When the Lights Went Out: Chapter 1 by BretagneMuse, literature
Literature
When the Lights Went Out: Chapter 1
The lights went out, and Gertrude cursed.
“Damn it!” she swore, stubbing out her cigar on the polished wooden desk and surging upright, hand reaching for the lamp. She flicked the switch. The slight buzzing of the lamp did not appear, not was it accompanied by its constant companion, instant illumination.
“Damn,” she said again viciously, and kicked the chair back. It fell, with a crash, and a gasp from the door drew her attention.
“Miss Sanderson!” His voice was a verbal bullwhip, castigating at best, lethal at worst. “I will thank you not to abuse the Academy’s furnishings! For the twelfth tim
They said long ago that before you start a war, you had better know just what you’re fighting for.
Andrew struggled weakly beneath my hands; they were red and sticky, half submerged in a layer of blood that covered his chest like a flood. His insides were gone- blown out with the gunshot that was taking his life as I watched.
“Don’t-” he gasped, blood burbling up with his words. “Don’t you dare, Jess. Don’t you dare.”
I couldn’t feel his lungs rising anymore- they were gone, too.
His eyes held mine; they were panicked. He was afraid to die. I went for his hand; his grip was tight.
His lips
The click of the tape recorder was loud in the interrogation room.
“We’re recording. Please begin, Mr. Dewayne.”
I raised my eyes up from the floor and attempted to sit straight in the chair, shoulders back, chin raised. “I am prepared.”
“As a requirement of the law, I am under oath to suggest that you have or request legal representation at this point, before we go any further. Are you in need of legal representation, Mr. Dewayne?”
I sneered at the pot-bellied, odorous police officer. “I do not require the services of any of my five lawyers. May we continue?”
“Suit yourself. Where&
Behind the Bathroom Door by BretagneMuse, literature
Literature
Behind the Bathroom Door
“Babe, open the DAMN DOOR.”
Like hell she was going to do that. Annie curled her toes and stretched out in the bathtub.
It had been a party at his work; a little drinking, a little awkward dancing, but that had been enough. She’d worn her dress too tight, too short, danced with the wrong colleague. He’d dragged her out by her arm spitting furious words into her ear, hand closed over her hip hard enough to hurt.
She touched her cheek gingerly. She was sure it was purple; the partygoers had given her, at first, startled looks, and then concerned eyes as she’d explained about the doorknob. Yes, yes, she was really
The Girl on the Verandah by BretagneMuse, literature
Literature
The Girl on the Verandah
She sat on her back verandah in a loosely wrapped blue beach towel, a full cup of tea on her right knee.
Her hair was a tangled mess reaching halfway down her back, visible when she turned back towards the house, in answer to a query shouted by her father.
Her hair swung back when she turned to contemplate her tea, and she took a sip.
It was a mystery, what she had been doing before. Had she gone for a swim? Had she been for a shower?
The wind rustled the jacaranda trees around the bounds of her family’s property. It ruffled her hair, too. The sunlight was dying; it stretched out behind her, light curling over the house and spilling out
Holding Out For A Hero by BretagneMuse, literature
Literature
Holding Out For A Hero
“I need a hero.”
Rachel’s head met the bar with a clunk.
Cherie popped her head up from beside her, dark eyes inquisitive. “What, until the morning light?”
She glared halfheartedly. “No. Like a guy- I need a guy.”
Cherie ran a practiced eye over the occupants of the bar. “Well…give it an hour and six beers, and you’ll have your pick.”
Unwashed truckers and broke uni students- not unlike herself. Rachel took a good look around and did not like what she saw. “Out of this lot? Mmm. No.”
The strangely angular straw sticking of her friend’s fruit concoction bobbed
They always tell you that you can’t really taste it. That if you hold your breath, and close your eyes, you won’t even know that it’s slipping its chokingly abrasive way down your throat.
They told my mum that I needed this, that this is the medication I had to be on to battle the sickness within me. Sickness. Disease. Bats in the belfry, they said. Bats in the fucking belfry. What would they know about insanity? …what don’t they know? They stand there with their pristine white surgical robes, with their cold, gloved hands, their fake sympathetic expressions.
If you won’t take your medicine, they pinch y