Category Archives: love

Ingenuity and its fickle heart

On this week’s challenge at terrible minds, it’s mash-up time! I rolled16 &17 for Dieselpunk zombies!

“C’mon Jas,” she begged. “We need to get that foil running.”

Jas rolled out from under the foil, goggles glinting up at her. “May, I can’t do this any faster. But do scream if you see the chompers.”

May cocked the pistol, her wavy dark hair reflected in the shiny barrel. The last thing her Daddy had given her before the girls had left the compound. She aimed her barrel over at the edge of a deserted building, tested the sight. She turned quickly focusing on another crumbling and greying building, and halted, heart hammering in her throat. Tentative exploratory steps began a shuffle shamble. They were coming.

“Uh Jas,” May said, taking a faltering step backwards into the foil, “I think you’re running out of time.”

Jas rolled out and adjusted the lever on her goggles, zooming on the street. “Bugger. One sec.”

With some thunderous clunking under the foil, shaking the mast, the light-weight solar sail undulating and snapping, Jas got to fixing. May watched with increasing trepidation as the hoard closed in on their position.

“Jas…” The drawn out note of fear was enough, she hoped to get her friend moving.

There was a gentle hum as the sails came back on line, a flash on neon blue as they activated. Jas rolled out and jumped up, swinging to pick up the dolly. “See? I knew I could do it!” The smudge of grease on her cheek above her broad smile was adorable.

“Boat now. Gloat later.” May swung her long lead over the side and with ungainly movements slid it.

Jas turned. “Right.” With an elegant bound, she threw her light frame over the side of the foil.

With a flourish Jas stepped in behind the wheel. With a small lurch, the foil slid away from the sidewalk, sliding down the city streak, uneven where plants had forced themselves up through the bitumen, cracking it like a scab.

Only meters away, their shuffling and stumbling footsteps audible, the Lost followed them with glazed eyes in ravaged bodies, torn and the grey-green colour of a gangrene they didn’t feel, the slack-jawed gnawing of their incessantly hungry maws.  It was always the rusty blood on them that chilled May’s blood, or the red flag of a recent feed.

Once, the Lost had been people too; they had felt and laughed and danced. But all the evidence suggested a pruning off in the higher brain areas, reducing the Lost to base instinct. Their bodies sought to repair what was being lost, so they turned cannibal to ingest the easiest source. None of them lasted beyond a year; the flesh at the end became too decrepit.

They rose as one, a great swelling wave of hunger and desperation, gaining on the foil. Others trickled out, joining the surging mass, their pursuit the drumbeat that underscored the fearful beating of the girls’ hearts. The Lost were gaining.

Levelling her pistol, May swallowed her guilt, knowing that they no longer could feel, and started to pick off the leaders with potshots. They went down, rolled right under the feet of the crowd, but others surged forward.

“Don’t mean to hurry you or anything Jas, but they’ll be on top of us in seconds if we don’t HURRY THE HELL UP.”

Jas turned, her long honey brown hair trailing in the wind. “This just turned into a fun outing!”

With a wide swing around the corner, Jas turned the boat down a side street, the foil rolling faster as gravity pushed her with ardour. May could see the shining mass they were barrelling towards.

“Jas.” Her tone was wary, her hand gripped a hand hold, her gun waving at the end of her outstretched arm as she took out another few of their pursuers. “Jas!”

Cackling loudly at the wheel, Jas steered them directly at it. Any moment now they would crash into the water.


They flew in the air for a moment, before slamming into the surface of the water, a green wave washing over them and the deck. A family of ducks, disturbed, buffeted them with the air from their wings, quacking angrily at being disturbed.

As May removed herself from being moulded about the central cabin area, she looked up to see Jas’ triumphant expression as she flicked a switch. Behind the foil came a little burble as an engine somewhere rumbled to life with a little puff of smoke, and they began to move forward.

May picked a piece of stinking weed from her hair and flung it over the side in disgust. “You couldn’t have just told me?”

“More fun this way.” Jas set her goggled eyes at the centre of the lake.

The girls lazed in the sun, their undead friends watching ravenously from the lakeside. Some tried to swim, but between their lack of coordination and lack of buoyancy, none got further than the shallows. Spread out, the rays warming and drying their young bodies, they rested quietly and contently with their shades on.

May sat up, and looked at her friend. Even with the sun on them, her friend’s skin had distinctly gotten paler.

“You feeling alright?” May stroked the silky waves Jas was drying on the deck.

Jas propped herself up. “Just fine, no problems.” The smug look returned. “Want to see what I’ve saved for the grand finale?”

May sat back, preparing to be amazed. It would have to be pretty special. Their hungry friends waited on most areas of the lake bank now. Jas unfolded a handle from the side of the wheelhouse, and as she cranked, the sails retracted and a spoked overhead propellor appeared. With a couple of hard and fast cranks, the engine growled into life, and the blades began to spin. They started to move forward on the water, and Jas pressed a button, allowing their wheel more freedom of movement for steering.

“Hold on.” Her eyes sparkled as May was relegated to a seat with a jerk. She circled around the lake, gaining momentum. On the last lap, staring down the Lost, she gunned it, pulling the wheel towards her. Slowly, ever so slowly, they gained altitude, passing close enough to knock over several of the waiting.

May laughed with joy as they rose up; the freedom, the ingenuity. In the clear and crisp air, they were soaring with the birds. This hadn’t happened since the Blood Years, when the Lost had first appeared. Flying was an art thought lost.

As May looked out, she noticed the foil listing slightly. She turned to Jas, slumped unmoving over the wheel.

“Darling!” Pulling her up, May set Jas on a seat, and pulled the foil to a wavering level.

“I think our day is done,” Jas shouted weakly over the rush of air. “This little clockwork heart has had just too much excitement.”

“Daddy can fix you!” May shouted, fumbling for the throttle. “Just hold on.”

With a small chuckle in the back of her throat, Jas watched her love take the wheel, always level headed in a crisis, even though she wasn’t sure where she was going.

“Second star on the right and straight on ’til morning.”

Jas’ eyes closed, her happiness all around her as together they touched the sky.


Inspired by one of my favourite songs, Samson by Regina Spektor, which was my iTunes random selection, as advocated by a new terribleminds challenge.

For a man with hands so chapped and rough, his were the softest hands that had touched her in a long time. It was with the reverence of admiring the softest silk that he ran the strands of her hair through his fingers, remarking in hushed tones, “It’s so beautiful, this red.”

When he invited her to bed, it was the first time ever that she went willingly. It was with gentleness and understanding that he wiped the tears from her cheek, kissed the curve of her neck and held her until the tears subsided. When she woke, their hair was tangled together, the raven and the red.

In the weak light of morning, he watched her dress, wrapping her shawl modestly over her hair, and did not laugh at her modesty now. His dark eyes met hers, a question unasked on his lips. It was interrupted by a shout and shuffle in the dirt outside. He bundled her up, hid her in a small cellar, and went out to meet the soldiers.

Her heart thumped in her ears and she shut her eyes tightly, pulling her dress about her. If they found her in here…The sounds of battle, the ringing of metal on metal, shouts of pain and fear, were new to her, and she wept in silent terror. He came to her, his clothes wet and stained pink. He carried her out in his arms, and she quivered in fear of him, seeing men laid out, dead and bleeding, a sea of red and shit and tears. He put her on his horse, and took her to the city gates. Men ran from him and he took those bricks down, one by one, smashing them to slivers to prove his point.

Standing beside the horse, seeing her fright, his hand holds hers with gentleness he had not today demonstrated. “Delilah, you will only ever know my gentleness. Do not fear me as others do. I want you to remember last night; did you not at least love me a little then?”

Remembering the tenderness no one had ever shown her before, Delilah knew she had, at least in part. “I did.”

“Then be my wife. I promise, I will always take care of you.”

Delilah nodded, tucking an escaping red lock back into the blue shawl, a match to her unusual eyes. “As long as you promise never to let me go back to this life.”

That night, they celebrated their nuptials under a canopy of stars.

“When I see the starlight in your eyes, I can believe that we might all be children of the heavens.” Samson’s eyes were bright as he kissed his bride.


Her wedded life had been blissful. Samson had delivered on his promise. In his hometown, he was considered a hero, and she was given respect she’d never had before.

It was why she couldn’t have foreseen the men in the mountains that afternoon. When Samson found her on the path, her face misshapen from the bruising and the blood congealing on her skin, she was unconscious. When he scooped her up, she screamed her agony through her unconsciousness.

Eventually she came to, and in a darkened room, where she didn’t have to look at the pain in his eyes, she told him of their initial promises of silver, and when she refused to cooperate, the beatings and then of what followed. Still, she hadn’t told them the secrets of her husband’s power. Eventually, her hand in his, she fell asleep again.

The healer told them that he didn’t expect her to survive. Her injuries were severe. Samson, head in hands, was broken. He had her taken to his mother’s house, where they could share her care.

In the morning, Delilah’s breathing was shallower. Samson took shears to his head, slashing at his hair. He didn’t want this burden any more. Clinging to his arm, his mother wept.

“Leave us,” he thundered at her. Weeping, she turned away.

They didn’t wait long. As he waited, Samson thought of his happiness, lying and slowly dying upon her sick bed. Docile and weak as a lamb he went.

They mocked him for his tears. “She was only a woman,” they said, putting out his eyes for his weakness. Whispers in the dark told him she was dead, what they had done to her. They put him to the wheel, shackles chafing upon his wrists. Slowly, his hair grew back.

To show off their conquest, the local forces paraded him in front of gathered officials. He was chained to the columns in the great hall, hung like a sheet on a line.

He could hear the soft swish of garments, the gentle pad of dancing feet. One passed near him, he could hear her adornments jingling.

“You promised.”

He knew that voice. Lifting the once proud head, he listened, hearing the girls’ dancing revolution.

“Release me.”

Samson struggled to his feet. He would fulfil his promise to his bride. Fingers curling around the cold links of chain, Samson pulled. All around him, the babble continued, people enjoying the event. Slowly, he built the tension in the bindings. He heard the first cracks of the stone, overwhelmed by the hubbub of the gathered crowd. He continued to pull, with arms kept strong by working in the mills.

Only as the building began to shake did they look up from their feasting and self-satisfied back-patting. The shrill screams of the dancing women echoed about the frightened shuffling of a thousand feet.

He felt her slide in between his astride legs, her arms wrapping around his calf. With a great yank, he pulled. Around them, the walls crumbled in great boulder-sized chunks. As the roof fell in, Samson covered his Delilah with his body, to protect her one final time.

My masked man

The party ebbed and thrummed with the deep base drum music. Contorted faces swirled as people danced, in full masked regalia. Everywhere the finest clothes had been acquired for the ball, but the shoes were optional, and if you looked closely, you would see the swish of bare ankles as the ladies danced.

She moved through the crowd assuredly but gracefully, her figure clothed in the finest silk, dyed indigo blue, the trim blackest ink. Her mask was exquisite, looking as if the Ulysses butterfly had landed daintily upon her nose. Upon the warm coloured skin dripped amethysts tangled in shining white gold. The crowd stood back briefly admiring her as she flitted silently amongst them.

A man in a top hat dared to stop her with the crook of his cane, catching the gentle bend of her arm.

“Do not fly by so fast,” he breathed, looking into the chocolate brown eyes before him.

A sweet smile behind the mask left him confused as she moved on through the crowd. Quietly she took a seat at the fountain, her eyes alternately scanning the writhing bodies or the magestic castle turrets that overshadowed the dance. She waited patiently, still like a pond. Only her hands, gently arranging her skirts, showed her agitation.

Two hands lifted her to her feet. She allowed him this, as she allowed the whisper in her ear.

“Follow me, cherie.”

Without seeing him, she allowed herself to be led out of the courtyard, up winding turret stairs, to a room nestled right at the top. The warmth of a crackling fire greeted her, a four poster laid out in white, simple linens.

“Welcome home my darling.”

He turned her toward him, held her in his arms. She breathed him in, crushed against his chest. Her face rose to his, to see a golden god before her, his green eyes sparkling.

“Ra?” she enquired, raising her eyebrow.

“Well… I am the light of your life you keep saying.”

His smirk moved back to her mouth as his hands covered her body. He loosened her bodice, stripping her slowly as she returned the favour, removing a beetle that was a poor representation of a scarab. They stood naked, huddled together, before falling back passionately on the bed. Slowly, they explored each other, mouth and hand. As they climaxed, overhead fireworks spluttered into life.

“Happy elopement my sweet,” he mumbled, kissing her neck, slowly.

She smiled eloquently and fell back between the sheets with her new husband.


Once the ladder held 3
And I at the bottom
I did dream of being on top

Others slipped
And I ascendent, rose

But another usurped
And I tumbled 
Out of heaven

An angel without wings
Naively my heart broke
Not for the last time

I am denied
Bloodied and disillusioned
Why does love hurt?

Slow dance

IMG_ 192

Notes drop from the piano
To our waiting ears
Your hand supports mine
My arm draped around your neck
Slowly we shuffle
Your body directing mine
I relax into the sway
Of your hips leading
Head rests upon your lapel
Eyes closed
Only the gentle rhythm
Of our footsteps
My foot touching yours
As we slow dance
My heart already stolen
With those first notes
And I know those tears
Creeping into the corners
Of eyes filled with you
And I could dance away
A lifetime
Only loving you
The way it feels tonight

Hands of Time

The cup of your hand
Meant to be filled with mine
It fits so neatly
It feels so right
Curve of your fingers
Soft, gentle, cradling
A treasure in your grasp
I have never felt more precious
More connected to this moment
I can see those hands changing
More wrinkles, ages spots
But it still feels the same
That precious hold
My hand in yours
That little intimacy
Of my heart in your hand