Harlot Charlotte

“Harlot Charlotte!”

Dorothy spits in Charlotte’s face, a wide grin on her ruby red lips like a lion ready to pounce.

Dorothy hates any moment that Charlotte is near. Her weird ways only encourage hatred in Dorothy’s perfect world. Hannah and Tony stand either side of the queen bee. Ready to join in if given the chance. Acting as personal guard dogs, hanging onto her every word. Maybe guard dogs isn’t the best descriptive of the two. They’re more scaly and sinister than that. They only follow Dorothy because they don’t meet her high standards. If they resist then she’ll find others to stand in their place and then they’ll be with Charlotte. Huddled on the floor trying to minimise her existence by pulling in her limbs, close to her body. Nobody wants that. Not even Charlotte.

Words of abuse are thrown at her 5’2 petite frame. I’m just surprised that they know the meaning of the word Harlot. Charlotte can’t help but smile at the thought.

Copyright, Charlie Wright. All rights reserved.

Humanity’s last

A sudden persistent gust of wind pushes against her figure and she rebalances her feet. Looking over the edge, not to see where she’s going but to encourage the excitement that is sinking into her skin and tickling her muscles, readying for the descent.

Remembering the feeling of excitement gripping her heart like a child getting excited over a new toy. She can practically feel her feet twitching. This time is different though. This time she’s completely alone. There is no safety net and no way back. Maybe if she focuses on the thrill she won’t focus on the reason why she’s there. The sounds are hard to ignore though. Thousands of growls, screams, and footsteps as the hoard draws in. They scream at her. She’s done this so many times before, but she has never felt so lost or scared than in this instance.

Brown hair, an unfortunate shade of burgundy in places, sticks to her head in clumps and hangs, sticky and lifeless on her shoulders. The rope in her hands leaves an imprint. Forming blisters on her palms, she’s holding it so tight. The loud thump in her chest indicates her overexertion and her clothes feel heavy, the weight of her travels. Suddenly she wishes she had more layers on. The comfort of a warm jumper would feel nice against her skin despite her body’s warmth.

The noises are getting louder. Occasionally, there’s the sound of a scuffle as they fight or fall in their haste to get to her. She can’t bear to turn around and see. She knows what death looks like. It’s too familiar for comfort. Toiling with her emotions and her own grasp on reality.

Her name used to be Amelia. Before all of this. Now she’s just flesh, food for the world. There’s not much left of the girl who went seeking for the thrill of excitement. Amelia Sanders, once an adrenaline junky who avoided conflict, a stranger to her family. Who knows what she is anymore. The temptation to jump is more of a whisper in the wind now. The sounds are too loud to focus. They chatter their teeth as they get closer to their meal. She can smell death.

A single tear slides down her cheek and the name ‘Rianne’ escapes her lips as she leans into the wind. Unwilling to enjoy the thrill but very willing to let grief overtake her this time. Gravity pulls her the rest of the way. Guiding her hand.

Closing her tortured eyes, Amelia falls toward the dead world below.

Copyright, Charlie Wright. All rights reserved.

A Florist’s Dark Desires

I’m currently working through a short course with Open Learning titled ‘Start Writing Fiction’ I believe I already know the basics of writing pretty well but it’s good for a recap as a part of me trying to give my self a restart. It’s actually a lot of fun going back to basics and focusing more on just playing with words a little. This story took about 5 minutes to write.

I would love to hear what you think and any ways I can improve.

A Florist’s Dark Desires

Darla arranges the flower stems until perfect, the Roses romantic against the Dahlias, the Dahlias whimsical against the intricate detailing of the Iris’s and the Iris’s simple against the slender cleverness of the Tulips. Not perfect enough though. When a single petal falls from a rose, unable to hold on any longer, the vase is thrown against the nearest wall.

Breaking into shards of glass that Darla doesn’t rush to pick up. Her hands shake, and she struggles to control the anger bubbling away at the surface. She must make it perfect. Nothing out of place. Her anger is still uncontrolled, spinning around she guides her fist into the wall the vase hit moments earlier – water still lingers, sliding down the elegant gold wallpaper – and after three heavy-handed hits, she steps back and stares at the blank space. A water stain creates a circle on the paper and it’s peeled in a few places. Her hand is bleeding but she doesn’t feel the sting or the ache in her bones. Only the need for perfection.

Leaving the ugliness on the marked shop floor, Darla reaches for another Vase and starts over. Everything must be foolproof tonight, if just one iota of the plan is out of place then everything could collapse around her. Tonight is the night she can finally get her revenge on the man who hurt her but it has to be absolute in every detail. She imagines her husband laid in a pool of his own blood as she begins again, arranging the perfect flowers, now with a quaint smile on her parched lips once again.

Copyright, Charlie Wright. All rights reserved.

Roe’s Indulgence

Roe’s Indulgence
Watching the falling snowflakes forming mounds of white on the street. Roe takes a moment to reflect on her mood. Peaceful, in it’s simplest form. With nothing on her mind to distract and no tentacles of stress to entangle her. She felt free. A calming sense of tranquillity that only heightens her senses and gives her the push she needs to leave.

Roe takes a moment to look down at the body below. Bruises adorn her arms like a Dalmatian’s spot’s and her swollen eye reflects a dark shade of pain. Blood trickles from the wound, spilling out quite quickly onto the cold concrete. The sparkles on the floor are very pretty though. She looks all most like an art piece. Ready to be presented to the world. It’s only a shame that people won’t find her for a while. By the time they do she’s going to smell quite funny and have a few friends with her, making their home on her skin. A lesson to be learnt for next time.

Her mum always told her not to walk the streets at night alone. She was stupid to follow that shadow. She probably should have listened, or maybe her mum should have been more specific on the size of the shadows to watch out for. Maybe then it wouldn’t have given her that final push she needed over the old building.

Excited glee forms on Roes reddened lips. It’s such a beautiful snowy night. It always makes it so easy and yet, even more satisfying on nights like these. She gazes down at the deformed figure. Shattered glass surrounding her from the fall through the window, her blood spilling out like a river under the moon’s light. Stepping back away from the edge. Roe smiles.

‘It’s a nice night for another’ She tells herself as she steps away from the edge and heads into the night, leaving the girl below in search of another.

Roe loved being the shadow.

Copyright © 2018 Charlie Wright. All right reserved