“if only you could see”

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Labels: fiction junction

 [this is loosely based on part of a dream I had last night]

The heat was nearly unbearable. There might have been eight or ten people in the room. More like ruins, if you ask me. I don't recall anyone's face...except for his.

Jaw clenching, temple quivering. Sweat beading up and dripping down his forehead, hair slightly matted on his head.

I didn't fully understand what was happening. His hands were gripping a long piece of wood, then, suddenly producing a knife of sorts, he started swinging with great fervor at the wood. Chips and splinters flew around him, as a defined point began to form before my eyes. My brain recognized the shape as one of a spear, but I didn't understand why.

I'm told this is what happens when you're in shock: your brain can recognize things but nothing really makes sense.

The knife disappeared as quickly as it came, and he tossed the spear upright between his hands, testing its weight, its balance. I watched as his muscles twitched, his general lack of clothing on his upper body were to thank. And just as the reality of my surroundings began to settle in, he screamed out in a mixture of anger and pain, and I watched as wings began to erupt from the blades of his shoulders. The skin broke as they emerged from within, reopening old scars I hadn't noticed before, and blood spurted out, sprinkling my cheeks. I was sure it would have felt warmer than I expected, except I was even more sure the heat in the room was suffocating me. I didn't even notice I was holding my breath until I started to feel light headed and a tightness in my chest. I stared as he stretched his shoulders out, wings now at full span, blood slowly trickling down his back. He turned slowly, eventually facing me, a grave expression clouding his features. He reached forward, cupping my left cheek with his oversized hand. I stared wordless up at him. My ears started ringing, and I watched as his lips moved but I heard none of what he was saying. I focused on his lips as they formed shapes and tried to will the words but the buzzing in my ears was too great. He leaned forward, pressed his lips to my forehead. I could feel his breath as he whispered something, then he took a few steps back.

His wings began beating against the air, stirring up the dust covering the ground, and he slowly rose before me. Even though I couldn't hear what he said, I felt sure I knew as I looked into his eyes. For a moment he hung there, suspended in the air before twirling around and shooting off into the dusky sky above. A slight chill quickly settled in and the ringing in my ears subsided. I continued staring up into the sky, squinting for any sight of where he flew off to. I hardly noticed someone had grabbed my hand until I was ripped away from where I was standing, my legs carrying me to wherever I was being taken.

Labels: dream journal, fiction junction

First position. A pause.

Second position. A quiet shuffle.

Third position. A sharp intake of air.

Fourth position. Slightly parted lips.

Fifth position. A sigh escaping.

Ever since she lost her virginity, Lidiya could only climax if she thought about the five positions of ballet. Classically trained since the time she could stand upright, her mother had hopes of her being prima ballerina in a Tchaikovsky creation. And through bloody toes and tears, Lidiya worked hard to make her mother's dream a reality.

Her childhood was not an easy one, between school, ballet, and a mother forced to work multiple jobs in order to pay for lessons. Lidiya was home alone most of her life. Ballet was the only constant presence in her life. As a young girl, she wanted badly to please her mother, to wear the pink tutu and laced up pointe shoes. As a teenager, she tried to rebel, but no one was ever home to notice. Her ballet instructor did, however, and the thought of disappointing her was too great so she poured herself even further into dancing.

In high school, Lidiya was no longer among her peers, but rather attended a national school for dance. A rigorous program, they had students practicing in the studio upward of four hours a day, not including the cardio routines they were expected to maintain. Between eating disorders and sleepless nights of perfecting her pirouette or grand jeté, Lidiya would soon find solace in two things: alcohol, and sex. She had been recruited by a dance company by the time she finished school, and she often joined her peers for drinks after practices and performances. Familiar faces from her company would often swirl together those nights, as everyone shared cigarettes and drinks in nondescript cups. In those early days, her small frame lent itself to a low tolerance for alcohol...and an inversely proportional sex drive.

Lidiya took comfort in the one night stands with the knowledge that, if even for a few hours, someone noticed her. Someone wanted to hold her, to feel her. Yet despite the attention from her male peers, she couldn't escape from the grasp ballet had over her life. It started as a release through self-pleasure: she'd touch the soles of her feet together as she caressed herself, eventually making her way between her legs. There was the familiar feeling, of warmth and of pleasure, one she could uniquely bring to herself. And in her mind she'd imagine the five basic positions - the foundation for all movements required in ballet, and in her life.

Her mother passed away one day without much fanfare - Lidiya was touring with her company when the stage manager broke the news. She hardly flinched, though somewhere deep inside she knew she was supposed to feel some sadness. It was that night Lidiya gave the best performance of her life.

At least, that's what the card read, accompanied by flowers in a crystal vase that was waiting for her in her changing room. The card also had the name of a restaurant written on it with a time, and the letter V just below. Lidiya flipped the card between her fingers.

"No name?" she thought, studying the sharp lines of every letter. She didn't recognize the handwriting from any previous secret admirers, few, though persistent they might be. Intrigued, and having the desire to not be alone just yet, she changed into her streets clothes, pocketed the card, and hailed a cab back to her hotel room where she could shower before heading out to the restaurant.

The restaurant was dimly lit, and a low hum carried the many voices of the patrons to Lidiya's ears. Despite trying to pick appropriate attire, she still felt underdressed. She was nervous, but felt a twinge of excitement. As she approached the host's stand, she suddenly released she had no idea what to do or say. A young man stood at the other side of a podium, with finely groomed features, wearing a black suit. Lidiya could feel his eyes as he looked her up and down, an expression on his face she could only describe as indignation.

"Do you have a reservation?" he asked, almost accusatory. Like he knew she didn't belong there. Lidiya opened the small purse she brought with her, and pulled out the card. She handed the card to the host, and she could hear as he sucked the air through his teeth, a small tut as he read the card. He looked up at her, first in disbelief, then he turned the card over. His face paled immediately, and this time when he looked at her, she could feel the fear as if he committed some faux pas.

"R-right this way."

He briskly walked towards the back of the restaurant, weaving between booths and servers carrying trays containing all sorts of culinary delights. Lidiya scarcely could keep up with him. They soon approached a booth tucked away, she would not have known it was there had the host not led her. He muttered some pleasantry as he quickly left her to make his way back to the front. She finally looked at who awaited her in this hidden retreat.

An older man, though not as old as she had expected, with finely chiseled features, pouring two glasses of what looked like champagne.

In her experience with "adoring fans'', most were men in their early fifties, working through mid-life crises, with wives and children waiting back home. The distinct lack of wrinkles was the first thing she noticed. The lack of a wedding band, the second. The man looked up at Lidiya, and even in the low light, she was struck by his blue eyes. He smiled as he stood from his seat.

"Will you join me for dinner?"

Labels: fiction junction, Viktor's Girls

5:42 A.M.

Yuliya squinted at the sideways green numbers, took a deep breath, and closed her eyes once more.

5:55 A.M.

Only thirteen minutes have passed? Yuliya thought, as she lay in her bed. It was still dark out, and she hadn't slept a wink. The digital clock on her bedside table taunting her.

Today was the day Viktor promised to bring her to see Marta. Despite her lack of sleep, she was anxious. Excited. She turned on her back and stared at the ceiling above. Visions of seeing Marta and her father played in her mind. Oh, how she longed to see them. But what would they think of Viktor? What would her father think...? The happy visions dissolved away as the uncertainty slowly creeped in.

Why worry about something that hasn't happened yet...?

She pushed all thoughts of the impending meeting out of her mind. She slowly sat up, and glanced at the bed across the room. Galine's small form, made bulky under layers of covers, lay nearly motionless. The rhythmic rise and fall of the covers reassured Yuliya that she hadn't disturbed her younger roommate.

At least one of us is sleeping...

Yuliya gingerly swung her legs over her bed, and lightly set one foot on the floor, followed by the other. She grabbed her bath robe she kept draped over her closet door, and wrapped herself in it as she quietly left the room. The faint scent of freshly brewed coffee made its way down the hallway, and Yuliya let it guide her to the kitchen. As she neared it, she could hear whispers of conversation.

Yuliya stopped shy of the entryway, and watched as three of the house servants engaged in light conversation, and sipping some of the fresh coffee she sought out, no doubt brewed by one of them. She felt like she an intruder, witnessing the nonchalant behavior of the three men before her. She watched as they laughed at some joke she must have missed, and just as she was about to announce herself, one of them caught her eye.

"Oh!" One of them exclaimed, suddenly straightening up. The other two men became startled at the outburst, setting off a chain reaction of events. Coffee splashed out from one of their mugs, burning the hand holding it. A small shriek of pain escaped the lips of the unfortunate man, who instinctively let go of the mug. In a blink, the mug hit the stone kitchen floor. The shatter echoed in Yuliya's ears, as the three men simultaneously fussed at one another, and moving at once to clean the mess. Yuliya was embarrassed to be the source of the mishap, and she wondered if she should retreat back to her room. As she went to step back, she was interrupted by one of the men.

"Miss...?" he started, a hint of annoyance as he spoke.

"Yuliya," she replied, stopping in her tracks.

"Can I get something for you? You shouldn't step in the kitchen while there's still broken shards on the ground."

Yuliya felt like he wanted to blame her but refrained from doing so, whether out of obedience to Viktor or some other reason she couldn't name. She took a quick glance at each of the three men, one who set to cleaning, one running his hand under water in the faucet, then back to the one addressing her.

"I couldn't sleep... so I got up and could smell the coffee from the hall..." her words started spilling out, voice trailing off at the end. She was now painfully aware of her position, and the fact she was only wearing a bathrobe. A slight flush began to creep up on her cheeks.

"I'm sorry for startling you all."

"He'll live," the man spoke as he jerked his head back towards the man at the sink. "Nothing really surprises us anymore, so I suppose it's a nice reminder that there still remains things to be unexpected. I'll get you a cup."

As he turned around and stepped away from her, Yuliya wrapped the bathrobe a little tighter, to prevent any other potential mishaps. Hardly a minute passed and the floor was clean once again, and she only just noticed the water wasn't running anymore. The other two men had actually completely disappeared from the kitchen, and Yuliya wondered where they might have went.

"Here." A mug filled with coffee was presented to Yuliya from the remaining servant. She carefully grabbed the cup, and took a sip.

"Thank you...?" Yuliya started, realizing she didn't know what to call him.

"Luca." Yuliya nodded and gave him a soft smile. Over the years, many staff came and went, but few had she learned their names. She didn't really know why that was... some of the more tenured staff knew her name. Shouldn't she extend the same courtesy? They all shared one thing in common: life in this strange estate. Though, she knew there was a separate wing entirely for the servants, and wasn't actually sure just how many people kept the house.

"If there's nothing else, we should really get started on breakfast. Wouldn't want to keep someone waiting." Luca stated, and without waiting for a response from Yuliya, he turned around a disappeared from the kitchen.

Thanks for the coffee... she thought, as she walked back down the hallway. She passed her door, still closed, and made her way into the living area. It was Yuliya's turn to be startled, as she hadn't expected to see a figure wrapped in a blanket sitting on one of the couches.

"Morning.." Galine called out mid yawn.

"You're up early too?" Yuliya joined Galine on the couch, and Galine offered her some of the blanket. Yuliya pulled the blanket behind her shoulders, and tucked her legs under her as she sat down. Galine stretched out across the rest of the couch, and laid her head in Yuliya's lap. She looked up with sleepy eyes.

"I was dreaming about eating a large sundae....but as I went to take a bite, the bowl slipped from under me and fell on the ground, shattering into a million tiny pieces, and I jumped awake. The sound seemed so real.."

"Oh is that so...?" Yuliya asked, not alluding to the fact she knew what exactly it was Galine heard. She continued to sip at her coffee. She leaned back, looking up once again at the ceiling.

"Why are you up so early? Are you nervous about today?" Galine asked, stiffling another yawn. Yuliya looked down at the girl laying in her lap, and for a moment she swore she saw Marta staring back at her. She set the coffee cup down on the small end table, and rubbed both her eyes. Galine blinked at Yuliya, and tilted her head slightly.

"Maybe a little bit..." Yuliya admitted, "It's been a while since I've seen my sister. Or my father."

"Hm..." Galine pondered aloud. "If there's one thing I know.... your sister is lucky to have you always thinking of her. I know I feel very lucky that you're here, with me. I always wanted an older sister to watch after me.... and at least I have you."

Yuliya's eyes started to water hearing Galine's confession. Marta was probably around the same age as her. Maybe in a different life they would have been best friends? Maybe in a different life she wouldn't have had to leave her younger sister behind to fend for herself.... but she had to do the best she could for her. It took Yuliya years to forgive her father for leaving, and now she wondered if Marta could ever do the same for her.

Yuliya smiled and leaned forward just to enough to plant a light kiss on Galine's forehead.

"You're too sweet. Let's go get dressed before anyone else comes out here and takes the good seats at the table for breakfast, hm?"

At the mention of food, Galine sprung up from the couch with energy Yuliya didn't know anyone could muster this early. She draped the blanket over the arm holding the coffee, and made her way back to their room, wondering how she would mentally prepare for the day.

Labels: fiction junction, Viktor's Girls

The ambulance flew down the street, siren announcing its presence to the public. The driver called over the radio a status report. Aleksandra stared out the passenger window, forehead pressed against it. The streets blurred by. The words spoken were garbled. Time was moving in slow motion.

It would continue to do so for the next few weeks.

Aneurysm. It happened so suddenly. Painlessly. Nothing to be done.

Labels: fiction junction, Viktor's Girls

[originally written 02.03.07]
[minor edits have been made]


My fingers caressed the ivory keys. From above, the crystal chandelier caught billions of streams of light. And as the light waves bent in the many prisms, spots of multi-colored light were cast on the bare walls. This room was my room, a lonely little piece hidden away in the expanse of this house. The chandelier was the only friend of my grand piano.

There were no chairs save for the piano seat. There were no paintings hung on the wall, no exquisite vases to give the room a flavor. Often times, I came in here not to be alone, but to be loved.

Pressing all the right keys meant that the piano would sing for me a glorious tune. Pulling back the curtains meant I fed the chandelier and in turn, the chandelier told me a story full of color, full of life. As a child, I had no patience for such things. I never thought being alone could be satisfying. I always tried to get the attention of those around me, and sometimes it would work. When people wouldn't listen, I would go outside to tell the flowers about the adventures of my day. But too soon would the flowers die, and I would soon accept the concept of being alone.

Labels: fiction junction, The Vault

Can I ask for my love to wait?

For a second to catch my breath.
For a moment to bide my time.
For a minute to gather my thoughts.
For an hour to write them down.
For a day to practice what I'll say.

Can I ask for you to wait?

For a second to hear me out?
For a moment to just sit down?
For a minute to listen to me say,
"For an hour together, I'll smile with you."
"For a day together, I'll feel love's weight."

Labels: fiction junction

Walking down the hallway, she advanced slowly, like moving through a space filled with agarose gel. Her limbs felt heavy, reluctant to continue forward despite her efforts. The dim glow of the lights from above guided her forward on this path, no visible doorways except for one at the very end of the hall. She knew that if she could make it there, the payoff would be rewarding. The silver bar across the door seemed to shine particularly bright, and as she drew near it was almost blinding. Upon reaching this only exit, she placed her left hand carefully on the bar, and with relative ease, she pushed it open.

Stumbling forward, the world no longer felt like a thick suspension, but rather light, and airless. Where she found herself was not outside, as she originally hoped, but in a square room, with no windows or other doors. She stepped in cautiously and the door closed behind her. She turned quickly as the door clicked shut. As she reached for the handle, it disappeared beneath her grasp, as did the door itself. She felt the wall, seamless where a frame once was. She turned back to face the empty vastness of the room.

A couple of steps forward, and she noticed a small thimble on the ground. She bent down to observe it. Rather than a dimpled, rounded ended, she found a sharp point. Taking the thimble in her hand, she placed it over her right index finger. A light glimmered off its pointed tip, yet there was no visible source for said light. Drawn to its gleam, she firmly pressed the point into the palm of her left hand. Blood quickly rose to the surface, and began pooling in her palm. Tilting slightly, the blood began to drop off the side of her hand. As the drops disconnected from  the surface of her skin, they drifted slowly to the ground, transforming into petals in their descent.

She inhaled deeply, and lightly blew at the small pile of petals that gathered by her feet. They scattered about, flipping and twisting in wind of her breath. She reached for an errant petal, and as she made contact, the petal dissolved into a red fluid on her fingers. She brought the red stained digits to her lips, and licked at them cautiously. Strangely cold, yet the familiar taste of copper soothed her. She moved to gather the remaining petals, each turning back into blood at her touch. Soon her hands were covered with more red than she recalled losing, and the room started to grow dark. The floor beneath her feet became unstable, and she recalled the feeling of being in an earthquake. Unable to regain her bearings, she closed her eyes. Upon feeling a sharp tightness in her chest, she reopened her eyes, and was met with a darkness. As she laid in her bedroom, covers drawn close to her face, the ceiling fan hummed softly above.

Labels: fiction junction

[There is more. I just haven't finished typing it up yet. It's also very likely I'm going to rewrite portions of this. I've also contemplated rearranging the order of what I've written so far. Enjoy.]



It was a warm morning. Aleksandra felt conflicted about whether or not she should prop the shop door open as she watched people constantly pass by through the front window. With elbows propped up on the counter, she imagined stories for each person passing by. How she longed to be outside. The bell attached to the door frame jingled, starting Aleks out of her day dream. She straightened herself and brushed nothing off the apron she was wearing.

"Day dreaming again?" a man asked.

Aleksandra smiled.

"Only because it looks so wonderful out there..." she spoke, letting the last word trail off.

"I thought you enjoyed working with me in the shop?" the man asked with a grin. Aleksandra's father, Ruslan, maintained a flower shop as the family's main source of income. His upbringing was an extremely modest one, and quick to teach his daughter the same principles, as soon as Aleksandra had finished with her schooling, he insisted she work in the shop with him.

"I remember as a young girl, you used to go around with the watering can, feeding the plants. When it was full, you had to use both hands to carry it. And that's if you managed to keep all the water from splashing out!" he reminisced.

"Dad..." Aleksandra started.

"Oh I know... look at you now. You've grown into a beautiful woman. I guess it doesn't do you any good keeping you inside on a day like this..."

"Really?!" And before her father could speak another word, she ripped off her apron, making her way out the door. But not before pecking her father on the cheek.

"Love you!" She exclaimed, and the bell jingled her departure.

Aleksandra immediately squinted as the bright sun glared in her eyes. She placed her hand against her forehead, and took a good look around.

"Where should I go first?" she thought.

She walked around aimlessly for a bit, then decided to visit the open air market. She always enjoyed browsing the myriad of trinkets and foods to be found there. Fresh fruits and vegetables. Fish heads staring up with their dull eyes. Meats hanging from hooks and baked breads scented the air. Matryoshka dolls and lacquer boxes, painted with familiar scenes from childhood fairy tales. The market was packed. Summer time meant lots of visitors from all over the world. Aleksandra did her best to keep to herself as the hawk like merchants and shopkeepers targeted the foreigners, charging easily double or triple their usual rates. Aleks shook her head at this. She knew her father would disapprove. He was an honest man, through and through.

«Excuse me! What is this? Can you tell me how much it is?»

An older gentleman interrupted Aleksandra's thoughts, pressing a toy in her face and shooting off questions in rapid succession.

«Are you paying attention?! I asked you, how much is this?!»

Aleksandra stared at the man, attempting to the understand the words that escaped his mouth. She vaguely recognized some of the words as English, but what little she learned in school was long forgotten. The man stared expectantly at her. She felt herself getting flush with embarrassment, and looked around. No one responsible for the goods was nearby.

«не говорю по -английски» she blurted out, then pushed past the man before he could say anything else.

She suddenly realized just how crowded the market was. People pushing past one another. Merchant owners shouting out. Children running around. Aleks felt the world spinning around her. She kept running through the crowd, trying to find a way out. She could see a small gap in the crowd, a beam of sunlight illuminating her exit. Just as she was about to make her way out, a couple suddenly stepped in her path, and she ran straight into them.

"Oof!" She exclaimed, as she stumbled backwards.

"Watch where you're going!" The woman exclaimed. She stared at Aleksandra incredulously. As Aleks tried to regain her bearings, she took a good look at the woman. She was tall. Possibly the most beautiful woman she'd ever seen, despite the look of annoyance mixed with disgust in her face. Aleksandra felt her ears burning.

"Now now..." the man started. The bass of his voice was calming. It was then she took a look at the man she ran into. He, too, was incredibly handsome. Blue eyes that pierced like crystal daggers.

"I'm sorry..." Aleksandra mumbled, now finding herself unable to face the man.

"No. Excuse us," the man replied. He stepped aside, pulling the surly woman with him, and with a grand gesture of his free hand, motioned for Aleks to moved past them. Aleksandra nodded her understanding, and hurried along. She refrained from looking back at the couple, as she made her way towards a cafe where she could retreat from the crowd. She ordered two drinks- one for herself, as well as tea for her father.

Too much excitement, she though, as she made her way back to the shop. As if in response, an ambulance rushed by on the street. Aleksandra sipped from her cup, the hot coffee seemingly melting away all her worries. Her father never drank coffee, but it didn't stop him from keeping a pot from brewing at the shop. The regulars appreciated the small gesture, taking a cup as they admired the colorful vegetation.

Aleksandra hardly noticed the sound of the siren growing louder as she neared the shop.

She turned the street corner, and the flashing lights danced off the walls of the shop. The familiar bell on the door jingled incessantly as emergency responders rushed in the shop, and escorted out any customers.

Aleksandra felt the world spinning once again. She stood transfixed as she watched the medics bring in an empty stretcher, and then exit with a man fastened in. She moved forward as the reality of the situation dawned on her. Dad..?

A batty woman stood nearby, watching the scene unfold. Aleks recognized her, coming in nearly every week with the same order.

"Oh Aleksandra!" the woman exclaimed. "Where were you? I was just stopping by to..." The woman's words fell deaf on her ears. She felt the blood pumping in her ears, drowning out the world.

"What happened to father?" She asked bluntly.

"Oh, my dear. One moment I'm debating on which color would best accent my kitchen, and before I know it, your father collapsed on the ground! I used the shop's phone to ring an ambulance."

Collapsed? Why?

For as long as she could remember, her father was as healthy as could be. The slam of the ambulance door startled Aleksandra. She dismissed herself of the old woman and approached one of the medics.

"What happened?"

"We're not quite sure yet, but we don't have much time. Who are you?" The young medic asked.

"I'm his daughter!" she could barely keep herself from screaming.

"You better come with us. He's unconscious, and barely breathing."

Labels: fiction junction, Viktor's Girls

The scrape of flint against metal.

The blue-orange flames dancing in the breeze.

A cigarette dangling between lips.

Rubber tires spinning on asphalt.

Fluorescent bulbs dimming out, then bursting back to light.

The still surface of the water, reflecting back porch light.

A nighttime scene.

Din and roar.

Mind alive, racing with thoughts.

She sits alone on a balcony.

Inhale. Puff. Exhale. Smoke.

Keys jingling, a lock clicks, door opens, shuts again. Click.

There are no words spoken. Only the symphony of the night, playing its song.

Can you hear it? Close your eyes.

You're alone again. The sole member of the audience. Conduct the scene with your mind.

How will it play out?

Pen scribbling words in a memo pad.

This can be your story. How will it play out?

She brushes her hair. A different blush applies foundation. Which lipstick will she wear tonight?

A matte red sets the mood. Liquid black eyeliner sets the view.

Will she find love? Or a fleeting night of passion?

Alone at the bar, but not alone in the room. She catches his eye. He offers a smile. And a drink. She accepts, and invites conversation.

Companionship.

A moment.

He sets money on the counter, then takes her hand.

She took a cab, but he brought his car. A silent ride.

Lights blur as they drive on. The night blurs as they carry on.

Clothes fall off. Lips press on. Skin blending with skin.

A touch. A moan.

Sweat drips down his forehead. A sigh escapes her lips. They fall asleep, tangled in each other's lives.

Dawn breaks. Light spills through a window. She makes her escape, but not before leaving her trace. A phone number written on an old receipt, placed on the empty pillow her head once lay.

She takes another cab, bringing her back home. The familiar landscape of her home, welcoming her back to her solitary life.

Labels: fiction junction

"What about that one?"

I did my best to follow her finger pointing into the vast sky. Warm pinks and vibrant oranges painted across the sky, colors only visible at dusk from the quickly setting sun. The clouds looked like cotton candy stretched out. I told her just as much. A sleepy smile stretched across her face.

"I can almost taste it," she said with eyes closed, pretending to pick it out of the sky and eat it. Head resting in my lap, her hair felt like satin as I ran it between my fingers. We were sitting alone in a field alongside a quiet road. I watched her for a moment longer before looking into the sky again. The pinks and oranges soon made way for the deeper blues and purples. The once playful clouds were now somber patches of gray hung in the sky. Nighttime always came too soon. Seconds turned into minutes turned into hours whenever I was with her.

Crickets and the occasionally passing car made the soundtrack to the bike ride back to her place. The passing headlights would create an aura about her that was best described as heavenly. I sighed as we neared her driveway. We dismounted our bikes and said a few words about the next day's plans before saying our goodbyes. I watched as she started walking towards her door, and I noticed her slight hesitation. She put down her kickstand, and rushed back to me. She quickly muttered about forgetting something, before lightly tugging on my shirt, pulling me down towards her, and her upward, into a kiss. I felt a warmth quickly creep into my cheeks, and myself losing balance of the bike at my side, just as the kiss ended. Her cheeks were just as flushed as she looked at me just a moment longer, before retreating inside with her bike. I rode home with thoughts of warm pinks, vibrant oranges, and hair like satin between my fingers.

Labels: fiction junction

Reaching for your fingertips is a little like trying to keep sand in the palm of one of your hands. The grains spill out between my fingers. Yours brush lightly against mine, but for some reason keep falling out of reach.

Is there something wrong with my hands? I take a good look, turning them over, running my eyes along the lines that make up the relief of my palms. Skin golden from long days spent in the sun. Two week old nail polish chipping away, revealing nails grown out a little too long. A sigh escapes my slightly parted lips.

I look up and you're gone again. You never stay too long. I think I can smell you on my pillow case. Hugging it tight against my chest, I bury my nose in my pillow and inhale deeply. Your scent is faint...or maybe my mind is playing tricks on me again.

I thought I saw you the other day, riding my bike past the café where we first met, but I knew it couldn't have been you because there was some other girl hanging on that man's arm. I tried calling you but you didn't answer. I didn't see you again until the next week, and that's when you told me you'd be leaving. Head tilted, I asked where you'd be going. You gave me a sad smile and the only word that came out was "away." The word echoed in my mind as I stood to reach for your hand, but your fingers slipped out of mine as you walked away, like grains of sand, and you never looked back.

Labels: fiction junction

Labels: fiction junction

"Ow!" She cried out.

The sound of her own voice filled her ears. She stared at her index finger as a drop of blood appeared on the surface. Despite the many times she pricked herself with the needle, the initial feeling was always unexpected. She licked her finger and continued sewing. In the young girl's lap was a small stuffed animal, one she favored out of all the ones she had. There weren't very many to begin with, so when she accidentally ripped it while playing, the tears came almost instantly. She'd replaced buttons before, an easy task. But never a repair this crucial. Some of the stuffing came out, and it felt as if her own heart had been ripped out. She was able to save some, but most of it had dirt and other things tangled in the soft filler.

The room was mostly silent again, save for the sound of her own breathing and her hands working the needle. A few minutes later, and the repairs were complete. She tied a knot in the string and cut off the excess. She turned the toy over, and two black buttons stared up at her. She took the two front paws in her hands, and rubbed her thumbs over the soft fur. It was comforting. She stood up, and set the cat at the foot of her bed, and smiled. She felt something much like hunger in her stomach, so she turned around and walked to the kitchen, closing the door on her way out. The cat, with the aid of gravity, slid off the bed, and landed in a slumped position, staring at the closed door where the girl once was.

Labels: fiction junction

What time was it? He didn't know, but he couldn't be bothered to find out, either. The full moon was hanging in the sky above, and he was laying in the field below. He was staring intently at the moon's surface, at the obvious imperfections in its majestic surface. Despite this, the moon shined as bright and as beautifully as ever. He stole a glance to his side, and there she was, also looking up to the sky. Her usually sharp features were softened in the moonlight. His breath caught in his chest, so he had to look away. He set his sights on a particularly bright star, twinkling a constant bombardment of differing colors.

"You know.... sometimes I--," he started.

"I know. So do I," she interrupted.

He sighed. Looking back at the moon, he could tell a significant amount of time had passed without even realizing it. She sat up, and placed her hand next to his.

"Until next time?" She spoke, barely above a whisper. He looked at her, her features now a mere phantasm of what they were before. He closed his eyes and nodded. She leaned over him, and just as her lips were going to brush his own, the projection faded away. He felt a light breeze and imagined it had taken her away. And in his mind, he heard an echo:

And I wonder, as I lay here, in this senseless field of dreams, do you think of me, when I think of you, as the nighttime slowly sings?

Labels: fiction junction

Where the moon was hanging in the sky, it was easy to see through the upstairs window. The sky was empty, and black. The kind of darkness when the sky empties itself of all the rain clouds and there is a void of any color, only light coming from the moon and stars.

A girl sat against the wall where the window was, in a ledge that was wide enough where one could lay down. She took her index finger and lazily traced the frame, running down its length. She stopped short where the duct tape began, a quick fix for a broken pane. She lifted her finger away from the window, and formed a fist. She pulled her arm back and brought it fast to the already broken pane. She window disappeared, and with it, the room around her. She was falling in the sky now, the air rushing around her. She was much farther from the ground than she thought she was. It took a while to notice that despite how fast she was falling, that the ground wasn't getting any closer. She straightened her body out and willed herself forward, rather than downward, and found that her body responded to the thought. Soon she was traveling parallel to the ground. She was elated. She looked ahead, finding herself moving closer and closer to the city. She had enjoyed solitude for quite some time, living outside of the city limits. But now she felt like the chance for exploration was hers to own.


She was walking down a busy street in an area that kept referring to itself as downtown. Several people crowded the sidewalks, and while she felt a little on edge, know that she could fly back home at any time she wished was something that kept for discomfort at bay. As people passed her by, many stared at her, while just as many others didn't acknowledge her presence. She deftly weaved her way through the crowd as she continued her solitude journey. Her ears picked up a subtle sound, vastly different than the hustle and bustle of the streets. She made her way into a bar where a man played the piano with the ease of a professional, but with the manner of an amateur. The effect was playful. She sat at a table by herself, where someone she assumed worked there handed her an unopened bottle. Without a second thought, she twisted the cap off and started drinking. She didn't realize until her first taste just how thirsty she was. She finished the drink in one sitting, and set the empty bottle on the table. The other tables were littered with the same bottle as her own. She continued listening to the piano, and continued drinking as the server kept bringing bottles. Soon her table was littered with scattered bottles as well. When she realized how much she drank, she felt a sudden jolt of guilt, and fear. She attempted to get out of her seat, knocking the table in the process. The bottles clinked against each other. The music stopped abruptly. All life in the bar stopped. She found it hard to breathe. The piano man looked at her, then slowly got up from his stool, and walked away, disappearing into the back of the bar.

"Wait!" she wanted to scream, but her tongue felt heavy and no sound would come out. She grabbed one of the bottles and threw it downward. As it shattered against the ground, all of the bottles in the bar began shattering simultaneously. She shielded her face as the glass shards pelted her, making several small cuts against her skin. The perceived threat heightened the need to escape the situation.



Heightened the need to wake up.



She opened her eyes and was met with darkness. She slowly propped herself up in her bed, and glanced at the digital alarm clock. Satisfied with the time, she stood up from her bed, and walked to the window. She pulled back the heavy black curtain, and sunlight immediately poured in the room, except for in the bottom left corner where it was patched with duct tape.

Labels: fiction junction

I always get inspired as I ride my bike home. Especially after work, when the sun is getting close to rising. The sky is getting lighter yet I can still see the distant stars and the visible planet for the season. After making my way through an apartment complex, and I get onto my "secret" road. It's not really secret, but what I experience on that road is.


It's quiet. The few sounds I do hear consist of distant cars and rushing wind. Singing insects and chirping birds. The complex isn't really familiar, but my route is, I'm positive I could feel the curves with my mind's eye. As I leave the complex, I turn onto a street that has long since lost its smooth top. The rocks beneath are exposed, making the ride a bit more textured. There is a house I pass on my left. It's hidden by trees and roses bushes. An old sign warns people against stepping foot on the property. The house is rotten, sagging like a wilted flower. I long to take a closer look, to step inside the mysterious glade that hides the house of an architectural style long past. There is much history in the grain of the wood. The no trespassing sign is faded, yet someone is still holding on to this memory. There is a ladder in front of the house. Has the owner been here recently? These thoughts fill my head as I quickly ride past. I am content in the fact that I am the only one experiencing this moment in time. None are awake around me. I selfishly take up the road. Soon the road becomes smooth again, where it was recently rebuilt. It slopes downward at this instance, and I lean forward and grin as I build speed. I stop pedaling for roughly thirty seconds, until the road levels out again. Despite the new road, there is still a vast stretch of land untouched by man on the left side. The only thing new about it is the freshly cut grass. There are metal benches installed nearest the sidewalk. There is a low hanging fog that is uniform across the field. It gives the world a dream like quality. It's pure. There are no disturbances in the fog, and I secretly long to break the spell. But I don't. I merely inhale deeply as the smell of wild flowers fills my nostrils, as it does at the same point in the road each night I ride home. On the right side of the road there is a fallen tree. Decaying as its massive bulk remains immobile, I imagine thousands of bugs are making it a home. I wonder if it is hollow, and if it isn't occupied by insects, if it would make a good home. Unfortunately, the stretch of road ends too quickly, as it usually does, and I sigh as I return to civilization. I make a left onto the sidewalk and numbly continue my ride home.

Labels: fiction junction

Incomplete as of now, but try guessing who they are! (to be honest I never gave good descriptions of any of their appearances...but who do you think they fit most?)










I've gotten the other ones coming up soon...just have to finish the drawings first..

oh if you are interested in where these lovely ladies came from, they are random models that I found, all from just browsing random Etsy shops.

Labels: fiction junction, Viktor's Girls

The champaign with its endless fleece

Of feathery grasses everywhere!

Silence and passion, joy and peace,

An everlasting wash of air--

Rome's ghost since her decease.

The room was quiet, save for the sound of the clock ticking and the rhythmic sound of breathing. A man stood tall, staring pensively at a blank canvas. With a piece of charcoal in hand, he began drawing wide arcs. He set down the charcoal, then used his hands to spread it all over the canvas. He felt something tug on his pants, so the tall man looked down.

"Daddy?" A little girl asked. "What are you doing?"

The man smiled, glanced at his canvas, then at his hands. He brought them to his face, and then drew circles around his eyes.

"I'm not your daddy! I'm a raccoon!"

The little girl laughed, and the father began chasing his daughter. She screamed with delight as he caught her, and lifted her into the air.

"Mmm...this raccoon is hungry. And I caught a tasty little girl!"

"No! I'm Anya and my daddy's going to save me!" She shouted, wiggling in his grip.

"Anya..?" He asked. He stopped for a moment, and looked at the girl closely.

"Anya," he whispered, "this is your father. You have to save me! Hurry, get the charcoal!" He set Anya down, and she ran to the table where the charcoal was. She picked up the fragile drawing tool, and handed it to her father. He went back to the canvas, and with a flurry of movements he began drawing. Anya jumped up and down in excitement, but she couldn't see because her father deliberately blocked the canvas from her view.

"Daddy," she pleaded, "what is it?"

He stopped drawing and stepped away from the canvas.




"So what did he draw?" Vera asked.

"Isn't it obvious? He drew a raccoon." Anya said.

The paired continued walking to the kitchen in silence. Everyone always ate breakfast together, and sometimes dinner, but lunch was something they had to get for themselves.

"What should we eat today?" Vera asked, as she walked to the fridge.

"Hm..what kind of fruit is there?" Anya asked.

Vera rummaged through the fridge, pushing various things aside until she found a box of strawberries. She smiled, and took out the box, then showed it to Anya.

"Strawberries. Delicious. What else?" Anya looked around in the kitchen, attempting to locate a bowl to put the strawberries in.

"Some plums...and kiwi...oh! and some blackberries."

"Get that out too. Actually..I'm going to take some to the room. Is it okay if you stay out here for a while?"

"Um..yeah.. that's fine."

"Okay. Thanks. Maybe an hour or so...or more. If it's longer than an hour, you can come by, just knock."

"Oh okay."

Anya pulled a bowl out of the shelf, and grabbed a handful of strawberries and blackberries, as well as two kiwis and three plums. She smiled at Vera, who smiled back and waved.

Back in their room, Anya had set the bowl of fruit down on a stool near her bed, and was standing in front of the the easel, staring once again at the charcoal covered canvas.

Labels: fiction junction, Viktor's Girls

Love likes a gander, and adores a goose:

Her full lips pursed, the errant note to seize;

She played it quick, she played it light and loose,

My eyes, they dazzled at her flowing knees;

Her several parts could keep a pure repose,

Or one hip quiver with a mobile nose

(She moved in circles, and those circles moved).


Let seed be grass, and grass turn into hay:

I'm martyr to a motion not my own;

What's freedom for? To know eternity.

I swear she cast a shadow as white as stone.

But who would count eternity in days?

These old bones live to learn her wanton ways:

(I measure time by how a body sways).

Yuliya held the phone up to her ear. It rang several times with no answer, but she refused to hang up in case someone would answer when she would do so. Yuliya held her breath when the tone cut off mid ring.

"Hello?" A girl's voice asked.

"...Marta?" Yuliya asked, tears filling her eyes.

"Yuliya?" Marta cried out. "Yuliya, is it really you? I miss you so much! I have all of your letters. Yuliya, I have a lot I want to tell you!"

"Oh Marta...I'm so sorry.." Yuliya said, tears streaming down her face. "But, Marta, listen...I'm coming home for your birthday."

Marta squealed with delight, causing Yuliya to jerk her head away from the phone.

"I also want to see father."

"That's okay Yuliya! I have his address somewheres..."

"What about mother?"

Marta lowered her voice. "She's in the living room, staring at the wall. She doesn't realize I'm home half of the time. She says she has a boyfriend but he never comes over here. But she stays gone for long periods of time before coming home."

Yuliya sighed. "What about you? How are you doing?"

"Oh, I'm fine! I placed first in our school's academic concourse. I work in the library after school, putting all the books back on the shelf, and I get paid like a real job! Then Mrs. Baranova, the librarian, will take me shopping...most for groceries. I've been learning how to cook!"

"That's wonderful, Marta."

"Oh, I have a great idea! I can cook for you and father!"

"That sounds really nice. Actually, Marta, I have something else to ask."

"Yeah?"

"Is it okay if I bring my...boyfriend as well?"

"Oh, you have a boyfriend? What's his name?"

"..Viktor.."

"Oh I'm really happy for you! Of course you can bring him! Hopefully I can impress him with my cooking.."

"I'm sure it will be delicious."

Marta and Yuliya continued talking, with Marta doing most of the talking. Eventually they discussed when Yuliya would come by, and that they would go to their father's house to celebrate. After the conversation ended, Yuliya hung up, and stared at the small mobile device. Her mind raced, with fear and excitement. She was very glad that she would be able to see her sister and father after such a long time, but she was afraid. Afraid of what her father would think. Afraid that her father wouldn't even want to see her. Then she realized she had no idea what to get Marta for her birthday. Maybe a stuffed animal and some books? But she didn't really know what books Marta would be interested in. Maybe she was too mature for a stuffed toy now? She sighed, and turned around. Viktor was sitting on the bed, and he spread his arms out. Yuliya smiled, set the phone down on the table in the room, then walked to the bed. She crawled on the bed, and rested her head on his chest.




The only light that was in the room came from the window, the curtains deliberately pulled back, spilling onto a blank canvas set up on an easel. Anya stood in quiet deliberation, then lifted the charcoal in her hand, and set it on the canvas. She drew in wide arcs, the scratching sound filling her ears and her mind. Anya set the charcoal down for a moment, then used her hands to spread it all over, prepping the canvas. She turned around, and saw that Vera had been watching her draw.

"I'm not sure I understand what you're doing." Vera said. Anya looked at the canvas, then down at her hands which were covered in black dust. She then wiped it around her eyes in circular motions.

"Isn't it obvious? I am a raccoon." Anya said with a grin. Vera shook her head but smiled anyways. "Okay, raccoon. But why don't you just turn on the light in here?"

"Hm...I'm not sure....there's a lot of things I can't explain...but they're all habits of mine. I've gotten used to working this way."

"You always make yourself a raccoon?"

"Nooo..." Anya said. "I was just being silly...but now I can't think. And I'm hungry. I think it's time for some lunch. Let's go."

"You're going like that?" Vera asked.

"Of course! I'm a raccoon after all..."

Labels: fiction junction, Viktor's Girls