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New Short Story Intro.

Updated on January 6, 2016

I found this introduction from a few years ago - and I'm finding that I like it and I think it has potential to evolve into something. It is in the works. Character names are needed, as well as potential titles. Any suggestions are welcome in the comments section. Thank you.


“There is a street that I dare not take, not anymore. A street that is lined with litter. Telling litter. Trash where you can look and see what’s happened there. Among the empty McCormick Vodka bottles, the cheap 25 cent condoms and heroine needles there are the muddy imprints of stiletto boots along the side the road. Those are my imprints. Still there, you see, because hardly anyone goes in that direction anymore. They’ve been frozen along the side of that path from the harsh winter. I never walked in the street. Heroine needles and 200 dollar boots don’t mix. I walked on the side of road, amongst the shadows.

I just remember that as I walked, I forgot that I was walking. All I heard was the voice calling to me, at the other end of ______________ street. Soft. Seductive. It said my name as if it were an old Druidic word of great power, that could light up the dark. It called me in vehement passion as if it needed me. I heard . . . I head it crying, behind the musical voice, a great sadness. And I understood then that I was the One. I was the One to deliver this presence from its pain. For, we held the same desires, the same defeats, the same heartbreaking sadness. It sang to me. It sang a song of manic love. I wanted nothing more in the world than to be a slave to it.

And I- I. . . when it embraced me, you see, (boy’s name), I knew contentment. I knew. . . I knew and I saw, the face of God. The face of glory. So all consuming. I still . . .”

“Momma?”

She looked at her son. “I still do not regret that day, my love. I am sorry, but I do not. Such profundity, very few people ever have the chance to experience. I felt whole for the first time in my life. He took my soul and he read it back to me. Every thought I’d ever had, he understood. It’s because he saw, you see. They can see things that humans cannot. They know our deepest thoughts and our deepest pleasures. . .”

The boy sitting at her feet looked up at her through his black as night hair. He pierced her heart with his bright grey eyes, so much like his fathers. His expression was at once all-knowing and not knowing anything at all. A kind of intelligent innocence. “And it brought me you, my child. And so, you see, no matter what they say. How they may ridicule me and say that I lay with the devil. How they have the audacity to say that I have never been the same since, and that I left my mind behind in that forbidden alley. I do not, ever, regret it. For, you are my pride and joy.”

She meant these things as she said them. But secretly she wondered, as she had from the day of his birth, at what point she would be in over her head. At what point would his father’s traits begin to develop in him, and what would she do then? But for now, for now, he was her sweet little (boy’s name), and (her name) had always been one who lived in the moment. Thinking of the future, now that was enough to drive anyone mad, if they really thought about it.

“But Momma. . .” tears where welling up in his strangely beautiful eyes, “Where is he? Where is my father?” The boy looked away and twidled with his thumbs, his fingers long and pale. But the question still hung in the air, as it had for the last seven years.

“Your father . . .” she said. “He. . .” Tears welled up in her eyes as well. “He is down that street, dear boy. Maybe. He may be there still. But I – I dare not go, and,” she grabbed his little chin forcefully and turned up his strange gaze to meet hers, “And you shall not go either.”

He heard his mother speaking and registered the words, he saw her chapped lips moving, but a more profound voice entered his head, it was her voice still, but louder, I secretly want him too! If anyone can, it would be him! He’s half of one of them! But, oh, what if something should happened to my boy? I couldn’t keep living! But if he did, if he could, find his father . . . his father . . . ohhhhhh . . . I still remember . . . . and then (boy’s name) felt a wave of emotion from his mother that he did not understand. It scared him. It was so overwhelming, but yet nothing he himself had ever felt before. It made him sweat and fidget. He wished she would stop thinking, whatever it was she was thinking.

“You loved my daddy?” _______ asked.

She paused and raised both finely plucked eyebrows at him, “Yes, yes my child, I loved your father.” She responded. And looked off out of the window at the storm-cloud ridden sky.

______ heard his mother’s voice in his head, I worship your father. I lust after your father. I would sacrifice my life for one more embrace from his cold, hard body.

_____________ put his small head in his hands and began to breathe very slowly and deliberately. His mind was a whirlwind of confusion. His mother’s mind was a riddle to him, made up of emotions he didn’t understand. He wished he didn’t know what she was thinking. He wished there was a way to turn off the inner voice. But he couldn’t. But yet, even though he could hear her lies and feel her true thoughts, there were things about her he still didn’t understand. For instance, why did she always wear those ridiculous stiletto boots when they hurt her so much? He’d never seen his mother without them. Nanny said that’s why Momma walks very slow and hunched over, because she refuses to take off those shoes. She sleeps in them. Maybe she was wearing them when she “made” him, with daddy. They were special shoes because of that, he understood. But . . .

He’d been to Mikey Holliday’s house for a sleep over one time. Maybe it was last year. And he never came back the same. Because that day he realized that his mother was very different from other mothers, and not in a good way. Mikey’s mom had let them play outside, even across the street. Mikey’s mom didn’t smell funny, she smelled the same as the fresh flowers that were in the Holliday’s garden. His mother walked around the house, did things, what _______________ wasn’t sure, but she didn’t sit in the dark all day like his mother, turning to Nanny to fetch her more wine. And Mikey could talk to his mother whenever he wanted, not just when called. There were other things too, but ______________ didn’t want to think about it.

And now Momma is crying again. And ___________ knows what to do. He raises his pale hand to her cheek and touches it lightly, saying, “Don’t worry Momma, I’ll be your Dark Prince. I’ll take care of you and love you. I won’t leave you like Daddy.” Was that how it goes? Yes, of course. He said just as he’d been prompted to say, not understanding. The only thing he did understand was that this was a testament of love, and he did love his mother, and surely didn’t want to see her cry again.

“He wrecked me from the inside!” She said, “My heart and my womb! I’m wrecked!” She shrieked, driving her shaking hands through her now grey hair.

“I’m sorry.” __________ whispered. “I won’t ever wreck you, Momma.”

© 2016 Marié Patricia Nicolina Murray

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    • Jodah profile image

      John Hansen 17 months ago from Queensland Australia

      Patricia, this is a great intro to a short story. The names "Samuel" and "Elizabeth" came to me, I know not why.

      I did notice a couple of minor typos/spelling errors however: "..why did she always (were) those rediculous stilletto boots.." and "..he raises his pale hand to her (check).."

      "He'd been (the) Mikey Holliday's house.."

      I look forward to reading more if you develop this story further. You write very good fiction.

    • Patricia Nicolina profile image
      Author

      Marié Patricia Nicolina Murray 17 months ago

      Thank you for your very helpful feedback, Jodah! I'd found this in my documents folder dated back a few years ago. I should have given it more than just a once over before posting - those tricky typos! But they soon shall be rectified. :)

    • profile image

      Surabhi Kaura 16 months ago

      I like it, Patricia. You paint a vivid image with your writings... very creative. Much Love :)

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