My Daughter, The Pianist

The lilting sound of the melody drifted up to my bedroom comforting me. I found myself swaying to it; my body awakening to the dance responded to the rhythm. The tunes shifted from upbeat pop to classical compilations to the tangible pain of a ballad. This often happens when I spend time with my daughter, the self-taught pianist. In between her demands for food, complaints of boredom, or permission to go out, she regales me with continuous hours of music. It’s lovely how it fills the house; the music ringing through the paper-thin walls. Too soon the time comes when she returns to her father. And then the house will be quiet; the piano silent until she returns.

Eternal Pursuit of Love

She awakened and stretched. Once again aware of her loneliness; the despair of the miserable eternal existence she suffered. The thirst was difficult to ignore and each night she had searched for him she'd proven the curse true. "Until you can truly love and not give in to the darkness of your soul, you will be alone." She remembered the Gypsy telling her; the only human who didn't fear her. But the hunger was too strong and she left her crypt. The breeze fluttered about and tousled her hair; the cold no longer touched her. She looked up at the night sky - silvery pools of moonlight reflected in her eyes. Scouring the alleyways she lurked in the dark blending in the shadows. Driven by hunger, the tendrils of her humanity fleeting, she heard the rhythmic rush of blood nearby. Her song floated on the wind coaxing him closer. The prey, drawn to desire's lure, was frozen with fear and engorged with lust. Handsome features and strong build, yet weak and pliant in her arms. "Love me" she sang as she assailed him with soft fluttery kisses "Stay with me". His body trembled against her - uncontrolled moans escaped him. The scent of his blood was a heady cocktail and she sank her canines into his tender flesh. She drank; the hot savory fluid filling her, sating her thirst. The body crumpled to the ground empty of life - a sacrifice given under her spell. Not the true love she yearned for; his essence filled her but left her hollow inside - he wasn't the one. Despondent and forlorn she shuffled back to her crypt; the icy chill that eluded her earlier now assaulted her with a vengeance - punishment for unnatural deeds. Ever alone, ever searching, she wasn't sure she could control her thirst long enough to find him. A dark and lonely soul waits for eternity; eyes welled with bloody tears - the sadness palpable. The crypt door creaks shut.

The Wedding Anniversary

It was Valentines Day and their first wedding anniversary. Her excitement palpable she couldn’t wait until tonight’s special dinner. He was good at the little things, the things that mattered. Erin felt so lucky to be his wife. She had taken off from work today so she could pamper herself and get ready for her romantic evening with him.

Her best friend, Paige, was great. Since their college days they had been inseparable. Paige helped her cope with the stress of school and work, especially during the wedding planning; making sure Erin kept it together. Erin could always count on her; even today, Paige had taken off so that they could share a day of pampering.

They had spent hours at the spa getting full body massages and matching manicures. Erin got a new hair cut at Paige’s behest. Later, Paige helped her get the house in order and turn her bedroom into a boudoir. The bed looked inviting with its dark red satin bedspread and decorative pillows. Small votive candles were spread throughout the room that she would later light to set the mood. The sparkling wine was chilling in an ice bucket on the night stand next to two glasses and the chocolate truffles.

To read, to write or to blog – That is the question

Reading…writing…writing…reading…- blogging?

What to do?  In what order?   When?

You need to read in order to write.

You need to write, in order to write.

Can’t do both at the same time.

There isn't enough hours in the day.

There’s the short story, the flash fiction and the novel.

Is there time to blog today?

Exhausted.

Don’t know what to write or which one to write about.

Out of ideas.

Read some more.

Inspiration will come…when?

I don’t know, just read today.

Write tomorrow.

Blog the next day.