Mid Week Blues Buster The Black House

I’d heard stories. A place where anything goes and no questions asked. A place called The Black House. Although the building was dark and uninviting, I guessed the name stemmed from what went on within the walls rather than its decor. A young boy came for my horse and a flicker of excitement twitched on his face. I smiled, tossing him a ha’penny before entering where no decent man would tread.  

Everything stopped. Not even a breath was heard. It seemed my reputation beat me as every eye followed me through the smoky haze. I sat in the darkened corner by the rear exit, at a small wooden table and immediately a tankard of ale was placed in front of me, shaking his head at my offer of payment. A large oaf of a man, fuelled on ale and stupidity stumbled towards me. His speech was slurred but I think he was telling me not to hide behind my mask, to reveal who I was. I think he insulted me. I’m sure I made out the word ‘coward’ before he was dragged away by two very sensible, apologetic men, and my hand released from my pistol. I hated killing, really I did. But kill or be killed in my game and I obviously had a reputation to uphold.

I sipped my ale. It was warm and not the best I’d tasted and everyone carried on with their business, mainly getting drunk but plotting and exchanging of maps, money and weapons went on in huddles across the room. The odd fight caused excitement until they were thrown out.   

The door opened and I saw the cloaked figure approach. I didn’t care for people being late.

“I don’t have long.” Her voice was unmistakable.

“What do you mean?”  This wasn’t the plan.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“What have you done?” My voice was on edge. Control was leaving me, taking me to unknown territory. I reached for her hand. It trembled. With the other hand, I removed her hood. Her once beautiful face now smeared in blood as a cut ran deep across her cheek.

“I was ambushed, betrayed. You have to leave now,” she said with anguish. Terror filled her dark eyes, her skin pale. She winced, slumping towards the table. Jumping from my chair, I was at her side, gently holding her up when  I saw the spread of red on her white tunic. “Leave me, save yourself.”

“No,” I hoisted Emma from her chair, kicking open the rear exit. A redcoat stood, his gun aimed. Stillness descended on the bar as redcoats burst through the front. My pistol was trapped between me and Emma, my knife wouldn’t beat a gun. I was running out of time. I could not die here, or be arrested, for the gallows was my fate, the fate of any highwayman and his accomplices.

The redcoat advanced. I could see he was already thinking of glory at my capture. But I held my ground. A shallow moan left Emma’s lips. I couldn’t leave her. Maybe this was meant to be, dying together, here, right now. What a legend that would make. If I knew these drunken men, they’d embellish my fight for survival. Shame I wouldn’t live to hear it.

A flash of silver sliced across the redcoat’s throat, his life spilling out as he slumped to the floor. The horse boy stood, the knife in his hand.

“Your horse is ready!” he shouted before fleeing. It was a heroic gesture but the redcoats behind me would gun me down. But that boy, he awakened those men of The Black House, showed them what we all were, why we were there and they bore down on those redcoats with bloodied fists as I rode into darkness with Emma.

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Mid Week Blues Buster Changing Winds (judged 2nd place)

This story won me second place. Yay. xx

The whispers were true. Rosalind was back. As John watched from his high, stone walls, Rosalind rode in, escorted by his guards who made sure she was brought immediately to him. She stood before John, silently staring at him. It was happening again; he was losing himself in her green eyes, vibrant like an early spring morning promising excitement of the hunt.

  “Aren’t you going to offer me anything?” she asked. “It’s been a long journey.”

  “Rosalind, I banished you from the kingdom. Knowing upon your return you would be sentenced to death, why on earth are you here?”

   “I do not question where the winds take me, nor do I fear the consequences,” she replied, taking the goblet of wine offered to her.

    “It’s that kind of talk, witch talk that got you trouble in the first place.”

    “You haven’t changed much,” Rosalind said, walking towards the window. “Neither has the condition of your townspeople.”

    “There is a war to be funded.”

    “A war in a place these people know nothing about.”

    “You haven’t come back to discuss my taxes?” he asked, standing close behind her, his fingers entwined in her long raven hair. “I’ve missed you.” Rosalind felt his hot breath on her neck as he scooped her hair away, revealing milky white flesh. “I can over turn your death sentence Rosalind,” he murmured.

     She turned to face him, cupping his face in her hands and softly kissing him. “I will not change,” she whispered. “I am who I am, a free spirit who cannot be tamed. Even by a king.”

     The grip on her wrist tightened, his eyes dark and cold. “Then the people you care so much about will continue to suffer as I suffer, unless you renounce your ways.” His grip loosened.  “I love you Rosalind. And offer you everything.” His lips pressed on hers, demanding a response but none came. “You have sealed your fate,” he spat, his hand forming a vice around her neck. Rosalind, remaining calm, tried to pull his hand away, her nails digging in his flesh, breaking the skin.

   “And you have sealed you’s she panted as he released his hand, blood trickling down his arm from her nail mark.

    Rosalind didn’t know why the winds lead her back to John. And as she lay on the cold stone floor, her ankles in shackles, she didn’t question why. Even when she heard the stacking of wood outside, she didn’t question. She accepted everything, even meeting an apothecary along her journey who insisted her nails were painted with a clear liquid, to protect her from harm.  

      That now, was clear to Rosalind. Everything was done for a reason. Now to find the reason for her death as she was lead to the pyre. A muted crowd watched as she was tied to the steak and more wood was piled up around her.

    The flames licked and danced around her, spreading and growing, crackling and spitting. Soon, a wall of fire ate away at her as smoke drifted up and carried on the wind.

     The wound on John’s arm sent him into a fever. From his bed he smelt burning, could see the smoke swirl up high. He cried out as the pain in his arm spread throughout his body, until too weak to even moan. As life ebbed away, a breeze rolled over him, whispers surrounded him. The voice of Rosalind echoed in the air, her sweet voice, gentle laugh. “I am free,” she sang, “free to roam wherever the wind takes me, where you can’t harm me.”

   “Rosalind,” said the hoarse voice of John. “What have you done?”

    “You were right about sealing my fate John. My fate was to be free from you forever and to free the people from you.”   Stillness and silence enveloped John as the breeze, the wind and Rosalind left him to die alone.   

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Written for Mid Week Blues Buster over at http://thetsuruokafiles.wordpress.com/ .      

Mid-Week-Blues-Buster- Left of Center Suzanne Vega

Lipstick Kisses

“Morning gorgeous,” I said, rolling over to find Mia’s side of the bed cold. I never believed in love at first sight until Mia. I thought she felt the same. I noticed a neatly folded piece of paper on the pillow.

   If you want me, you will find me  with a ruby lipstick kiss.

   Screw that! I threw the scrunched up ball across the floor. She knew I hated games. Told her that last night, completely up front and she goes and kicks me in the bollocks. Just because she liked the thrill of the chase.

   I sat in the cafe across the road from the hotel, opening up the menu. A piece of paper fell out.

    If you want me, you will find me, you’ve joined the game with another lipstick kiss was. I looked around but Mia was nowhere. She knew I’d be here, it’s where we met. She wanted me to play, wanted me to find her.

    Finishing my coffee, I jumped on a passing bus, grabbing a window seat but I wasn’t concentrating on the view as Mia’s flirtatious giggle filled my head. I tried to dismiss her but something caught my eye. Ruby red lips! Jumping off the bus, dodging traffic, I ran up to the newsstand where the lipstick kiss was.

      “Have you seen a woman, about this high, wearing a short denim skirt, white top, brown hair, red lips?” All was met with a shake of his head, offering me a magazine or paper. I scanned the racks. The Face! I picked up the top copy. Mia mentioned this, a magazine for aspiring artists.

     “Hey, if you wanna read it, you buy it,” the man said. I handed over a note and walked, flicking through the pages. A piece of paper lay neatly inside.

     I’m glad you want me, you will find me . . . soon and another lipstick kiss.

     I thought back to the conversations, way into the small hours. She said she wanted to be a singer. Did some busking . . . Another bus to Covent Garden. I ran around the bustling market, but only saw living statues. No point asking them. There were no clues. I was sucked into a game I didn’t want to play but now couldn’t leave. There had to be something. She said her favourite drink was a mojito. I looked up and found I was outside Henry’s. I ran in, downstairs (because Mia said she liked to drink downstairs). I opened up a menu. Nothing. Opened another. Nothing.

   “Can I help you?” the Australian barman asked.

    “A girl, Mia, orders mojitos, have you seen her?”  

    “Sure, she used to work here, handed in her notice this morning. Looks like you could use a drink.” Never having drunk a mojito before, I ordered one, flicking through the magazine, stopping at her kiss. I’d wasted the entire morning and now reached a dead end. That’s why I hated games. There was always the chance of losing or never finishing.

     “I don’t suppose she said where she was going?”

    “Na, just said she was going to be a popstar.”

     I looked back at the lip print, gulped down the mojito and left, back out into daylight. It was easy hailing a cab. I looked at the lips again, circling a talent agency for singers. She had to be there. It was a short cab ride. I burst through the doors, met by security. Calmly I asked them about Mia.

     “Are you Elliot?”

     “Yes!” He handed me a note. The note was blank. Not even a kiss. “What? I don’t get it. Isn’t there another note?”

       “No.”

        I sank in the chair, head in hands.

        “If you want me, you will find me,” Mia’s voice sang. I looked up. She stood, grinning flirtatiously at me. “Good song eh? My agent thinks it’ll be a hit. How about you?”

        AT that moment, I didn’t care about the song. All I wanted was to taste those ruby lips once more, hold Mia and would only play another game again if winning was ever this good.

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Written for Jeff Tsuruoka over at the The Tsuruoka Files for The Mid-Week-Blues-buster

This week's tune is Suzanne Vega Left of Center 

Blues Buster Dogs of Lust wk50 Lust

After last weeks' second place, I thought I'd give Jeff Tsuruoka's Mid Week Blues Buster over at The Tsuruoka Files another try. This week, a song by The The called Dogs of Lust. To listen, click the link. x here.

Lust

It had been eight weeks since Jay had his heart crushed. He thought he was over the worst but as the days grew longer and the mercury rose, Jay was reminded of sultry days on the beach. When he closed his eyes, he could see her glowing, bronzed skin shimmering in the sun, smelling of coconut and looking good enough to eat.

     Even when Jay was awake, he saw Emma everywhere, in the coffee she drank to the waft of her perfume as he walked down the street.

   The one place he didn’t expect to see her was at the back street bar as he sank his third bottle of beer, trying to celebrate his birthday with friends.

      His pulse raced.

      His mouth became instantly dry.

      The ice cold bottle of beer warmed quickly in his sweaty hand.

      “Is that Emma?” Gary asked.

       Jay couldn’t speak, unable to lift his gaze from Emma as she sauntered onto the stage. Her long blonde hair tucked up into a dark, bobbed wig; it suited her, bringing out the dark pools of her eyes. Her lips were plump, glossy and waiting to be kissed. He remembered vividly kissing those lips, as they smiled back at the audience. He could see her tasteful rose tattoo just at the base of her back. He remembered how he caressed that tattoo with his lips as she moaned under him. Now she was showing off that tattoo to complete strangers as she wrapped her legs around the pole, throwing her head back.       

     She licked her lips with the tip of her tongue. Jay groaned, remembering being on the end of that tongue.

    Even when her eyes fell on Jay, she kept smiling, not thrown for a second. In fact Jay was sure she tried even harder as she faced the crowd and slid down the pole, thrusting her legs wide open, before crawling towards the audience, and Jay, on all fours.   

        Jay felt a tightening in his jeans. He knew she was agile and supple but he’d never seen her do the splits. She was oozing sex, the sexiest thing he had ever seen  . . . and tonight he wanted her.

       Always wanted her.

       She knew it.

       Jay was hot. The sweat dripped down his back. His jeans skintight, stuck to his thighs. He ignored his friends as they tried to talk with him, trying to ignore Emma. They walked away, feeling uncomfortable watching their mate’s ex girlfriend writhe in front of them wearing next to nothing. But Jay sat, intoxicated, knowing how she used to respond to his touch, as he gently stroked her soft contours.

     He groaned, running a hand through his hair, not knowing what to do with himself.

   The music stopped and the crowd cheered. She bowed, which raised more cheers due to her skimpy bra, before running back stage. Moments later, her blonde hair flowing down her back, Emma appeared, fully clothed. She walked towards Jay. He wanted to reach out to her, glide his fingers down her tanned arm, wanted her completely.

      He couldn’t stand.

      He tried adjusting himself. She smiled. It was the acknowledgement Jay needed. Just a drink . . . a lingering kiss. . .

     She carried on walking to the guy behind the bar where he kissed those lips.

     Jay left his beer, needing fresh air. The night was still. Enveloped in lust, Jay walked home alone wondering how he would ever forget Emma.  

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Mid Week Blues Buster Images of heaven

A backdrop of thick, grey cloud cast a dark shadow  over the run-down building and Oliver shivered, checking the address scrawled in his notebook. It was right. He gingerly pushed open the peeling wooden door, afraid it would fall off its hinges but wasn’t prepared for the splendour within. His eyes trailed up the grand, wooden staircase, following the smooth curves until they fell onto the ruby red gown. He couldn’t help but linger on the creamy flesh of slim leg through the split . . . a long split . . . past the knee . . .  up to her thigh.

      “You found it then?” Her sultry voice swathed Oliver in silk. He gazed up to her sun-kissed face, unable to speak. “Come,” she offered extending a delicate hand.

    Oliver climbed the thick carpeted stairs, unable to avert his gaze from her sapphire eyes. He found himself in a bedroom, where sunlight flooded through floor to ceiling windows, casting a natural glow on her beautiful skin, making artificial lighting redundant.  She draped herself across the billowing, snowy white covers of the bed. Fumbling with equipment, Oliver’s hands trembled.

     “Everything OK?” she asked in a breathy voice.

    “Yeah, good, just getting ready. You said these photos are for someone special?”

     “ Yes. Aren’t all photos special?” she purred.

     “Of course. Shall we begin?” Oliver immersed himself in his art which was easy when the muse was so beautiful. He didn’t imagine her penetrating stare, her flirtatious manner, teasing him, drawing him in. He was helpless, like a moth seeking the light. She was the light he fell into with heart, body and soul.

   It took time for sleep to slip away. He tried to adjust to his surroundings but it was dark. Footsteps lingered close. He smiled. A beam of light shone through the door before it burst open. Oliver shielded his eyes from the intrusion.

   “OK, Romeo, get your things and clear off,” the gruff voice said. Oliver found himself naked, lying on a shabby mattress in a squat.

  “But I was with a woman. Where is she? Where am I?”

   “Yeah, I know the type of woman you were with, do anything for a fix, steals your wallet. You’re in a condemned building, trespassing I might add.”  

    “But the staircase, the windows,” blustered Oliver, pulling on his trousers, “the bed.”

     “Must have been some trip,” the guard replied, watching Oliver pick up his camera and bag.” You’re lucky she never stole that.”

     “Trip? I wasn’t on anything! I was invited here for a photo shoot.” Full of exasperation, Oliver glanced round, seeing discarded needles, rusty teaspoons, a rat scurrying into a dark corner. He shuddered, feeling the cold as the hairs on the back of his neck bristled.

      “Yeah, I’m sure she was a supermodel,” he offered, dripping with sarcasm.

       “She was more than that, a classic beauty! She lived here.” The stairs creaked with every step, no carpet and Oliver was careful to avoid holes. Once outside, Oliver looked back at the building, just as it was when he arrived. His head ached, his mouth felt full of sawdust. The guard walked away. Oliver ran over the events. He wasn’t drugged. He’d taken nothing, only her, repeatedly. He could smell her perfume, see the contours of her body, the gentle curls of platinum hair tumbling across her eyes, so easy to love, to photograph.     

       “No! wait!” Oliver shouted, running through puddles. “I have proof.” The guard stopped as Oliver reached for his camera. “Look! I’m not lying!”

       “I’m sure whatever went on in there was mind blowing but you’re this close to me calling the police.”

       “No, look.” Oliver stared through the viewfinder, scrolling through the photos as the guard looked on impatiently. Every frame showed the same thing, an empty room with a stained, threadbare mattress. “I don’t understand. She was there. She was real!”

    “Go home!”  

    Hollowness engulfed Oliver. He knew it happened, could still feel her touch on his skin, the heat of her body. He trudged away, hearing her wispy voice behind him. He spun round, but was alone, her breathless laugh echoing in his mind, never to leave him.

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Written for  Jeff Tsuruoka's Mid Week Blues Buster over at The Tsuruoka Files.

Here's the 80's tune by Peter Godwin.

    

    

     

  

Mid Week Blues Buster Betrayal

Maria waited over an hour at the backstreet motel for Jason but couldn’t wait any longer. Throwing the key on the counter, she walked out, wrapping her coat tight around her, shielding her from the sudden downpour.

The main street was deserted, the only sound the clipping of her heals.   

A car rumbled behind her, slowing down. The tinted window  slid down and Maria smiled, hiding her surprise at seeing her brother.  

      “What are you doing in this neighbourhood?” he asked.

      “Seeing a friend,” she replied, her story already prepared. If Carlos knew she was seeing Jason, he would flip. As head of the family, he decided on who she should date.She climbed in next to him.

       “Which friend?”

       “Rita, she’s having problems with Zak.”  She stared out the window, the town lights slowly disappearing in the distance. It was silly feeling nervous being with her brother but she knew what he was capable of, had seen him blow a man’s brains out for just looking at her.

        The car drove slowly around winding roads, deeper into the desert and Maria felt uneasy, not because they were going completely wrong way but because she hated being around when Carlos did business, reminding her how feared he was.  

       The car stopped and Maria saw another car ahead where two men stood, the headlights flooding a usually dark desert.  

      “Get out,” Carlos ordered. She did as she was told despite the rain. Her hair whipped around her face but she saw, through tangled strands, a man kneeling between the two men.“Come,” Carlos said. She followed him, trying not to stumble in her Louis Vuittons. “Do you know this man?” Carlos asked as one of the men pulled back the kneeling man’s hair, revealing a bloodied, battered face. She stifled a gasp, biting down on her quivering lip as Jason was thrown to the floor. “I asked do you know this man?”

  She shook her head, unable to speak. She watched Jason crawl back up. He was swiftly kicked in the stomach, groaning as he curled up on the ground. She inhaled sharply, holding her breath, trying in vain not to let her feelings escape and betray her.   

  “So you do know him?”

   She nodded, looking into Jason’s eyes. She saw no pain. His eyes spoke to her, silent words of love. It looked like he was mouthing something to her, words of love, she was sure and a faint smile passed her lips.

        A loud bang vibrated through her, rattling her bones, echoing through the night. Jason tumbled to the floor, blood oozing from a neat hole in the middle of his forehead. Screaming, she ran to him, cradling the lifeless body in her arms, tears streaking her face, his blood smearing her skin.

    “He was a cop!” Carlos bellowed above the wind. “A fucking cop! He was only seeing you to get to me you stupid bitch!” He threw a shovel at her feet. “Now dig!”

     Maria obeyed, her heart empty, her body shattered. She knew Jason was a cop, that’s why she didn’t tell Carlos. But Jason wasn’t interested in him. He truly loved her. He didn’t even know she was Carlos’ sister.

       Exhausted, Maria fell to the ground as the men pushed Jason in the shallow hole. She watched as the desert sands covered his beautiful face until they patted the sands down and walked away.

      Just Carlos and Maria remained. Even the rain stopped as he stared down at his little sister, a traitor. There were no words and Maria knew he would banish her, disown her. But she didn’t care. Nothing mattered now Jason was gone. Carlos would do her a favour, freeing her from his empire of terror.

       She heard the distinct click of his gun and looked up, gazing down the barrel. She didn’t see Carlos’ tears. She didn’t feel afraid. She saw Jason, when they first met. It was her last thought as a bullet ripped through her heart. Maria slumped on Jason’s grave.

    Carlos calmly walked back to his car, he didn’t look back once. Darkness descended and the desert was at peace once more.

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Written for  Jeff Tsuruoka's Mid Week Blues Buster over at the TsuruokaFiles.

Here's the music; pure instrumental, inspirational and gorgeous. x

Oscar Mid Week Blues Buster

         

Waking up was painless for a split second. That’s how long it took the real world to fracture the dream world, replacing it with immediate emptiness. Molly lay still in the large bed, needing to stretch out her limbs, wanting to feel the warmth of Thom but knowing she would feel only cold, crisp sheets. She hated the weekends. Breaking up with Thom was harder to handle when there was no urgency to get out of bed, no work to occupy her mind. A whole day of nothing lay ahead of her. Just like it had for the past three weeks and still it wasn’t getting any easier.

But Molly had promised herself she would make today count, be a part of society, drink a latte at the corner cafe, buy a Sunday newspaper and maybe stroll through the park like she used to with Thom and Oscar. If Molly could be honest about her situation, she’d admit she missed Oscar more; she wasn’t angry with Oscar like she was Thom.

The cafe wasn’t so bad. She smiled as the latte was placed in front of her and was thankful the waitress didn’t ask about Thom. She sipped her latte, watching the world drift by, seeing how loved up everyone was, how they giggled as they walked by hand in hand. She and Thom used to be exactly like that. A swift gulp of her latte stifled a tear that threatened her veneered appearance of control. She had made it this far and was not going to turn back now. All that awaited her was an empty house, bursting with memories that was washed away momentarily with a bottle of rosé. If ever there was a sign of a broken heart, it was her recycling full to the brim with empty wine bottles. Not today. Today was the first of many painful first steps she had to take.

Buoyed up with confidence, Molly finished her latte. Feeling warm inside, she could now face the park; a brisk walk to blow away her constraints of misery. She paid her bill but was surprised when along with her change, Molly was given a paper bag.

“We’ve missed you Molly, and Oscar. Shame about you and Thom but life goes on and plenty fish in sea. Thom is a fool,” Dillon said with a smile. “But you can have these for Oscar. There’s some meat left on the bones.”

Molly never made it to the park. What was she thinking? The park? Without Oscar? It was bad enough without Thom but Oscar? It was Oscar that made her house a home. Oscar who bounded across the park after sticks, making Molly laugh, Oscar who snuggled at her feet, keeping them warm and Oscar who sat with her on those lonely empty nights whilst Thom was ‘working late’. It pained Molly even more when she realised Oscar was the only loyalty she had had in her life and how empty her life had now become now he was no longer in it.

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My entry in this week's  Mid Week blues Buster over at The Tsuruoka files. You can listen to the musical inspiration called In a lonely place by The Smitherines here http://youtu.be/mlOVlqUcB8A . 

           

  

Mid-Week-Blues-Buster-Flash-Fiction-Challenge

This piece was written for the mid-week-blues-buster-flash-fiction-challenge-week-01  hosted by the The Tsuruoka files.

The prompt is Freedom accompanied by a song of the same name by Elayna Boynton & Anthony Hamilton which you can check out here.

As with any flash, there are rules: 500 words is target but you can go up to 700 but no less that 300. Very generous and what an opportunity to write something a bit longer that usual.


"The weight of the world was on my shoulders. . . . I'm looking for freedom and to find it it may take . everything I have . . ." The whole song has a melancholy rhythm with lyrics that inspired this short story which at present is untitled.   xxx

The thick rope gnawed away at her flesh with every twist, turn and struggle to free herself, tightening its grip; at times numbing the excruciating pain which was a welcome relief but only fleetingly as the pain seared her flesh to the bone.  Closing her eyes, Narla, as the Blonde One called her, sort solace in her dreams where life was kind, people cared, she could roam free and be herself without recrimination. Those days were another lifetime now and were becoming folklore and fairy tale to her kind just as her freedom became a lost word without meaning.

Fat rain drops fell heavily from the summer sky, trickling off palm leaves, evaporating before her eyes; teasing and taunting Narla as she lay, desperately stretching to reach the precious liquid that lay on a leaf but it was just out of reach. If her wounds didn't end her, thirst would.  She prayed it be quick.

Exhaustion took hold, not even enough energy to stop the wood ants from marching right over her, taking a nibble here, a bite there causing the most agonizing itch that couldn't be scratched.  Rolling over wasn't an option; the binds just tightened, deeper into her flesh, oozing a flow of crimson. Narla could only watch.

She wasn’t sure how many hours she had lain but two nights had passed and she was sure there would not be a third. Where was that fair skinned blonde woman with the kind blue eyes, the soft voice and gentle touch? Surely she would come and rescue Narla from her pitiful fate before The Others did. The Others would jeer, poke, torment at their prize possession for that was all Narla was to them; a possession. Not a soul, a spirit, a life. Not the chance to live to a full age, not the chance to wander free ever again. The thoughts depressed her frail body as she sank deeper into the lush vegetation, as soft as a blanket which would end up being her grave if The Others didn't get there first. . .

Through the thick canopy, Narla glanced up for one last look at the stars, shining down from a clear sky. They gave her comfort as they watched over her in her hour of need. In Narla’s world, each star was a soul looking down and guiding those in need; Narla was in need and she sighed deeply wanting the pain and loneliness to end. She wished The Others understood her needs and shared her beliefs and wished this now to the stars before her eyes closed.  

A rustling awoke Narla and her eyes widened and her heart beat rapidly. Nearer and nearer it came, footsteps towards her, a familiar smell; the Blonde One. Even in the pitch black of the jungle, Narla knew the Blonde One. But even Narla knew she was too late. But a friendly touch to see her through to the end filled her heart. She heard the Blond One’s strange tongue but recognised the anguish in her voice as her hands tried to release the binds.

“What have they done to you my Narla?” The Blonde One otherwise known as Carrie, gently bathed the wounds, gave her water that Narla could not drink.

“I think we’re too late.” Carrie’s tears fell on Narla’s face knowing Jake was right. She stroked Narla’s orange and black fur, still gloriously soft, and thick despite death creeping foreword. Jack sat next to her, the three of them silent in the jungle.  No words could make this situation better or change the inevitable but Carrie knew her touch soothed Narla. She would not die alone.

Narla knew the end was in sight. She raised her head, nuzzled Carrie before letting out one last gut wrenching roar, so powerful, the forest floor shook. A sleeping jungle came to life as if they knew one of their own was gone, singing, howling their mournful song as Narla began a new journey where freedom would be guaranteed; up among the stars as they shone down, listening and offering help where needed and guiding those who deserved it.   

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