SIGHT By Pixie J. King

Sight


A silence descended over the neighbourhood like an ominous veil, the moon covered by inky coloured clouds. I waited in the darkness, poised; hidden in the shadows surrounding the one bedroom flat, patiently waiting in the cold.

I took a deep breath and exhaled, the air coiling around me. I sipped my hot coffee, the liquid scorching my tongue and warmed my insides. Did I really want to do this?

Her light flickered on. She didn’t close the curtains.

I looked up.

Through the eye of my telescope I saw her nimble body as she moved around her room, unaware of my presence.

I smiled, felt my heart flutter.

Her well lit room made it easy for me to watch her disrobe – her hair was wet and her blue eyes were filled deep with lust. Her moist skin seemed to shimmer in her light like golden dust.

Her pale naked body pranced about, treating my eyes to a feast. I could smell those aromas; jasmine and orange flower. I could almost taste her sweet innocence. I needed to taste her.

I wiped perspiration from my brow, licked my lips as she danced in the middle of the room, nude. Wasn’t she aware that she was showing her perfectly rounded breasts to a hidden audience?

I couldn’t take my eyes off her as she frolicked around her room, her hips sending me into a trance, a sensual sway that sent shivers down my spine.

I felt my groin throb; my heart ached for her to be mine.

She moved towards the window, peering out into the darkened night. Her body was exposed; my breath became raspier as my eyes honed in on her breasts. I had to have her.

What was she trying to do to me? Maybe she was teasing me, trying to drive me wild. With every move she made, my cravings deepened. My eyes grazed over her body, from her toes all the way to her eyes; those deep blue eyes were mesmerising to look at. They made my heart melt.

But then she saw me.

Shit.

She looked directly at my window, a few houses up the hill. She wasn’t meant to know of my nightly fixation, my greatest pleasure.

I moved.

I looked through the sight of my M40A5 rifle that I had acquired from a friend who owed me a favour.

She had betrayed me, exposed me. She would tell the police. I couldn’t let her escape the grasp I had on her, I had to have her.

The touch of the metal soothed my conscience and calmed my soul. I felt the chilled wind strike my skin as I opened the window.

Adrenaline sent a bolt down my spine as I lined the crosshairs against her head, my finger poised over the trigger.

‘Come to Daddy,’ I whispered, and saw the red specks fly like fireworks. She jarred to the floor, dead. Her mother was gone. I killed her too.

I groaned softly as the tingling sensations pulsed through my body, the brooding desire grew deep inside my stomach. The thought of touching her moist skin in a night of passion made my heart race.

I took my keys and ran out my apartment door and onto the street. The mother had no idea I kept her key after the divorce settlement.

I could now collect my prize; the 16 year old was mine.

Bio:

Pixie is a student who is new to the writing world, and writes when she can, where she can. Her work is mainly flash fiction and poems with the occasional short story. She is now however embarking on the mammoth task of writing two completely different novels, and is finding it very daunting and time consuming.

Pixie’s work can be found at http://theworksofpixiejking.blogspot.com/

I CAN FLY by Pixie J. King

I Can Fly


Connor walked up the pathway of his house to the side gate. He looked underneath the plant pot and found the key to the garage. He unlocked the side door and stepped inside, flicked on the light. He smiled as he took off his blood smeared school tie, hung it on the handle of the lawn mower.

He breathed in deeply, taking in the musky smells of wood and dust, the damp of the concrete. He could smell oil and paint stripper and he grinned. He was home. Safe. No bully in the world could touch him here.

That happy feeling soon disappeared as he looked into the mirror and sighed. He didn’t fancy telling his mother how he got a shiner on his eye, blood on his shirt and bruises on his ribs, and he didn’t want to. It was hard enough trying to convince his mother that he could fly, let alone a group of bullies.

He shook his head, turned around and pulled off the blanket of what looked like a wooden go kart and threw it on the floor. He looked down at the kart and moved over to his work bench and took a paint brush and paint, then painted the wood of the kart flame red.

‘Connor, your dinner’s ready,’ his mother said, standing in the doorway of the garage, arms crossed.

Connor looked at the time. He sighed, forgot to put new batteries in the clock. ‘Yeah, sure mama just gotta wash my hands.’ He looked at his kart. He would test it out after dinner.

Connor moved inside and washed his hands and dried them, then sat down to dinner.

‘Connor darling, whatever happened to your eye?’ his mother asked, concerned. ‘And you have blood down your shirt, have you been in a fight?’

Connor didn’t look at his mother, played with his food. ‘Yes mama, I was in a fight.’

His mother sighed. ‘Connor baby, whatever happened?’

‘Some kids punched and kicked me, it’s nothing mama, don’t worry about me. Look, can I go?’

‘Go where? You’ve barely touched your food. Aren’t you hungry?’

Connor shook his head. ‘No mama, I’m not. I’m sorry, excuse me.’ He stood and moved into the kitchen and stepped outside, down the side and out the side gate. He opened the garage door and moved his go kart outside onto the drive.

His mother hurried out the door, panicking. ‘Connor what are you doing?’

Connor faced his mother. ‘I’m gunna fly mama, I’m gunna show them and I’m gunna fly.’ He moved back inside and grabbed his helmet and goggles.

‘But Connor, please, listen to me,’ she pleaded. ‘You can’t fly, you’re not able to and that...that thing of yours won’t allow you to!’

Connor dumped his stuff into the kart and moved over to his mother. He took hold of her hands. ‘Listen to me mama, I need to do this, and I need to prove it to you, to them, to everyone. I will fly mama.’ He kissed her on the cheek. ‘Wish me luck.’

He moved over to his kart and started pushing it down the road.

His mother stood there, horrified, unable to go after him. ‘Connor come back! Please, Connor, please.’

Connor waved goodbye to his mother as he pushed the kart down the road and towards the seafront.

***

It was sunset by the time Connor had finally pushed his go kart to the top of the cliff. He could feel the sea breeze; taste the salt on his tongue. He heard the waves as they crashed against the rocks below and smiled. He loved that sound.

He put on his helmet and gloves and then slipped the goggles on over his helmet. He pushed the go kart back down the hill, to allow the run up and pulled out the wings on the kart.

He sat inside, pulled down the goggles and began to peddle fast, the kart moving, the wings battering against the ground. He gathered speed, the swiftly approaching the edge of the cliff. The sun was now low in the sky, bringing with it dark purples and blues.

Connor grinned; convinced he was going to fly. He reached the edge of the cliff at a fast pace.

He felt the kart go up slightly, and he pedalled as hard as he could to carry on flying. He felt the kart move downwards, felt a rush of the wind against his face as gravity clawed at his body. His fingers tightened around the steering wheel, knuckles white. The world around him turned in a colourful blur, and he became disorientated.

Vocal cords opened and he screamed as the blackness punched a hole though his senses. He didn’t feel anything as the kart smashed against the rocks.

***

‘A dog walker spotted the wreck on the beach this morning at low tide,’ the police sergeant said to Mrs Potts. ‘All they could find was these goggles. Are they your son’s?’

Mrs Potts burst into tears. ‘That’s my boy’s....my boy...is he dead?’

The sergeant nodded. ‘I’m afraid so. The coast guard is out there looking for his body now. We’re sorry for the loss of your eight year old son, Mrs Potts.’



BIO:
Pixie is a student who is new to the writing world, and writes when she can, where she can. Her work is mainly flash fiction and poems with the occasional short story. She is now however embarking on the mammoth task of writing a novel, and is finding it very daunting.
Pixie’s work can be found at http://theworksofpixiejking.blogspot.com

A DATE by Pixie J. King

Pixie's back...

A Date

He was sitting outside Tony’s tea and coffee shop watching the people and the traffic hurry by as he sipped on his coffee. It was cold. He pushed it away in disgust and glanced at his watch.

She was late.

He sighed, figured she wouldn’t come. After all, internet dating sites rarely worked, not in his experience anyway. He took off his black round spectacles and took out his hankie and cleaned the glass. He slipped them back on his chubby face and saw her sitting opposite him.

She arrived out of thin air, it seemed, bringing a cold presence with her.

He smiled. ‘I didn’t think you were coming Sheila.’

‘Sorry Charlie, the bus was late,’ she whispered. ‘I hope I didn’t worry you at all.’

He shook his head. ‘Not at all.’ He placed his hands on hers. Her hands were cold. ‘Can I get you anything?’

She withdrew her hands, looked away. ‘No Charlie, I’m fine. Thank you.’

He nodded, couldn’t help but stare at her; he was mesmerised by her snow white skin, her plump red lips and her long flaxen hair. She looked like an angel dropped from heaven. ‘I lov--’

She put her finger to his lips; her eyes were watery. ‘Charlie, stop.’ She sighed. ‘I can’t be with you. It will never work. That’s what I came here to tell you. I couldn’t tell you over the internet. I’m sorry for misleading you.’

He stared at her, nodded slowly. He felt his throat tighten, his heart sink. He stood slowly, shaking. ‘It’s okay. I knew it deep down.’ He swallowed deeply. ‘So I guess this is it then. Goodbye Sheila.’

He walked away from the coffee shop. He stepped into the road, his thoughts sloshing in his head, his heart broken, unaware of a speeding car hurtling towards him.

‘Look out!’ someone cried.

Charlie froze, heard the roar of an engine. He couldn’t move; the fear exerted from every cell in his body and kept him frozen to the floor.

‘Charlie, move!’ Sheila screamed.

Charlie slowly turned, saw Sheila’s panicked expression. He couldn’t move, immobilised by fear.

Sheila darted from the shop and pushed Charlie from the car’s path. He stumbled; crashed against the curb of the pavement.

Sheila turned back, faced the oncoming car. It was metres away now. She closed her eyes, and took the sheer force from the car as it crashed into her.

Charlie groaned, touching his head. Blood laced his fingers. He looked at the pavement where he had fallen, then the curb.

More blood.

He looked back, the car carried on speeding down the road. Sheila was nowhere to be seen. ‘Sheila?’

Passersby gave Charlie weird looks as he scrambled to his feet, clutching his bleeding head. He could have sworn Sheila pushed him out of the way.

He scanned the whole street, but she was gone.

She’d disappeared into thin air.


BIO:
Pixie is a student who is new to the writing world, and writes when she can, where she can. Her work is mainly flash fiction and poems with the occasional short story. She is now however embarking on the mammoth task of writing a novel, and is finding it very daunting.
Pixie’s work can be found at http://theworksofpixiejking.blogspot.com

WHAT TED SAW by Pixie J. King

Pixie's back with a unique little tale...

What Ted Saw


Big, friendly eyes watched from the bottom of the bed. They watched her with fear and morbid curiosity.

Brown fluffy ears heard the tearful sobs and whimpers – the sound he heard every day.

He was picked up tenderly by the paw, the child seeking him; a symbol of comfort and hope. Yet he cannot save the child.

He wondered why the alphabet blocks spell out the words ‘hurt’ and ‘pain’. He wondered why she cried herself to sleep every night. He questioned why there is a shiny object from the kitchen on the bed. He wanted to know why she is using it to cut her wrists.

He was scared she is going to die.

He saw warm blood trickle from her wrists; he felt the damp patch where she wept. He has had the thing explained to him, but he doesn’t understand.

He cannot cry out for help. His mouth is sown up.

He has to watch her die; all the while he is wondering why.

He feels so helpless. He is dying inside. Like a chilling darkness after the lights have gone out.

He is only the child’s teddy bear. He cannot help.

Just comfort her.

BIO:
Pixie is a student who is new to the writing world, and writes when she can, where she can. Her work is mainly flash fiction and poems with the occasional short story. She is now however embarking on the mammoth task of writing a novel, and is finding it very daunting.
Pixie’s work can be found at: http://theworksofpixiejking.blogspot.com
Alternatively, for a more warped version of Pixie’s thoughts, try:
http://mywarpedwaysoflife.blogspot.com/

GONE by Pixie J. King

Pixie's back...

Gone

The water was black, deep. White foamy ripples tickled the rusty iron girders below. Roaring blurs of red and orange shot past by me, not knowing or caring I existed.

The pressure had become too much. This was my only choice, only way out.

I stared down at the cold, calm water. It juxtaposed what was going on in my mind; so many decisions, so many outcomes.

My palms clung onto the piercing sting of the metal, slipping, sliding. The wind billowed, franticly pounded me, and I gasped as it prized one of my hands away from the bridge.

I desperately scrambled to cling to the framework...my palms too sweaty to keep hold.

I screamed, looked down foolishly, the sudden panic and realisation sending my mind spiralling. I didn’t want to die now, even though I had already said goodbye and stuck two fingers up at the world.

Tears felt more like knives as the wind pierced my skin, numbing my hands.

The waves seemed to spiral up, ready to consume, hungry for such a young life.

Ribbons of black and navy exploded out, the creamy foam washed over in cool, calm ripples.

Gone.


BIO:
Pixie is a student who is new to the writing world, and writes when she can, where she can. Her work is mainly flash fiction and poems with the occasional short story.
Pixie’s work can be found at http://theworksofpixiejking.blogspot.com
Alternatively, for a more warped version of Pixie’s thoughts, try http://mywarpedwaysoflife.blogspot.com/

BLACK ICE by Pixie J. King

Black Ice


The motorway was gridlocked from the Christmas Eve rush hour. Red lights and icy steam filled the roads. Angry drivers were desperate to get home from stressful office jobs.

Dexter Simmonds tapped impatiently against the steering wheel of his Nissan Terrano as he waited for his wife to answer the phone. ‘Hey honey, I may not be able to get home, the traffic isn’t moving at all. I shan’t be getting home fast anyway. Send my love to the children, take care, Dex.’

He growled; he hated talking to the answer phone.

Hours later, Dexter managed to leave the motorway, and he drove through the long country lanes home, the faint glow of the town in the distance. He couldn’t wait to see the faces of his children; they were going to love the presents he’d bought them.

Conditions on the road were treacherous, with the car’s headlights unable to penetrate through the thick fog, the darkness eating at the car’s feeble light. It had snowed the night before, the gritters unable to access the small and winding road. Beneath the glittering frost, black ice lay hidden. Heavy fog descended over the hills, hanging over the trees like a shroud.

Dexter drove carefully around the chicanes in second gear, before finally reaching a straight, but icy road. Snow drifted through the beams of his headlights. He shivered in the cold, despite having his heaters on full blast, felt the car slide along the ice. He swallowed; all he wanted to do was go home to his children. He hadn’t seen them in weeks because of his job.

He heard his mobile ring, but ignored it. He couldn’t answer it, didn’t want to take his hand off the wheel in these conditions. The ringing eventually stopped.

He wound his way around the last chicane before he reached his home town, and the phone interrupted his concentration again. This time he answered it, looked away from the road for a second.

The car jolted, skidded. He dropped the phone, fought to bring the car under control, narrowly missing the trees that surrounded him. The car rolled onto two wheels, slewed towards the edge of the cliff. Dexter laughed nervously as the car hung precariously over the edge, the darkness looming below.

He opened the door to get out, felt the car wobble slightly. He froze, frantically trying to think. He was only a few minutes away from home, he couldn’t go now. He heard his phone ring again, knew it was his wife Marie. He leaned down carefully, plucked the phone from the floor and answered it. He placed it to his ear, heard the scraping of metal against the rock.

Dexter shrieked as the car sank forward and down. The vehicle plummeted, glass smashing out of their frames, the grinding of the metal against the rock, rubble falling with him. Sparks flew out like deadly fireworks, lighting the darkness beneath him.

Dexter stiffened as he went down; felt his body being battered against the car, shards of glass slicing his skin. He heard his wife screaming on the phone. He wanted to say goodbye, but he felt his grip loosen around the phone as it smashed, images of his family flashing in his mind before the blackness took over.

The car combusted into orange and red flames, the explosion echoing through the darkness; black, deadly smoke billowing out. Tyres and debris snapped off, the deafening noise sparking an avalanche.

He was only metres away from his home.

Now he was metres away from heaven.


BIO:
Pixie is a student who is new to the writing world, and writes when she can, where she can. Her work is mainly flash fiction and poems with the occasional short story.
Pixie’s work can be found at http://theworksofpixiejking.blogspot.com
Alternatively, for a more warped version of Pixie’s thoughts, try http://mywarpedways.blogspot.com

IN THE WOODS By Pixie J. King

In The Woods


I wandered deep into the forest; wearing only jogging bottoms and a polo shirt, and the icy wind chilled my skin. I’d strayed too far from the P.E lesson and the group full of girls, and the mixture of dead and orangey golden leaves drew me deeper into the foggy bleakness of the woods.

Dark bare branches clashed against the slate-grey sky. Thick-fissured bark, cold to the touch, creaked. The blend of the snow and lack of birds made the forest eerily silent. I realised as I trampled against the sodden, frozen ground how far I had walked – too far. A wave of awareness struck me. I felt alone, just the soft crunch of my trainers against the snow to accompany me.

I gazed up at the trees as I quivered in the cold. Their vastness towered over me. Somehow they seemed claustrophobic, yet inviting, teasing me into the mysterious fog. Curiosity got the better of me, told me to investigate the half snowed in footprints before me. The musty smells from the ground urged me as I felt the snow fall from the trees onto me, blinding me momentarily.

My breath became heavier, the further I walked; the trees seemed to frown upon me. I wasn’t meant to walk out this far, no way would I hear the whistle.

A snap of a twig made me turn, and I quickly moved to the spot where the noise came from, my heart in my throat. There was a small shadow, a girl’s shadow, leaning against a tree.

I darted to a large tree, caught my foot in a large root and twisted my ankle. I covered my mouth to muffle the yelp, calmed. I propped myself against the bark, but I felt no pain. The adrenaline and the cold soaked up my pain, numbed my body.

I shuddered in the chilly temperature; breath coiled around me like ribbons of smoke as I waited. Waited for a sign, a sound.

Then I heard her gasp his name, heard fear in her voice. I know that name. I hear it every day.

I glanced around, my eyes dilated when I saw him with her. He wasn’t meant to be out here.

I heard him talk. It made my ears feel dirty, poisoned by what he told her. I saw him kiss her, push her hard against the tree. His laughter made me nauseous. The sound of tearing fabric tore my heart and I covered my mouth, not letting my breath show. Her tearless whimpers rang in my skull.

I never heard Miss Cass’ whistle; I was out too far in the forest, too far away from the lesson.

Too far out to escape this nightmare.

Now it was more than a harmless game of Hide and Seek for a P.E lesson.

I could hear his breath. It was short, quick and sickening. I heard the thud of the bat, saw him strike her. Three times. Each time my heart cried out in horror, bashing against my ribcage as he tossed the bat. It landed metres from my feet.

Her penetrating scream ripped my soul.

She was sixteen. I knew her. So did he.

His deep, low groans filtered all over the wood, reverberating down my tree, and my spine juddered within my frail body. I wanted to scream, flee, but I couldn’t move, I was stuck rigid against the tree, watching the horror unfold.

I watched his every action.

Tears flooded down my face. They felt more like daggers, slicing into my skin, the frost burning my eyes.

I wasn’t meant to be here. I’d disobeyed the rules, ventured further than I had meant to, been allowed to. They would come looking for me.

But they would be too late. She was dead. They would find her pale naked body, her face frozen in fear. He would have vanished, and no one would suspect him.

But I saw him.

He glanced up, his eyes dilating when he saw me trembling against the tree. He straightened. His expression playful yet menacing, his dark eyes smouldering with desire.

I turned to run, forgot my sprained ankle and fell hard against the frozen ground. I turned and looked up to see him leering over me, his hand ready to grab me. I opened my mouth to scream, but my throat was too tight, no sound came out.

It was just a P.E. lesson.

He was my teacher.

Bio:
Pixie is a student who is new to the writing world, and writes when she can, where she can. Her work is mainly flash fiction and poems with the occasional short story.
Pixie’s work can be found at 
http://theworksofpixiejking.blogspot.com/

Alternatively, for a more warped version of Pixie’s thoughts, try: http://mywarpedways.blogspot.com/

SWIRLS OF WONDER - by Pixie J. King

A warm welcome to fellow 'Talkbacker' and our youngest contributor to date, Pixie, who's been itching to participate for a while now. Let's encourage her folks...

Swirls of Wonder

What would you do if I died tomorrow? Would you cry? Be happy? Would you even care?

In death, I wouldn’t have any hurt, any pain. I wouldn’t have to listen to your malicious words. I wouldn’t have to take your crap any longer. I would be happy. Free.

Do you realise, what I am going through boy? To you, tears are a sign of weakness. You frown upon me and my behaviour. You make my life a living hell.

Well I’m going to keep crying these tears. Tears of pain, as I notch another mark on my arm. It cries tears of red.

My eyes are mesmerised by the crimson swirls in the bath water. Diluting slowly, like my life, until it turns bland. My mind goes black as I make the notch deeper.

Then I remember...I don’t want to die. The truth would shatter my friend’s soul. My only friend. I promised to stay strong. Just for her.

I wonder what she would think when she logs in next time, only to find I never reply. Even when she gets back.

I wonder if that boy would be happy. Now I’m dead.

I’ve broken my promise. Shit.


http://theworksofpixiejking.blogspot.com/
http://mywarpedwaysoflife.blogspot.com/