October Writing Challenge- Oct 2nd, Writing Prompt

"He struggles with us, strengthens our nerves, and sharpens our skill. Our antagonist is our helper." - Edmund Burke

Dad is screaming again. He's drunk. He's always drunk. I don't know why I ever excepted him to be sober. I climb out of bed to head downstairs. I need to get a handle on the situation before he does something we will both regret. 

It's been just me, and Dad for as long as I can remember. Mom left us, though I don't know when. He never talks about it, but I have heard enough of the rumors. I'm one of those kids that people feel sorry for, but no one ever does anything to help. The one they will smile at sweetly as they greet them, but is never invited over for dinner, or to play. Not that I would go. Dad says I'm only allowed out of the house for school. It's not that I am afraid of going out. But Dad can be strange at times. There is a light in his eyes that kind of flickers off when he gets mad, and it get's weird. I would just rather not see what happens afterwards. 

As I head downstairs Dads screams get louder. He is in the living room, but he's not alone. There is another voice mixed in with his screams. Female. It sounds like she is trying to make herself invisible by keeping her voice as small as possible. I freeze at the halfway down the stairs. From here, I know that Dad can't see me, but I can see him, and the woman coward before him. 

Dad is a huge man. Six foot six, two hundred and fifty pounds of muscle. He's intimidating. But standing over that woman, there was more to him. He had a strange power over her. She could have easily yelled for help. She was closer to the door than he was, so she could have ran. But she just sat there, motionless, eyes closed, practically whispering as she begged him to calm down. 

I want to run. My feet carried me slowly down the steps. 

"Dad," my voice is barely louder than the woman "What are you doing?"

I look over and realize that I have seen this woman before. When Dad takes the long way to drop me off at school. She always sits on her porch. It's the house that he slows down at. He always ask what I think of the house. He called it his. 

Dad turns to look at me. His eyes are dead. The light is gone, and they are like two shiny black marbles staring back at me. His smile is slow, and eerily out of place. I only have a moment to realize that I should run before it happens. Dad grabs me by the neck, and throws me against the wall. The impact sends a flash of hot white light across my vision, and there is a buzzing in my ears that is dizzying.  

"Do you ever wonder," he spits at me "what happened to your mother?"

My eyes go wide. He is pleased with my reaction. 

"She tried to get away. She was mine, and she tried to get away."

I watch, unable to move as he reaches for the woman on the floor. She is crying, begging. Dad's smile gets wider. He puts one massive hand around her throat, and reaches for her pants with the other. She's screaming now, which makes my dad laugh a deep, evil laugh. I wish she would shut up. She is not helping. I get to my feet, and start walking over. 

"Dad, stop," I say calmly. "You're hurting her. Let her go, Dad."

"I'm not hurting her. She is mine. This is what she needs."

The color on her face drains, and her eye bulge out. She's clawing at him now, screaming. He already has her pants on the ground, and her underwear follow. She is horrified. I turn away. I have never seen a woman undressed. 

"Dad... stop!"

He throws her on the floor, and punches her so hard, you hear a cracking sound. She goes so still, I feel my stomach lurch. 

"You want to know what happened to your mother" he ask as he pushes down his pants, and boxers. 

"Watch, son. Watch me. This is how you claim a woman. Watch."

My head turns of it's own violation. The woman is still laying motionless on the floor. Dad smiles his evil smile at me, and I am filled with the urge to throw up. Then, staring at me in the eyes, he lowers himself on top of her, and as violently as possible thrust into her. Still, she doesn't move. He looks at her for a brief moment, laughs, and turns his attention back to me. 

I can't move. I don't know how long I stood here, while my dad held my gaze. No idea how long it was before he got up, and pulled his pants up. All I know is I want to hurt him. I ball my hands into fist. My body trembles with anger. 

How stupid was this woman? Why would she come here? How dare she fall asleep, and let him do that to her? Stupid! I want to hit her. I want to kill him. 

"You plan on hitting me, son?"

"No. I plan on killing you."

He laughs at me. Actually laughs at me. 

"You know the difference between you, and your mother?"

I only stare at him. 

"Your mother was smart enough not to answer that question."

He walks towards me. I take a step back, but it's not enough. I see his fist come down, and then there is darkness. 

..............

I'm on the floor. Face first. There is pain. Lots of it. My dad's boots come into my line of vision. I look up slowly. He smiles, leans down and whispers "You're mine now too." 

The makings of a villain

Started working on a long abandoned project last night. It's funny how it started out as a love story and now I am writing simply to find out what happens to my antagonist. He's kind of a sick little pervert. But no matter how much I want to dislike him, I feel nothing but pity for him. His story is really the driving force behind this book. I need to know what happens to him, more than I need to know what happens to my hero and heroin. 

Excerpt: Meeting the villain

October 24^th. Five years to the date since the last time he had seen his beloved. The thought of having been away from her for that long made his skin crawl. What kind of a man would leave the woman he loved unprotected and unloved for so long? He was so glad when he finally was able to convince the board that he was a reformed man and should be put up for parole. He made a beeline straight to the last place they had made love. Except she hadn’t been there. No one lived there now. He watched the apartment for six weeks only to find that the only people that walked in or out were two middle aged Mexican maids. Twice a week. They would be there from 11am to 1pm on those days. And then they would leave for the next two or three days.

            God, what he would give to be inside that apartment again reliving the memory of their first night together. He had been so angry with her for glowing from the growth of another man’s child. That filthy whore had the nerve to be so proud of the fact that she was carrying another man’s baby. And to call that pussy that impregnated her, her husband? How could she? Yes he had been livid with her. And in all his rage and anger he had been highly aroused. Just thinking about the play fight they had before they got down to business made him want to explode from ecstasy. Oh and she had fought him. Or at least tried too. She had been absolutely adorable when she tried to cut him with her little kitchen knife. He was so glad she had wanted to play along.

            But his search was far from over. Once he realized she had moved he started searching for her again. Going to her college to see if her or those other two bitches she hung out with still went there. It took months before he saw any of her friends. And then that crazy twin she hung around with came back. Truthfully she was beautiful and if he hadn’t been absolutely in love with his beloved Saryah he would have had her as well. He followed the twin around for two weeks until finally he caught the first sight of his beloved in years.

            They had met up in Herald Square by New York City’s biggest Macy’s. Obviously out on a girls shopping trip. It took everything he had not to run up to her and gather her in his arms. He restrained himself. They would be together but not like this. No their meeting would be private and painful and beautiful. He wanted to hear her beg for mercy and scream in pain when he invaded her again. Seeing her with her friends had been like the first time they had met.

            She had been across the room doing a presentation for their speech class. She was utterly, painfully beautiful. Her long brown curls down to her waist. She hadn’t spoken a word to him but he felt the connection and he knew she had too. Soon after he was kicked out of school for being unable to keep his grades up. But he wasn’t about to lose her. Not then and not now. So now as he sat in a park bench across the street from her apartment in Brooklyn he knew he was doing the right thing. He was watching over his woman. And in turn she was walking around half naked so she could show him just how much she wanted him too. Soon, he thought, very soon.

- Erica G. Flores

NOTE: This is a very rough, yet to be edited draft. 

With Love- Prologue

This is from a short story I wrote for school. I have continued working on it and it is now a full length novel. Hoping to have it published one day. Enjoy!

Prologue

            Maddy sat in the stark white waiting room. Her hands balled up into fist on her lap. She hadn’t seen a mirror in two days, but it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that her gunmetal grey eyes had dark circles and bags under them. She was beyond exhaustion. She glanced over at the empty coffee cups that littered the side table next to her. How much had she had in the past eight hours? It was at least a cup an hour. Possibly more. The procedure was only supposed to last three hours, but they ran into complications an hour in. With a small sigh, she stood from her seat and started pacing. She had been doing the back and forth between parking it and running a hole in the flooring for hours.

            No rest for the weary, she thought.

            She started her route at her chair; straight forward to the vending machines, hanging a left to the television, another left to the magazine stand, and rounding it back to her chair. She had done this so much that the floor seemed to just carry her. In truth, she didn’t want to walk, but she knew if she stayed seated for too long, her exhaustion would win over and she might miss speaking with the doctors when they came in to tell her about Joey’s progress. The thought of his small smile made her stop midstride and forced her to brace herself against the vending machine.

            Oh, my little Joey, she thought.

            She looked down at herself trying to find an anchor to keep her grounded. Her faded jeans and red blouse looked like they had been slept in, which of course they had been. Her curly, brown hair was piled up high on her head in a messy bun. She traded in her sneakers for slippers two days ago.

            “I’m going to be here a while. I might as well get comfortable,” she had told Joey. Joey smiled back at her, only taking his eyes off of his notepad for a moment. He had been scribbling furiously for sometime but refused to let her see what he had been working on. She drank in his profile as he wrote. His smile hadn’t faded the entire time he’d been in that God awful hospital.

            Her little Joey. He was such a brave little man, always smiling and laughing, with the playfulness of youth dancing in his eyes. Maybe it was the optimism of a child that kept him that way. He was always positive about everything. He always urged her to see the silver lining. She wondered idly a few times in the past if he actually grasped the seriousness of life. Wondered if he would ever grow old enough to grasp it.

            She made one last turn and threw herself back into her armchair. Putting her hand into her front pocket, she pulled out the piece of folded paper that Joey handed her before they took him off. She began unfolding it when someone walked into the waiting room.

            “Ms. Johnson,” Dr. Tucelli’s deep voice reached out for her. Taking a deep breath, she braced herself.