WOE: Freedom

Write on Edge Prompt: You have 400 words to write a fiction or creative non-fiction piece about freedom, in any way that makes sense to you.  This is a Zenna and Boone story.  If you would like to read more about them, click on the tab "Writing By Prompt".  

 

The sunlight of the day was streaming through the open curtains, so I kept my eyes closed while I slowly became conscious. It felt late, but I didn't move.  Like so many mornings lately, I just did not want to wake up. If I was awake, then I had to deal with Andy.  It wasn't the insults, the little jabs and digs when I didn't do what he wanted.  It wasn't even that last time, when he had hit me.  Those daily events weren't what kept me in bed pretending to be asleep.  It was the whining.  Just the thought of his whining about how late I had slept made my shoulders tense up.   He had probably called a dozen times already, wanting to know where I was.

And then...recognition dawned.  I didn't have to deal with Andy anymore.  Because I had left him.  Eyes still closed, I touched my empty ring finger.  I smiled, picturing the look on the bartender's face as he found his tip.  

I was free.  Free of Andy and his abusive, overcontrolling, suffocating, ways.  My chest expanded as the idea took hold of me.

I didn't have anywhere to be just now.  I didn't have anywhere to go.  I didn't have to be on time. I didn't have to put on certain clothes.  I didn't have to sit demurely.  I didn't have to look a certain way, or behave a certain way, or say whatever I was told to say and not a syllable more. 

I opened my eyes to the day, my smile widening.  I was free.

I stretched, arching my back, and then my right hand came down on the warm skin of a naked hip. I left my hand on that very masculine hip, and let my fingers move over their muscles as they began to move and stretch away the sleep as well.   My dragon tattoo pulsed with a pleasant heat as I was suddenly pulled into strong arms, a warm breath teasing my ear and electrifying my skin. 

I was free.  I didn't even have to get out of bed if I didn't want to.  Not that I wanted to.  

WOE: Waterfall

Prompt:  This week we’re going to play Victor/Victoria. If you typically write from the male perspective, switch it up to the female. And if you generally write female, go for the male.   I am not sure how I did here.  This is a different perspective of  a previous post. 


Sitting in his car, Boone scrubbed at his face, cursing aloud.  She had hurried past him on her way to the bar, yet she was somehow beside him.  The moment he had kissed Zenna, everything was different.  The new tattoo around his wrist began to burn.   He could not stop thinking about her.  Picturing the softness of her skin as he had held her face in his hands; his fingertips tingled.

Jaw clenched, Boone was out of the car and in front of the bar before he was aware of moving.  With his hand on the door, he cursed again.  Then he stepped into the darkness.  The smell of old cigarettes and beer assaulted him as he moved adjacent to the entrance.  Boone kept his back to the wall while his eyes adjusted.  The sound of a bottle of beer opening drew his eyes to the bartender...and Zenna.  Neither had noticed his arrival.

Her hair poured down her back, a waterfall catching what little light there was and turning it to gold.  He wanted to immerse himself in the deluge, feel it flow over his skin.  He stayed where he was only by force of will.  She was holding her wrist up, admiring that big diamond.  Damn. Boone's eyes narrowed, his teeth cracked; he should just go.  He turned away, then paused.

In the dim light of the bar, he saw it.  A red and gold dragon, coiled on her wrist, the eyes glowing.  Boone's matching tattoo seemed to be alive on his wrist, but he no longer felt the burning.  He was exultant.

 She was his.




Check out some great writing today and click on the link below!

 

Write On Edge: Anti-hero

Prompt:   An anti-hero is a character who stands in opposition to the protagonist, who provides a foil and an obstacle on the hero or heroine’s narrative journey. The way I see it (and I know not everyone will agree), all villains are anti-heroes, but all anti-heroes are not villains.  Show me an anti-hero. It can be a character sketch or a scene, but try to establish how and why this person is the obstacle to the protagonist’s goals. I've written about Zenna before; now here's a little more about Boone.



Boone had been killing the enemies of the Dragons, and others, for hundreds of years.  He had flown joyfully into battle, gleefully ripping off heads with his talons and setting archers on fire with his breath.  He had retained human form to be in the heart of whatever war men fought, wielding his axe and sword as a farmer wields a scythe.  He had bathed in the blood of his foes, and it had felt good.    Fighting, and killing, had also made him incomparably wealthy.  Boone was a warrior, he lived to fight and kill, but if he could be paid to fight or kill, well!

He scanned the darkness of the bar, looking for his contact.  As Boone watched, a group of women on their way to the restroom fell silent as they hurried past a well-dressed man sitting alone at a table for four.   Boone moved in that direction.  The man looked up, glaring, until he saw who was in front of him. 

"You're the man with the problem?"  Boone directed his voice so that it carried through the din of the bar.  The man in front of him reeked of expensive cologne.  Underneath that ran a faint scent of rotting flesh.  The man nodded and motioned to the seat opposite him.  Reluctantly, Boone sat down.

"Yes, I have a problem that I need taken care of immediately, if not sooner,"  Adjusting his tie and leaning close, the older man pushed a manilla envelope across the table toward Boone, who took the envelope and put it into an inside coat pocket. 

"She is my son's fiance," the man continued. "I don't want the wedding to take place."

"I don't care about trivialities," Boone responded, cutting his client off.  It wasn't that he didn't want to hear details; the man's breath was vile.  Like old animal blood left out in the sun after a sacrifice, he thought. 

"As you like," his client waved a hand imperiously.   "Half of your commission has been deposited into the account as specified.  You'll get the other half after the job is done."

Boone could hardly wait to get away from the foul man in front of him.  He nodded, but it took enormous will to casually rise and stroll out of the bar.  He waited until he got into his car before pulling the envelope out and opening it.  

A pair of smiling green eyes gazed out of the photograph; the attractive woman had been captured in a happy moment.  Her eyes held his attention for a moment. Boone flipped the picture over to read the name:  Zenna Clayton.  

Throwing the picture on the seat next to him, Boone started his car and headed home.