From Edgar Alan Poe, to Marry Shelley, to Kate Chopin...and selected prose has been around for centuries. Prose lacks the more formal metrical structure of verse that is almost always found in traditional poetry, and short stories may be fully developed in theme, but significantly shorter and less elaborate than a novel. However that doesn't mean that they are not amazing in and of themselves, and my guest Prose and Short Story Writers are just that...
This Week's Guest...
Short Story Author
So Iuri, tell us a little bit about yourself, like why do you write?
Well, I love reading. I never really wrote any stories or poems, because every time I thought about writing, I just felt like I was being a snobby pretentious prick, sitting down at some coffee shop with a fountain pen and an expensive "Hemingway" notepad. I don't know... it was weird.
Lol, okay, and are you attending college now?
Well, I am in Loyola University Chicago now, and since I want to graduate with an English major (and also Econ major... and thinking about math minor), I needed to take some upper level English classes. I am currently taking Creative writing fiction and creative writing poetry. I honestly hate the poetry class, but I love my fiction class.
Hahaha, okay, and where do you see that going?
We are only supposed to write "serious fiction," so I don't really get to explore as much, but I don't mind writing stories as much anymore. I just started writing this semester, and I've been doing well (according to the grades I got from my two stories).
Totally Kewl, well you can find Iuri on Facebook, and actually check out her writing. We've a little sample here to get ya started. Best of Luck Iuri, and we wish you much success!
I never fully mastered the art of writing in cursive. I always tried, but somehow I would always forget one squiggle or added extras.
When did I learn to write in cursive?
I think it was in fourth grade. My teacher told us that in high school, everyone had to write in cursives.
What a liar.
I remembered the odd grey colored papers that had thick blue lines with dotted lines that went through the middle of the two blue lines. We sat on our little desks for hours, just making squiggles that connected to each other. I didn’t like how they all connected together, crawling on the paper like a snake.
Now that snake was on a bright white poster in front of a bright white building. The black, thick, and perfect cursive writing made me feel a little uncomfortable. I stood there in front of the poster for a moment before entering the building. I didn’t want to be there. My plain black dress and heels looked a bit awkward under the bright and sunny sky of California. This weather was too perfect.
I sighed loudly and proceeded to walk into the building.
Not a lot of people were invited to this funeral. I never understood why some people held big funeral ceremonies.
When my father died, we had a huge funeral with maybe more than one hundred guests. I was in middle school at the time, standing near the door in my itchy black dress and my painful black shoes. I didn’t even know third of the guests but they all seemed to know my dad pretty well. All of the guests were crying and I thought that was strange because no one really liked my dad. They embraced me and told me that my father was a great man. I thought that was the funniest joke I have ever heard in my life because everyone knew that it wasn’t true.
I smirked while remembering how stupid my father’s funeral was, but realized that people were staring at me. I relaxed my face quickly.
Maybe I shouldn’t smile at my mother’s funeral.
I guess it still hasn’t clicked; my mother, dead. Couple days ago, my mother’s lawyer friend, Sheryl, called me and told me that my mother had passed. She said she would take care of everything for me, and that I just had to fly back for the funeral.
My mother was a very quiet person and her funeral was as quiet as she was. I was her only family, and only a handful of her friends were invited. I never liked the idea of open casket funeral, so my mother’s coffin remained closed. They asked if I wanted to see her before they nailed the lid down, but I said no. I don’t know why but it just felt weird. There were no pictures of my mother smiling among the flowers like all the other funerals I’ve seen in movies. She never enjoyed taking pictures. I guess she thought she wasn’t photogenic. Her excuse was, “cameras take your soul from you when it takes your pictures.” Before I moved out of my mother’s house, I took a couple of my favorite pictures of my mother and hid them because she was going to throw them away. If it wasn’t for those fancy cursive letters that spelled out my mother’s name, no one would have known that this was my mother’s funeral.
Still, those printed letters made me feel more distant. I think it was because I have never seen my mother’s name written in cursive other than my mother’s own writing. She loved writing in cursive and even used fountain pens. She had two fountain pens; one from her father and one from my father. I remember my mother telling me about her first fountain pen. It was her most treasured item. I don’t think it was very expensive, but it was a present from her father. She said he bought it for her when she entered college. The pen was fat with elaborative decoration carved on it. It was gold with stains on it from frequent use.
My mother was great at writing in cursive. She used to sign her name in cursive, but it was so unique that it was impossible to imitate. When I was in high school, I tried to fake my mother’s signature to ditch classes, but I always got caught because they always knew it wasn’t my mother’s writing. I just thought that my cursive was horrible compared to hers, but none of my friends were able to imitate it. I remembered how her H’s were slanted in a certain way, and how her E’s curled. She used to mock me when I wrote in cursive. She laughed at how uneven my writing got as I wrote and said it was cute. Although she had two fountain pens, she never really used the one my father gave her. I vaguely remember her mentioning how she lost it.
I sat in the corner during the ceremony and didn’t say a word. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to; I just didn’t know what to say.
Her friends said that she was a strong person.
I guess people don’t talk about flaws during a eulogy. She was always depending on someone else. When my father passed away, she was lost. She stayed home all the time and we just lived off of whatever was left in our savings account. She couldn’t sleep by herself, so she always came over to my room with her pillow. Sometimes, I felt as if our roles were reversed.
This funeral home was too big for the number of guests we had. Every little sound echoed, filling the room with sniffling, coughing, and weeping noises. Few ladies were quietly sobbing, trying to hold their tears using a handkerchief or napkins. They all stared at the coffin with their dull, blank eyes. Sometimes, during the prayers, I could hear the ladies whispering about me. I guess they didn’t like me for never visiting my mother. I tried to breathe quietly so no one could hear me. I held my breath for a while, hoping that people wouldn’t notice my presence, but had to breathe out when someone tapped my shoulder lightly. Sheryl sat next to me and made a face. I guess she was trying to smile, but it just looked awful. She was holding back her tears and kept nodding at me. I didn’t understand what she was trying to do, so I just nodded back at her, hoping she would leave me alone...
changes can bring about some of the most amazing adventures.
That’s exactly what Izobel Santos thought when she decided to chuck it all, and move from California to Louisiana to chase her dreams of opening a restaurant of her own.
In spite of this, sex, lies, without the video tape threaten to turn her once looked forward to venture into a nightmare; and it seems only one person knows the truth.
A past of pretext, deception and treachery jeopardize not only her dreams, but her life as well.
Can Izzy find the truth, before it’s too late…
Luc Moreau knew who she was from the moment he laid eyes on her. She looked so much like Sophia, that it was almost daunting! Yet from the moment his lips touched hers, he knew what his job was; to protect her from clandestine forces, and untold secrets of long ago, no matter what the cost…even if it might get them both killed!
As I maneuvered through the crowded dance floor, the music changed to this amazing seductive beat.
The waiter suddenly paused in front of me, and I looked up at him surprised.
“The host has sent this for the lovely lady.” He smiled behind the mask, and I frowned slightly.
I noticed the two glasses of champagne were tinted an electric green, then stared at them for several moments.
“Both?” I asked, my brows rising, and he nodded grinning.
“Seems he thinks you need to…loosen up a bit.” He laughed, and I frowned out right then.
I snatched both glasses off his tray, then commenced to down them both.
He threw his head back laughing, winked, then sauntered off.
I took a deep breath, then released it slowly.
I wasn’t sure why I was nervous, but something strange was in the air; and if I had to describe it, it was pure energy, but of a sexual nature.
I eased in between this dancing couple attempting to get to the middle of the dance floor.
I didn’t care if I would be dancing alone, but something about this song made me want…no need to dance.
I instantly realized it was Chibo Motto’s Sugar Water.
I closed my eyes behind the mask, and just allowed the music to envelope me, sighing as it seemed to take me higher.
But then again, it could have been the two glasses of champagne I’d just downed.
I felt some kind of electrical charge go through me, then gasped as I felt his presence.
Somehow even with my eyes closed, I knew it was him.
“I’d know this body anywhere.” He suddenly whispered into my neck, his lips brushing my skin, and I swear I felt it to the core of me and had to stifle the moan.
“Luc.” His name seemed to ease from me on a deep breath; he nodded, then drew me into his body, my back to his chest.
His hands caressed my bare shoulders, then nape of my neck, and I nearly screamed.
I wasn’t sure what was in that fucking champagne, or if I was just straight up horny; but every time he touched me, it felt as if tiny electrical currents were shooting through me, centering on every pleasure zone I had.
“Luc.” I gasped; he turned me, then crushed my lips with his.
“I need Cher, I swear I do! I caint function without her.” He swore fiercely against my lips, I gasped, opened my mouth to speak, when he covered it with his again; and I swear I almost screamed.
“And I didn’t mean for Cher to drink èm both, one was mine.” He chuckled in my ear, but I could no longer concentrate.
He swept me into his arms, then nodded to the two grinning men in the corner, and they parted the people for him laughing.
I wasn’t sure what was going on, but I knew I wanted him so far up in me in that moment, that I would swear it was burning a hole in me!
“Luc…” I moaned, and he nodded.
“Jus hole on mon amour; I promise it’ll pass soon.” He swore, as he took the stairs two at a time.
As he entered the bedroom, I somehow switched positions in his arms, he gasped, and I wrapped my legs around his waist, locking my lips with his.
“Cher non, you don’t know what chue doin!”
“Yes I do, fuck me!” I hissed in his ear, and would swear I heard him growl.
“Amourexu…I cain…” I silenced him with my lips, jumped down from his arms, and immediately began snatching his clothes off. I shimmied out of my dress, which left only the garters and undies.
Which were crotch-less.
When he was bare chest, my touch caused him to gasp, snatch up a glowing green bottle, then down half its contents.
“Beb, we caint do this! Not yet, I need to explain some than…” He wailed backing up, and I gasped shocked interrupting him.
“Fine...if you don’t want me...just fucking say so Luc! But stop playing these fucking games!” I yelled, because that was the third time he blew me off.
I snatched up my dress to cover my breast, then made a b-line for the door, but never made it.
We slammed into the wall, he placed one strong arm between my legs, then hoisted me up eye level, pinning me there with his arm in between my thighs, and I swear my vajush was screaming for more as I gasped shocked.
I looked into his eyes bewildered.
“Not wont chue? I have tried everythin in ma power; to not fucking wont ye Izzy!” He spat, and my eyes widened, because his were suddenly an amber green, and the accent sounded just a bit different.
I would swear it was a mixture of British/French and Cajun!
“But…” He cut me off, by placing his finger to my lips.
“Naw, Cho! Co! Ye da one who been leadin me on a merry chase Poupèe, then boude all damn day, when I let go; don’t give me that merde. So stick a sussette in it and listen.” He barked, I was short of breath, and my eyes narrowed.
But my faithless ass body caused me to nearly moan in pleasure from that slight touch, despite my offense.
“I never said…” I attempted, he shook his head drawing even closer to me, and I was all aware that his arm was still between my thighs, giving me pleasure, even if he had no clue of it.
“Just stop.” He commanded, jerking me into his body, and I swear I had never been so turned on by a man in my life!
Gone was my docile Luc, replaced by this extremely sexy…aggressive…man.
And I was loving every fucking minute of it.
“Ye want me to fuck ye Izzy? Believe me; I have wanted to do nothin more since I was sixteen fucking years old! But this ain’t about a fuck; it’s about ye and me Izzy.
Ye belonging to me, and no one else. Me…the only man allowed between these thighs.” He declared, as he suddenly removed his arm, caught me, and pinned me to the wall, his hands gripping my hips.
“Me the only man smacking this tight ass.” He affirmed into my throat as his hands suddenly began to palm my ass, and my head rolled back, leaning against the wall.
I gasped as he suddenly held me against the wall with his upper body, then stepped out of his slacks.
“Me the only man suckin on this hot little cunt.” He avowed, and I did scream this time, as he placed two fingers inside of me, and my muscles immediately began to milk them for all the pleasure I could get.
“Me the only man makin ye cum for hours; cuz believe me, if I fuck ye, ye belong to me, and me only Izzy and I fucking mean that! Because I swear to God, I will kill any other man ye do.” He pledged with a growl, actually seriously bit my neck this time, jerked me down on his erection, and I screamed from the pleasure.
“Still want me to fuck ye?”He snarled, and I could only pant, as I felt myself completely full for the first time in my life, then wiggled to draw him up even deeper, and he growled in the back of his throat...