Sir Devlin

He raised his visor and stared out across the killing field. It was all there. Not the glory, not the songs of victors, and certainly not the flags in all their rich colours fluttering on warm summer breezes. This is what it all came down to. The reality of battle. The smell of battle is shit and piss and blood. And sweat. And the true reward of battle was being alive to smell that horrible scent, and witness the dead and dying. There was no friend or foe here, only the dead; and the dying.

He said a silent prayer that their deaths would be swift, but then felt guilty at the thought. He raised his sword in both hands and stared at the blood stained steel, and thought of how many now laid there because of this blade. His throat was dry. How long had he swung the blade; swinging and chopping; killing and retreating. Till at last, there was nothing left to retreat from. All that was left was the mass of gore that once was a living thing. Fathers, sons, husbands, all gone. The mighty Destriers, the Men at Arms, rode charging into the front line now laid low, feathered by the mighty English long bow. These were the last moments, before the wailings of widows. Before the scavenging. Before the corpses were laid bare to feed the crows.

Slowly, he raised his head to the skies; seeking benediction for the foul deed that corrupted his soul. And then slowly lowered his eyes to the arrow that stood out from his stomach. The sweat ran down his nose and dropped on the feathers of the arrow and his body twitched involuntarily. He smelled the scent of battle deeply. More deeply than any battle he had ever fought, because, this would be his last. He laid the pommel of his sword into the blood soaked earth, raised his neck to the tip, and smiled. The archer would not win. No one would take his life. His life was his own, to give or to take. He looked out across the killing field, and whispered, “we are one, once more” And Sir Devlin was no more.

Wild

She really hadn’t planned on spending Friday night at some loud bar; getting hit on by every loser asshole looking for some easy conquest. However, the phone call from Vivvy with Mel screeching in the background over the thumping beats of Lady Gaga left her no choice. Vivvy would simply not take no for an answer!

“Wild, you simply must come! There are some really hot guys here! Mel even wore her lucky Friday night panties! And we both know what that means! Get your ass down here girl; pronto!“ Vivvy was always such a forceful bitch; but a lovable one all the same.

So, here she was. Scouting around the bar looking for her two best friends; preparing herself to give Vivvy a piece of her mind for having made her get out of her PJ’s and the vat of Ben & Jerry’s that now remained unfinished in her freezer at home.

“Wild! Over here!” Crap! Vivvy’s voice was way too loud! More than a few heads turned and her cheeks bloomed at the unwanted attention.

Scurrying over to the small table, she hurriedly sat and glared at Vivvy. “You are such a pain in the ass Vivvy! I told you this afternoon that I didn’t want to come here! But noooooooo! You never take no for an answer! Sometimes, I could just…”

“Kiss me?” Vivvy always knew how to make me giggle, and now was no exception as the giggle fits set in.

“I was thinking more about smacking the back of those Calvins, but I guess kissies will work. Hey, what’s up with her?”

Vivvy followed my stare across the table to Mel, who by all appearances was lost in her own world; a wicked glint in her dark eyes and a lascivious half smile on her face. WE both turned our eyes to follow her stare and wham! What a jarring sight to behold! I barely heard Vivvy’s quiet remarks, “that, my drooling little tarts, is the fucking mother lode!”

Six feet of perfection! Tousled black hair; thick eyebrows; a crisp white high collared shirt with the first three buttons undone; expensive designer jeans, tight enough to see the most squeezable ass in the world and expensive leather shoes. My nipples instantly rose to attention and I had to shut my mouth fast to stop any drool from escaping down my chin. The worst part was the woman he was dancing with! My, could she be any more gorgeous? The bitch!

She leaned in close to Mr. Hunk and said something quietly, and he reared his head and laughed. Oooooooooo, my happy place got even happier as I saw his mouth open to show sparkling teeth, the eye teeth slightly longer than the rest. Holy crap! Maybe he’s a vampire! Now that’s hot! My nipples are now bouncing with joy and giving high fives at the thought of the love bites those teeth could inflict. My happy place is getting happier by the moment and I am beginning to think that I should have worn a panty liner tonight.

Abruptly, my reverie ends as the song finishes and Mr. Hunk and the Elfin bitch leave the dance floor. The spell broken, it seems that Vivvy, myself and Mel have not taken a breath in the last three minutes and we all suck in air at the same time as we blink at each other! Vivvy looks at me then to Mel, and states matter of factly “I don’t know about you girls, but I think I just had an orgasm! I feel like a cigarette, and I don’t even smoke!”

Mel breaks out in a fit of giggles and we all start giggling hysterically when I ask if either of them have any panty liners in their purses.

“Excuse me ladies, compliments of Mr. St Clair.” The waiter puts the round of drinks down and discreetly turns and leaves as we all stare at the drinks as though they were hemlock. ”Mr. St Clair? Who the hell is that?” Vivvy doesn’t have to wait long for her answer.

“That would be me. Good evening ladies.” Vivvy grabs Mels hand to try to stop her from going into convulsions! I grab Vivvy’s hand to stop her from jumping onto Mr. St Clairs’ face with her crotch. Unfortunately, no one grabs my hand, so, I simply sit there grinning like an idiot! Crap! Say something wild! I have no spit left in my mouth!

“Hello Mr. St Clair, and thank you for the drinks.” Shit! That came out far too squeaky! My nipples have beaten a hasty retreat with all this embarrassment and my happy place is boarding up the shutters. “Not at all. But please, call me Max.” As he hands is hand out to me, I look into his face and see the most amazing surf green eyes hooded by those delicious full eyebrows. I feel dizzy. I realize that he has not taken his hand away and I still hold it. Holy shit Wild, could you be any more of a dork?

“Um, excuse me. I am Wild, and this is Vivvy and Mel.” He shakes both their sweaty hands as I swear I can see drool escaping from the corner of Mels mouth and Vivvy closing her thighs and rubbing them back and forth, mindlessly. He turns his face back to me. Shit, what now?

“Wild is a strange name. Did your parents really call you wild?” All I can think of is well Mr. St Clair, come back to my apartment and we shall see if I can live up to my name! But I think better of it and decide to tell the truth.  “My real name is Rose. I was a Tom boy as a child, so everyone called me wild Rose. I don’t know, but as I got older, everyone just dropped the Rose and started calling me Wild.” Well, that went ok. At least I have my voice back. Max smiles at me and suddenly my happy place is hanging out a white flag!

“Would you care to dance with me Wild?” What? Who? Me? Mel and Vivvy snap their heads to glare at me with venom in their eyes as my nipples start doing their happy dance and my happy place pulls out a squeegee from somewhere! “What about your girlfriend? The girl you were just dancing with?” Shit! Did I really just say that? My happy place is getting ready to hit me with the handle of the squeegee and my nipples are looking around for rocks to throw. His laugh nearly makes me faint! I could get so totally lost in that laugh. Oh and his eyes. Did I mention those eyes? I am picturing love bites. Gads! Focus Wild! This is too fucking hot for words!

“She isn’t my girlfriend. Her name is Janey and she is my cousin visiting with my Uncle and Aunt from the Hamptons for a few days”. Did he really just say the Hamptons? Before I can respond; or swallow for that matter; I am dragged out onto the dance floor where Max smiles, turns his head and nods at the DJ. Procol Harem’s, A Whiter Shade Of Pale begins to play as I melt into his arms, feeling his jeans pressed hard against my happy place. My face buried in his chest. If this is all that really happens tonight; this moment; with my face buried in Max’s chest with his designer jeans grinding into my happy place; I will die happy! But it won’t end here…

Inspired by Wild at Theme Thursday

Winter begone

February draws us into her cold embrace,
and wraps us in winters snows, and in her haste,
denies that, upon which we are based,
our abilities for the wild, unto nature, we brace.

Oh cold cruel winter, whilst thou not loosen thine grip,
remove your ice from the foxglove, winter lily and rosehip,
the warm spring winds, thru the forests silently slip,
March beckons, and springs sweet juice, she quietly sips.

Windchimes

I stared as the music tumbled and fell
through my fingers, sticky and wet
warm honey.
And where the notes hit the ground
great choral overtures rose savage and sweet.

Lifted high into the summer skies
on gossamer wings.
enfolding the morning in its magical embrace.
Unicorns danced, snow white
in a field of emerald green grasses and ferns
to a long lost tune of the last zephyr
the wind and music embraced me
holding me close to her breast
smiling, knowing.

In my hand, one single note
the name of the wind.
Opening my hand, I blew softly
and the silver seed swirled, kissed my cheek
then gently danced off into a world of discovery.

And, I smiled.


Inspired by Bradley Deans The Windchimes.
Listen for yourself and dream.

The Secret Garden

I watched the moon, slowly stealing into the sky
The first glitter of stars splashing twilights’ last breath
Looking through the wine glass, the candlelight danced
To an unheard tune; in waves of gold and reds

I watched as you caressed the tiny flowers
Snow white droplets, embraced with forest greens
They responded to your loving touch
And gave up their floral scents to your gentle feel

Ferns swayed to the music of the night
Mystical and magic, ancient, without age
Carried on the damp evening breezes
Chasing away the remnants of the day

Night falls, embrace, dark and sweet
Throw secret shadows in wild abandon
And the flowers know, the dance begins,
In this, the secret garden

Moon

Oh great silvery celestial orb. Wilst thou not be my witness? Hear my confession, for I have naught but lust and desire and a love for one who knows not that I exist.

You, who doth chase the sun from the very heavens, wilst thou now forsake me and leave me the tormented dreams of unrequited love?

Oh cruel moon, absolve me. Bathe me in your glow and wash away the ache. Food turns to ash in my mouth; wine to water; color to dust. You smile. Can it be my foolishness that so amuses thee?

You seek to anger me? Best be aware oh great heralder of the stars, my plight is also thine! You beguile young lovers; add shimmer to fields of oats and barley and lull the peasants into a false sense wonder and adoration.

You are a deceiver! Witches and Warlocks dance naked in your light; unashamed. Satyrs and nymphs perform their pagan rituals; their sex enflamed and engorged.

Hath thou no shame? And still you smile at my anguish? Thine light shines bright but leaves me cold.

Old fool, be gone! Away!

I call on the golden orb of day to smite thee with its golden rays.
Rise no more in the black skies! I call on the stars to devour you and spit you out!
Shine no more! False promises of love art thine black legacy!

Smile no more!

No more!

No more I say!


Read more of the effects of the moon at Theme Thursday.

The Book

He watched her as she slowly let one exquisitely gloved hand brush lovingly over the ancient leather bindings, sending a small swirl of dust into the air. She seemed to be breathing in some exotic perfume. Well born as could be noted from her expensive attire. As she stood transfixed before the books, she said without turning “how much will you take for these three?”

He had been gazing so intently at her that he started at her question.

“You can have the first two for one hundred apiece. But the third, the one with the ivory snake is not for sale.”

She turned and stared at him; a small pout that appeared almost playful and sensual.
“But that’s silly! The three would look divine in my collection, and I am willing to pay handsomely for it. You are a seller of books and I am a buyer. Now name your price!”

Though said quietly, her demeanor and tone made her last statement sound more like a command then a request. He would not be treated as one of her low born house servants. All trace of politeness withdrew from his features as he matter of fact stated once more, ”the third book is NOT for sale!”

Her eyebrows shot up and her mouth opened as if to speak then just as fast her face returned to normal and a smile crept across her mouth. “Can you tell me your reason for not wanting to sell the third?”

He stood silent for a moment, content to just stare at her. She was remarkably beautiful with an ageless face. Her eyes so dark that he was sure the pupils had swallowed up their colour. Her very being exuded defiance. He suddenly realized he was being quite rude and blurted out “because I have not done the proper research on that one yet!”

Her smile broadened. “Oh, I can tell you all about it. It was written by Sarah Price of Plymouth in 1649. Sarah was a good woman who preferred the company of the forest to village folk. She was a healer and an herbalist. She had helped many of the sick villagers when the local butcher of a physician had said ‘it’s now in the hands of the Lord’. One day, the local Prior, who was known to partake far too freely of the sacramental wine, came across her in the woods as she was gathering roots and herbs. He abandoned all holiness and fell upon her in a most disgusting and vile manner. When she went to lay a formal complaint to the Bishop, she was advised that the disgrace would be too great to the church and she should return immediately home and say no more of this. As she returned home, there were two men at arms from the Sheriff waiting for her. She was arrested immediately; tried and found guilty of witchcraft. While awaiting her execution she wrote these spells and incantations. On November 16th, 1649, she was led from her cell to the village square where a pyre had been erected. As the flames engulfed her, she swore a curse that she would return and have her revenge.”

He fell back in his chair and gulped air. “How can you know all this?”

She leaned forward and produced an antique dagger from her bag and in one swift motion, thrust it deep into his chest. He gasped and looked down to where a red spot was growing quickly across his chest. The handle of the dagger was an ivory snake. She looked deep into his eyes and smiled. “I know all this because I am Sarah Price! This is MY book! And you; my soon to be dead fellow are the descendant of the Prior.”

She turned on her heels; took the book from the shelf and strode out of the store wiping the dagger with an embroidered hanky. He took one last breath and stared at the empty spot in the bookcase as all went black.


Penned for Books at Theme Thursday.