Flash 500 by Nicole Pyles, Carrie K Sorensen (black authors fiction .txt) 📖

more they can do for her."

 

Is he crying?

 

"If you want to see her, you need to come soon," he said, "I gave up everything to spend these last couple of months with her." He pauses, "Yeah, it was worth it." He hangs up the phone wipes his eyes and smiles at me shyly.

 

I said the only thing I could think of. "Can I borrow the classifieds section?"

 

 

About Sydney Aaliyah

 

Sydney Aaliyah Michelle is a writer of fiction and a blogger of movie quotes, tattoo stories and stories about her life as a reformed ex pat trying to gain her traveling mojo back. She has lived and traveled to over 20 countries outside of the United States including a 5 1/2 year stint living in China. She has penned three novels, which range from New Adult to Women's Fiction.

 

Although, she has not been published, yet, as long as she is still pursuing her Happiness, Passion, Love and Faith, she will continue to enjoy the process.

 

Connect with Sydney on Twitter, Facebook and on her blog at sydneyaaliyah.com.

 

Twitter - https://twitter.com/sydliyah

Facebook - http://www.facebook.com/sydney.aaliyah

Blog - http://sydneyaaliyah.com

Week of 5/16/2012

Week of 5/16/2012

 

Photo courtesy of Brad Fults

 

 

Words Required

 

Masking Tape

 

Chameleon

 

Hand

 

Computer

 

Lipstick

 

 

 

 

Alicia's Soul by Carrie K. Sorensen

 

Down, down, down the harlequin stairs. One hand on the snake-like rail, the scaly indentions feeling like speed bumps to her fingertips. A tube of lipstick in the other was wearing down to a nub, the bright berry color marking each turn she took, arrow pointing to the exit like they did in mines. There hadn't been many turns for a while, except for the smooth curve of the narrow staircase.

 

Alicia had been at work on her computer, sorting through emails and arranging projects by priority. A note scratched in pencil on masking tape pressed to the underside of her keyboard had caught her attention. It was an odd place to leave a note. She had only found it because a few paper clips had spilled on her otherwise neat desk. Once she read the words, she ripped it off quickly. Shredded pieces found themselves in different waste baskets around the office.

 

Easily destroyed, they were not words to ignore. They stayed with her through talking to clients, laughing with co-workers and taking notes at meetings. She packed up as the clock rolled onto the 5, calling out goodbyes from the elevator. Behind the wheel of her car, Alicia closed her eyes, whispered a prayer, then headed downtown.

 

She handed over her keys to the valet, then nodded to the gatekeeper of the Chameleon Bar. Insults were flung at her back by people waiting in line as Alicia pushed through over-sized doors into a low-lit den of shifting colors. Weaving through bodies projecting sticky warmth, she made her way to a door that blended perfectly into the aubergine walls.

 

"Don't lose your way," warned words so decorative they could only be separated by the damask sheen in the paint if you knew where they were. Alicia had dug out her lipstick, then headed into the tunnels.

 

Left a dozen times, right at all the lines. Down the tiny turns, back to where it burns.

 

The words penciled to her on the flesh-colored tape, directions through the LED-lit maze. Now she was at the bottom, passing under an arch painted with leaves, a symbol of the life that never found its way this deep.

 

There, in a round chamber, sat an altar in the middle, a fire kindled along the surface. The fickle light was no match for the LED's, but it was the heat that mattered.

 

Alicia stepped forward softly. Orange light danced over her without the benefit of shadow. Her hand reached into the flames, pulling out the vial. Without the contact of the vial, the alter lost its fire, growing cold as Alicia turned her back, clutching her prize to her chest.

 

She had it now, much better than any of the others locked in her freezer at home. This would be enough to make all her dreams come true, and even a few more.

 

After all, a soul on fire was worth much more than one on ice.

 

 

About Carrie K. Sorensen

 

I am the mommy of two fantastic little boys, three boxers and one mutt. My husband and my story is truly a fairy tale of modern origins. I attended Arizona State University for a B.A. but am lucky enough to be a stay at home mother to my amazing brood.

 

I write in whatever free time I can steal for myself, mostly fantasy or paranormal. I have lived in the country, the city and the suburbs, and I definitely prefer the suburbs. Still, the forest is what inspires me most, with velvet shadows, hidden nooks and possible fairy circles around the next corner.

 

http://chasingrevery.blogspot.com

 

 

 

 

At the Top of the Stairs by Sydney Aaliyah

 

"Let's go up there," he said.

 

"Go where?"

 

"Up there." He pointed to the stairwell at the back of the room just past the kitchen. Looking at the stairs gave her a weird feeling. From this vantage point she could see the first four steps. But after that it was grey and dark. Like the light wasn't allowed to illuminate above the fourth step.

 

He took her hand and lead her towards the stairs.

 

"We shouldn't go up there," she whispered.

 

"Why not?" He didn't wait for her to answer. "We have to."

 

"But, what is up there?" She asked.

 

As they reached the bottom of the stairs, she looked up and couldn't see the top. There was no light. Strange. No light and no sound.

 

He stepped on the first step and his hand went cold. He looked back at her. A scream got caught in her throat. His eyes were changing change colors, like a chameleon. First, brown, then green, black, blue then brown again.

 

"It is your choice." He said.

 

She tried to back away, but couldn't move.

 

All of sudden, there was a high-pitched ripping sound. Like the sound that masking tape makes when you remove it from a hard surface.

 

He took off running up the stairs; taking two at a time. He was still holding her hand, but her feet were no longer touching the ground. She was floating. And, she was in pain. It hurt so badly and she was screaming and pulling. He stopped.

 

He turned towards her again.

 

"If you choose to come, it won't hurt as much."

 

His kind blue eyes had returned. She recognized those eyes; the ones that made her stomach flip and made her fall for him. And, that made her cry.

 

But she continued with him this time. And when she did, her feet hit the ground and it didn't hurt as much. He was right. He was always right.

 

They arrived at the top of the stairs. At the top was a table with a computer on it. Beyond the table was a closed door. On the computer screen, there was a question:

 

"Do you dare?"

Type 1 for yes and 2 for no.

 

He let go of her hand and typed on the keyboard. She couldn't see what he typed, but sudden the door opened and he walked in. She tried to follow him, but the door shut before she could go through.

 

"You have to choose." He said from a distance, "I can't do it for you."

 

"Choose what? Dare to do what? I don't understand." She screamed.

 

Then she heard laughter. It was distant at first, but then got closer and closer and closer. It was horrible and the pain returned.
The screen kept blinking in lipstick red:

 

TYPE 1 FOR YES AND 2 FOR NO!!!

 

She felt like she was going crazy. With all her effort, she reached out and pressed 2.

 

 

About Sydney Aaliyah

 

Sydney Aaliyah Michelle is a writer of fiction and a blogger of movie quotes, tattoo stories and stories about her life as a reformed ex pat trying to gain her traveling mojo back. She has lived and traveled to over 20 countries outside of the United States including a 5 1/2 year stint living in China. She has penned three novels, which range from New Adult to Women's Fiction.

 

Although, she has not been published, yet, as long as she is still pursuing her Happiness, Passion, Love and Faith, she will continue to enjoy the process.

 

Connect with Sydney on Twitter, Facebook and on her blog at sydneyaaliyah.com.

 

Twitter - https://twitter.com/sydliyah

Facebook - http://www.facebook.com/sydney.aaliyah

Blog - http://sydneyaaliyah.com

Week of 5/23/2012

Week of 5/23/2012

 

Photo courtesy of Derrick Tyson - derrick.tyson@gmail.com

 

 

Words Required

 

Stars

 

Envelope

 

Wave

 

Nail

 

Desert

 

 

 

 

Deal with the Devil by L.T. Dalin

 

I sat down at the table and eyed the food greedily. I hadn't eaten in forever - walking through the desert had me dehydrated and starving, but I'd conquered it.

 

"How long were you out there?" she asked, and sat down opposite me.

 

"I lost count," I answered.

 

My throat was sore, it begged me to ask for another glass of water, but I was pacing myself.

 

"We hardly ever get any visitors."

 

I looked around the room, and tapped my nail against the table. There was a black envelope on the table; I wondered how they got mail out here, an oasis in the middle of nowhere.

 

I'd thanked my lucky stars when I'd seen it. I'd thought it was another mirage at first, the way it shimmered as a wave of water.

 

"I can imagine," I replied, but a knock on the window had me turning around.

 

A man stood there, staring at me. I felt uneasy, queasy even, but I nodded at him and turned back to the woman. She looked absurdly healthy, wearing a red polka-dot dress.

 

She smiled. "They've been waiting for you."

 

Her pearly white teeth turned rotten, brown, and her lips cracked. I blinked once, slowly, and everything changed.

 

Her skin was now flaky red, her scalp was showing, and the interior of the house was in the same condition as her teeth.

 

"He's coming for you." Her gaze went past me and through the window. The way she nodded made my stomach churn.

 

I turned again, and another man had appeared, wearing all black.

 

"You made the deal, now you stick to it." She rose gingerly to her feet.

 

As I watched she went over to the door, and opened it.

 

The green scenery outside had changed, and instead the desert came rushing inside.

 

"Your soul for a glass of water."

 

The last thing I felt was a pair of cold hands piercing through my chest. The last thing I saw was the sky above me, and the stars mocking me with their beauty, winking goodbye.

 

 

About L.T. Dalin

 

L.T. Dalin started writing at a young age. Her favorite thing to do when growing up was handing in essays. She