This last week, there was as usual a Mid Week Blues Buster prompt. The song is good, sort of rockish, but the words and general tone of it took me to a dark place for the story. I wasn’t going to submit it, and I was certainly not going to repost it here, but then 2 things happened. The realization came that to be a good writer, there are times when a scene or entire story has to be something that I personally find distasteful, and that those parts deserve as much skill and experience as the happier or more heroic moments. So, I edited a bit, and submitted it.
Unexpectedly, to me, the story was well received, even with the darkness. It actually even won the weekly contest, against several great pieces. I’m proud of that, but that doesn’t resolve the conflict in me that I just dislike the people and situations in the story.
So, after debating with myself, I’m going to go ahead and share it. Keep in mind, though, before you read it: it has some unpleasant scenes. Domestic abuse, poor choices, and creepy murder are all present in these approximately 600 words. There may be things in here that trigger bad memories.
Here’s the song that was the prompt: http://youtu.be/kOdHND_wt0k
Stars danced across the night sky as Yvonne’s head spun round. Her boyfriend was drunk, again, and thought she was flirting with guys at the seedy bar she worked at. Physically stunned, she reeled and almost fainted, but he shook her till her eyes until her eyes focused again. He reached back for another punch, spittle and vicious words covering her face between blows. A headlight lit up the onslaught, blinding both people as an engine revved and got closer.
As the motorcycle pulled next to the couple, a fist shot out, sending the boyfriend to the ground. Disoriented, Yvonne flinched from the cacophony, but no more blows came. Instead, as she looked up, she saw an outstretched hand. “Get on.”
Whether she had finally had enough, or whether he looked familiar to her, she found her body moving before she was even aware of what she was doing. Throwing her leg over the seat, she pressed her face to a solid back beneath a leather jacket. The motorcycle accelerated out of the alley, leaving the threatening boyfriend in the dust. Wind dried her tears, but her mind couldn’t calm down from all the chaos. Dazed at first, she had no idea where they were going, or who her savior was. The cool night wind tore at her face, keeping her eyes closed as they leaned around turns and drove into the night.
Sometime later, the bike finally slowed down in front of an old house surrounded by trees. Lights were on, making it look homey and inviting. She got off the bike, and as her rescuer took off his helmet, she recognized him as a relatively quiet regular at the bar. “Maybe this time, I can offer you something to drink.” he smiled as he walked up the porch steps and unlocked the front door.
Realizing that to be an invitation and seeing nowhere else to go, Yvonne went up the steps behind him. The door opened into a comfortable living room, tastefully decorated in soothing earth tones that clashed with the black leather and metal studs. She’d only seen a place so nice on television, and looked down at herself. Her pants were dingy and dirty from the alley, and her shirt torn from the fight. “Is there some place to clean up?”
The biker pointed down a hall and smiled. She walked to the bathroom and flipped the light on. In the mirror, she barely recognized herself. Bruises and welts distorted the face looking back, but she washed as much grime off as she could. Coming out of the bathroom, she found him waiting with a pair of steaming coffee cups. One of the cups was handed to her, and her nose was treated to the sweet scent of cocoa. Little marshmallows even floated on top of the thick brown liquid, bringing an unexpected smile to her face. She sat on the couch as she drank the cocoa, knees pulled up in front of her. As the adrenaline wore off, she took stock of the whirlwind that the evening had become. “So, why’d you help me?”
Before he could answer, though, she started to get very groggy and began to nod off. She fought to stay awake, and between brief dozes, he had gone into the kitchen. Just as she lost consciousness, Yvonne could hear him sharpening a knife as he muttered to himself “Red eyes and tears no longer for you, I fear. No more tears for you, you’ll be with me forever.”