Writer and self-proclaimed rebelle. New York based. Code name: R. Blackwell.
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"Dark Genesis" (The Darkling Trilogy) by A.D. Kaboah


Rating: 5 out of 5 

A unique kind of story. In the realm of sparkling vampires, warring werewolves and teen driven romances, Dark Genesis is poignant, refreshing and quite frankly, haunting. 

Set in the age of slavery, Koboah brings a new spin to supernatural romance. The tale of Luna is horrific one. Abused and tormented by her Master, forced to terminate unwanted pregnancies and live separated from her mother, Mama Akousa, Luna only finds solace in her secret visits to a massacred chapel on her plantations grounds. Despite this being her solace, Luna had always sensed that a darkness, an evil she can literally feel resigns there. She’s proven right when she unknowingly attracts a blood-thirsty being. Once the unlikely pair are united through unwanted circumstances, Avery and Luna discover that although they are different, they were meant to be.

With many romance novels reading the same, Dark Genesis sets itself apart. An original idea paired with eloquent and harrowing writing pull the reader into a period of time that even with our best attempt, we cannot fully imagine. Kaboah is unforgiving in her approach to portraying the realities of an enslaved woman which makes for realistic storytelling. You’re not just reading, you’re experiencing. This story is not for the fainthearted and can be described as graphic but not without cause. The sequel, Rising Dark, promises to be as powerful, if not more, than the first installment of this trilogy.

Purchase the book for free on
AmazonFollow the author @ADKaboah.

Prompt 17: Love & Hate



"Hit me."

My words came out with a sneer, wrapped in the harshest of tones.  

No one could say that I was the calmest, most level-headed person there was, but even I had my limits.  No more though. I was over the line and had crossed a boundary that even I couldn’t come back from. I was livid. If that were even the word for the storm of pure emotion that was on the verge of consuming me. I couldn’t form a coherent thought or even begin to consider what I was demanding of the man who had pinned me against a bathroom wall.

And that was because I didn’t care.

I didn’t give a fuck and it showed as I positioned myself even closer to his frame.  In case he hadn’t heard me the first time around, I repeated myself.  

“Hit me,” I said, glaring up at him. The height difference between us should’ve gotten me to back off, along with the dangerous glint in his eyes, but I was far gone and there was no telling when I would get back. “You want to put your hands on me again, don’t you? Yeah, I see it written all over you so why don’t you try me? Do it,” I urged. “Show me how much you want to hurt me. I dare you to so I can lay your motherfucking stomach open.”

He didn’t notice that I’d pulled on him, but he did when I pressed the switchblade against him. I allowed it to slice through his Obey tank top. If he even breathed the wrong way, I’d let it go through his skin.  

I know what you’re thinking, but I’m not usually a violent person.  

I didn’t go around pulling weapons on people for no apparent reason, but when a threat came my way I handled. Swiftly and unapologetically.  

Even if that meant maiming my own boyfriend.

A random hadn’t been the one to provoke me to this degree. My significant other had taken me here. The person I thought I loved had brought me to a place of such darkness and madness. He was supposed to be my support, my protection, my ally, but recently he’d been more like my mortal enemy. This wasn’t another argument. This wasn’t even a fight anymore. It was a battle, the last one in a war that had been raging on for too long. As they said, shit had hit the fan tonight and it had gone there because of the skeletons in his closet. I had my own, but I had buried them for him. I hadn’t been the one to toss a live grenade into our relationship. When the evidence of his deceit and his willingness to lie, walked through the door carrying extra baggage, the floodgates inside me opened.  

I told my truth.

Put it in the open and he didn’t have the best reaction.

He called himself getting angry at my much-needed outburst and had exhibited that by shoving me hard enough to break something. When my body made impact, it was all over for me.

And that’s what led me to this place.

If I didn’t already know things were over between us, I knew it now. Having an altercation in a dimly-lit club bathroom was the end of the line for me. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t be like this. The level of animosity I held for him wasn’t safe. Our friendship was all but gone, the very foundation of our bond marred with too many cracks to ever be solid again. I didn’t have the energy to even try to piece us together again. We weren’t salvageable. And that’s probably what hurt me most of all. 

There was no coming back.

I finally realized that.

My anger deflated into an empty feeling then. I backed away from him, my blade clattering to the dingy tile floor. I didn’t know this person anymore and he certainly didn’t know me. In the span of three months, we’d became strangers and suddenly it scared me more than anything. I retreated  because it was all I could do. I walked away down a hall of broken glass.

It was much like our relationship.

Love and hate—there was no difference with us.

Find prompt here.

Prompt 16


He regarded her over the thick rim of his glasses.  ”Is this all of it?”

The woman known only as Six nodded.  ”Every red cent.”

"Literally," he replied, nothing that some of the bills were dipped in a crimson fluid. Five million dollars sat on the boardroom table.  In the Hermes bag, the money sat in neat piles.  Blood had tinged a few of the stacks but that wasn’t her problem.  She’d gotten the money like she said she would, no matter what state it arrived in.

"Things got a little messy but as you can see I took care of it," she replied, in a monotone voice.

Six was about her work and the Organization that provided it.  Nothing else.  She had pledged her allegiance to the faction with no name, to their pursuits by her blood and her word.  Not many people had the skill or the drive to do what she did but Six relished the idea of belonging to something.  She had no more family, nothing tying her to sentiment, sympathy, or any other human emotion.  She was a machine with one purpose and that was to serve the man that sat before her.

He was simple, slight in form, wearing a black suit.  Besides his glasses, there was nothing remotely interesting about him.  It was true what they said about looks being deceiving.  Behind his unassuming facade was a calculated, maniacal leader who played with others lives like a game of high-stakes poker.  He gambled and had yet to loose.  Systematically he was obliterating every name on the List.  It was roster, targets on it. She’d taken out a millionaire, one of those undergrad geniuses that had taken over the Internet with some website.  He had begged for his life, promised her things but Six wasn’t affected by that sort of thing.  She thought the pleading people did was incredibly unnecessary.  She had a job to do and no amount of praying to some nonexistent god would deter her.  She’d exterminated men, woman and children alike because that’s what she’d been told to do.  She was a solider and a solider always followed orders.

She was ready to do so again.

"My next assignment?" she asked.

As usual the information came in a manilla envelope.  It was slid to her.  

"He works from home most of the time.  Easy pickings for you."

She gave a curt nod and walked away.  They exchanged little conversation.  She was given no direction as to how to execute her plans.  She had full control over things but Six almost lost it when she pulled the photograph from the packet.  Deep brown eyes stared out from a coffee shop window, seemingly lost in thought.  One of the Organization’s operatives had tailed the suspect, capturing candid shots of him.  Seeing who he was made something strange happen in her body.  

A pang.


Pain maybe?

She hadn’t been in touch with her feelings in so long that she had trouble identifying them but the man in the photographs made her feel funny.  The memories came as she stepped into the glass elevator.  His hands warm and eager on her, his lips pressed against the small of her back and those eyes staring into her with no end.

Those memories came from her other life.

Before everything changed.

Before she was forced to be indoctrinated.

She had never paused, never hesitated to put a bullet in anyone but, now she did. The Organization had a higher objective, one she wasn’t privy to.  She had never questioned their motives but her relentless faith wavered as she glanced down again.  It would though.

His name was Ryan Kazinsky.

He was an introverted writer who lived in Seattle, had a cat name Boots, and drank coffee as if his livelihood depended on it.  He was the most kind person, incredible intelligent, and made the best pancakes she’d ever tasted.

Six already knew the intimate details of his life because she had once shared his last name.  

Ryan had been her husband once and now she had to kill him.

Find prompt here.

Prompt 15: Joy & Pain


"I had no idea I could do that."

Standing beside the hospital bed I put my fingers through hers and leaned down to kiss her damp forehead.  ”I did,” I replied with a smile.  She was exhausted, physically drained but the exertion was well worth it.  Both of us knew that the moment we heard a sharp cry.  She wasn’t planning this kid’s career just yet but with a set of lungs like that she could easily have a future in music.   She could be a singer.  Just the thought of her taking after me made my chest fill up with maternal pride.

I never thought I’d be able to say this but I was ready to be a mother.

After my situations, my history, I hadn’t been sure that this void could ever be filled but with one glimpse at her, my distress dissipated.  The sadness of having to make those unbearable decisions all but vanished.  It was truly amazing that a baby-this tiny, defenseless, little person-could alter and shift everything in your world. Children were pure but powerful enough to render you helpless.  Those lucky enough to have them were incredibly fortunate.  I hadn’t just given birth but I considered myself blessed.  Already she felt like mine.


She was the seven pound, three ounce human who I had just fallen in love with at first sight.  

I didn’t want to leave the bed but she literally dragged me over to her. A pair of nurses stood over the bassinet where she lay, cleaning her off.  They printed her hands and feet, which gave me the chance to count her fingers and toes.  They were all there.  I should’ve known anyway.  She was perfect.  Tears fell without my consent but these were the blissfully content kind that came from being overwhelmingly happy.  I was so overcome that I felt like I was going to combust at any moment.  The feeling grew tenfold when she was put in my arms.  Her body was swaddled in a white hand-stitched Chanel blanket.  It was commissioned and monogramed with her name.  Her mother thought it was over the top and unnecessary, especially when she found out how much it cost, but nothing was too good for Davina.  She would always get the best because I had every intention of spoiling her.  She was going to go places, do great things and I would make sure of it.  Anything she wanted she’d have, a hundred times over.  

She’d have it easy regardless.

This kid be called adorable but that wasn’t an accurate description.  The face of an angel stared up at me.  I felt a weight lift off of me when I saw who she resembled. Round cheeks, delicately shaped lips and a head full of pale brown hair. She was gorgeous.  

Just like her mother.

Thinking that made me realize that someone else was as eager to see Davina as I was.  More actually.  Davina meant the world to me in a matter of seconds but I wasn’t the one who carried her for nine months, who felt her grow inside of me and experienced her first kicks.  I walked over and placed her in her mother’s arms.  It was a moment I would never forget.  Cai gazed down at Davina with such love that it threatened to melt me.  She kissed the baby then ran her hand over her cheek.

"You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to meet you," she murmured softly.  "I know you don’t understand what I’m saying to you right now but you saved my life Davina.  I love you.  I will never stop loving you.  Ever."

Cai tore her eyes away from the miracle in her arms when I wiped her tears away.  She was overrun with emotions.  Relief, hope, optimism-her feelings now were the complete opposite of what she felt when she first discovered her pregnancy.  The circumstances then were horrific, thanks to me, but she had repaired herself, her life, and her relationships.  I was humbled that she’d found it in her heart to work on ours.  We were in a good place now and it felt incredible that I had the one person who made me whole.  I was never going to jeopardize us again.  I had weak moments, times when I felt I wasn’t deserving of her.  Sometimes I was tempted to go the wrong way but Cai had made her terms.  Any dishonesty or infidelity and she were gone.  It was self-preservation on her part and I understood her stance.  The parameters were defined and I wasn’t going to step outside of them.

I loved her too much.

I needed her in my life.  Our time apart had been hell.  I could never be without her again.  That same attachment applied to Davina.

"She’s all yours," I said tenderly.

"She’s all ours," Cai corrected.  "That thing we talked about-I want to start the paperwork as soon as possible."

"Really?" I asked astonished.

"I gave it thought.  You’re in my life and I want you to be in hers.  If something happens to me, I trust that you’ll take care of her."


She wanted to give me legal rights to her child.  The gesture was so enduring, so important that I couldn’t speak for a moment.  I kissed her instead, putting my arms around her.  Cai, Davina, and I were a unit.  This was my family now.

These two were my joy.

But in reality they were my pain.

I woke up abruptly, my own tears wetting the satin pillow my head rested on.  The fact that I now cried in my sleep was old news.  I had come to expect it, along with the hollow ache that always sat in my chest.  I’d been here before but this time around it was far worse.  The stakes had been higher.  I had gambled and I had crapped out.  My dream had been filled with such light but my life as of late was all dark.  As usual I kept my face.  I forced myself to smile and go through the motions.  I had sponsors, a world tour that I was contractually obligated to perform, and a list of other commitments.  It was constant work but it did little to distract me.  It was hard to enjoy things professionally when my personal affairs were in such disarray.  

"Go back to sleep," a voice said from behind me.  "Then sun isn’t even up."  He’d just gotten in from an after party, the hoarseness in his voice indicating a late night and early morning of smoke and drink.  A couple of months ago and I would’ve sounded the same.  I’d taken to clubbing again, which would’ve been fine if I hadn’t gone overboard.  I couldn’t keep control.  First it was just a glass of wine, which gradated to shots, and then it was weed.  I could handle those but not when they were compounded by the sex.  I had a few random times but those anonymous indiscretions didn’t compare to the ones that took place with the man whose hand was wrapped around my waist.  It was too much for her.

I sat up, body heavy and retrieved the framed picture that sat on my nightstand. Since we moved in together he hated that I still kept it this close.  We had our first huge blow up over it but this wasn’t going anywhere.  I wasn’t going to hide her just because it made him uncomfortable.  I felt his eyes on me as I got up and pulled my robe on.  I went outside.  New York winters were harsh but it didn’t compete against the cold I felt in my heart.  I traced her image with my fingers.  She’d been unaware when I snapped the photo.  We had made love that evening but hours later I found myself alone in bed.  I got up and found her in my living room.  With Manhattan serving as a backdrop, she sat on the couch, resting on her knees.  In just a bra, her hands held her eight month old stomach.  Cai was talking to Davina, taking time for just the two of them.  It was just too beautiful not to capture it.  

I was grateful that I had.

Besides the memories, this was all I had of Cai and Davina.  

I always thought about sending her the mountain of baby gifts I had brought for her but I knew that Cai would never accept them.  Not after how everything went down.  My dream showed what should’ve been but that’s now how things happened at all.  Cai had given birth but she’d been unconscious during it.  Davina had been born but instead of her being placed in the arms of a loved one, she was urgently rushed away.  And me-I hadn’t been there at all.  I was too busy getting fucked against a wall to know that both of them had been in danger.

Everything was bad about that night and it was all my fault.

I was the reason Cai left my place in a compromised state.

I was the reason why Dimitri was nearly arrested at the hospital.

I was the reason why an innocent life was almost taken.

I was never going to forgive myself for that or any of this.

And the sad part was that nothing I could do was going to fix anything.  I was beyond redemption and it was slowly killing me on the inside.  I guess that’s why I thought nothing of pulling the small vile out of my robe’s pocket.  Pills had put me to sleep but this would help me get through the waking hours.  I sprinkled the white substance across the back of my hand and brought it up to my nose.  I snorted it quickly, sniffing and blinking as it took over my system.  I had developed a tendency to do coke in the last few weeks.  It was well concealed to those who mattered but I was doing more and more each day.  I couldn’t bring myself to care though.  I brushed the powder’s remnants away from the glass of the picture and pressed it close to my chest.  I had no one to blame for this torture but me.  I had lost two of the most precious things I could’ve ever asked for. 

I had to cope somehow.

Even if I destroyed myself in the process.

Find prompt here.

Prompt 14



I loved these moments.

Those times when she was unaware, not cognisant of any one or anything.  It didn’t happen often but she was preoccupied with the world outside of herself.  There might be something for her to gaze at out the window but I saw nothing but her.  I never did.  She was my everything, my reason for getting up in the morning, the cause of my next breath.  The classic woman in the white blazer sitting across the cafe was model.  Not in the presumptuous way.  Her face was not one you would see on the cover of a magazine or a designer’s runway.  Her purpose was far more important than that.  She inspired art, the real kind.  I was sitting behind an easel, charcoal tinging my fingers when she walked in.  I did sketches, a nude figure was nothing I hadn’t already seen but she consumed me.  Standing before the group she dropped her robe, settled into a position, and stared blankly elsewhere.  She was a goddess and like any creature of beauty I was drawn to her.  

Maybe a little too much.

Some might call what I was doing stalking but I preferred the term observing.  I had no ill intent.  I didn’t want to hurt her, I only wanted to appreciate her.  The pictures, the things I’d taken from her apartment-they were only keepsakes, personal trinkets for me to remember her by.  The dark-haired Italian I had encountered on the way here, he was simply unnecessary. He was a blind date that her friend had set her up with.  I could withstand a lot, but another man touching her was intolerable.  

That was were I drew the line.  

She was looking for him, I realized but he would never come.  I had sent my hook-knife into his abdomen multiple times and tossed him behind a dumpster.  His life was leaking out of him in an alley, one block away.  They would never meet and although I wasn’t a violent person I was sorry about what I did.

She was mine and if I couldn’t have her, than nobody could.

Find prompt {here}.

Prompt 13


"I’ve got all the time in the world, love.

Trespassing and thievery is punishable by death amongst our kind, and that’s only if we’re in the generous mood.”

I opened my mouth but was quickly silenced.  ”Kneel and lower your eyes.  Show your respect human.”  The Lurch looking guard attempted to force me but after I put a knife through his hand, he had no other choice but to back off.  Black blood dripped from the hoe I’d put there.  He raised his good hand, about to send an energy surge toward me.  A blue flame formed in his palm but it quickly went out.

"We don’t harm our guests Markus.  She was granted amnesty and I intend to abide by that, at least until she gives me reason not to.  Humans have this idea that one is innocent until proven guilty."

"She poses a threat," he said with a sneer.

"The only threat she poses is to the rest of your limbs.  Leave at once."

I got a shot a menacing glare but he followed his instructions, like the well trained pet he was.  The lackey might want to blast me from existence but a direct order ruled over his feelings.  Vampires were undead but they sure knew how to hold a grudge.  If I made it out of this alive, I knew I’d have to watch out for him.  The cold kind had a strong sense of revenge and hatred, not that I was scared.  In my eighteen years I’d seen a few monsters.  Pale skin and blood drinking wasn’t the worse of it.  I was jaded about all otherworldly creatures but I knew better than to underestimate the being that stood in front of me.

Luca was a Master vampire.

One of the original family that all subsequent generations came from.  He was centuries years old and had acquired powers that I wouldn’t begin to fathom.  I’d taken a risk by even coming here.  It was like walking into a war zone blinded with no weapons but I had a purpose.  And that didn’t include getting caught in his personal quarters.  Vamps had hang ups when it came to their spaces and ordinarily I respected privacy but he had something I needed.

"I got lost," I explained with a straight face.  "Easy to do in this place."

I felt the slightest shift of air and suddenly Luca was behind me, his taloned nails against my neck.  His mouth was close to my ear, his breath cold as ice.  ”It wouldn’t do you any good to lie to me.  I humored this little visit of yours but I am not a patient man.  I could easily rip your trachea, I could snatch your still beating heart from out of your chest before you knew what was happening.  I could simply drain you completely dry.  Now I will only ask this once, what were you looking for?”

I glared then closed my eyes to take a staggering breath.  This was not supposed to be happening like this.  I should’ve been in, out and gone and not being subjected to sweet nothings being uttered in my ear.  ”You have something I need,” I replied finally.  ”A key.”

He chuckled darkly.  ”Now all the pieces fit together.  You’re sister, you’re trying to free her aren’t you?  Well I’m sorry human but that won’t be possible.  You look just like her but the resemblance has changed considerably.  Raven.”

A figure appeared immediately and I couldn’t hold back my gasp..

"You see your search is useless now.  You’re sister is one of us now and soon you will be to."

I knew instantly what was going to happen next but couldn’t stop it.  He forced my head back roughly and sank his teeth into my throat.  I blacked out just as a the burning sensation swallowed my scream.


The eyes followed me, watched my every move.

Back turned I felt her expectant gaze, felt all the things she needed from me. All the things I couldn’t seem to give her.

Wind blew in cold whispers, seeping through the crack in one of the loft’s windows. It was cold today, below 20 and dropping.  I stared past my reflection to the rooftops of the adjacent buildings.  Looking down I watched the foot traffic grow and clog the sidewalks.

There was a certain rhythm to this city but I couldn’t seem to follow it.

Couldn’t follow anything nowadays.

I hadn’t been myself for a while now.  

She was to blame.

I tried directing my attention away from her but like always I failed.

I walked to her, peered uncomfortably into those bottomless eyes.  Eyes that had no ending. Her skin the most beautiful shade of midnight, a blackness tinted by blue. Her flesh, I always marveled at it.  There was a clear contrast between her color and mine.

I did the same now, glancing at my hand and then at hers.

My love was a creature of perfection and intricacy; the making of an artist’s dream. Every curve delicate and defined, femininity exuding from every pore. Her power, it reigned supreme and rendered me a helpless subject.

I glanced up again to see her smiling, her corrupt eyes innocent if for only the moment. That smile-it had the makings of destruction.

Now in another spot her back was turned to me. She was seated on the window sill, the same one I had just inhabited. Sitting and staring at something I couldn’t see or touch. Nude, her arms were wrapped around her folded legs.  Once again neglecting me, leaving me to wonder what she was thinking.

The mystery of her, I had never penetrated it, never even came close and it was that fact that kept me up at night.

Despite my tortured feelings I got hard.  The male part of me tightened. Entranced I stared into her eyes. My paint streaked sweats fell and I took myself in my hand. Chest tight I ran my hand up and down my shaft, the urge to purge myself too great to ignore.

There was nothing special about what I was doing.

I didn’t enjoy self-pleasure like some did. What I wanted was her warm body on me…around me. I wished to hear her alluring accent in my ear and feel her skin against mine. Closing my eyes, I neglected her penetrating stare for the moment,  as I attempted to speed up my release.

Maybe I was finally losing my mind, but I felt her.

At some point she had crawled under my skin and left her permanent mark.

I grunted in frustration.

Pressure built inside me as did my anger.

Those eyes, they mocked me and made what I was doing even more humiliating.

I hate you,” I said in a strangled whisper. She only smiled. She knew of her power, of her control over me.

I fucking hate you.” I said, voice lower. A coming orgasm took my voice, replacing it with animal-like sounds. There was no control as I pulsed almost painfully. My face to the ceiling, my muscles tensed, my free hand against a wall I strained and convulsed, sending fluid across my hand and the floor. Like always, the amount was next to nothing. I could cum but I couldn’t ejaculate, not the way I should, not with her opaque eyes following me and my movements.

These moments brought me nothing but embarrassment, distress and more then the rest, rage.

Angrily and with purpose, I came to her wiping that diabolical smile clean off her face. The carving knife that rested on my kitchen island somehow entered my hand. The blade-it pierced her, shattering her still-life image. The same happened to her as she sat on my window sill.

Her beauty was destroyed.

Panting I glared at the knife still in my hand. Two canvases lay on the sheet covered floor.

What I had spent nights creating now lay in ruins, the ruin caused by my own hands. Her perfectly painted image had been stabbed and punctured, ripped apart until it resembled nothing but confetti.

As pristine white snow fluttered from the sky I couldn’t seem to appreciate its grace. Memories marred my mind, two colors coming into focus as I slumped to the floor: the red of her blood against the black of her skin.

Her name was Ebony and she’d been my lover.

She was dead now.

And if memory served me correctly I’d been the one to murder her.

Prompt 12


"Why did we ever think this was going to work?"

"Because we’re too optimistic for our own good," he replied with a humorless chuckle.

"That might be it," I replied, leaning across on my scraped elbow.  We sat across from each other in his mother’s kitchen.  The small space had a 70s flair, complete with butter yellow tile and archaic appliances.  It wasn’t the updated room most people would’ve wanted but I had always liked the style of it.  It was reminiscent of us: classic and vintage.  Our relationship was timeless and it would never really go out of style.  Even if we weren’t sleeping with each other anymore.  

Friends with benefits.

It was all the rage for twenty-somethings these days but it wasn’t the trend that made us become intimately involved.  Loneliness had a way of drawing people together.  We were close already, he was my best friend, but with recent circumstances we had taken things to a new level.  I’d just broken up with my boyfriend and his girlfriend was studying abroad in India.  It provided the perfect opening for a kiss, which led to us on his couch.  From there my shirt came off and so did his.  I don’t need to go into detail about what took place next.  We’ve had sex everyday, two months straight.  And it was going pretty well until his girlfriend showed up announced and my boyfriend came crawling back, begging for forgiveness.  We were double agents for a while until last night.  That’s when shit hit the fan, evident by the eight stitches holding his forehead together and the imprint of a hand that was causing my cheek to swell.

Cheap beer, a crowded bar and two angry exes didn’t mix well.

I don’t know how they figured it out but they did.  Our drunken kiss against an old jukebox didn’t help matters much.  While he got bashed over the head with the jagged edge of a Corona, I’d been slapped across the face.  It was safe to say that we were single now with only our injuries to show for any of our trouble.

Battered, bandaged and bruised.

If our friendship could survive a bar brawl, a night in a jail cell and stern lecture from his mother than we could make it through anything.  Sex was great and all but it really wasn’t worth any of this.

I raised my glass of orange juice to his cup of coffee in a toast.  ”To never screwing each other again,” I said.

Find prompt here.

Prompt 11



I woke up to desolation.

To a world that was devoid of color and life.

My slumber had been a significant one because before this city actually had a pulse.  Now it didn’t.  There was no sound, no hum of human activity, only a stagnant wind that brought a burning smell to my nose.  Where I lay, jagged rock and glass had formed my bed, much of my blood covering it.  I rolled over, put my face to the sky, only to cough harshly.  My lungs were heavy, on fire really.  Something that used to be food came up in the form of slime.  I almost wished that I had kept it down because now my body was completely empty.  I needed food, water, a fucking bottle of Gatorade.  

With great struggle, I placed my hands on the broken earth and pulled myself up as effectively as I could.  I staggered, almost went down but caught myself on the wire fence.  A rusted razor cut into my flesh but the pain I ignored.  My view was more disturbing than the threat of tetanus was.  Blinking rapidly, I covered my mouth with my soiled Mötley Crüe t-shirt to breath through.


Everything was gone.

An expressionless sky was the backdrop for the destruction.  Buildings, every structure I could remember, lay on the ground in a heap of debris.  The only thing still standing was the old factory.  Smoke stacks stood tall against an otherwise empty skyline.  I surveyed it all with objectivity until normal human emotion took over.  I gasped, my shock and disorientation taking over.  This couldn’t be real and if it was, what had happened?  The last thing I could remember was walking.  I was walking to the grocery store when something hard hit me.  I was nowhere near my neighborhood.  I was a little lost here but I knew I hadn’t just magically teleported to where I was currently.  I’d been brought here.  

Most likely by the man with the machete in his hand.

"You’re alive," he said simply.

I tried to work up my fear but it refused to form.  ”If you’re going to kill me, just make it quick,” I said facing him.

He wiped the long knife on his tattered flannel shirt, leaving a streak of blood across it.  ”Why would I do that?  We’re the only ones left.”

Prompt found here.

Prompt 10




My muse.

She was a dark-haired Sicilian who first caught my attention at a friend’s party.  It was all very pretentious, a champagne and finger foods type of engagement, but the mood was altered when she arrived.  With her barely-there dress, she swept into the middle of the crowd and began to dance.  She really had no skill but her movements were like art: fluid, graceful and acutely sexual.  She was a known prostitute, or courtesan as she liked to call it.  I couldn’t stand others touching and using them for their own pleasure so I paid or her exclusivity.  I had no interest in bedding her, only of observing.  She was languid, that first time, laying across my floor wrapped only in a sheet.  She had little to say but her presence filled my loft space.  The energy she created was electric and it had nothing to do with her hand in betwen her legs.

My memory of her now is fragmented.  It tends to be whenever I become obsessed with something.  I only had glimpses, black and white snapshots or our time together.  In one her head was angled to the left, her tongue lingering on her top lip.  In another her hand was covering my face, one of her fingers inside of my mouth.  The last was me holding a gun to my head.  I tried to forget that I’d been so consumed that I wanted to take my own life because of her.

Fiona was a religious experiment and I’d been ready to sacrifice myself in order to keep her.  It didn’t matter in the end.  She left me.  Her interests were elsewhere. As in with another artist.

My Fiona was godless.  It was in her nature.

Any man could be her master.

Photo courtesy of Le-Monde.