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Bedoor Bluemoon

Everyday writing to expose the soul

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She looked up from her book as she heard a person calling , “miss, do you need this chair?”  Her eyes needed a few seconds to readjust and she couldn’t find her voice fast enough so she nodded.  “Thank you,” he said with a quick smile.  He was a handsome man.  She looked at him walking towards his group of friends and tried to figure him out.  What was a person like him doing in a cafe like this at this time?

It was barely 8 a.m. and Beth was used to taking her coffee in the cafe situated at the corner of her flat.  She liked the view and the airiness of the place, in addition to the hospitality of the middle aged owner and her daughter.  It was usually a quiet place, a place where people would walk in, grab a coffee and a bite to go, and leave.  The two tables that were set for dine in guests were seldom busy and it was very odd that this morning the second chair on her table was needed to accommodate a group of four men.

She tried to resume her reading but felt like someone was watching her.  She looked up and she was right: he was watching her from a few feet away and smiled.  She smiled back and unconsciously rubbed her left hand before looking back down at her book blushing.

The words were getting fuzzy, she closed her eyes for a few seconds and tried to refocus.  This was her sanctuary and she wasn’t going to allow anything or anyone to ruin it for her.  She took a sip of her latte and glanced up.  He had a cup in his hand and nodded in her direction.  This is ridiculous, she thought to herself.  He’s just being friendly.

She managed to believe herself and went back to reading.  Time passed by and she could hear the group saying their farewells.  She looked up and saw that he was putting on his suit jacket.  Probably off to work, she thought to herself.

In her mind, she imagined him seated behind a big desk with his grey hair glistening in the sunlight behind him.  His forearms bulging beneath his black suit as he walks across to welcome her into his lair.  Towering over her, she smiles coyly as he puts his arms around her and ushers her in.

“Thank you,” he says pulling her away from her fantasy.  “I read that book, it’s good,” he remarks. “How are you liking it so far?”

“I’m enjoying it very much.” She whispers.

“mind if I join you?  I don’t need to be at work till after lunch.” He asks

She looked at him quietly and sighs, recalling the heartbreak that is yet to heal and the pain her ex-husband caused her.

“I’m sorry, I’m fully booked for this year with myself.  Maybe next year we can catch up.”

The Lost Boy

(writing prompt #304. https://purpldragon.wordpress.com/2017/09/14/writing-prompt-304/)

Source: Writing Prompt #304
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He watched through the window as his mother tucked his half-sister in bed and kiss his step father goodnight, then he turned and vanished into the night.  It was a daily ritual for Tom since he ran away from his father’s house six months ago.  His father was an alcoholic who, in his opinion, probably didn’t even realize he wasn’t around.  He was living bad days and worse nights when his father would come back from the bar and wake Tom up from his sleep just to start beating him.  One night, Tom decided it was enough, he was going to go live with his mother instead.

His mother always wanted him in her life.  She never gave him up, on the contrary she fought hard to gain custody of Tom but it was all because Tom’s dad knew how to best beat the system that she lost him.  She cried so hard knowing that her ex-husband didn’t really care about Tom, he only wanted to hurt her by taking him away.

That was five years ago.

Tom lived with his dad and was neglected from day one.  He was abused verbally all the time, listening to how he was the reason his parents got a divorce and why it would have been better if he were never born.  He went to school after he made his own breakfast, changed, and packed whatever junk was available at home.  The place was a mess and Tom tried to keep it clean as hard as any eight year old boy can.  He missed his mother.

Running away was the best thing he did.  It wasn’t like he was living in a better place but at least the homeless man had more paternal instincts and started sharing everything with him.  During the day, Tom would try to sell anything to get some money and buy some food to settle his rumbling stomach and share what little he has with the homeless man.

He wanted to go directly to his mother and that’s when his new habit started.  He reached her new home at seven p.m. one night and saw her new family gathered around the dinner table.  He could smell the roasted chicken but something in him stopped him from ringing the doorbell.  He didn’t want to ruin the beautiful picture with his dirty boots and jacket.  From then on, he continued to watch his mother live her life while he lived his.  She never saw him behind the bushes.

One day, Tom fell asleep watching his mother and step dad watching a movie.  He wanted to feel as if he were a part of her life again.  He sat down and watched from afar until his eyelids could no longer stay open.

He woke up the next morning indoors, on a bed, and with mother’s arms around him.  He knew her smell very well and couldn’t believe it.  He turned around and saw her smiling into his face.

“How long have you known that I’m watching?”

“Just last night.  Do you think I’d let you go if I ever found you?”

The Bridge

Writing prompt 240


He sat on the rail of the bridge watching the people cross, waiting for his next victim.

He didn’t know that he was being watched, followed from the second he stepped out of his house. He didn’t realize that there is someone who wanted to prove his methods were not up to par, not meticulous enough. He didn’t know that during his last attack, the single slip up was the reason he was now hunted.

Once a hunter, now hunted.

Hunted because he let the girl scratch his face and the police found the evidence of his DNA underneath her fingernails.

And now, he was no longer part of  the group. No longer welcomed.

Watching, he was being watched. Planning, his death was being planned, schemed.
The next day, newspapers read “the Bridge Serial Killer was Found Dead Beneath the Bridge.”
How ironic.

Cranky- A Story

Cranky

sad_man_rnd

He wandered into the break room aiming for the coffee.  He didn’t want to be his normal self nor did he care to greet everyone as usual.  He didn’t care to say good morning to all his colleagues and, why should he, he doesn’t owe them anything.

Everyday, he puts on his suit and drives to work.  He passes smiles to everyone and cares, actually cares enough, to ask how they were feeling and listen to their reply.  He knows that this is the correct thing to do and what is expected of him.  But today is different, he doesn’t want to smile, he doesn’t want to say good morning because it’s not a good morning, and he definitely doesn’t want to make small talk, he just wants his coffee.

It started early.  He woke up on the wrong side of the bed and things just kept rolling in the wrong direction, a small snowball escalating to take over his day.

He was usually a kind and sensitive man.

And yet today was different.  The neighbor’s dog was barking at his own shadow from the wee hours of dawn.  He walked away from the window towards his phone just to see that it had 21% battery life; the switch wasn’t turned on!  He turned on the switch quickly forecasting how much battery he would have once he gets out of the house.  He dropped a big blob of shampoo down the drain and immediately felt sorry for himself: come on who does that!?  He’s a respectable man!

Traffic jam on the way to work, a call from the bank informing him that he must present two IDs as a precaution, and his mother called.  All this before 9 a.m., all this without coffee.

He pressed on, ignoring the smiles, ignoring the eager faces waiting for him to ask how they are, ignoring the urge to turn around and never come back.  Pressed on, knowing that this day isn’t a good day regardless of how hard he tries to convince himself.  Knowing that it’s not a good day to be himself, it just doesn’t feel right.  He glanced at the calendar while pouring himself the cup of coffee and froze.

He finally knew.

He finally knew what his soul was trying to tell him: it was time to renew his vows, time to take away another life, time to sacrifice for the master of Death.

  • No, he thought.  I can’t do it anymore.  
  • You must!- the voice came from within, too real to be imaginary
  • But I have a good life here!
  • It is not an option.  You are to find someone and sacrifice him
  • I don’t want to run away again.  I just started a new position!
  • Who gave you the idea that this is a negotiation.  Start moving, start looking, start hunting
  • I gave you everything
  • And I gave you a chance, a do over.  Would you rather I take her away?
  • No!  I’ll do it.  I’ll do it for Rose.
  • Good morning Tom.  Everyone said you were a bit cranky today.  Do you feel better?
  • Alex, could you please help me?  I can’t seem to figure out what’s going on with the server, would you mind coming along?  I would appreciate another set of eyes.
  • Sure thing

Silence.

Denial- Don’t Punish Him

Denial

The little hand held his with so much love, so much affection.  The simple gesture that says, “I love you,” was enough to keep him living, enough to keep his eyes closed.  He loved his son very much but there was always something that didn’t fit quite right.

He always gave him everything he could, showered him with gifts for any reason and was never able to decline any request.  His son was his everything especially after his wife’s death.

He held onto him remembering his late wife’s last words.  Don’t punish him.  Don’t punish him for what?  He never knew and he didn’t want to know.  He thought maybe she didn’t want him to blame their son for her death but that would just be absurd!  Why would he do such a thing!  He believed in God and has faith in His choices, paths.  God knows best.

But the words were nagging.  He always wondered and they continued to repeat in his mind.  Don’t punish him… Don’t punish him… Don’t punish him…

He saw everything, yet saw nothing.  He saw the differences yet he made up similarities.

 His eyes are blue, were his mother’s eyes blue?  No, but my great grandmother had blue eyes.  

He’s very tall.  Yes, it’s a funny story, my great uncle was known for his height.  He was nicknamed giant.

He looks very much like your best friend Anderson, people could mistake him to be his father.  A smile.

Denial.

Don’t punish him.

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