Fiction: As Siblings Do #amwriting #fiction #shortstory

Here’s another piece from my writing course, edited from the original.

Credit: Greg Raines via Unsplash

Jordan revs his motorcycle for the third time. He drops his helmet, running fingers through his hair. His motorcycles’ roar and grumble soothe him, as he taps his fingers against the handles, waiting for Jessica to hurry up and get her ass out the door.

The door slams and Jessica fumbles her keys, locking the front door. He rolls his eyes as she teeters down the sidewalk in red stilettos.

“You’re so stupid, Jessica. You need to wear descent boots on a motorcycle, or those heels are gonna grind off on the road.”

She punches his arm. “Screw off. I can wear what I want. Mom said you have to give me a ride to class on Thursdays, for as long as you’re living at home again.” Jessica eases a helmet over her hair. “I hate wearing helmets on this thing; it ruins my hair.”

Jordan plunks his on, revving the motorcycle to drown Jessica’s whining. He slips on leather gloves and zips down the street, off onto the freeway and towards his sister’s university.

She’s still talking to him, but he can’t hear her. He grins as her shrill voice fades. Despite her shouting and poking his side, he makes the ride to her school as jerky and frightening as possible.

At the university’s fine arts building, he pulls into a tight parking space, removing his helmet. Jessica takes hers off, hair flying from static. She scoffs.

He peers back at his dyed-blonde dunce of a sister. “You need to wear a helmet, Jessica, because I drive fast. Your head could crack open like a watermelon.”

She screws up her face, prepared to yell, but he cuts her off. “I have a job I need to be back for on time. I can run out and pick you up, but you need be ready, Fluffs.”

She attempts to smack him, but he catches her hand. “I wouldn’t if I were you. If you still want rides, keep your hands to yourself. You can do your makeup and hair at school too.”

Jessica hops off the motor cycle, placing her hand on his shoulder, digging her almond pointed fingernails into the base of his neck. Jordan swears as she balances on her stilettos.

“Don’t call me Fluffs, *sshole. I hate that nickname.”

“I’ll call you what I want. Fluff is all your heads made out of and why you’re getting a BA in Fine Arts, not a useful degree.” He throws his sister’s Kate Spade at her.

Surprising him, she catches it. “I’m an artist. Stop being such a prick, Jordan. It’s what I’m good at. My brain has more creative juice than yours will ever have.”

She pushes him hard, and his motorcycle tips. He catches it. “Grow up, Fluffs.”

It wouldn’t surprise him if she fell over and cracked her skull from wearing those whore-red stilettos. Shaking his head, Jordan speeds to work.

His divorce was through, and he needed to find a new place. Jordan was tired of dealing with Jessica. Like his ex-wife, she was a spoiled princess.

©Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

Notable Quotes: March Part Two 2018 #quotes #pinterest #notablequotes #mandibellesthoughts

Welcome to Part Two of































©Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

‘Beware the Ides of March:’ A History Beyond the Shakespearean Play ‘Julius Caesar’ #history #Englishliterature #amwriting

I thought that I almost missed it. Today is the Ides of March. I know St. Patrick’s Day on March 17th, overtakes this day. But unless you’re into it a great deal, the Ides of March, isn’t a reason to drink green beer all day. Rickard’s Red or something along lose lines, might work better.


The first time I learned about today was in grade ten in Mr. G’s English class. He was one of my favorite high school teachers. And a hilarious guy, who had no aversions to mocking his students. We made of fun mocked him and each other (in a friendly manner), in each class he taught in grade ten.

We also studied William Shakespeare’s, Julius Caesar, where this vital passage appears early in the play:


Who is it in the press that calls on me?

I hear a tongue shriller than all the music

Cry “Caesar!” Speak, Caesar is turn’d to hear.


Beware the ides of March.


What man is that?


A soothsayer bids you beware the ides of March.

(Julius Caesar Act I.ii. 15–19).

Later on, we learned these lines are foreshadowing Caesar’s death. According to, on Shakespeare’s famous play, these lines occur during “Lupercalia, an ancient Roman religious holiday. Caesar, [a] Roman dictator,” is making his way “through the streets before an appearance” in front of “the ‘press’ (crowd).” From the busy streets, a soothsayer issues this famous warning. As well, Caesar, a “superstitious man,” does not take the “soothsayers” words without a great deal of worry and consideration.

As well, the ‘ides’ of March always occurs on the “15th,” but which day of the month the ‘ides'” occurs in each calendar month “depends on a complicated system of calculation.” It was “Caesar himself [who] established” the ‘Ides’ when he “instituted the Julian calendar, a precursor” of our modern calendar. Also, the “‘ides’ of January, for example, “always occurs on the”13th,” but the ‘ides’ of March, May, July and October” happen on the “15th” of these months.

“The [significance] of the ‘Ides of March’ for Caesar is that [it’s] the day [he’s] assassinated by a group of conspirators, including Brutus and Cassius. Despite numerous and improbable portents [foreshadowing and allusion] —the soothsayer’s warning” a “fearsome thundering,” along with Caesers’ “wife’s dreams of his murder,” and other signs, in Shakespeare’s play, mean Caesar can’t ignore the future he faces. Despite all this, he “ventures forth on the ides to meet his doom.”


Also, the site can provide us with more historical insight into this unusual day. Their staff write that “Gaius Julius Caesar,” was “stabbed to death in the Roman Senate house by 60 conspirators, led by Marcus Junius Brutus and Gaius Cassius Longinus.”

Caesar, who was “born into the Julii, an ancient” but not “distinguished Roman aristocratic family, began his political career in 78 B.C. as a prosecutor for the anti-patrician Popular Party.” From there, “[he] achieved. . . influence in the party” through his “reformist ideas” and skills as an “orat[or].” He also “aided Roman imperial efforts by raising a private army to combat the king of Pontus in 74 B.C. ”

Caesar was [also] an ally of Pompey” who was the “recognized head of the Popular Party.” He “essentially took over this position after Pompey left Rome in 67 B.C.,” when Pompey chose to become commander of Roman forces in the east. As well, by “63 B.C., Caesar was elected pontifex maximus, or ‘high priest,” allegedly by heavy bribes. Two years later, he was made governor of Farther Spain and in 60 B.C., [he] returned to Rome,” with “ambitio[ns] for the office of consul. The consulship” was the “highest office in the Roman Republic, [and was] shared by two politicians on an annual basis.”

The “Consuls commanded the army, presided over the Senate by execut[ing the Senate’s] decrees, and represented the state in foreign affairs. Caesar formed a political alliance–the so-called ‘First Triumvirate’–with Pompey and Marcus Licinius Crassus.” While the “majority of the Roman Senate, . . . opposed Caesar,” his “land reforms won him popularity” among Roman Citizen’s and, eventually, the Senate.


Also, in “58 B.C., Caesar was given four Roman legions in Cisalpine Gaul and Illyricum.” He “demonstrated brilliant military talents as he expanded the Roman Empire and his reputation. Among other achievements, Caesar conquered all of Gaul, made the first Roman inroads into Britain, and won devoted supporters in his legions.” Nevertheless, Caesar’s “successes . . . aroused Pompey’s jealousy, leading to the collapse of their political alliance in 53 B.C.”

The Roman Senate supported Pompey and asked Caesar to give up his army, which [of course,] he refused to do.” As well, in “January [of] 49 B.C., Caesar led his legions across the Rubicon River from Cisalpine Gaul to Italy, . . . declaring war against Pompey and his forces. Caesar made early gains in the[ir] civil war, defeating Pompey’s army in Italy and Spain.”

However, he “was later forced into retreat in Greece. In August 48 B.C., with Pompey in pursuit, Caesar paused near Pharsalus, setting up camp at a strategic location. When Pompey’s senatorial forces fell upon Caesar’s smaller army, they were entirely routed, and Pompey fled to Egypt, where he was assassinated by an officer of the Egyptian king.” Thus, Caesar rose to power in the Roman Republic as a dictator and sole consul member.


Finally, notes that “Caesar was. . . appointed Roman consul and dictator, but before settling in[to] Rome, he traveled around the empire for several years [to] consolidat[e] his rule,” through military might and oration. “In 45 B.C., he returned to Rome and was made dictator [of Rome] for life.

As sole Roman ruler, Caesar launched ambitious programs of reform within the empire. The most lasting of these was his establishment of the Julian calendar.” Except for “slight modifications” and certain “adjustment[s to the calendar] in the 16th century, [it] remains in use today.” Caesar also “planned new imperial expansions in central Europe and to the east.

In the midst of these vast “ambitions, Caesar “was assassinated on March 15, 44 B.C., by a group of conspirators, who[m] believed . . . his death would lead to the restoration of the Roman Republic.” Nonetheless, “the result of the ‘Ides of March’ was to plunge Rome into a fresh round of civil wars,” including Caesar’s once powerful supporter from Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar and Anthony and Cleopatra, Marc Anthony.

However, “Octavian, Caesar’s grand-nephew,” emerged as the “first Roman emperor, Augustus” Caesar. He “destroy[ed] the Roman Republic forever,” but did manage to bring the Romans into an age of peace called Pax Romana.

According to Wikipedia, what this age of peace meant was that, the Roman Empire expanded little and had to defend itself little against enemies, until the “Third Century.” Around this time, the Roman empire began its descent in power, especially, in Western Europe.

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.

Fiction: What A Million Dollars Won’t Buy #amwriting #fiction

Here’s another piece from my course, edited of course.

Credit: Paul Paul @ProdigyPaul via Unsplash.

Eugene steps onto the plane as his stomach summersaults. In Eugene’s seat, fellow author Jerry Norman, reclines.

“I need the legroom, let an old man have the aisle.”

Eugen shakes his head ‘no.’ He stows his carry on and sits. “Thanks a million for not making this difficult, Jerry. The aisle seats are quicker to leave from when the plane lands.” Eugene winks.

Jerry’s eyes narrow. “I’d watch it if I were you. I don’t like you sassing me.”

Eugene grins, then his stomach flips. The plane’s wheels come off the runway, and he buries his face in his hands. He swears under his breath between prayers until the plane achieves flying altitude.

Jerry laughs, “Think you’re some tough guy, eh? You take an old man’s seat than can’t handle take off?”

Eugene rolls his eyes. He notes Jerry’s red face with sweat gleaming. His hands are fisted tight around the armrests. “I don’t think you’re such a flier yourself. You’re a bit of bullshitter, aren’t you, Jerry?”

“That’s neither here nor there, Eugene. I’ve ridden on a plane that’s nearly crashed. Stop being such an asshole. I’m not a bad guy.”

Eugene snorts. He removes his iPad from the seat pocket and closes his eyes to the latest Avengers movie. When he awakes, screams of terror resonate. His stomach lurches as the plane nose dives, rattling, bumping up, and down as the left engine sputters.

Eugene believes he’s having a nightmare. He blinks, and everything around him occurs in slow-motion. The breathing masks tumble down, and Eugene gulps in oxygen at a slow even pace.

Beside him, Jerry has knocked his head on the window and passed-out. Despite Eugene’s dislike for him, he stretches as far as he can. He displaces his oxygen mask for a moment, and attaches Jerry’s. Then, he does the only thing he can think of doing, he smacks Jerry across the cheek to wake him.

“Jerry, come on. Your head’s bleeding, and you can’t sleep until you see a doctor.” He watches Jerry’s pupils dilate as he sucks in deep breaths of oxygen. Eugene’s numbness permits him to remain calm as the plane alters from a nose dive to a straight position above a grassy field. The landing is rough and jars everyone. At the end, Jerry catch’s his eye. Both mean realize the plane nearly crashed.

Eugene’s numbness fades as his nails dig blood-filled crescents into his palms. When they leave the plane and slide into a verdant feel, he turns to Jerry. “Stay awake, we need to find you an ambulance before you fall down right here.” The other author leans against Eugene, as he supports him. They find a paramedic who checks them both over for injuries.

Eugene thinks of the million dollars he could’ve had for arriving early to the writer’s conference both and he Jerry were attending.

“All that money wasn’t worth this.” Jerry fumbles over his words, but Eugene knows they are the absolute truth. He nods at Jerry lying in a stretcher in an ambulance waiting to leave for the hospital.

“I’ll come with you, Jerry, might as well. Someone has to call your family and let them know what happened.” Jerry makes a noise, Eugene assumes is agreement.

He closes his eyes for a moment. One million dollars.

©Mandibelle16.(2018) All Rights Reserved.

Photo Challenge: Fiction – Hung Out to Dry #photochallenge #fiction #MLMM

Thanks to NEKNEERAJ of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting the Photo Challenge Prompt. This is a piece from my writing class, as well.

Credit: Bleach Film

“I tried, but I don’t love you. I hate hurting you. I’m sorry I cheated.”

“Are you? How do you switch your emotions off like that? Like a light-switch?” Jen’s voice was shrill.

Michael met her eyes but refused to answer. She stumbled into the living-room deaf to his begging. The back door slammed and his admissions ravaged her heart. These new wounds bled, sucking the life from her body. He’d hung her out to dry.

Dizziness overcame her and Jen lay on the couch, head buried in a pillow. She tried to absorb her ex-fiancés words, but her stomach was queasy and a strange ache grew inside her. It clenched and tightened, a fist squeezing her heart. Michael’s insidious behavior, shocked her. Her thoughts circled and her conscience hammered until she couldn’t stop them from revealing missed clues.

Jen was overcome with a sense of hollowness. Tears stung, traveling down the plains of her face as she peered into the fireplace mirror eyes flared-red, swollen with flat-gray irises; she felt emotionless and weary. There would be no more sunrises in life, not now, not ever.

Her heart ached, and the tangible throbbing pulsed and amplified until she couldn’t hide. Sobs wracked Jen’s body. She shivered, even when she pulled over a thick throw. Michael’s festering splinter of betrayal infected her heart and savaged her; nothing could ease Jen’s suffering.

©Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

Notable Quotes: March Part One 2018 #quotes #pinterest #notablequotes

Welcome to Notable Quotes March edition, Part One, 2018.































©Mandibelle16.(2018) All Rights Reserved.

Three Line Tales: Poem: Lunes – “Skyward” #3LineTales #poetry #amwriting

Thanks to Sonya of Only 100 Words for hosting #3LineTales.

Credit: Samuel Wong via Unsplash

Up and down, up and . . .

I think we’re,

All falling, deep down.


Up, then down, down then . . .

We dream of —

Flying, not falling.


Down trodden where’s up?

Feathers spread,

Never down, but skyward.

©Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

Sunday Photo Fiction: The Creep #fiction #amwriting

Thanks to Alistair Forbes for hosting the February 11th, 2018 Edition of SPF. This is a bit of a longer piece. Written for a writer’s course, around 500 Words as opposed to 200 Words or less. I cleaned it up and changed the original a bit.

Credit: J. Carol Hardy

Charlene twists her hair. The potent drink on the bar is her fifth tequila shot in an hour. The hazy, dreamlike atmosphere in the crowded town bar confuses her. Most of the crowd puff away, smoke lingering in the air, twisting above her, a toxic dragon of cigarette stench.

An attractive singer who isn’t local, belts out tunes while strumming his guitar. His catchy music has Charlene humming, her fingers tapping to the rhythm.

When he plays a soft song, the crowd boos. Some men throw beer bottles that smash and scatter glass against the small stage’s back wall. The singer peers around the room, his eyes darting back and forth. A bouncer drags away one of the offenders and the singer resumes his music, belting out cheerful tunes once more.

Charlene chuckles. As per usual, the town bar echoes with boisterous laughter and harmless drunks telling tale tales. Then, the creep beside her, pokes her arm. “Drink it, drink the shot.”

She peers up at him and his putrid breath makes her sick. “I don’t want it. Go away.” He leers and Charlene shivers.

She turns, stumbles towards the cracked vinyl booth where her coat and purse lay. Grabbing them she fumbles, zipping up her coat. The creep follows her and pinches her chin, trying to pour the shot into her mouth.

Warm tequila dribbles from her lips, acrid as she chokes. “No more, I don’t want anymore.” She cuts off his words, the poison of the creep’s lizard-tongue. “I’m going home — alone.”

Charlene teeters, leaning against the worn bar. She presses her hands against the humid backs of people waiting to buy more drinks. In open places, she leans on the bar, tracing it’s antique carvings, the dents on its worn surface. Jerry, one of the bartenders, slides her a glass of water. She nods at him, and swallows, her throat aching.

Past the bar, Charlene leans against a lone stool at a table. The stool wobbles on splintering legs. She grits her teeth, than sucks out a sliver of wood from her thumb. A gift from the table top.

Head spinning, Charlene lands in the quiet of the shuffleboard area, dizzy against the table. She presses her phone, fingers clumsy as she sends for an Uber. She downs more water from her purse. With some clarity, she wanders through sweat-soaked bodies towards the main door.

In the chill of the night, the creep is somehow beside her, waiting to follow her into her Uber. She ignores him, hobbling to a bouncer. “He’s following me, make him go away. He put something in my drink.”

The lie slips out; she doesn’t care. The creep who bought her five shots scares her. The bouncer’s blue eyes bulge. “No problem, Miss. I’ll ensure you get into the Uber alone.”

The bouncer offers the creep free beer to go back inside, and Charlene shivers, the wind biting at her face as flurries fly. She falls asleep inside the Uber, and the driver helps her into her apartment on the third floor. He takes the key from her hand and unlocks her door as she offers him a scrunched five-dollar bill.

“It’s fine. I don’t need help.”

The driver shakes his head. “That man you were running from, he’s bad. He has a different woman drunk each weekend night; he drugs many of them. The bouncer’s my friend, and he made sure you got into my Uber. We’re trying to catch him, but this a**holes too experienced to leave much evidence.”

The fact that the creep could’ve drugged her for ‘real’ makes Charlene ill. She rushes to the kitchen sink, throwing up multiple times.

The Uber driver ‘Ahems’ behind her. “I’m going now. Will you be okay?’

She nods. “Thank God, you’re a good man.”

“Stop accepting drinks from weird strangers. Don’t lead guys like him on. You have to think before you accept more than one drink; especially, in a small town like ours.”

Charlene nods, collapsing on the floor. She knows she’s asleep, but a sharp tempo beats against her temples. She’s half-awake, restless, afraid of the nightmares seeping in; the creep’s leering grin and eyes of a predator.

©Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

Music/Photo Challenge: Poem – Blitz – “Broken As Birds” #poetry #musicchallenge #photochallenge

Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting the music Challenge, 4 week’s back, “Bird Set Free” by Sia. Also, thanks to NEKNEERAJ of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting Photo Challenge #201.

Credit: Kyle Thompson

“Bird Set Free” — Sia

Broken like a cage, a bird flutters, pages in the breeze

Harnessed voice caught, sputters,

Sputters as clipped wings sprout feathers

Sputters as a tattered soul struggles

Struggles through the pain

Struggles, not able to sanguinely sing

Sing the fire of a scream inside

Sing the song of a creature chained

Chained and rejected

Chained, but the need to soar resides

Resides within a silent piercing message

Resides within her brokenness surviving

Surviving and holding on tight, nails piercing skin

Surviving in the melodies, phrases key —

Key to life, the writer writing,

Key to life, the singer singing with iron will

Will to shout as a bird set free

Will of vocals as a crescendoing sound

Sound of a voice roaring, echoing and never ebbing

Sound of a voice struggling back to life

Life, a vivid dream alive and brilliant

Life a scream torn from our insides, sick pain rising

Rising and lifting wings in the wind

Rising no longer with ghosts hiding

Hiding the lies that eat through us inside

Hiding our sadness, those tears until —

Until our voices are shrill from relief

Until melodies release the tension

Tension of of being muted and broken

Tension of piercing wails lifted

Lifted high, nails scratching to be alive

Lifted high not wanting to die, caged door open

Open to life and exploring, songs that twist

Open to life, shouting loud, a bird set free to fly

Fly to the edges of the ancient map

Fly to the fire of the sun, wings without wax

Wax poetic of those times you felt trapped

Wax on the candle dripping as light fades

Fades to be reborn in celestial fire

Fades as dreams rediscovered in ditties

Ditties thrown as a bird set free

Ditties forever sung, a piercing yell released

Released all anger, released all pain

Released all bitterness, soaring as the falcon —

Falcon dipping, bending, screeching

Falcon, no master, no cage, no traps

Screeching because birds glide to their own tunes

Trap escaped — now a birds truly set free.

©Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

Photo/Music Challenge: Sunlight Too #shortfiction #amwriting #dierksbentley

Thanks to NEKNEERAJ of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting PhotoChallenge 200. Also, thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for this last Friday’s Music Challenge “I’ll Be the Moon” by Dierks Bentley Ft. Maron Morris.

Credit: Justin Peters

“I’ll Be the Moon” by Dierks Bentley Ft. Maron Morris

It begins innocently. A few words, a few texts that turn into a few hundred messages. A few phone calls and coffees. A few drinks, and late night conversations. My phone lights up in the dark. “Where are you?”

“Come meet me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Kier, meet for a drink. For an hour, maybe two, maybe three.”

“Baby, I’m in.” I speed towards our favorite restaurant bar. Our relationship has never passed conversation. Eyes locked for eons, long enough to drown in each other’s presence.

Jovial talk and laughter echo as I open the worn door. I find you in the bar area, in are usual place. My pulse thumps louder and your smile lights up my heart. Elation and a sense of tranquility rushes through my veins.

You take a sip of your beer then, saunter over to greet me. Grabbing my cold hands, you warm them, caressing them before grazing the back of your hand against my cheek. Its silkiness stokes a fire, igniting embers inside me.

“Girl, you can’t take your eyes off me, can you?”

You chuckle and lean into me, forehead against my chest. “Yeah, I’ve been missing the sight of you. I keep thinking about you.”

Your words are sweet relief, and our first kiss overwhelms me. I grasp your vanilla scented hair in my fingers. Your lips brush mine over and over. I nip your bottom lip, and the clammer of voices and TV’s in the bar fade.

I’ve dreamt of kissing you often. Is it even real? Then, you moan and the kiss elevates, lips melding, and tongues meeting faster; passion burns brighter in us both. We’re lost until a waitress pokes my shoulder. Her sharp nail bites, and breaks our fog.

“Hey, Kier.”

“Oh, Brandy. We’re kind of busy. I stare at your swollen lips, and prepare to dive back in for more.

You move away slightly, gripping my shirt, eyes wide. There’s enough room for Brandy to half squeeze and wiggle between our bodies.

“Kier, you want a beer? You haven’t ordered. There’s specials on tap or do you want your regular?” Brandy presses her red lips together. She. wiggles her chest against my side. Her scoop neck t-shirt leaves cleavage bulging. But I’m not interested in her and never have been.

I peer at you, your biting your lip. Your eyes narrow at Brandy. “My regular drink’s fine, Brandy.”

She peers at you and freezes. You roll your eyes and she flushes. Her lips form a practiced fake smile. Brandy sways her hips, teetering back to the bar on red heels.

You burst out laughing and snuggle into my checked shirt and chest. Then, you pull my my face down towards your lips. Your hands sneak around my back, and stroke my back beneath my shirt.

“Mmm.” I can’t help moaning. Our lips clash, the sparks between us explode. I lead you back towards the booth, where no one will bother us.

We converse, and make-out as if we’re both sixteen. We laugh for hour, and I never want the night to end. When your ringtone, “House of the Rising Sun” goes off, ‘his name’ pops up on your caller ID. I stare at the floor, hiding my disappointment.

You brush your hand through my hair. “I’m sorry, it’s time to leave. I need to go home. ‘He’s’ wondering where I am.”

I hate your excuses, but sigh against your neck. I place small wet kisses up your neck towards your velvet earlobe. You giggle and push me away half-heartedly.

I grasp your small chin. “Ain’t no one gotta know. Please, Mer, one more kiss before you go.”

As you walk away, I admire your toned legs, your skirt swishing around your knees. You stop, turning your head back, and flash your sweet blue eyes at me. Your coy smile lingers in my mind as you saunter out the door. You don’t know how sexy you are, even when you’re leaving me behind.

I grumble to myself, stretching out in the booth. What are you doing? She’s married and it’s going to get complicated. Then, my heart comments. It’s already complicated, Kier, and you know it. You might as well see it through and see what happens.

Brandy strolls up to me, sliding her hand down my arm. She’s young with glossy black hair and whisky-colored eyes, but she has no substance. Her beauty has nothing on your mahogany curls, sparkling green eyes, and your plush pink lips.

She lacks your ironic sense of humor and innate sweetness. I push Brandy off me and drink my third beer. I imagine your silk skin in my arms, that we’re in a place where no one disturbs us until we say so.


A couple of days later you call me, distraught and weeping.

“I can’t do this to my husband, he loves me. We’ve ten-years together.” The weight of those years is in your voice. You’re audibly exhausted and frustrated; your tears pierce through me.

“So, he’s cheating, again?”

“Yeah, his fifth affair, that I know about.”

“Ten years, huh? I don’t wanna be a liar, Mer. And I don’t wanna be a fool, but I hate keeping our affair a secret. I’m sorry he’s cheating, but you deserve love too. Give us a chance. Leave ‘him.’ I would never cheat on you, and we’ll be so much better than you and ‘what’s his name.'”

“We are more. You’ve always been more to me than him, even when you left.” You’re whispering. I wander if you’re hiding in the laundry room, so ‘he’ doesn’t hear our call.

Your voice wobbles. “You’re all I have, ‘he’ doesn’t know me as you know me. He doesn’t love the me from long ago, or the me today. Kier, please always love me, and don’t let me go. Someday soon, this will all work out.”

I shake my head. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I don’t care anymore. “Okay, Mer, for now our relationship can remain a secret. I will do this for you, if you want me to. Can you do this? Juggle your husband’s infidelities and us? Sometime soon you have to make up your mind. A man that treats you like ‘he‘ does isn’t worth your time.”

You cry louder. “I never thought I’d see you after all these years. I can’t let you go again. It ripped me apart when you left. It was the reason I married ‘him.’ I didn’t have to think about the hole in my heart from you, with ‘him;’ at least until his first affair.”

” I never meant to hurt you, but I had to leave, to see the world. Now I’m home, for good.”

“I’m glad. Are we going to meet tonight? ‘He’s’ going out to see her.”

” How about somewhere in-between where you and I live? If that’s what you want, we can meet as often as we’re able. I still feel as if you’re leavin’ me in the dark, accepting an affair. I want more. For now, he can be your sun and I’ll be your moon.”

“You’re so lyrical. I love that about you.”

“Sometimes I am. But, it makes sense. He has your days, and I have your nights, time permitting. But what happens when the two times intersect? He can be the sun and I’ll be the moon, for now, but not forever.”


It’s a lavish hotel with swanky modern minimelest decor. The bed is swathed in white, with a mattress so comfortable you could sink into it. You’re stretched out, our skin flush and our limbs tangled after hours of loving. I kiss your forehead, brushing my fingers through your mahogany curls.

Suddenly, ‘his’ ringtone goes off. Your phone lights up.

I kiss your cheeks and your sweet lips.

You bury your face in the pillow, moaning. “Gotta go. He’s wondering where I am.”

“I know, but it still ain’t easy. Just tonight, stay longer. Stay for the whole night. Say you’re at your friend’s place having a girl’s night after a hard day. Call your friend, Liz. She’ll back you up. Tell ‘him’ you forgot to phone or text him earlier.”

“I don’t forget to tell him stuff like that.”

“Maybe, you do, only this once.”

You giggle, “Someone’s creative tonight. You must really want me to stay. I want to stay too.” You smile, plush lips brushing mine, before placing your head on my chest. I wonder if you can hear how fast my heart beats when I’m entwined with you.

You raise your head, your green eyes alight. You kiss me hard, not soft but with need. There’s desperation in your kiss.

You climb on top of me. “One more time before I go.”

I grin. Our kisses and caresses multiply, tightening the cord of our connection. Later, you’re gone, but I’m lay awake in the early morning hours.

My mind won’t stop circling. Tomorrow, she’ll be waking up beside him. She’ll tell him that you loves him, but I know, Mer, doesn’t mean it. She loves me she told me so. She doesn’t love him at all, she never has.


For over five months now, we continue to meet whenever possible. Unexpectedly, we have the whole weekend to ourselves. ‘He’s’off on a business trip. You told me ‘he’ has a new mistress, affair number six. I don’t understand how he doesn’t know he has the best of all women in you.

You’re splayed on top of me and we’re both gasping for breath. You pull the blankets up around us as our sweat cools; your head fitted in the crook of my neck until you raise it.

You bite your lip, peering at me. “In my mind when I’m looking at him, and when I think of him, I don’t see us continuing on like this. We’ve had ten years, but ten years of what? Ten years of lies and deceit, now on both our parts.”

I rub your back. You talk about him a lot some nights. Thinking aloud, attempting to solve the riddle. How do you let your husband know you want a divorce, that there was never any love between either of you.

You kiss my neck, then my heart. “I’ve been lying about loving him for years. I can’t stand all his affairs, but are we any better? We’re having our own affair now? I feel so guilty, but at the same time, I don’t care anymore. He deserves it.”

“I hate this.” I don’t mean to sound harsh, but I have to tell you. ” He’s always the elephant in the room. No matter what you think, he’s never known the real you. He doesn’t see you for you, or the false life you both live. But girl, I see you and know the truth. I see you clearer than he ever will.”

I flip you over, resting on top of your sweet body and my forearms. “Don’t let this be a secret any longer. I don’t want to only be the moon; I want to be sunlight too.”

I kiss you tangling my lips and tongue with yours, channeling my will into our loving making. Between gasps you whisper, “Tuesday, I’ll see my lawyer.”

My eyes widen and you giggle, kissing my joyful grin. I tickle you, then my hands make the familiar journey down you alabaster freckled skin.

Before you leave I try to encourage you. “I’m no longer the moon, but sunlight too. I’m every time of day with you.”

You kiss me, holding our heads nose to nose. ” You’re the sun and the moon and everything in-between.”

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