidoscope of greens, yellows, purples, and oranges with a shy white blossom poking out here and there.
There was a fireplace in the far wall flanked by a set of deeply comfortable looking leather chairs covered in white furry throws. Completely filled bookcases ran the length of another wall and around a wall-mounted steampunk looking clock sculpture, complete with working gears and cogs. Before that sat a low modern looking leather and steal couch surrounded by a collection of massive looking pillows and a low glass and steal coffee table.
Huge potted plants and waist high taper candles filled in blank spaces and surrounded a curtained doorway that presumably led to a set of stairs that led up or to a hallway.
“You do have a beautiful home.” He turned his eyes back to Winston, taking in what his date for the evening was wearing.
Winston noticed the observation and spread his arms out to the side, inviting the visual examination. On his feet was a pair of those odd shoes, the ones that men where when you can’t tell if they are dress shoes or some kind of athletic wear. His were in shades of tan and deep brown with cream trim. His jeans were tight in the thigh and loose in the calf, boot cut… and his ass… The denim strained to hold those perfect muscular orbs without being pornographic. Bryan didn’t know how Winston managed to pull off that look, but he was defiantly not complaining. His t-shirt was tight. It fit him, but it was tight, showing off every bulge of muscle and tense sinew in his broad upper body. His head, was always, was buffed to bald perfection and his fingers itched to run along the smooth looking scalp, knowing that the skin there would be soft to the touch.
He looked down into Winston’s amused eyes and felt his blush return. “Y—you look good,” he stammered, trying not to look away and scuff his toes into the brilliantly shiny wooden floor.
“You look hot, stud muffin,” Winston purred, circling him like a stalking cat, no pun intended, but the man moved like a feline on the prowl.
He tugged at his slightly overly black large t-shirt, the white logo reading ‘You’ve read my shirt, that’s enough social interaction for the day’, and puffed up his chest a little more.
He was a tiny bit scared and still confused as to what Winston saw in him, but damn it, the man picked him for a reason. Remembering that made him stand a bit taller.
Not liking the way his jeans made him feel, Bryan opted for a neat pair of cargo pants with many zipable pockets. They were comfortable and somewhat figure slimming and gave definition to his thighs and calves, the best parts of his body in his estimation.
Oh his feet were his sturdy black Chucks, classic and stylish.
He had gotten his hair trimmed so that the curls he usually fought against as being too girly were tamed and in control. He didn’t look too shabby, he thought but… but now Winston was staring at him. Silently he awaited the verdict and chuckled softly when Winston purred.
“But you cut your hair,” he pouted a little. “I shall miss the curls until they grow back.”
“It grows back fast,” he assured him, before gesturing to the door. They had to get moving before Winston noticed the growing bulge in his cargos that the close scrutiny of the shape shifter had given him. He didn’t want to appear to be some sort of horny teenager unable to control himself— “So, are you ready or…” he looked Winston over as his words trailed off.
“I am ready,” he walked over to one of the leather recliners and plucked up a messenger bag. “You promised to feed me so where are we going? There are only tow restaurants in this town and since the theater is here in Angel Falls, I am sure it has got to be one of the two if we are going to make the retrospective in time.”
“Good deduction, Watson,” he teased, “but I am not taking you to a restaurant. I am taking you home with me.”
“Ohh,” Winston moved in closer, his eyes glinting like molten gold. “But we haven’t even had our first date.”
“I—“ Damn fair skin, Bryan mused as the red in his face returned with a vengeance, “I made you dinner. I hope that’s okay?”
“Oh food prepared by these two hands,” Winston reached out and took his hands, enveloping them in his own huge paws. “I am honored.”
“I hope so,” he finally relaxed enough to smile. The usual teasing was not in his voice so Bryan knew that he was being serious.
“I already am,” Winston, promised before opening the door and gesturing for Bryan to exit. “And later, I’ll give you a tour of my home.”
Bryan exited the house and nearly drifted to the van. Winston was already a perfect date and from this point on, things could only keep looking up.
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I deleted over one hundred photos today, and I shed a tear.
But they had to go. I had to make room. It had to be done.
I deleted over a one hundred photos today, and it made me sad.
There goes the skyline of France that I probably will never see. But I stored the photo cause it made me happy to imagine that I would… one day.
There goes that photo of batman and the bat can. I kept them cause they made me smile. But… but its been so long since I looked at any of them. I guess those smiles have already been spent.
I got rid of the volcano in the winter, and I recalled the images of fire in snow that one time empowered me. Now its just taking up space, the power already spent.
I got rid of the photos that showed my house the way I wanted it to be, the ship bed in the sky. My kids are too big for that now. The wall to ceiling bookcases that will never be built cause I don’t have the time and can’t spare the expense.
There went the photos of Time magazine with the photo of Martin Luther the King… they are using him as a blunt weapon now. He is not being haled for what he managed to accomplish in the fight for civil rights… now he and his messages are being perverted in gun rights adds and for furthering a strange political agenda that seems to me, that is set out to make me belittle and doubt myself. There goes Rosa Parks too… cause that image of her next to a woman holding a rifle has lost the power to anger me. Its sort of a benign acceptance now. Sad, but its like no one really cares that a scion for peace is being used to peddle guns.
I got rid of the fantasy women, holding broad swords and spears. I once wanted to be like them but as old age and physical deformity sets in, I am grateful that I can just still heft a friggin sword, let alone swash some buckle with it. So they need to go. Not because they remained me of the what I once was or what I could be if I tried, but because the images are branded in my brain. I no longer need the visual reference. Besides, when was the last time you saw a skinny black warrior woman with a sword? I took their essence and I made it mine so the photos, as nice as they are, are no longer needed.
I got rid of those funny little trendy sayings because as funny as it seems, trends change and what I once found ironic or humors now is just trite, so they have to go.
And along with them the adds that made me laugh, the sarcastic comments that used to fall from my lips like wine form a drunkards glass after they finished most of the box… on their own I might add.
With a click of a key, there went the cute little fuzzy pig in rain boots. Why the hell was that here anyway? And with it goes the old lightening struck tree, the owl in a hoodie, dog in a dress and the dancing skeletons in the pumpkin patch. What the hell was I thinking?
I’ll keep the albino lion, it reminds me of Den and I’ll keep the swimming tyger cause it reminds me to keep treading water.
I’ll keep those wonderful photos of Miss Josephine Baker in her leopard spotted best. One day I am going to recreate that costume, and I will keep the period dresses and beadwork. I still have a few one days left in me.
But the photos of abandoned libraries ad buildings being reclaimed by nature, they can go. I am depressed enough watching the laundry reclaim my bedroom. Don’t need another sad reminder of how time slips away.
I got rid of those photos of nebulas and star clusters, and heavenly bodies that used to make me wonder. At one point it was like looking at the fingerprints of God, and I marveled at their perfection. Now they have seemed to have lost quite a bit of sparkle and looks more like God spat them out in an effort to curse what his creations here on earth are doing. That was such a depressing thought that I went to look at more photos of animals being human… and then decided those had to go to. Cats with coffee mugs and baby deer in t-shirts no longer appear cute. More like we tramped over their natural habitat and are forcing them to conform to what we think is cute. Poor animals. I shall keep the ones of them running thought nature, frolicking away from us humans and I will envy them their lifestyle of choice, snicker, while they still have the land to frolic.
So I deleted over a hundred photos today. Good memories and interesting cause really you never have bad memories. Only hard lessons that slapped you upside the head and changed and helped shape the basic you into whoever you happen to be right now.
So I deleted over a hundred photos and I shed over a hundred tears… cause of what was lost, of what could never be, cause I was feeling sorry for myself? I don’t know. I won’t look at it too closely cause this is not the time for retrospection. This is the time for cleaning house. So they all had to go…. except that one of Bruce Lee. That one reminds me of his words and to be water. You can’t stopper or destroy water. It reforms, reshapes, it flows and erodes and that is a damn fine thing. Ever changing and yet changing at all. Be water Stephanie, Be Water.
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