Bitchfight Part 3 of 3

Reading Time: 12 minutes


By Jenny K Brennan
Part 3 of 3
Part 2.

Includes violence and a shitload of bad words. Be warned.

Part 3

The ring was thick, hard, and would not open. It pulled at the skin around the scarred knot and tore through flesh and Kris howled , by instinct pulling away and off Denny, and that’s when the ring opened and ripped free in a gush of fresh blood. Forgetting the weapon, Kris rushed to her feet, turned and kicked. Denny rolled away but Kris followed, kicking without aim, at her back, head, anywhere. She had one hand clutched at her bleeding stomach and was unable to aim so she turned and staggered a few steps, stopped several meters from Denny, ragged stuttering breathing slowed, turned shallow and regular, almost inaudible, as she took back a bit of control over muscles and purpose.

She turned, raised the trembling gun and pulled the trigger.

Denny rolled away from the viscious but ineffectual kicks and the ground fell away from beneath her . She scrambled and twisted, stopped falling. Hainging over the edge of the platform with both legs and the lower diagonal of her ass, she stayed for only a second. Glaring adverts looked down at her sprawling agony with bright smiles and suggestive promises. “promotional text for life insurance here.”
. body burned. She couldn’t move. The agony was exquisite, so sharp her stomach turned. Even her shallow breathing spiked the pain for each inhale. She forced herself to lie still, but she knew she had to move. Sounds of steps moved away from her, but not far. They stopped. Other steps moved in another direction, hurried, shuffling. She looked towards the sound. She caught a blurry glimpse of a cowering shape as it moved out of sight up the stairs. The old drunk had made his escape in the momentary stillness. She closed her eyes. Thanks for the fucking help asshole. The thought was bitter, the light too sharp to be stopped by her eyelids, the tile cold and hard, slick with patches of blood. She squeezed her eyes hard but opened them wide as the danger hit her. Where was she?
She fought against a new assault of pain from her back. A wave of nausea burned its way through her body and she broke out in cold sweat.

She had to move. But everything was quiet, or drowned out by hissing air, her own pounding heart. She couldn’t hear her. Where the hell was she? The pain was fading though. Just a bit. She lay on her side and she could see the floor stretching out before her until it ended abruptly. The tracks. Where was the other track? She heard a sound, a step? A breath? A laugh? Denny didn’t think, she rolled away from the kick she knew with absolute certainty would come. It didn’t. The ground fell away from under her. She had rolled onto the very edge of the station platform and one leg was now hanging in mid air, pulling at the rest of her, twisting her back. The pain exploded anew as her spine turned and stretched. She scrambled and clawed at the floor in panic. She turned her upper body to get back on the platform, on the safe surface. It all happened in an instant and the surge of adrenalin and pure panic made her move. She got her leg away from the edge and rolled panting and groaning onto her stomach. Just as the momentum caused her head to drop down on the cold tile, something whistled in her ear and a sharp crack echoed in the large space. She felt a fresh stream of blood run down her face and she raised a hand to the wet warmth as she stared at the shattered tile just centimeters from her face. Her heart pounded as she pulled out a ceramic splinter from the soft flesh just below the right eye. She couldn’t move. Paralyzed, chocked. Not understanding.

“Get the fuck up bitch!”
Kris watched the pathetic creature, the stuck up bitch, pull something out of her face. The forehead had swollen up and most of the face was already smeared in blood. Now there was fresh red stuff oozing out of a brand new hole in that pretty cock-sucking face.
“Not so pretty anymore are you?” Kris spoke with a calm that was long practiced but as false as water. The gun was steady in her hand. It had a perfect grip, it was made for her. Anyone who refused to listen would listen when this baby spoke. Matt black polymer grip. The weight of the gun was perfect for her small hand. She moved the barrel sideways, slowly, along the entire length of Denny. Blue eyes followed the movement, back and forth. Staring silently. She didn’t move.
“That’s right Bitch. You didn’t know I had one did you?” Kris laughed.

She knew that gun. Through her own shallow breathing she could hear a keening sound, a hoarse whine. Someone shouted. Someone else spoke rapidly from some distance away. The voices mattered not. Not through the pitchy sound that seemed to flow out of the darkness of a barrel of a gun. The endless void that stared at her. Kris screamed and the blackness trembled somewhat before it steadied itself into its cold stare. It glared at her. A small black circle in the control of a…. a what? Kris sidestepped, waved the gun, and stepped back into position. The entire front of her shirt was drenched in blood. The baseball cap had fallen off at some point and was not in sight. Kris’s hair was cut short in the neck and sides, left unruly and messy on top and dyed deep purple and black. She was fit. One could see that now. Perhaps she wouldn’t have picked a fight if she had known this woman for what she had become. A fighter. A hateful pit-bull, with a gun. One smiled inwardly at her own stupidity.

Then she was still. Calm and cold. Nothing but a dog, a bitch. Someone who should be put down for her own good and everyone else’s safety.
She knew that gun. She remembered. The other woman wanted her to get up. She would get up. She spread her palms on the cold tile and pushed up. The dislocated disc in her lower back set every nerve on fire, broke every barrier of pain but she ignored it.
She struggled to her feet. Slowly, she got up on her knees, watching the maniacs one-eyed murderer that stared at her, held her in check. Her hand slipped in a puddle of fresh blood and she screamed from the pain. She realized then, that she had been screaming all along. That keening had been her. She bit off the scream and made it up on her feet, forced into a hunching posture as her back didn’t work. She took a steadying breath and stood up as straight as she could and moved her eyes from the gun to a set of blue eyes so like hers, so different from hers. So full of rage. So full of fear. Why was she afraid? She was the one with the gun after all. Denny felt something rise in her. As it rose, something else fell away. Decision. The end result. It was coming. She was coming. Finally. At long last, she found her voice. Calm although ragged.
“Kel-tek p36.” She kept her eyes on the face watching her, noticed the eyes widen in surprise. It showed only for a moment, but it was there, the fear. She knew that what she had never admitted would finally be told.
“Don’t you remember?” Suddenly she smiled. It was a grim sight where only few patches of pale skin remained visible in a mask of glistening and drying blood. Kris took an involuntary step back. . Denny stepped away from the edge— one step, another —towards the weapon and its mistress. The gun trembled again, the barrel lost its perfect aim but it was still point blank deadly.
“You showed it to me that night. Don’t you remember?” Another step, another retreat.

Kris didn’t realize she was backing up to start with. She was too numb. She heard the words. That bitch was talking about that night. That night. Which night? Daddy. She shook her head. No, it was all a lie. The cunt came closer. Too close. She jerked her arm forward and pulled the trigger. But she was shaking. That night. Daddy didn’t mean it. Fresh blood exploded out of a small hole in Ones left shoulder and she reeled back but didn’t stop. The bullet had only penetrated the soft flesh on the outer edge of the shoulder and had done little damage. One gasped and looked down at the ragged hole in her fancy sweater. But she didn’t fucking stop. Shouts were nearer now. Panicked, calming, desperate cursing.
“Call the fucking cops you asshole!” Shrill shouts, frightened whispers.
“There’s no fucking signal in here. Someone has to get someone. Don’t they have security here? Why isn’t anyone coming?”
“I’m not going past those fucking maniacs. Are you stupid? That’s a real fucking gun!” The voices faded in and out. Faded totally.

Denny took another step while tearing her eyes from her ruined sweater. She didn’t look at the gun now. She stared into Kris’s face and a look of mocking disbelief came over her. Her eyes widened and she raised one hand to point at her arm.
“You ruined my favorite sweater you bitch.” She pulled her upper lip back and showed her teeth.
“Now, why would you do that?” She tore her eyes from the other woman for a split second and closed her eyes. Just a blink. Just a moment when all became clear. And it was all so perfectly clear now. It had all been heading this way, moving relentlessly to this moment. Was always the way it would end and nothing could stop this. Not now.
She listened. Heard something. Everything was pain. But physical pain. Physical pain didn’t matter. The body didn’t matter. Perfection and appeal didn’t matter anymore. Perhaps it had never mattered, had only been a mask. She listened again. Yes, it was coming. She listened to Kris’s breathing. It was shallow, had an undertone of a moan, a whining, deep in her throat. The gun trembled.
“You said you would use that gun on your Daddy Kristina, don’t you remember? You would take it and use it for what he did to you.” Denny faltered for a second as Kris gasped and took yet another step back. One staggered, and it brought her closer. Closer to the gun that shook, steadied, exploded in a ringing echo among the screams of people watching in shock. Kris keening increased, louder, a pitiless whine totally out of her control, beyond stopping. A sound from deep within her chest, her body, her mind.

She didn’t stop. The cock-sucking liar kept coming.
“No!” She had missed again. What was wrong with her? What was wrong with her arm? She couldn’t keep it still. She uttered a groan of pain, of frustration, of memories biting its way out of cage after cage of suppressed shame and fear and unconditional love. Unstoppable realization. Forgetfulness shattered. Unaware of her own keening. Not realizing that she could have pulled the trigger many times over by now. But she couldn’t. Something was wrong with her hand.

Denny listened, stepped forward, calculated.
“But you never did anything to your daddy did you? You just let him fuck you didn’t you? And then you let him fuck me you fucking cunt. I thought you were a friend. You let your daddy do….” She had no more voice. She couldn’t talk as something broke inside. She choked off the last words. She closed her eyes for a moment as she calmed her breathing. There was nothing more to say. Nothing more to do. She was lost. They were lost. The rumbling of the coming train increased, grew louder. She listened, waited. She had nothing more to say.

Kris’s keening stopped was replaced with a deafening silence. Even the kids were quiet. One watched the eyes change. She knew what it meant. Cold control had taken charge once more. Back to denial, back to forgetting what couldn’t be forgotten. Yes. She was taking control again. There was not much time. She was getting ready. She had had enough. One kept her eyes on the eyes that narrowed, the mouth that suddenly grinned. She looked at her friend. The edge of the platform, the tracks. The gun stared at her, steady, moving upwards until it once more had a perfect aim. But the gun was pointing at her chest, not her head. One more step and she would have been able to reach out to touch the cold metal. But she didn’t take another step. She wouldn’t have to. She was close enough. Kris tightened her grip, tensed the finger, squeezed. Kel-tec, no double action trigger, there was no more time.

Denny threw herself at her former friend, her former alter ego, her childhood confidant, the betrayer. The traitor. The hate, the resentments stored for all this time. As she threw her body, the trigger made its initial catch, the click that meant imminent firing. Kris took another step back and squeezed, pulled, point blank. The momentum was too strong and although the bullet entered Denny’s chest, it passed through just below the collar bone and only managed to turn the approaching body sideways somewhat.

Then she was over her, arms wrapping themselves around her neck. Held her, pushed her backwards. She pulled the trigger. Denny’s stomach acted as sound suppressant and muffled the fatal shot. But they were already falling. The gun exploded again, killing what was already dead, but the momentum had already taken them both over the edge of the platform. They were falling. The gun fired one last time into Denny’s soft ruined flesh, dying flesh.

Denny’s dying gasps, the shots, Kris’s anguished scream of shocked realization, was all drowned out by the approaching train. In that endless second as they fell towards the tracks, everything was bottomless black grief. The final grief. Kris’s grief. The final moment. She hit the electrified track and her heart burned its last beat as she fried on the rails. The train bore down on them, Kris friends embracing one another for the last time. As the warning whistle roared and tons of steel bore down on them, they could no longer hear it.

Something new stood at the very edge of the platform, looking down on the sad remains on the tracks below, partly concealed by the silent train. Emergency medics, station staff and police officers surged around her, passed her, passed through her. They paid no attention to her. She was not really there. She was only the essence of the Kris recently dead below. Not quite there, not quite gone, but getting stronger. Her hands were loosely clasped in front of her. Shoulder length hair billowed slightly in a wind that was not there. She tilted her head to one side and smiled gently, dreamily shutting her eyes and sighed. It was a sigh as from a million ghosts. Ghosts of fluttering silken wings of memory where the edges had burned away. Dreams, wishes and released resentments. A collected gasp of absolute freedom sounded in the almost there. The place that was void but close, near but unreachable.

An ambulance driver, fed up with waiting in the vehicle and now standing at the bottom of the stairs smoking a cigarette, paused as he moved his nicotine stained fingers to his lips. He shuddered and looked around. He was searching for something he didn’t know existed, feeling it.

A medical doctor, kneeling next to the blackened torso and head of Kristina Andersson, felt his grip on the useless stethoscope weaken and it dropped back on his white clad chest. His breath caught for a moment and he looked around, searching for something that must have disturbed him.

Tad Peters, The teenager that was the only one in the group with a cell phone, a useless cell phone, jerked his head towards something, he didn’t know what. Something had caught his attention. There was something there. At the very edge of the platform. But there was nothing there. He had watched them fall. He had taken a step, a useless step and then he had turned around. He had held his phone, staring blankly at the signal indicator that suddenly went from no bars to Kris, then three. In a moment, the signal had reached full power.

. Something flowed through everyone present, although no one would know what had made their heart skip a beat, or what had caused the shiver, the sudden hesitation, a shudder through bones and earth. Then stillness.

For a few moments, as time held still in reverence, the essence of Denny and Kris came together in a blast of universal energy, fused, melded, and grew into something vaster than the individual parts had ever been.

Time started, remembered its duty. The she who simply was, now took a name; she would be name, so much more than her fragmented selves could have ever imagined, turned and started walking away, moved slowly over the tiled floor and started up the stairs. For each step she became more real. Each second she collected more flesh and blood. For each step she materialized, came together, atom by atom, cell by cell, she became clearer, more solid. At the bottom of the stairs she was only a strange refraction of the light for those who would have seen her. Half way up the stairs, a soft whisper of steps could have been detected if it had been quiet, and she would have been seen by keen eyes if they knew where to look. At the top of the stairs, she reached out to touch the railing and she felt the cold metal against her skin.

Someone did see her then. An old man, worn by a life of addiction, saw a ghostly shape solidifying, each moment becoming clearer. Faded watery eyes watched her colors sharpen for each breath and He raised a bottle to his mouth and drank greedily, getting some but far from all of the clear liquid down his throat. He blamed a life of alcohol for imagining flowing hair suddenly settle around the shoulders, taking on a shine and luster he suddenly and violently wished he could touch. He blamed the poison that was his life for imagining a ghost becoming real before him, skin losing translucency, clothing achieving texture, Shoes friction against floor suddenly creating real sound.

The woman turned her head as she passed him. She stopped and regarded him for a moment, meeting his eyes with hers. The serene look on her face made him stop breathing for a moment, overwhelmed by all that was lost, all that was broken, all that could still be fixed. Hope surged through him when she smiled and put her palm against the side of his face. A warm, living hand. A soft vibrant touch. She looked at him for a long moment, just keeping her hand motionless against his sagging skin, herself not moving, not hearing, or not caring, about the noises around the Kris. People hurried about, some descending the stairs to the place of recent death, some standing in shocked silence or murmured conversation.
She spoke then. Her voice was real, no ghost, no apparition. It was not much more than a whisper but he heard it clearly and he would never forget.

“It is never too late.”

Thank you for reading.

If you are so inclined, please leave your comments here. 🙂

Subscribe below to get notified of all the strange stuff going on here.


A Gal Eerie of Desire – Part 5 of 5 — Private Exhibit

Reading Time: 13 minutes

A Gal Eerie of Desire

Jenny K Brennan

Part 5 of 5
Read Part 4 – Saturday exhibit here.

Mild Explicit warning. This is for adult readers and don’t say I didn’t warn you. Enjoy.

5. Private exhibit

I felt, as from far away, my body being pulled back, the door slammed shut in my face, and the nightmare scene vanished from sight, if not from my mind. My world turned end over end as I fought confusion and an urgent need to throw up. I didn’t just see…. That? What?
I stood facing the closed door, absolutely still, staring at dark wood, but seeing beyond the door. I would never forget. My own heart was loud in my head, pounding frantically as if it would leap out of my chest along with the lunch I would surely lose any moment. Digging my fingernails into my palms, I tried to control my ragged breathing, calm down. I had to think.
I had to get away; I needed to leave this place, where one second I had everything I all of a sudden wanted more than anything, and the next all was madness. I was dreaming; must be seeing things.
There had to be an explanation. Some trick of the light, some elaborate joke, smoke and mirrors. Oh hell, holograms. , Just a sick joke. I didn’t believe it. Drugged, yeah, fuck this! If this was what it was like to suck acid, I didn’t want any part of it. What did I say back there? Oh, yeah now I remember; I said run! I said, go home. I said…
It was time to end this, get a grip. Anger finally caught up with me, at the helplessness. I couldn’t let her dig her claws in my brain anymore. I turned to her, raising my hands in defense, protection against a threat I didn’t understand. Her eyes…
Don’t look.

I looked. And I lost myself in wells of pitch and shattered glass, treacherous and sharp, unforgiving and endless. I opened my mouth, but what I had thought I might say stuck in my throat.
They bore into me, those eyes. Stripped me naked, scraped me raw, those misty blue, beautiful eyes. They smoothed my nerves, soothed my mind, and calmed my fear.

“Ash?” I breathed. Thoughts dissolved in a sudden bliss, leaving a gentle curiosity. “Ash, who are you?” I whispered. Who am I?

“You are mine.” Ash said. “And I am she.” she continued, placed her hands don’t touch me on my face, held it so I couldn’t look away. As before, her stare burned into me, probed me, and the gruesome collection on the other side of the door mellowed into normality. A party of brass sculptures, nothing more. What was so strange about that?
Living shadows? Statues that change? No, not strange at all. I didn’t know and didn’t care.
If eyes were windows to the soul, her soul was eternal, infinite, demanding, but oh so sweet. Bits and pieces of rational thought, snippets of memory, and fragments of unease floated around my mind, but they were all so disjointed and vague, could hardly matter.

All was well. I brought my hands up and placed them on top of hers. I thought I heard a brittle sound of glass breaking. It didn’t seem important. A tiny flicker of annoyance flashed across her face; did it? If it did, it vanished just as fast. So beautiful, so lovely.

Slowly, she touched her lips to mine, quick and light like a breath, a breath I craved, sucked greedily from. She stood still for a moment and I breathed her air. She would be mine, I knew it.
What is it really that you know? I ignored the nagging voice of reason.
She drew back, liberated her hands from under mine, and smiled. I came to think of my drink. I held a glass of something sweet and alcoholic. I raised it to my lips and stared blankly at a hand, supposedly my own. It was empty. My mouth was parched, my tongue felt swollen and sticky. In my head, where thoughts usually took form, there was soggy sponge. I couldn’t speak with a mouth full of sawdust and sand.
But that was all right, and so I smiled, because I found the glass —in a pretty hand, supposedly hers. She held it for me and I placed my hand around it, tightened my fingers. Slowly, not too hard, carefully. Then I waited for her to release the treasure. It was ok. I liked having my hand so close to hers.
She frowned and oh such a perfect frown she had. So pretty. She released the glass and I drank, blinked.
I looked at my feet, wondering where those feet had been just a moment ago. I noticed another pair of feet. Naked feet attached to ankles, pretty pretty feet. I had to admire those feet for a little while. So very pretty feet.
Comfortably numb, I slowly raised my oh so heavy head and met her eyes. The perfect frown deepened into a scowl. She snapped her fingers.

I looked her up and down, thinking about leather mini skirts and her perfect tits and sweet sweet ass. I noticed the glass in my hand and drank. Good stuff. Didn’t recognize the taste but it was excellent horse-piss if that’s what it was.
She gestured for me to follow. I glanced back at the closed door, feeling something slither and slip from my mind; not important. I shook my head and drank, emptied my glass. I looked around to find a flat surface to set the glass on but found nothing.

I stood in a hall, not unlike the one where I had entered Ash’s place, but narrower, darker, and not yet completely filled with art. Individual light fixtures above each of the four large paintings along the left wall provided the only light, leaving the rest of the space in shadow. From where I stood I couldn’t see them and I glanced at Ash who raised her glass in a toast and smiled.
“My private little show.” She sipped her drink, watching me intently.
I raised mine and it brimmed with sparkling amber. Nice. Curious, but nice. She must have filled it. But when? She hadn’t move. Had she? Did it matter? Watching her smile, nothing mattered.

She moved to the first large canvas in a massive frame. I joined her, for the first time aware of her perfume, a fresh sweet blend of wild flowers and berries, of dark earth and musk. Decay. I inhaled the scent of her. She motioned to the wall and I pulled my eyes from her, reluctantly turning my head, and that’s when I saw her. A few drops of the drink were lost to the carpet.
My breathing caught; she stood right there. It was her; the sight of her naked shimmering flesh assaulted my nerves, blood, burned its way to my cock, bypassing my brain. I gulped air, felt that I should be embarrassed, but I wasn’t. It’s only a painting, just a fucking picture. You can get worse in any corner store.
No. This was something different. What was depicted in the scene, perfectly captured in oils, was utter desire. The essence of need. In the picture she stood on a small hill, naked feet rooted in a carpet of pine needles scattered with scavenged pine combs. She stood with one arm reaching for a tall, fair-haired man who stood just beyond her reach. He was naked as well and he had his feet firmly placed in dark soil below the hill with arms crossed in front of his face. He stood half turned away, seemed to look at something beyond her, in the distance. Ash’s head was tilted slightly back,with soft nearly translucent lips partly open. A desperate need in her face, her lips, grabbed me, as if I was the target for her grasping hand and not the man in the painting. I’ve seen him before. She pleaded with eyes and body; her nipples, red and hard, begged to be touched. A hand placed below her navel spread fingers in a trembling want to touch. They didn’t quite reach, and never would. Shadow fingers reached further and in defiance, they performed a shadowy caress at the center of her need.
As a loose border around the small hill, yellow tulips grew. Further into the landscape, beyond the humans, millions of daisies surrounded two small piles of soil. Tiny Details too small to be palpable, gradually became unmistakable; they were two very small, haphazardly assembled wooden crosses. A chill ran down my spine and I shuddered. Two small graves. In a sea of daisies. Something tugged at recent memories but dots refused to join. There was something undeniably disturbing about the scene within the scene.

A feathery touch on the top of my hand brought me out, shattered the unease in me and I smiled. “Amazing.” My voice sounded all wrong and I swallowed further comments.
She softly hushed me and ushered me to the next painting. A different man, darker in skin and hair, wiry and lean. Ash was there, still the image of want. The man stood close to her on a different hill. Grass, fragile and fresh, fought for room to grow among thistles and an assortment of rocks and pebbles. He touched her face, gently caressing. His thumb stroked the bottom of her lower lip, fingers spread across the side of her face and tangled in flaming hair. She leaned into his embrace with gaze fixed and intent on what she saw, and lips parted to reveal a tongue tip tasting the air.
A bed of green grey foliage with thousands of small white flowers surrounded the hill. A soft breeze seemed to move through the hall, bringing a whiff of something. I couldn’t quite place it; it faded and disappeared just as it came to me— lavender.
I glanced at Ash; her expression was something between smug and impatient as she observed the art. She frowned, reached out a manicured nail, and scratched lightly on the painting; the nail traced the man’s spine, the dark line splitting a clenched ass, scrotum, and tightly defined thigh. A shiver ran down my spine and I cringed as the nail scraped a thin line of paint off the tip of his semi-erect penis.
“What…”, I managed before I was pulled from the image, wondered what in the hell that was supposed to mean. It suddenly struck me that these were her creations; she was the artist. How did I not see that before? And if she needed to scrape paint off a dick, I shuddered at the thought, then why shouldn’t she be allowed to?
Still, I felt uneasy, and something nagged, something was wrong. My body didn’t ache with desire, in fact, I was cold and clammy. Ill. I wondered if I should take a rain check. I really wasn’t feeling so good.
Ash moved in front of me, searched my eyes, and I was lost once more.

“Just two more, Roger, and then you will know.“ She glanced around. “Yes, these are all mine.” Her voice took on an edge, a sliver of disapproval, “It is hard work, and every piece must be perfect, Roger, don’t you see? I choose with care. But I didn’t choose you. You chose me. I may have made a mistake.” Her face hardened as did her voice. “Did I make a mistake Roger?”

Dazed, I shook my head, turned to the painting.
A woman with skin like smooth chocolate joined her this time. The Ash of oil smiled, soft moist lips opened a fraction. She had her back to me but looked over her shoulder, hands held in front of her chest, out of sight. Hair like a waterfall of ember, fire, and coal, fell free down a slightly arched back. As in defiance, the posture was tense; breasts pushed forward, shoulder blades pulled back. She offered her body to the woman kneeling in front of her.
A dark slender hand gripped Ash’s hip, the other, the soft pale flesh of her inner thigh. A swell of black hair sparkled in cloud-shredded moonlight.
Behind the kneeling woman, a Belladonna towered over a cowering patch of forget me nots, poisonous purple blooms nodded at their subjects.
My eyes lingered at the perfect curve of her spine, where it ended in the dark crack, leading to the dark warm moisture, the place that my imagination couldn’t do justice. Where the woman had her face, her mouth, lips and tongue.
The dark beauty sucked, licked, tasted Ash’s endless desire. Black shiny hair, No, not shiny, not totally smooth, It was tangled, rough and frayed. Those slender fingers… Sliding along a vest lining.

A sticky strip of sandpaper aggravated my tongue and I gulped the rest of my drink.
I swallowed. I sucked air, felt dizzy. I Mellowed, forgot.
Ash moved to stand before me and touch my face. Heat surged, and I closed my eyes. Her lips touched mine, softly, gently, before pulling away. I opened my eyes, found her looking at me, inspecting her specimen. What do you want?
She took my hand and pulled me toward the last picture.
Alone on the hill, a matt of blooming rhododendron her bed; Flowers in every color From pure white to deep red surrounded her body, caressing it, turning their petals toward her. Contrasting oddly, a single Krokus at the bottom of the hill wilted, leaning into a sad looking snapdragon bush surrounded by dead petals.
She lay on her belly, staring at me. Alive, they were alive. Her head rested on her arms with hands concealed in the foliage. A smile played on pursed lips. I could kiss those lips. She wants me too. And I could almost taste it. She has teeth. She would bite my Tongue off.
And the lips parted just a little bit. Did they? No. Yes, she wants you to see her
teeth. I shook my head but the buzzing persisted. Marvelous soft lips glistened with moisture and the tip of her tongue pressed against the bottom of her front teeth. Had it looked like that the whole time? Of course it had. Fuck no!
My eyes moved to the previous paintings. Look at them, just fucking look. I didn’t want to look. But there they were, and suddenly I knew them; Tall blond and handsome, Viking, shorter, dark and fit, Squib, hot coco with her dreadlocks and pierced tongue. The jewelry was gone, she was stripped naked, and the hair…. What did she do to your hair?
Something flickered just beyond my peripheral vision and I turned to Ash. She pulled her hand behind her back, too quickly for me to see what, if anything, she had there. I glanced up, felt the strain more than saw it; a tightening of lines, a hardening of curves in her face, a narrowing of eyes. Just a flicker, only a stray shadow.
She is not what she seems. Then it all smoothed, softened, brightened and her smile was back. My hand trembled, moved without me asking it to. No, she can’t do this… The glass was at my lips. Stop it for fucks sake, stop…

I drank. Everything softened, nothing prickled, dark was light, pain was bliss. All was well.
“It must be, Roger, do you not see?”
I nodded. It had to be. No, a feeble remnant of sanity whined. No. It shattered when she spoke.

“You may touch me now Roger.”
At those words, every restraint lifted, and I pulled her toward me, lowered my head and kissed her. She took over. With poorly restrained hurry she took possession of my mouth, teasing, touching, murmuring, and pulling back when I came closer. Arms crept up and around my neck, sharp fingernails raking, scraping my scalp, gripping hair and collar indiscriminately. Probing my mouth with her tongue, drawing back, pressing, and biting, something slicing my lower lip. Biting into me. I knew there should be pain. Her breasts pressed flat against my chest and there was no air. But I had no need for oxygen. She tasted me, nibbling gently on my lower lip to suddenly suck on it, pull pain from deep in my flesh, making it rush through my body, turning to heat. It focused and shoved me hard to the point of orgasm, and I pushed hard, pulled hard, to feel her closer. Pull her into me.
It was so close, but impossible. I would happily let my load go, in my pants, I wanted to, but It wouldn’t. Sucking my blood. My lip numbed although I knew it was shredded, torn open. I gasped and pulled back to breathe and smelled copper mixed with sweat. Warmth dribbled down my chin.
I stared into her eyes, her shining, hungry dark eyes. I pushed forward. Pressed my lips hard against hers, probing her mouth, sucking her tongue, tasting blood. My blood. Drew her breath, her heat, into me. The dress was in the way, the stupid silk refused to be torn. When I pulled the skirt to lift it, it slipped out of my hands. Damn that dress.
Damn her to hell.
She pulled back from me and I gasped for air, struggling to regain some shred of control. The silk in her bodice was like a second skin on her heaving chest. I just looked at her, sucking up the scent of her. It was stronger now, metallic and heavy, intoxicating. Rotting. Closing her eyes, opening her mouth, she stopped breathing for a spell, licking her lips. She stepped back. I tried to follow but my limbs wouldn’t obey.
She opened her eyes, suddenly calm, with a rosy flush on her cheeks, and lips a deeper shade of red. She pursed them and nodded at the painting again.

It took me a long dizzying moment to gather scattered bodily functions, and order my neck and head to follow her lead.
She indicated a tiny brass plaque in the corner of the heavy frame. It said: “Unfinished.”

She brightened the room and the rest of my life with a brilliant smile— one of expectation. She glowed like a child on Christmas morning, too eager to wake up to be able to sleep. And she wanted to show me something. Something amazing, something of hers. There was no question in my mind what that special thing would be, so I took her hand and smiled. A flicker of shadow in the painting caught my eye, and faded from my mind. A sense of a shadow of a shade, twitching, didn’t seem important as I looked into endless depths of deep blue shadow that were her eyes. I heard her speak. For the last time I listened to her voice and knew finally who, what, that voice belonged to. It was too late though. It was so much easier to hear something different, something beautiful.
Something human.
“We must finish it.” she said.
6. Final installment
As Ash led Roger Kyle to a door that he hadn’t noticed, approaching the place where he had known he would end up since the first time he saw her, her smile widened and distorted into wire hard tendency and bone; blackened flesh and skin torn and rotting around a hungry grin. He saw only the woman he wanted to see, the illusion he had embraced.

The dress finally fell away from her body in brittle pieces of cracked skin; rags drenched in perfumes, oils, a variety of beverages, and rubbed with pieces of food. Parts sown together with a braid of hair here, or a slip of stained sheet or clothing there, fell apart. A scrap of tarnished silver and a misshapen gold earring were the last items to fall on the floor. A trail of debris containing all mediums necessary to create the image, to provide the picture with all the elements of illusion, lead from the unfinished painting to a door marked “Studio”.
The figure grew taller, thinner, formed sores and oozing crevices, spots of course black hair and limbs and digits no human would ever get a chance to count.

As the door opened and Roger entered his final nightmare, the woman in the unfinished picture came to life. She turned on her side. Her chest filled once and she parted her lips. What came out of her grotesquely changing mouth was a multitude of voices mixing into a pained choir. It morphed into a shriek of glee that shattered the silence. Shadows shifted and twitched in distress. The sound coughed and gurgled before condensing into shrill staccato laughter, scratchy and hoarse. A sorrowful answer came; a soaring elegy for the one joining the gallery of desire.
Ashtoreth, the painting that was Ash, created by ash, shifted and raised her hands, revealing the tools she had kept hidden. She began her task. Ambient music and echoes from the underworld mixed with sounds of stone on metal, honing it, perfecting the edge, preparing the final scene.
In the gallery, shadows quivered and shrank back into themselves. Frightened whispers echoed through the room, spread to the next gallery of statues, and the next, and the next.
The unearthly chorus of agony swelled and tore at the fragile shell of humanity still lingering in the rest of the building. Restless stirrings, jittery irritation and paranoia touched all of those present.
The tortured howl from captured souls didn’t fade until much later. Not until the ripping and slashing had stopped. Not until the begging and pleading had proven futile and a man’s screams of horror and pain became weak wet keening, then faded.

Silence didn’t fall until the artist at long last completed the preparation of the motif; the still-life that would finish painting number four.
In the studio, among brushes and paints, canvas and unused frames, rags and solutions, in the middle of a pile of clothes recently belonging to a man owning a Toyota, the she fisted her hand at her lips as she let out a delicate little burp. Then she yawned and stretched out, her naked skin shimmering softly in light from a single flickering candle.

She let herself relax and soften, sleepy, satisfied. She yawned again, pinched out the candle with two fingers, and started drifting toward sleep. It had been a tiresome four days after all. And tomorrow she would paint.

***End ***

Hope you like this little creation of mine. Please leave a comment. Good or bad. Tell me what you think.
Thank you for reading and do come back soon. 🙂

JennyK Brennan
Jasper Ontario Canada 2014

Don’t miss all the other good stuff on Studio Chaotic. Subscribe by email here.


A Gal Eerie of Desire – Part 4 of 5 — Saturday Exhibit

Reading Time: 14 minutes

A Gal Eerie of Desire

Jenny K Brennan

Part 4 of 5

Part 3.
Part 5.

No real explicit warning this time. Enjoy.

Part 4 — Saturday exhibit

Twenty-four hours later, at a quarter to five; I pulled in to a deserted parking lot in front of Thomas Plaza, and just sat for a while. I looked at myself in the rear view mirror, wondered for the thousands time what I was doing there. I combed through my not too shabby looking sandy blond hair, pulled my lips back; teeth ok. Nice shave. I had checked all of it, and passed inspection on several trips to the hall mirror in my nervous pacing around the flat before leaving home.

I bent my head to sniff my armpits again, when an elderly woman walked past, peering suspiciously through the car window. I smiled and waited until she finally shuffled out of sight. Yeah, I know, but don’t worry; I’m just a perfectly ordinary pervert sitting in a car waiting for old ladies to molest. Nothing to worry about, Granny. I should have known better though. I wondered how the story would go later, in the knitting circle.

I opened the door and stepped out on hot asphalt, hesitated and looked around. I knew it was the place, the street was right; the building was numbered, even named. The apartment building was the only residential building along Thomas Avenue and stood several stories taller than the abandoned warehouse half a block away.
A sad looking strip of forest surrounded the complex. Brush and weed crept along abandoned pathways and invited by cracking pavement, it would not stop at the edge of the parking lot for much longer. Branches, leaves, and miscellaneous trash invaded the empty lot and the small cement playground where a tire swing hung from rusty chains, and painted metal bars in strange configurations had stood in silence for many years.
The street was quiet, and despite the proximity to the city center, I heard nothing. I stood still and strained my ears; I heard traffic, but it sounded far away.

I glanced around. In the distance above low industrial blocks of ugliness, was the tip of the water tower, over the other way, beyond straggly elms poking up behind the warehouse; I saw the top floor of the Radio Tower with its unmistakable crowded roof, where satellite discs and other metal monstrosities chattered ceaselessly in their airwave lingo. I was in the middle of the city, but far from it.
I sighed and headed toward the front door. Although the impression it gave was of neglect and outdated architecture, Plaza, my ass, it didn’t seem abandoned. A fluttering curtain caught my eye, indistinct laughter drifted out from an open window, cut short, leaving the silence more deafening than before.
I pulled open the massive front door and as I stopped to stare, it hit me in the back where I had stopped dead. You’ve gotta be kidding me.

What I had just entered was not, could not, be in the same dimension as the one I had just left. I jerked around and pushed the door wide, glared at the outside. Stilll there, the real world. Filthy concrete slab acting as a front step, a pile of rotting leaves, an empty coke bottle, and a trashed plastic bag. Over there, the Toyota. I turned to the lobby again and stepped all the way through and allowed the door to close behind me.
Before me was Mirror polished granite floors, brass handrails and polished mahogany with details in something that looked like cast iron. Not a speck of dust, not a stain, no trash. The only smell in there was the stink of filthy rich, vague but unmistakable.
“Might I be of assistance, Sir?” a reedy old voice croaked from behind a tray of glasses.

“Refreshment, Sir?”

I almost laughed, but couldn’t quite get it out. The thin little man waited patiently for me to do something.

Ok, if this was the game, I could play too. I grinned, took a glass from the tray and waved him off in my best imitation of eighteenth century upper class snobbery. “I am here to meet with Lady Ash.” I snorted through my chuckle.

The servant didn’t move a muscle. “Of course Mr. Kyle, the lady will be expecting you.” he said and faded into servitude invisibility.

Oh my god. What is this place?
I sipped my drink. Maybe I shouldn’t, it could be anything, but what the hell, and this was just too much.
I searched for hints about who lived in the building, but found nothing. It was nothing if not a mansion, a magnificent staircase ascended to upper levels that lay in darkness. Next to the base of the staircase, esthetically and technically out of place, was the elevator. With its dull metal door, small safety glass window and worn rubber and steel fittings, it stood out like a sore thumb among the elegant luxury. Old mansions didn’t have elevators, but what the hell. I brought out the note, to check the apartment number again. I fingered the paper but found it hard to focus on the words. My eyes kept darting away from them, up and around, sucking up the shine. A chandelier with a million glittering phasets, a gilded frame glowing in the light from a single candle on a small marble table placed below the painting. The motif alluded me. I didn’t want to look. There was something about that picture. I raised the paper again and forced my eyes to move to it. The whispery voice snuck up on me from behind.

“That would be on the fourteenth floor, Sir.”, the old man said and faded again.

“Thanks, I think.” I muttered, not just a little unnerved by the butler guy. I turned to the lift, drained my drink, and got my legs moving. Elevator… Ok, up I go, even if I was a card short of a full deck. Or perhaps all cards were missing but the joker. I sighed, so be it.

For each second riding the elevator, the image of the lobby seemed to dim, dissipate. Could that even exist in the same universe as mine? I looked around the cramped space as it moved laboriously up past gloomy floors. Glimpses caught through the square of glass in the elevator door told me of poorly maintained halls and neglect. I had lived in a building just like it, where broken bottles and discarded syringes were the norm. Where loneliness and desperation lay like a dull layer over everything, even the people. Where were the people? The lobby, the servant, the drink, and then this? I wasn’t sure anymore.

I looked away from the glass, didn’t want to see. I watched my shoes for one breath and without looking at the door again, I turned away from it. I wanted distraction from the disturbing doubts that crawled around in the back of my mind.
The elevator was small and shabby, stank of stale cigarette smoke and piss. A used condom lay crumbled in a corner and various important announcements were available on the walls, scratched, scrawled with marker, scribbled with what was at hand at the moment of inspiration: “Kilroy wasn’t fucking here!”, “All who go up this elevator abandon all hope.. and beer too.”, “Fags need to pack their shit! Oh yeah, they already did”.
Toilet poetry failed to distract me. I felt my stomach sink for every jolt and unidentified noise from the outdated machinery. “Abandon all hope…” I let my fingers glide over the folded note in my pocket but the touch only agitated the insecurity.
She knew my name, and that charade in the lobby. She was apparently a high class stinking rich broad with peculiar habits and a fetish for playing with peoples minds. Or why the elaborate setup? Expensive role playing? I wondered if I had gotten it all wrong. I knew I was being taken for a ride, but couldn’t even begin to understand why. Why me? I wished I could dig my brain out with my fingernails and beat it to a pulp for not working properly.

As the door slid open to reveal a plush carpet, snob elegance and muted footfalls that would be made only by me, everything was back to impeccable and luxurious. Turn back Roger, turn back. Turn around and run. When the elevator groaned shut, took off and left me alone before the door, her door, my heart raced.
“Ash.” I breathed her name. Dizzy. Confused. What the hell was wrong with me?

Roger, you idiot, Get a grip.
Something moved, a flicker of shadow, and I turned my head. Nothing. But all of a sudden it seemed darker, as if the light wasn’t quite able to stay real. What lay beyond, crept forward, and saturated the air without actually gaining enough existence to equal shadows. Just, draining strength out of space. I couldn’t breathe. I had to go. Just go.
I stepped back, blinked, and heard the whirring of machinery. The elevator, moving from floor to floor. It had abandoned me, and now it made another meaningless journey between empty dwellings. Why would they be empty? But I knew they were.
I listened to the strangely comforting hum until I heard a distant clank, and then came nothing but silence beyond the boundaries of my own body. What was I thinking about? Something had moved around up here. Rats? Considering the state of the elevator, I wasn’t too surprised. I whistled a tuneless melody as I walked to the door.
There was nothing to it. I had an invitation from a woman who found me interesting and although that was a first in my life, it still was something that could happen. In an alternate reality maybe, the annoying inner voice said from the gutter. I knew though that I didn’t have much choice. I just had to know. Being in this place, right now, was the only way I could ever learn anything about her— State your full name and sexual preferences if you please Ma’am. All I needed to do now was to knock on that door.

Or, as the case was, push the button. The door revealed nothing useful. Against dark wood, a polished brass plaque gleamed: “Ash Ltd”. Ok, so Ash was not a name? A business? Both? I sighed, tiring of my own internal monologue. The insecurity returned and I wiped damp hands on my pants, before reaching for the doorbell.

My finger never touched the shiny button; the door opened with a silent click. It didn’t swing all the way open so I pushed on it and stepped through. With one hand on the door I looked around. I found myself in a short hallway. Straight ahead, a vaulted opening revealed soft light and shadows of things I couldn’t see from where I stood.
Dark red carpeting connected the hallway with the room beyond. The hall was empty and I took a step forward. The door closed behind me and some little part of me, remembering superstitions I’ve never believed, prevented me from turning around. Just a self closing door, I told myself. Yeah, right you are.
Music, too soft to identify, drifted out from somewhere ahead. I started toward the opening; it was the only way I could go as there were no doors, no windows and nothing else in the entrance hall besides a number of oil paintings.
The art could, on a different day and in a different place, have captured my curiosity but I passed them by in a distracted path toward the next room. All I noticed on the way by was expensive frames and warm vivid colors. Eyes seemed to glide over the motifs without registering the subject matter. They were emotion and vibrant life. If there were people portrayed I didn’t know. They could all be abstracts or finger paintings as far as I knew. They meant nothing to me.

I drifted toward the unknown. It called to me. She beckoned me and I wanted… no, I needed to go to her. The back of my mind piped up again.
Delusional losers never do make second base, so how about you just run along home now, chop chop, on the double, run.

As I listened to the soft music without hearing it, something cracked under my shoe. I had broken something, very nice start for a visit. I raised my foot but saw nothing in the carpet, but under my shoe, stuck to the rubber was a bright red, now cracked, sticky something. A candy. Cute. I used my car key to flick it off my shoe. It hit the wall, dropped and vanished. I stood for a second, but suppressed the part of me that always scanned for garbage pales for any little piece of trash in need of disposal.

I moved on toward the shadows, through the portal, ready to call out a greeting to her, or whoever waited for me. Someone had to be in there. The sight of the room beyond shut me up though.
Past the vaulted opening stretched a living room, just not any kind of room I had ever stepped into before. Paintings filled every wall. These were insistent, called my attention. The instant impression was of life. Vibrant colors, stunning landscapes and stories told. Earth tones and fire, shimmering pale bodies, Secrets and passions hinted at in expressive faces and intriguing shapes. It would take days to see them all if I would ever get a chance. The paintings were not what truly brought me to a standstill though.
Besides a huge comfortable white leather sofa and a glass table, placed dead center in the room, there were no indications of anyone actually living there. I had just stepped into the oddest gallery I had ever seen. I did not often frequent museums, but what I had seen in dusty heritage displays and modern installations around the city had nothing on this obviously private collection. There were no windows, perhaps normal for places with light sensitive pieces, but nor was there any information desk, no exit signs, no “Do not touch the exhibits or we will stare at you with severe disapproval until you crumble to bits.” posters, and no coffee shop.

Concealed light fixtures showed off a flawless carpet with light that seemed to caress shadows into smooth shapes.
Several life-sized statues— seemingly placed at random — stood around the room. Eerily lifelike in postures and facial expressions, they seemed to mingle and chat with each other, a woman of brass held a glass to her mouth, resting a delicate hand on the attentive man next to her. A short man peering at a pocket watch leaned against one of four marble pillars. A party frozen in cast metal. I looked from face to face, from dress to suit to finely detailed jewelry and footwear solidly placed on plinths.
They all appeared to belong there, in companionable chatter or observant silence. They all felt right in the context of luxury and riches but not at all with each other.
The lady with the drink wore hair in a tight bob and knee length straight cut dress with no sleeves. A man laughing at something long since forgotten wore uniform with tails and a saber hanging at his side. A curvy woman in office suit tailored to her build stood bent over to adjust a high healed shoe which I was sure must be a Gucci if I had ever seen one. The twenties, eighties, back as far as the civil war. They all depicted different time periods in an anachronistic gathering of party goers. They looked so alive, trapped in their personal worlds, doomed to display their isolated moments forever, to whom? Who went there? Nobody.

Even a novice, eye recognized them as masterpieces. They should be viewed, not be kept hidden. I fingered the paper in my pocket. What did I know about rich people, really?
I stepped deeper into the room and walked around a happy bride who couldn’t have been more than fifteen. She presented a shy smile, a waist like an hour glass, and way too much fabric, ribbons and lace. Looking away from the poor girl, I came face to face with the only breathing creature in the room.

I just stared; it was her, truly her. Ash. The sight…. I didn’t know what to think, what to say. It didn’t seem to bother her that I had gone mute. The dress was black silk, sleeves in intricate lace reaching her wrists, ankle length skirt, no shoes, no jewelry.
She held two glasses filled with a sparkling amber liquid and offered one to me. I wondered where I had lost the first one. I didn’t remember leaving it anywhere. She threw a quick glance around the room and raised an eye-brow. I opened my mouth but before I could speak she placed a finger over my lips. The touch made my heart quiver, skin burn, and unable to breathe, I nodded.
Ash smiled and lowered her hand, turning toward an open door at the far wall. Guarding the opening was a Second World War lieutenant. She stopped next to the sculpture and waited for me to join her.

“Come Roger, I wish to show you something.”
Numb and exhilarated, afraid of making her wait for a second too long, I started toward her.

Silence broke by a fragile sharp clink somewhere to my left. I turned to the sound but found nothing. Glass breaking I thought, but there was nothing there that could have made it. Perhaps the glass in one of the frames had given in to pressure from the framing. But I saw nothing.

As I scanned the room, Ash made a sound – tap, tap, tap like fingernails on a hard surface, and I turned to face her. The warm smile, tight now, faded completely. Tap, tap, tap; her fingers rapped the soldier’s face.
There was something obscene in the way her fingers traveled across the features— sharp nails probing brow, temple, and the exposed sphere of a wide open eye.

She will gouge out his eye. And when she pressed her nails harder against the sightless metal, brass would give, fluids would spurt, blood, not brass, would be the cause of the coppery smell. Something snapped, a thought released from its bonds, and my own passive behavior came into focus, disturbing in its clarity. I had never been shy, never intimidated by women. But this one, Ash or whatever the hell her name was, made me into a moron mute. Suddenly, the absurdity of the whole thing struck me and I took a half step back.

The woman who’s name may or may not have been Ash, stood at the door she wanted me to enter. What the hell for? She just stood there, expecting me to obey her every command. Why? Suddenly I didn’t know why I was there. “Ash….” I said, trailing off when she tensed.
Then she frowned, relaxed a bit, and stared at me with lips tightly pressed together. How did I ever think you were beautiful? But she was… she… Vipers of indecision crawled around and between the things I had to say. No, hell no. I had to get out of there. I took a deep breath; why was it so hard to breathe?

“I need to go Ash, I’m really… ”

The woman raised her hand in a quick jerky move that splashed red liquid from the glass. Red? “Drink!” She said. Harsh, sharp and definite.

Cool liquid was at my lips before the sound of the voice registered. The glass trembled and tipped, filling my mouth. “Aaag…” Her name turned into choked gurgling as I swallowed… swallowed. I drained the glass and gasped. I hadn’t known I was so…


Ash smiled. She was so beautiful. And she was waiting for me. I continued toward her. Finally, she would answer my questions. She would tell me all about her.
Giddy with expectation, I felt great. I tried to add just a slight bit of flirt in my smile, just the right amount of testosterone confidence in my stride. I could do anything. Charismatic male magnetism permeated my being. I would seduce the dress off her before the night ended. I smartly saluted the smiling soldier as I came to a stop in front of him, and froze.
My blood ran cold, numb fingers fumbled and splashed drink on my hand. When had it been filled? The soldier didn’t smile. An expression infinitely far from joy marked his face where Lips parted in a pained grimace, revealing teeth pressed together. I almost thought I could see muscles strain and quiver beneath cast skin. A hand held up, not in greeting, but in defense.
It was the image of terror. It was… it wasn’t art; it was a thing. I shivered in a chill that could have come from within me, but it didn’t. It radiated from freezing metal. The temperature in the room dropped fast and I shuddered as my sweat cooled. A film of condensation appeared on the statue. Drops took form and froze, thawed and evaporated in an endless second. I stared at the monstrous work of art. I recoiled from it.

Someone, Ash, touched my arm. Very gently, she gripped my wrist and started to turn me from the lieutenant. For one more moment, frozen in the doorway, I tried to comprehend what I was seeing.
Pooling shadows, once just a deficiency of light below each statue, had turned to something living. They trembled. They darkened and flailed, like wildly gesticulating tentacles of night stretching, contracting. The statues remained still, they were all there, but they were not the same. The shades tried to rip themselves from their source. They could not break free, and however violently they pulled and jerked they couldn’t reach me.
Paralyzed, I watched as they groped and clawed around, struggling to touch… me. My… something. Life? Warmth? A heartbeat? Release.
The grip around my wrist tightened. For one more moment I stood frozen. One by one, each more shocking, more terrifying, the appearance of the statues burned into my mind.

“Roger. Come now.” Ash pulled my arm, pain from nails digging into my flesh seemed distant, just as the sound of her voice seemed far away. Unreal. She pulled and I knew I wouldn’t be able to resist. Unreal. I had to see. I let my eyes glide over them all, and they had all changed.
The laughing soldier with the saber screamed, pleading to the heavens for mercy perhaps. His eyes tore wide open and a leisurely step had become a recoiling from something, or someone. The woman with the drink did not hold it to take a sip as it was tilted and gripped so hard that the slender stem had broken off and lay on the floor, part of the plinth now. The hand that had softly rested on her companions shoulder gripped it hard. Fingers desperately clawing, ripping the seam. The young bride cried brass tears, hunched over as if protecting her thin chest where her arms crossed and hands fisted. The man with the watch no longer checked the time. The timepiece hung frozen from its chain, as limp and lifeless as his arms and head. He was on his way down to the floor in a slide that would never end.
A nightmare. My legs wouldn’t obey. I realized that there was one more shadow, and I was standing on it. I looked down. The darkness cast by the desperate soldier trembled, shivered and stretched. But the tentative movements were sluggish, didn’t reach me. Stunted shades, crippled. They pulled back and faded as they neared the person standing between me and them, recoiling the moment they came too close. Too close…. To her.

Don’t miss Part 5 😀


A Gal Eerie of Desire – Part 3 of 5 — Friday Exhibit

Reading Time: 4 minutes

A Gal Eerie of Desire

Jenny K Brennan

Part 3 of 5
Part 2.
Part 4.

Mild explicit warning. This is for adult readers and don’t say I didn’t warn you. Enjoy.

Part 3 — Friday exhibit

Again, she had company. A woman with skin the color of hot coco, stood close to her. Coco turned to me as I approached the pair on my way to the car. She was stunning. Any other day, I would have stopped to gawk. She was tall, with miles of legs squeezed into black leather pants, High-heeled black boots, and a leather vest covering little. Silver chains wrapped around wrists as well as neck. Dark brown eyes and full dark red lips. More silver adorned an impressive set of dreadlocks.
I barely glanced at her, but stopped, hypnotized by the scene, unsure. Coco grinned and looked me up and down, analyzing my potential. She approved. She chewed on her lower lip and dragged a slender finger along the lining of the vest, opening it a millimeter or two.
I ignored her. Coco wasn’t one to be discouraged. Her grin widened and more of her body met the air, a soft swell of brown skin, the edge of a dark nipple, and the shadow below her breast failed to phase me. I don’t want those. .
I fabricated a smile and turned to my obsession, the only one I wanted. She smiled while shaking her head, but she didn’t take her eyes off me.
Once again I had the sense of being a specimen under a bright light. A specimen who was of specific interest to her but nonetheless only a thing. One that should not speak. Not yet, her eyes seemed to say. I will examine you later, they promised.
Her looks had once more transformed. Today she was in a dark green mini skirt and a minimal top. Her hair had been braided in perhaps a hundred smooth braids and for the first time she wore jewelry, in style matching her friend’s but all in gold. She didn’t need it.
The thought struck me that it could be fun to take them off and play with them on parts of her body that normally didn’t facilitate jewelry.
Coco laughed softly and I turned to her, annoyed at her invasion of my fantasy. She seemed to read my mind. She opened her mouth and extruded a pierced tongue between brilliant teeth. She started playing with the small ball attached to it. Dragging it back and forth on the outside of her front teeth.

I quickly turned back to the other woman and looked into eyes that were still focused on me. She seemed thoughtful. Frowning, she glanced at her friend. She shrugged as if to say, Hay, she’s a friend, what do you do? Turning to Coco, she shook her head. The pierced tongue vanished.
The leather Amazon smiled a bit crookedly, reached for my when had she become my anything? lady, pulled her in and they kissed; soft lips met, bodies moved closer. I caught a glimpse of tongues meeting, a glint of silver.
That’s when I averted my eyes, turned and fled to the car, mentally pounding the bulge in my pants without noticeable result.
No big deal. So she had a girlfriend as well as a boyfriend, and little kids to boot. What the hell was she? Yet somehow I had the fuzzy sensation that she was putting on an act. Creating a scene to entice me. But why me. I was just making things up. Never in my life had a woman affected me in that way. It was more than just being horny, more than just wanting her body. It was something bigger. The only big thing around here is your dick. But I didn’t know what. I couldn’t think straight.
Her teasing woke a beast in me, an ugly part of me I didn’t like. So what? I wanted to know her. Love her. Screw her.

I wondered as I climbed in behind the steering wheel if she teased everyone with her cruel air of sexual mystery or if it was just me. Yeah Roger, you are so special. Aggravated and frustrated, I started the car and watched the two walk away, disappearing around a corner far too quickly. I moved restlessly on the seat and heard a slight crackle. I pulled out a peace of paper from under my ass, stared at it, and my mind went blank as I inhaled. It was a single sheet of white legal paper, folded in half and crumpled after the encounter with my backside. I glanced around and found all windows closed. And the Toyota had been locked hadn’t it? Yes, for sure. Right?
I glanced around; there was no one there, no one on the parking lot. The ice-cream shop seemed abandoned, the street unusually free from both vehicles and people. I looked at the paper again; it wasn’t mine, I knew that much. How did it get in the car? It fluttered as cool conditioned air pushed on it. I unfolded it and found another silent command.
Typed, on an old type-writer judging by the faintly irregular font. Were three lines of text. They told me only what I needed to know and little of what I wanted to learn.

“6262 Thomas Avenue, apt 73
This time tomorrow.

Ash? Ashley? Ashton? I murmured under my breath; “Ash, who the hell are you?” I stared at the letters for a long while. I didn’t know the place, only the street, but it wasn’t far, just across downtown. I still didn’t know who she was. I knew one thing though— I would be there.

Don’t miss the next part.:D


A gal eerie of desire Part 2 of 5 – Thursday exhibit.

Reading Time: 7 minutes

A Gal Eerie of Desire

Jenny K Brennan
Part 2 of 5

Part 1.
Part 3.

Reader discretion is advised. This is for adult readers and don’t say I didn’t warn you. Enjoy.

Part 2 — Thursday exhibit

Fucking hot again, when would this damn summer end? I groaned as the muggy heat enveloped me. I stood still for a second, listened to the door close behind me. My head hurt, either from the heat or from lack of sleep. Or the half bottle of crown Royal I had almost managed to finish last night, that did it. Either way, I felt like shit. And that fucking dyke of a manager had been on my case all day.
Calm down, breathe. I breathed. It’s over, go home.

Go home and do what? Sit and pine for some woman I hadn’t even had the guts to talk to? Dig up one of two porn flicks I had hidden and jerk my poor limb to exhaustion and my brain to oblivion? Hell, if alcohol hadn’t done the trick, why would shooting a load in my hand do it?
I didn’t want to see her. I needed to see her. It was all wrong.
And there she was.

On the same spot, she was real. It hadn’t been a dream. The sight of her was like ice water in a steam cooker. A short lived relief, then the return of pressure building. The restless contents of my stomach tossed and turned, but calmed as I took a few deep breaths. I walked toward my car. The closer I came, my discomfort seemed to ease. The throbbing in my head faded into dull ache, gut rot settled and things looked brighter for every step. I let my shoulders sink and the city-spiced air fill my lungs as I glanced up at the cloudless sky. A fine day. A very fine day. So what if I was delusional and sick in the head? I just needed to look. Just for a moment. Just a little bit. Then it would all be cool.

I stopped at the curb and rummaged through pockets for something that wasn’t there as I took in the apparition. Burned it into my memory, stored it for later exploiting. I spared a split second to glare at the guy next to her. Was that the same one? No, this one was dark. The first one had been a Viking brute, blond and insultingly handsome. Yeah, I remembered now, taller than this little squib.
The squib had his arm around her shoulder, laughing, speaking into her ear. I felt my upper lip twitch. Funny guy eh? I glanced at her. She wasn’t smiling.
He shouldn’t be allowed to trail his fingers along her collarbone, aught to have his nose broken for touching his lips to her ear as he kept talking, smiling, spreading it on thick. Was she falling for the greasepot? Was he gonna get some?

Not until I quit glaring at the squib did I notice that something was missing. No sign of kids anywhere. And then I finally let my greedy eyes absorb her. The dress had transformed into a pair of blue jeans and a white tank top. I stayed at a safe distance and waited for a little while longer before reluctantly heading to the car. The jeans were a perfect fit, the top tight. Still no shoes. What was it with her and shoes?
I wanted to ignore her, but I was getting excited, annoyed by my inability to control my thoughts, my body. Burning, nagging pressure. A swelling needy cock made me self-conscious. A completely uncalled for feeling of shame over my evident need, made me irritated, at myself, and at her.
The way she looked should be illegal. That’s fucking soliciting. I stared as I made my way past. Her skin glowed beneath the white tank top. A red scrunchie, some old girlfriend had taught me that word, as if it was important, held her hair in a pony tail.
My fingers twitched.
I wanted to stroke her neck, trail the curve of her shoulder with my fingertips. Feel the warmth of skin where fabric covered it, just waiting to be removed, by me. I wanted to grab that hair like a leash, pull her close, push her down to kneel in front of me, and I’d push that need in my pants between her lips. Right there on the pavement, in front of her boyfriend.

Yeah, suicidal are you now?
I took a deep breath and almost laughed. Almost. The sudden violent streak in my thoughts surprised me, the aggression that snuck into the fantasy, where my want turned to need to possess. Possess? No, that was not like me. Couldn’t be my thoughts.
But hell, she was totally begging me to open my pants in her face and pull her head hard to show her exactly what she had done to me. Wasn’t she? It was so easy to imagine holding her head, having her look up into my eyes as she wrapped her lips around me, moaning, gripping my shaft with small hands, working that tongue. She wanted it, or why would she look at me that way. Why would she part her lips and give me that wordless invitation to take her, to force her to suck…
Damn right; the slut is asking for it! What are you waiting for? I shoved the inner voice down in the gutter at the back of my mind where it belonged.

The thought disgusted me. Women disgusted me. No, not true. Women simply didn’t stir emotion in me, nor did men. I was just… Asexual, a long faded voice of another forgotten girlfriend echoed in my memory. I didn’t know if that was true. I didn’t care, I didn’t want this…
Then why are your pants so very uncomfortable if…. I nearly choked on a groan and squeezed my eyes shut tight.

After fumbling with the key and viciously jabbing at the air-conditioning knob, I got the Toyota running, let it idle. The air in the vehicle cooled but the heat in my body wouldn’t be persuaded to let up that easily. She was still there, not ten paces away. I refused to look at her.
What the hell is going on?
I gripped the steering wheel and stubbornly kept my head down. Slowly, forced breathing became less strained, almost effortless. Thinking clicked into a frictionless gear, my irritation kicked up a notch as I evaluated the situation.
I didn’t know her. For sure, she was with someone that was not me, would never be me, and I was wasting energy and nurtured frustration for nothing. Nothing. And she knew it. She was teasing me, making me the fool with all the childish fantasies and silly ideas.
But the images wouldn’t leave me alone. Her mouth, red full lips parting. The body, the way she moved. The things I wanted. All the ways I wanted to fuck her. Fuck? Roger, when did you start using that word? I was losing it.,
When I opened my eyes and looked up, she was gone. Disappointment and relief fought an uneven battle within me, but after only a few more seconds I made my way home, trying not to think. Failing miserably.
How would her skin feel under that top, how would it feel to slide my fingers under the lining of those jeans, finding her hip bone, the stretched skin. Did she wear underwear? Would I find lace? Or nothing but smooth skin.
I shook my head. Damn you, who ever you are.

After failing to get anything done at home, finding myself in a distracted daze, I gave up. I turned on the TV, not bothering to find something to watch. I ate a lukewarm microwave dinner from a tray. Neither mindless reality-TV nor empathy numbing newscasts could do anything to sway my mind from the insistent daydream. It rolled, frame by frame, scene after scene, with only one star. As the TV droned on, I closed my eyes, unbuttoned my jeans and immersed myself in the fantasies.
So vivid, so clear were the images of her perfect shapes and the feeling of smooth yielding yet firm skin under my fingers. She undressed for me, eager and oh so horny, and offered me her body. All the time looking into my eyes, urging me to please her, take her, taste her, possess her.
Slowly stroking myself, leaning back on the couch, my greedy hands grabbed her imaginary hips, turned her around, and pushed her upper body down until she stood bent over the coffee table. Naked, sweaty, shivering in anticipation she stood with palms flat against the table top, exposed. Head down, turned so she could still look at me, she watched me, biting her lower lip, as I grabbed her hips. I stroked her back, circled her waist, gripped her and pulled her closer.

As in any perfect fantasy, I waited, didn’t want to hurry, and when I couldn’t wait any longer I slammed into her slippery warm depth. I pulled her hard, easing off and pulling out, as she protested and squeezed tight to keep me inside her. I slid into her again, deeper and harder for each thrust. Desperately taking possession as she tightened around me, urged on by the pimp/porn flick-producer voice residing in the back of my mind.
Oh yeah, looking good. Fuck that slut. So warm, so wet, so eager.
I heard nothing but her shallow breathing, whimpers of pleasure, and frantic begging. She begged me to fuck her, to hold her closer, harder, to take her. She was mine. All of her, I could do what I wanted to her. Anything. I did as she bid, dug my fingers into her hot damp skin and took her body for mine.

It was over too fast, a blast of exhaled tension and sweet release. Throughout my body, nerves flared in climax that turned into shimmering warmth, fading after each twitching aftershock, leaving me liberated of thought as the images faded. I squeezed my softening cock gently as I caught my breath. A moment passed and I felt free from the spell. One moment of bliss before I realized that she would never totally leave my mind. It was a curse. The fucking witch had put a spell on me. Trapped my mind, made me abuse my body, without even buying me a drink first. I laughed. Stingy bitch.
The laughter cut short when I bit down around it, suddenly scared of its desperate tone. I always thought I was better than that. I thought I had control, thought my life was perfect, but I had been so wrong. I was no better than any guy out there who thought their dick was a compass. I was just like them; I was easy prey; a weak male specimen with brains permeated with sex, sex and more sex. Any kind, any position, any place, just not any one. Damn her. She had gotten to me, chained me to my damn desire. She didn’t even know what she had done. Or did she?

I needed to see her again, just wanted to look. Just once more.

To be continued.

Will he? Can he handle it? What does she want? Or is it only in his mind?

Don’t miss other weird stuff! Subscribe via email.


A gal eerie of desire Part 1 of 5 – Wednesday Exhibit.

Reading Time: 7 minutes

A Gal Eerie of Desire

By Jenny K Brennan

Part 2.

Mild explicit warning. This content is for adults. And don’t say I didn’t say so. Enjoy.

Part 1 of 5 — Wednesday exhibit

Another day had passed without incident. It was the way I liked it. Boring and uneventful, worry free and totally uncomplicated.
When the front door to the office building clicked shut behind me and I started toward the parking lot, my thoughts flashed to Angie. I really wished she would stop pestering me. Why I agreed to go out with her was still a mystery. I wasn’t interested in her. Not that way, had said as much. It wasn’t that I disliked her or anything; I just didn’t understand why it had to be so complicated.
Girls. They had so many needs. Romantic dates, cozy evenings with wine and… I shuddered despite the heat. One night she had brought out a tattered book of erotic stories. When I turned to her and asked, “What’s that for?” she had looked at me in that way that only women are capable of, and left. I supposed she had expected me to say something else. Or do something. It was just unfortunate that I had to keep working in the same building as her, where she could give me the look and a snide remark whenever our paths crossed.

I pushed Angie out of my mind and sighed.
The sunlight hit me full force as I rounded the corner and I squinted in the glare.
No, too much bother. I had much more interesting things on my agenda. I needed a cold shower, and all I wanted was to head home, to my one bedroom flat, where half a left over pizza from Gus’s waited for me in the fridge. A package from Amazon might even be waiting in the mailbox. Then there was that buggy Ajax app. That was about as much excitement as I felt like dealing with on an average day. Nothing could beat calm and orderly, organized and scheduled.
And then I saw her.

Still, perhaps nothing at all would have happened, if I hadn’t looked up at that exact moment to point that stupid transmitter at my little Toyota to disengage the lock. Most days I didn’t even do that as I always parked in the same spot. Except this morning as some inconsiderate brute parked across the lot with a huge truck and I had to find another spot.
So as I looked up, the woman just happened to be in my line of sight, watching me.

Her gaze, direct and fixed, hit like a punch in the gut. She didn’t look away, and I couldn’t pull out of the stare. An odd familiarity surged through me, reluctant to surface all the way, as if I aught to know her. I didn’t, but I should.
Suddenly, the damn tie was strangling me and I pulled at it, realizing that it was already hanging loose below the first two open shirt buttons.
Her eyes. I knew them, but she was a stranger. Something hacked away chunks from my mental level and projected it into a wobbly spin. I knew her, but from what? Where?
Without thought, my legs slowed, my body adjusted its path and I stepped toward the beautiful woman.
Somewhere beyond her, the Toyota beeped. Had I pushed the button? I couldn’t remember. The key fob was slick with sweat. I dropped it into a shirt pocket and wiped my hands on the denims.

Those eyes, intense, intriguing. There was a message there I couldn’t understand; something I needed to figure out. At the same time, some little part of me was sure I couldn’t and wouldn’t. And why not? I had no answer, just knew. There was something forbidding, a hard edge in her face.
She stood outside of “The Crone Cone”, a shabby looking ice-cream shop in the corner of the parking lot, on a patch of hot pavement where the air wavered in the relentless sunlight. Only after several moments I noticed the sticky toddlers glued to her hands, each holding a dripping ice-cream cone, blessedly silenced by their melting pleasure.
She kept looking at me, but something in her was changing. She raised her chin a fraction and let her eyes wander over me, curiously assessing, seemingly coming to some kind of conclusion in the short moment it took her to take me in, dissect and analyze me.
She glanced down at the children as if she had never seen them before and frowned, surprised to find her attached to these… creatures. After only a moment, though, her features smoothed and she resumed observing me.
She seemed flustered and moisture dampened her skin, made it shimmer in the heat. A strand of hair was plastered across her chin; another trailed a bridge over one blue … were her eyes blue? Green? … eye. The stray lock formed a static curve toward her ear where it joined a swell of thick dark … was that auburn? Red? Mahogany? … hair falling unchecked and heavy half way down her back.
A simple strapless summer dress in off-white hugged her body. Clinging in fashionable wrinkles it reached mid thigh. She wore no shoes. Bare feet? In the city? Her deep tan would suggest many hours outdoors. She had perfectly shaped toenails on perfect small feet. The rest of her was fit and lean but fragile and soft at the same time.

A drop fell from a leaky cone and made a white and sticky smudge on the top of her foot. She didn’t seem to notice. My imagination made a very vivid show of the translucent substance though. To my horror I realized I had a hard-on and drew hot air through my teeth. I liked feet, sure thing, perhaps more than most, but this was ridiculous. I imagined small soft toes wiggling along a row of fly-buttons. Even after hastily looking away, the image lingered.
If the day hadn’t been so hot, the flush creeping up my neck would have been so much more visible and not just a little embarrassing. I blinked and focused on her face again, feeling both silly and strangely bothered. A corner of her mouth had crept up in a shadow of a smile and perfectly shaped eyebrows moved upwards a tiny bit, just enough to make me certain she knew what kind of images I had fashioned in my dirty mind.
Surely she knew, and she didn’t mind.

I took another step toward her. She tensed and flashed a warning sideways glance and shook her head. I quickly shifted my eyes and altered my steps slightly as a man came up to her. Shit. I made it past them as if that was where I had been heading all along. Some guy. He handed her something. I took care not to glance back at them, unnerved and annoyed by the hollow place in my memory where I knew that this woman should reside.
After getting in to the car, thanking all the benign deities for air-conditioning, I watched the woman who had just become my obsession, the man and two little children, the latter three meaning nothing to me. They walked away along the hot pavement, toward the corner of Helen and Aurora, stalked by their skinny afternoon shadows. I had a funny feeling that she straightened up, held herself tall for me. Just me. She knew I was watching. She moved so smoothly, gracefully, despite the two toddlers pulling and jerking her arms this way and that, chattering and demolishing their afternoon treat.
She paid them no mind, simply looked straight ahead. That lady would radiate serenity walking through a war zone. Nothing would move her.

A toddler stumbled, fell on hands and knees, and mashed the ice-cream against pavement. She leaned down, stayed just like that, for just a few moments longer than strictly necessary. I let out a slow breath.
“You did that on purpose.” I made perfectly clear through my teeth as she soothed the child. I watched her move away and gears in my head spun, smoked, glowed bright red from friction. They didn’t move me forward any.

I knew her from somewhere; I just knew. When had I ever been blessed with such company? Now just face it— someone like that would never even glance at me and even if, it would be while elbowing her friend to make sure she wasn’t the only one laughing.
But she had looked at me. Actually looked at me. Smiled even. Some cruel impulse had for a second almost made me talk to her. Why for Gods sake would I do something so stupid? But she had smiled hadn’t she?
I stole a few moments of watching her ass which was tightly fitted in that skirt, the tanned skin of her arms and the perfectly shaped calves and ankles. No doubt, she knew she made an impression in that dress, although I suspected that with such a body she could walk around in a potato sack and still turn heads, harden soft parts and dampen panties. She was just that fucking hot. How could I not look?

In my traitor of a brain, an image materialized— my hand at the back of her knee, slowly sliding it up toward and then slipping under the skirt, finding the place where that tantalizing shade promised both damp hot skin and slick moisture.

I thought about her on the way home. While checking the mail, fixing the hose to the washer, and while pretending to read the TV-guide, she haunted me. I couldn’t place her, and it was driving me up the walls. Around and around, gears grinding, no movement.
Her face, her body, her need. Need? Holy fuck, the only need going around was mine. Don’t kid yourself you retard. She had kids for fucks sake.
And that guy, I couldn’t quite recall what he looked like. Tall, blond? Yeah, whatever. He didn’t belong with her. A flash of hot sharp jealousy burned in me, an irrational rage toward anyone who would dare touch her, and anyone who had ever been with her in all the ways I could only imagine.

“Slut!” I heard my own voice but I didn’t recognize the whiny squeak. I sat still for a moment to gather up what was left of the sensible me. The feeble chuckle that came out when I realized there was precious little to collect was no more recognizable. Idiot. It was no use; the hamster wheel turned again and I was back where I had started. I knew I had to let it go, if not the stubborn fantasies then the idea that it had anything to do with me. That one look. It had been one look and it was driving me out of my mind. This was not the me I knew.

I ate the pizza, because I had to eat. I showered, because that reek of sour sweat kept following me around, so it had to be coming from me. The TV stayed dark, the PC remained cold and quiet.
I couldn’t dislodge her from my mind even for a second. The lingering feeling of recognition kept nagging. It wouldn’t ease.
Nor would my erection.

To be continued….

Continue reading?
Part 2.

Don’t miss the next awkward and silly thing happening on Studio Chaotic!


Cover image: Sculpture by J K Brennan, photo by D G Brennan.