#SwiftFicFriday – Week 11 Vote

#SwiftFicFriday – Week 11 Vote

Another prompt, another round of great responses! Check them out below and vote for your favorite:

Story 1 by Cara Michaels

“The tree bitch knows what we’re doing to the Oracle. Been talkin’ reckless.”

“I’m aware. Keep your voice down.”

“What the hell do we do?”

“We find another.”

“Oracle? Seriously? Because they’re so fucking easy to come by, right?”

“She’s hardly our first.”

Cerese pulled me onto her lap as the voices beyond the reinforced door turned up the volume, not caring what we heard. That was the scariest part.

Nothing to hide now.

I wrapped my arms around Cerese’s waist, pressed my face against her shoulder.

“You know what we went through to get this one.” The one arguing against my imminent disposal let out a laugh flirting with the wrong side of sanity. “Lopez still has panic attacks every time the trees move. This is Florida. We have breezes almost nonstop. The trees are always fucking moving.”

“And that’s why we Baker acted him,” the first voice said. “He’s got a nice room. And remember that cute boy nurse? I’d get committed for a piece of that.”

“He’s also got a list of meds half as long as my arm to keep him from remembering what a pissed off dryad can really do.”

“Which is why ours is fucking choke-collared, jackass.”

Cerese shuddered and I clutched her tighter. The fitted chain around her throat matched the ones around her wrist, preventing her magic from reaching for the trees surrounding the house. Kept her natural form suppressed. Made certain she couldn’t protect me as a Guardian was meant.

“Just put the Oracle on the boat. Take her to Bermuda. And get. Rid. Of. Her.”

“No,” Cerese whispered. Our bond had been forced. Our friendship was real.

“The dryad—”

“Will scream until we take her memories. And then we start fresh. Just like always. She never knows the difference.”

Story 2 by Stacy Overby

Tears ran down bruised cheeks. “Please, help me. I can’t live with him anymore.”
I arched an eyebrow at her.

Her face reddened under the bruises as he stared at her feet. “I know you said he’d do this again. I tried to leave though, honest I did.”

With a sigh I nodded. I knew she’d tried to leave the loser and what he did when she made that attempt.

“Please,” she sobbed as she looked up at me. “Help me.”

“We do this on my terms. Are you agreed?”

She bobbed her head. “Yes. I can’t keep going like this. He’ll kill me if something doesn’t change.”

I peered at her over my shades. “Be at the park with your kids in half an hour. Make sure you’re seen.”

She agreed and hustled off. I examined my wardrobe. Something sexy, alluring, but not too revealing. Creeps like this take too much advantage when the sexiness is too overt. Then, fixing my hair and makeup just right, I turned to my final closet. Selecting a few special items, I hid them in places men don’t think to look. I indulged in one last glance in the mirror before making my way to her ramshackle house.
There he was, half strung out with a porno playing on the computer. Suppressing a shudder, I knocked on the door.

“Whadya want?”

“Please help me. My car’s broken down.”

The door swung open. The light in his eyes turned my stomach when he got a good look at me.

“Come on in, darling. You can use the phone in here.”

When the door shut, I struck. He bucked and kicked some, yes, but they all do. And he died, like all the others—with my name on his lips.


Story 3 by Terry Brewer

The Tempest

It was a Saturday night and my boyfriend Antonio dumped me unceremoniously that afternoon. My thoughts were disorganized, as if I were trapped inside a tempest, sending me I knew not where. I needed people.

Somehow I ended up on the Lower East Side. A dive bar. The crowd was loud and in some precincts angry. The toilets smelled of piss and hints of pot hung in the air in the hallway to them. When I got near the bar after peeing, I saw someone I knew. Pedro.

“Mary,” he called. My name is Miranda, but acquaintances know me as Mary. “Mary, there’s someone I want you to meet.” He was drunk, and I was too sober to be in a place like this. But, well, that tempest. Suddenly there was Ferdinand. He was good looking. Very good looking.

Suddenly Pedro cuts in, says I’m being reckless in my talk to Ferdie. “You’re a long way from home so chill.”

I don’t know what I was saying that was so, you know, “offensive,” and Ferdie laughed. “He’s just drunk. You’re good. You’re different though.” He leaned close so I could hear him. “Come with me. I’ll set you to flames.”

It was a combination of what he said and how he said it. So hot that I feared the flames I felt would be doused by the rainfall his words generated in my crotch. I couldn’t run away if I wanted to. Which I didn’t.

I smiled. “Some call me Bloody Mary. You ready to enter my house of pain?” and I reached down to him. “Oh, yeah. You’re ready.” I let his hand rub against me. “And so am I.”

We slipped to an alley nearby. If anyone heard us scream, they didn’t mention it.

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