Flashing for the Magical Fun of it...

Hi, everyone, just for the fun of it, here's one of my Serial Flashes, begun for New Year's Day ~

Happy New Year... on another Earth, Part 1- 11

Serial Flash in Two Hundred ~ Sylva and Zeke’s story

Part 1 ~

Sylva stroked on the red lipstick carefully. The shade was deep scarlet and it looked like a swathe of gleaming velvet on her lips. “Who needs collagen injections?” she murmured, then surveyed her festively made-up face. Dusky twilight purple shadowed her eyes, highlighting the blue-green color. A shimmer of pale gold brought out her high cheekbones ~ a magical contrast to the glistening pink-gold powder covering her face, her neck, and artfully ending at her propped-up cleavage, displayed by a heart-shaped tight bodice of midnight satin. “Mirror, mirror, on my bathroom wall, who’s the New Years Party fairest of them all?”

Zeke flashed a cocky half-grin at his appearance in the mirror his mother had given him decades ago. The white-gold scroll work surrounding the tall oval mirror contrasted sharply with his tan leather vest and matching pants, both designed for riding his horse into town and as evening wear for the new year’s celebration. His cream-colored silk shirt clung to the muscles of his chest, won by hard work on his family’s ranch empire. And won by the fistfights he was famous for ending, but never beginning. Tonight, by long-standing tradition, he could claim any available woman as his bride.
~~~~~~

Part 2 ~

Sylva flipped a smile at her reflection. Stepping back to see herself more fully, she thrust her hip, accentuating the sassiness of her short satin and tule-layered skirt. “Adorably sexy,” she complimented herself. Okay, her thighs were full unlike the stick figure models that had successfully invaded the fashion world. Her calves were shapely, what used to be considered starlet-sexy...especially since she wore spectacular ankle-strap black heels, along with a pair of old-fashioned seamed hose. Tonight, she would strut her stuff with the best of them. Tomorrow, no more job. She was one more victim of the current economy.

Zeke strapped on his pearl-handled revolver. He’d cleaned and oiled it earlier, then made certain it fired properly, shooting several pennies out of the air. Since they’d become non-legal tender eleven years past, he figured that was a damn good use. Leaning down, he slid a dead-aim derringer, one of his grandfather’s designs, inside his fancified riding boot. Decorated with swirls of gold thread and engraved with the ranch’s crest, his new boots were a show of his hard-won status as the Overseer of their horse operations, from breeding to sales. Yep, it was time to settle on one woman.
~~~~~~

Part 3 ~

Sylva beat back the worry that threatened to overwhelm her. Pasting a smile on her face, she tossed her strawberry blonde hair a bit. The long length waved over her bare back while her dangly ruby-imitation earrings swung enchantingly...to her eye. She felt sexy and sultry. Swivelling her head, she looked at her profile from the corner of her eye. She’d pulled the sides of her hair up, banded it, then attached a tiny glittering rose. As if possessed by a spirit, she faced the mirror, whispering, “I wish I may, I wish might, find my true love tonight.”

Zeke plucked his mahogany leather cowboy hat from the bronze curlicue hook, plopping it on his head. From years of practice, since he’d been knee-high to his father, the broad-brimmed hat settled at the perfect rakish angle, and covered most of his bay-colored hair. The curling waves at the nape of his neck and above his ears were touched by a golden sheen from all the time he spent outdoors. He’d had more than one woman, scarce as they were in these parts, run her fingers through the fringes of his hair, as if she sought real gold. He grinned.
~~~~~~

Part 4 ~

Sylva grimaced and shook her head at herself, before whirling away from the mirror, and out the bathroom door. Yeah, that would be the day. True love, ha! She’d tried it several times now, with results more dismal than the prospect of not being able to find job. Refusing to think about what possessions she could sell to get by, she lovingly picked up her long velvet cape. Reversible, the hooded cape was a glorious red velvet on one side and a deep midnight black on the other. Who cared if people thought she looked like a witch in it.

Zeke swung the fringed buckskin jacket off the garment post, and slid into it. It fit his frame perfectly. He’d made certain of that by having it tailored in town, despite his family’s protest and ribbing over his extravagance, as they called it. But hell to the four winds, Brennon outfitted the other young bucks and the ranch gentlemen. All of whom partook of sophisticated entertainments in town, other than Sophie’s Sin Saloon. What did he care if others thought he was too dandified? His quick aim with a fist or gun meant most would keep their comments to themselves.
~~~~~~

Part 5 ~

Sylva tucked her evening bag beneath her arm, then carefully locked the door to her apartment. Barely adequate, it was all she could afford. Maybe it was time, to leave the windy city, Chicago. Corruption grew like a weed everyday. And, if she had to be tormented one more time by the garlic-on-steroids cooking smells that seeped into every crack of the building, and saturated her clothing, along with the constant fog of cigarette smoke, she was going to scream bloody murder. Her only humorous consolation...garlic kept the vampires away. But, not the real bloodsuckers lurking around every corner.

Zeke enthusiastically trotted down the private stairway that led to his section of the rambling ranch house, one hand perched on the butt of his pistol. The construction of a grand new wing was almost constant. Currently his sister and her new husband had decided to make the ranch their permanent home, and were overseeing the latest plans. His boots hit the expensive sierra-colored granite floor of the entryway, clicking loudly. His mother had finagled it out of his father, using her seductive wiles toward the end of their shouting-rambunctious negotiations. Glimpsing his father in the side hall, he halted.
~~~~~~

Part 6 ~

Sylva halted at the top of the stoop, enchanted. The crescent moon hung in the sunset sky like an enormous lemon slice, only cast in gold. Smiling, she hugged her cloak closer against the windy chill. Sweeping down the short flight of steps, she clicked toward her small car, watching out for the vein-like cracks in the sidewalk. As she stepped off the worn-down curb to cross the street, her ankle wobbled from a pebble beneath her shoe. With a talented balancing act she righted herself, but not in time to avoid the speeding black SUV wheeling around the corner.

Zeke wheeled toward his father, who winked broadly, and grinned. Saluting with his hat, Zeke continued out the door. The crescent moon shone above the tangerine-pink horizon while the planet of love, Venus, blazed brightly. Inside the shelter next to the hitching rail, he saddled and bridled Smoky, one of his favorite riding stallions. Making certain the soft lariat was secure, he swung astride, appreciating the familiar creak of leather. Smoky stretched into a fast walk, then a long trot, eager for a gallop. Without cue the stallion settled into a ground-eating lope. In an hour they would hit town.
~~~~~~

Part 7 ~

Sylva froze in terror, the scream in her throat failing to pass her lips. Desperately, as time slowed around her, she looked for a way to escape becoming a bloody broken *okay,sexily-dressed* pancake. The headlights glared like devil’s eyes. The grill suddenly reminded her of a dragon’s face. When a blast of light struck her, then formed into a mirror-bright circle, Sylva dived toward it, not knowing what else to do. The first thing she noticed ~ she’d landed on her butt in a shallow mud puddle. Then she noticed, the air smelled heavenly despite the drift of fresh horse manure.

Zeke reined Smoky down to a slow trot at the edge of town. With excitement charging through him like a bull, he scanned both sides of Main Street, looking for the rowdiest celebration. A woman wanting marriage would be making herself available there tonight. He hadn’t confided in anyone. No, he’d cherished the notion he’d have his pick of fillies without the two local women who chased after him, scaring any newcomer away. As a shooting star appeared, he halted Smoky, taking in the celestial beauty and making his wish for a woman he could love with his whole heart.
~~~~~~~

Part 8 ~

Sylva glanced back and forth, completely bewildered. Illumined buildings that were no more than three stories, looked as if they’d been the victims of an all out war between an old west movie town and the elongated elegance of art nouveau. Not only that, horses adorned by silver-laden saddles stood at hitching posts while some manner of flying automobiles were parked on rooftops. Where in the freaking hell was she? Swivelling her head in slow motion, she nursed the hope she’d wake up at any moment. Even the music sounded like a strange mix of honky tonk and a waltz.

Zeke fingered his lariat as he urged Smoky forward. From what he could tell, the Diamond Flame had the most action. The piano-tinkly, fiddle-swinging music streamed toward him and the most expensive air cars packed the rooftop. A glint of light caught his eye. Instantly he focused on the center of Main Street, one hand ready to draw his pistol. He blinked, blinked again, an attempt to clear his vision, though it was as clear as a hunting hoot owl. The woman sat in middle of the street as if she’d fallen. Probably those strange ankle-breaking shoes were to blame.
~~~~~~

Part 9 ~

Sylva stared at the slow approach of a man on horseback. The luminous glare of lights spilling into the darkness revealed his chiseled lean features beneath the cocky set of his cowboy hat. Had she somehow been transported to a movie set? When he lifted a rope, then began twirling it above his head in ever-widening circles, she glanced all around looking for a calf, or an escaped horse ~ all while the theme from Rawhide played in her head. She wondered if she was in any danger. Should she stay put, or get up quick as she could, and run?

Zeke ran his gaze up the woman’s shapely legs covered by saloon dancer hose. The full swell of her hips were revealed by her flipped up skirt. Never more grateful for a pool of light, he stared at the daring display of her bosom, plump creamy mounds that begged for his hands, his lips, his face buried between them. She wasn’t shy about showing them. He surely liked that. As his cock sprang to life and demanded to be unholstered, he lifted his lariat, swinging it above his head. Rapidly flicking his glance around, he saw no competitors for her.
~~~~~~

Part 10 ~

Sylva fastened her gaze on the whirling rope, a whoosh of sound cutting through the air. Maybe he was a champion roper with a skill that good. As she began to rise, her hand sank deeper in the mud. “No,” she moaned. The cowboy’s horse stopped in front of her, not thirty feet away. Realizing she showed too much, Sylva smoothed her skirt down with her other hand. Now what? If she tried to get up, she would be even muddier. Sighing with resignation, she twisted...suddenly she felt the rope settle around her shoulders, bite into her bare skin.

Zeke kept his lariat smooth and easy, aiming his gaze toward her face. He wanted to see her beautiful features more clearly, and glimpse her eyes on him before he claimed her as his bride. Unless she wore another man’s mark. But what man let his woman out by herself on this night? The more he saw of her, even as she flattened her stiff skirt, the more he blazed like a stallion for her. She had the most adorable curves he’d ever witnessed on a woman. With focused ease, Zeke sailed the loop toward her, certain of his capture.
~~~~~~

Part 11 ~

Sylva didn’t move for a few moments, paralyzed with shock. Outrage flared through her, quick as a wildfire, and she screamed. The instant she reached up to remove the rope it tightened enough to stop her. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” She used her fiercest *don’t mess with me* voice. Whipping around, she saw him swing a leg over the saddle horn, then dismount in one unbelievable motion, all while keeping the rope taut. “And where the hell am I?” Good Lord, his lean defined muscles looked like living bands of steel as he moved toward her.

Zeke felt his belly somersault with pure celebration as he kept her lassoed. She was far more than he’d expected, even with her loud rude talk. Damn, she’d be a little scratching wildcat in their marital relations with that *come get me* attitude. Lifting one corner of his mouth in a grin, he approached. He’d had women all soft and willing. He’d had ‘em ferocious for what he could deliver. He liked both. He wanted both. He was surely fond of her spirit, even if it meant throwing her over his lap and tanning her bottom to teach her lesson.
~~~~~~
TO BE CONTINUED...

PART 12 - 59 ~ Kougar Kisses blog or on the Liquid Silver forum in full.

HAPPY YEAR OF TWO ~
May your most romantic dreams come true...

Savanna

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance

The Magic of My Flash Fiction

Or another title ~ I’ve been bitten by the Flash-ing bug.
As I enter my seventh month of Flash-ing, the snowball only grows, roll by faster roll. And currently? Serial Flash-ing, or continuing the story flash-by-flash, is a new passion I find myself devoting more time to and spending my precious energy on.
Heck, will I eventually need a War and Peace-type literary intervention, since I’ve succumbed to this cyber bite-sized writerly addiction, which only gets bigger and longer in its creative scope.
Aahhh, there’s nothing like getting ‘some notice’ for your heart and soul efforts at creativity. I recently realized there was a definite rise in views for my blog on MySpace, whenever I added more installments to one of my first serial flashes, Blocking My Sun ~ Nope, I won’t be posting that torrid flash here. There is no over 18 warning.
Hey! I thought *insert lightbulb here* why not give the audience what they seem to want, and enjoy doing it? Yep, I still have brain cells that fire up, even without caffeine. However, chocolate is an absolute must.
But wait! I’m way ahead of my story.
How did it all begin?
Hmmm...picture a blurry fade back to the beginning...before the hundred word obsession...er...fun began...back to February of this year.
I’m a newbie about-to-be-author, and not only that, I’m all new-penny shiny to the cyber world of e-authors. Okay, I have no idea what flash fiction is...yes, I’ve seen the term used in my internet venturing. Now, I discover one my publishers, Liquid Silver Books, has what they call Flash Fiction Sunday on their blog ~ yep, you can catch it every Sunday.
Then, I get the invitation to join in, from Nina Pierce, new author of The Healer’s Garden at the time. Currently, Nina has The Tilling Sister’s series and a new novella, Blue Moon Rising in the anthology Flurry, Fluffy & Wild (shifter lovers rejoice) available from Liquid Silver Books...yeppers, I know this sounds like a promo for Nina. In truth, even though she deserves it, I merely wanted to introduce Nina as a flasher extraordinaire, who gave me my first shot (like a drink?) at penning Flash Fiction.
Yeah, I know you just can’t wait to enjoy and superbly entertain yourselves with my first Flash...but, I have to tell you, it was like stepping out into the ocean while not knowing how to swim...for me.
So, ta-da...

Sherrana

She inspected the splendidly muscled racing stallion, sliding her experienced hands all over his sculpted sleek body. The more she stroked over him, the more the blood bay stallion she thought to use for her mare, arched his neck and stood at attention. "You’re perfect," she softly crooned, her breath touching his cheek. "Where’s your master? – So, I can make arrangements for your services."
She frowned, impatiently shaking her long diva-red hair. Her favorite mare had come into heat. Where...?
"He’s mine...Sherrana."
That deep unforgettable voice.
She whirled toward the man who had abandoned her on their wedding night.
***
Yesterday on my blog, just for my own *writing kicks*, I wrote the next flash for Sherrana. Yes, as I observe my own psychology, I think part of my *fun* is the challenge of creating the story, one hundred words at a time, in a way that will, hopefully, captivate me and the reader.
Because honestly, once I’ve finished the flash, it’s complete in that moment, and I usually don’t know where the story is going next. Or, if I do know, it ends in the following two or three flashes. And I’m at blank again. Or staring at the blank page, the blank canvass.
Then, when I return to add to my serial flash, the challenge, the creative excitement is to continue what I’ve begun from a stopping point, without having a clue about how I’m going to do that.
There’s magic in the moment, for me, as the next flash comes forth in the art of one hundred words. No matter if my brain is smoking like the back tires of a drag racer by the time I’ve finally triumphed.
And here’s one example ~
Cruelty...

ONE
Cruelty can take many forms. I sit in the dark. In the back. In the corner farthest away from the gorgeous young women strutting their stuff beneath the pink-shimmering illumination inside the intimate private ballroom of a Caribbean mansion, belonging to a mysterious man everyone called the Vampire.
The lingerie designs they model not only excite the libido to a painful level, but each one is exquisitely unique and incomparably beautiful. I lust over most of them, my breath hitching ridiculously. God, I wanted to wear them. As I could have once. But, I’m too old. Too ugly. Too fat.

TWO
"May I offer you a drink, madam?" The man’s voice behind me was deep, impossibly deep, and definitely amused. I had no idea why he would find me amusing. Unless he found old and fat some sort of sick private joke? Yeah, mess with the fat woman and tempt the oldie into believing a man found her ‘interesting’. That’s a good one. Haha. Only I’m not laughing, creep.
"I believe you will find the mango sangria particularly refreshing."
"Mango sangria?" Stupid, stupid! Why take the bait? I should just ignore him. Damn.
"A sip. I wish you to try it."

THREE
"Wish all you want. No thanks." Go away. Go find another victim. Irritated, my cheeks flushing...thank god, it’s dark...I return my attention to the filmy glamor negligees. I wish I could feel the silk and lace, the sheer whirl of color as it swishes and slinks over my hourglass curves, as they once were. Not so many years ago. I want to look in the mirror again, admire my own beauty. Maybe be admired. If it’s the right man. Passion untamed...god, yes.
"Please, I need your opinion."
Suddenly, he’s sitting beside me. I blink like an owl.

FOUR
"My opinion," I nearly stutter. No man can soundlessly move that fast, can he? His voice had come from my left. Now he sat on my right, his gaze focused on me as if he intended to feast on my face. Maybe he was, in a way. Maybe it was my blood he was after. I stifled a shiver, and chastised myself. The Vampire. I only recognized him because the magazine I freelanced for on the island, often featured him on the society pages. "Oh, I get it. For the magazine’s drink recommendations."
"If that pleases you, then, yes, Sapphira."

FIVE
"What else?" Damn, why had I said that? I’d just opened the door...
"I wish to know your palate." Leaning back, he suavely crooked one finger.
I swallowed as if my life depended on it. I’d never heard of the Vampire interacting with anyone at his fantasy fashion shows. Yes, he attended the island’s elite social events, a stunning woman attached to his side, cleavage down to her navel. But not...
With debonair precision, a waiter from out of nowhere, it seemed, deposited two tall shapely glasses. The Vampire lifted his while I stared.
"To your health, Sapphira. Please taste."
SIX
Okay, Cici, the mag’s owner would kill me if she found out I hadn’t ‘tasted’. Besides, it would be a coup of a society story, even though I’d only agreed to write up the fashion show because her usual reporter retched with morning sickness.
I pick up the cool curvy glass, then convince my hand not to shake as I slightly raise it. "To your health, Mr. Vorragozi."
"Tell me what you think," he encourages.
Are his eyes sparkling strangely? It’s not real blood, is it? Sangria...doesn’t that mean blood? God help me, if I’m remembering right, it does.
SEVEN
I sip. It’s so perfectly yummy-mango, I sip again. And again. Four sips. Five. I force myself to set the glass down. "Amazing. Very amazing, Mr. Vorragozi."
"I prepared it just for you."
"Why?" My head begins a pleasant swim. I smile.
"Tell me, what’s your favorite lingerie?"
"Baby dolls," I blurt out as if I can’t contain myself. "Truth serum?" I ask, and hold up the glass.
"What would be your favorite color to wear?" His eyes glisten like black pearls.
"Red." My tongue is utterly disobedient.
"Yes, I must have you in red."
"Blood-red! What kind of cruelty..."
CONTINUED ON AUGUST 31, 2008 ~
EIGHT
"Cruelty?" He inquires a moment after I’d firmed my lips, despite the maddening urge to blab like a chic lit heroine. I think his eyebrow is raised, but the darkness makes me wonder. Still, his tone is cool as his restaurant’s giant freezer. I know I’ve been in it, writing an article for Cici.
He waits with a patience I admire, or perhaps, he simply enjoys my mouse-like torture as I scurry in my mind to think of a way to escape.
"My age. I think it’s cruel." So there, Vampire. Maybe that will turn you ice cold with revulsion.

NINE
"How old are you, Sapphira?"
Do I hear the faint drumming of his fingertips? God, I’d love to take another drink. The glass taunted me like a singing Siren.
"Please tell me," he coaxed. Very persuasively.
It was either grab the glass and sip...or..."Fifty-eight." I harden my jaw, then avert my face. "Satisfied? Happy?" I slice my tone quite effectively, I believe.
"Would you care to guess my age?"
Neutral, his voice, yet tempting, a caress of black velvet. Oh yes, there’s that underlying amusement.
I gage my chances at shutting him down. Not damn likely, I realize.

TEN
Still...I’m a sucker for the right challenge.
"Forty something," I fling at him, tightly gripping my hands together. The Mango Sangria beckons and my mouth begs to taste ambrosia again.
He laughs...melodic and deep. Frissons of ecstatic pleasure seize my nerve endings. I sit paralyzed. Wishing I could move. But I couldn’t. I truly couldn’t.
I couldn’t even blink.
"I’ve been told thirty-five. Often." He made no attempt to hide his amusement. The hypnotic glitter of his eyes danced in the dimness, and felt like a gentle stroke on my face. Odd.
"Actually, I’m one thousand and forty-one."

ELEVEN
What the hell kind of drug had he put in that drink?
Maybe, it was blood. His blood? Vampire addictive blood. Hadn’t I read that somewhere? Some romance novel from years ago...however my brain is too fuzzy to remember, as if I’d indulged in drinking a Fuzzy Navel. Damn.
I finally blink. "Forty-one?"
"You’ll enjoy the dark side, my pretty Sapphira," he promises.
"The dark side," I mumble. Straightening my spine, I announce, "I don’t do the dark side."
"Do?" He leans forward slightly. "I believe you’ll enjoy ‘doing’ me. As much as I will passionately enjoy ‘doing’ you."
September 7, 2008
TWELVE
Shocked to my core...wherever that was, I scoot my chair back, then attempt to stand. It wasn’t happening. My legs have transformed to rubber. "I am leaving." My chin high, I press down on the table to shove myself upwards.
Instantly...before I can even think about blinking, he is beside me, his hand on my arm as if he intends to escort me somewhere.
"Go away," I snap, only able to raise myself part way. My temper emerging, I confront the devil vampire, "What drug did you put in my drink?"
"No drug. Merely a special flower essence."

THIRTEEN
"What? The flower of Bloodroot?" I emphasize ‘blood’ while trying to pull my arm out of his gentlemanly grip. And why the hell does he smell like patchouli and expensive cigar smoke, some exotic mixture of the two which intrigues me more than it should.
"Several blooms from our local flora," he calmly purrs. Again amusement hides in his voice, highly irritating me.
"Let go." I stiffen.
"My Sapphira." His tone humors me. "I will not have you harmed."
"And spiking my drink with ‘special’ essences won’t harm me?" My tone goes for his jugular.
"It will only enhance our risque’ pleasures."
September 14, 2008
FOURTEEN
"I’m not risque’ pleasuring with you," I storm.
I would have tried jerking my arm away. But damn, I knew he wasn’t letting go. The horrid, overly sexy man.
"Yes, you will." He’s leaned down to my ear, his tone intimate dark bait I yearn to leap for like a silly fish.
"No, I won’t." Righteous temper is not confined to youth. "I don’t care what ‘special essence’ you put in my drink."
"My Sapphira," he vampire purrs. "Yes, you will."
In a fit of temper I stomp on his foot. Though, really, I’m not wearing tramp chic spiked heels.

FIFTEEN
Yeah, my marshmallow-sole sandals are going to skewer his foot. He laughs, a low chuckle, just for my ear.
Damnit, I like the virile sound. My insides turn all buttery fluttery.
So what.
"I’ll scream," I warn.
"I’ll kiss you," he warns.
Kiss...it skitters through me like a thousand landing butterflies, their wings flapping.
I wiggle my arm in his grip, a useless exercise. Useless like me trying to run on the beach every morning. The only thing it got me was severely sore knees.
"Do you drink blood?"
The words dare their freedom before sanity claims them back.

TO BE CONTINUED...

What do you think?
Do I have to hear the once popular Susan Powder say, stop the flash addiction!
Then again, maybe, I’m just having fun.

Liquid Silver SEx blog ~ http://liquidsilverbooks.com/blog ~

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~ http://savannakougar.com ~