My Friends and I Read online

  Time to give life a show

  I let the music carry me, over the crowd and out the door, until it flows, like a river, down the streets of downtown.

  It’s a moment made of magic, where anything and everything is possible. I have never felt more alive!

  I’m flying

  My guitar sighs, its final breath caressing the crowd. The stillness is broken with applause, a reaction that feeds my spirit. I weave through the deafening maze, their words of praise widening a grin that has no room to grow.

  “That is, quite possibly, the best show I’ve seen you do!” Bethany beams, pulling me into a hug. She hands me a drink and lifts her glass. “To our smashing success, rave reviews and fabulous fans!”

  At the dark end of the bar, where history and love are planted in the grain, I catch a glimpse of my most recent romantic disappointment. I take the back stairs two at a time, suddenly desperate for some fresh air. I burst into the balcony and pull the night into my lungs, greedy for the relief it brings. I pierce the stars with wishes that have more to do with leaving than loving.

  “Still prefer stargazing, I see. Old habits never die.”

  I spin around, goose bumps racing across my skin. A figure steps out of the shadows. The moonlight reveals startling blue eyes, boyish features under barley locks, sun-kissed skin on a lean, muscular frame. He tilts his head and pulls his lips in a lopsided grin that steals the breath from my lungs.

  He is, quite possibly, the hottest guy I’ve ever laid eyes on.

  “I didn’t mean to startle you,” he offers, edging closer to me. “I was listening to your music. It’s beautiful…magical even.”

  I back against the railing, my senses on full alert, though I’ve no idea why. “I’ve never been called magical before. Stubborn. Willful. Never magical.” I reply.

  “The music whispers your secrets, to anyone listening close enough.” He stops just inches away, pinning me with his intensity. “Perhaps, you have more secrets than you realize.”

  There is something intriguing about him, a trace of wind chimes in his voice, the smell of rain on his skin.

  “You’re acting awfully cozy for a stranger,” I manage to respond, backing away to reclaim my personal space.

  “I’m no stranger, darling. We’ve met before. Not in this lifetime, mind you…the one before.” He brushes a loose curl from my face, a gesture alarming in its familiarity, even as it sends ripples of excitement skittering through my core. “It’s taken me a long time to find you.”

  I pull away from his reach, visibly shaken.

  He closes the gap between heartbeats. “It’s me, Peter.” he says, his brow wrinkled with worry, his eyes clouded with hurt. “You don’t remember, do you?”

  I try to place him. Maybe I met him at Cole’s party last weekend, when I consumed way beyond the recommended daily allowance of whiskey.

  “I’m sorry, err, Peter, I—“

  “She said this would happen. Too much time has passed. She gave me something to help you--to help you remember.” He pulls out a dainty leather pouch and dumps its shimmering contents into his palm.

  “That’s glitter.” I announce, annoyed. Glitter is an irritating substance that’s nearly impossible to remove from curly hair. “You’re going to jog my memory with glitter?”

  Why does the hot guy have to be a crazy drunk?

  “I don’t know what glitter is. This is pixie dust--it will help unlock your memories.” He raises his hand towards his face, anticipation lurking behind bright eyes.

  Here we go.

  Not drunk. Delusional.

  “You’re lost Wendy, let me show you the way,” He pleads.

  “My name’s not Wendy. Now, put the glitter back in its little bag and walk your crazy a—“

  The crazy hot guy blows his handful of glitter right in my face.

  Before the string of expletives could escape, a barrage of images overwhelm my senses…the movement of the scene made me feel in a dream.

  I see a bird’s eye view of an island. The surrounding sea dotted with massive ships. I smell flowers, their sweet scent carried on the briny breeze. I feel raindrops, icy shards melting on burning skin. I hear the roaring trumpets of a dozen boys as they charge down the beach.

  The images scroll faster.

  I see pirates wielding swords, Indians shooting arrows, mermaids diving and faeries darting.

  And then there’s Peter…he’s holding my hand and were flying.

  I’m flying.

  Panic claws its way up my throat. I fall to my knees.

  Oh. My. God. I’m hallucinating!

  “Don’t fight it, Wendy. Go with it. These are your memories.”

  “What did you give me?” I demanded. The threat of nausea second only to my searing

  headache.

  I feel his cool hands gently cup my face. “Look at me. Look into my eyes and tell me you don’t remember who I am…who you are.”

  I am swimming in pools of brilliant blue. I feel the barest breath of a kiss on my lips. He tastes of the sea and the sky, of sweet honey and sweeter secrets.

  I stare deep into his fathomless eyes and see…me.

  Not the girl I was precious minutes ago, but the girl from centuries past.

  Wendy Darling.

  I remember.

  ********

  Samantha is a homeschooling mom by day, fiction author by night, and biochemist by degree. It’s a tossup as to which she’s more passionate about, music or storytelling, since they go hand in hand for her. She enjoys writing “outside the box”, with creative twists and turns that open up intriguing new worlds and unique perspectives. She love to make readers laugh (a sense of humor is paramount in her world) and pull heartstrings. She is actively involved in music and story collaborations and her latest venture was orchestrating a twenty-six piece collaborative story as part of Audiomachine’s latest cd release.

  Website : writerlysam.wordpress.com

  Facebook : SamanthaRedstreakeGeary

  DARKNESS / Bethany Joseph

  DARKNESS / Nick Johns

  I was dreaming about Becky when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

  I turned slowly, instantly alert, the open mic night sounds fading into the background.

  “I been hearing tales ‘bout what you been doin’. I’m here to tell you how it’s going to be for you from here on in...” he slurred.

  “Do yourself a favor, Billy. It’s not your business what I do.”

  “’cept if it’s with my girl, City Boy, then it’s my business.”

  “Becky’s not your girl, Billy.”

  The whistle of the cut off pool cue cut through the bar room drone. I jerked my head back. It just caught me across the shoulder instead of full in the face, and smashed a bottle on the bar.

  A girl behind me screamed. I kicked the bar stool away and backed up, flexing my arm. Not bad, just a bruise. I felt dry boards under my feet, some clear floor space, and stopped.

  “Last chance, Billy. Walk away now.”

  Billy’s face was red as his ball cap. He was breathing hard, shoulders bunched, pool cue held in two hands now, out in front, weaving it from side to side. I ignored it, watched his eyes, his feet. He was flat on his heels.

  “Or what? This here’s my town, you ain’t got no business here, City Boy. And in here...” he gestured, “...no kin, no buddies, no one to help you...”

  The hubbub had died away - that tense, hold your breath quiet that always foretold the start of a fight.

  I still had options. I could leave now or... but my mouth made the decision for me.

  “You think I need help? Against some flyspeck town football player? A shrivel dick steroid queen? A loudmouth, drunken redneck and his pansy pals?

  Billy’s eyes widened. “Redneck? Why you...”

  He swung the cue back. A full, home run wind up, veins in his neck pumping, biceps straining at

  his tee shirt.

  I’d warned him.

>   I stepped inside the swing, kicked the outside of his right knee, landing my foot behind him. I threw my left arm up to stop the cue, striking hard with my forearm, cracking his elbow, and hit him full in the gut with a straight right. Six inches, no more. He whooshed like a broken steam pipe and, as he jack-knifed towards me, I butted him full in the face. As he reeled back, I whipped my leg back from behind his knee and he fell away, toppling slowly at first, like a dynamited building, before landing hard on his back, head lolling to one side. Blood from his broken nose painted a crimson river delta across his slack face.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a shape scrambling towards me. I hit the bar tender’s wrist with a bottle, grabbing up the blackjack he released, then elbowed him in the face, sending him reeling back the way he came, crashing into the mirror behind the bar.

  I looked for my guitar case, but thought better of it. I guessed I had about a minute before the stunned silence broke, so strode to the back door. I threw the blackjack into the weeds and jumped in the truck, offering a silent prayer to the God of broken down pickups as I turned the key. The engine coughed one, twice, three times then, deciding it had scared me enough, rumbled into life. As I reversed out, my headlights lit up some local boys, including a few of Billy’s team mates, bursting through the bar room door, like wasps from a dropped nest.

  I swung the wheel around and sprayed them with parking lot gravel as I headed for the highway.

  The night air through the open window of the truck was clean after the bar room’s close, stale atmosphere.

  Even the temperature had fallen a little from the tar melting daytime high.

  The adrenaline shakes hit me and I gripped the slippery wheel tighter, staring at the road, thinking about how I had managed to screw up again.

  I should have known better. I was meant to be keeping a low profile. Great work, genius.

  A woman again.

  **

  I had only stopped to listen to her play her guitar. She was good. Sweet, pure voice with a twang; flowery dress and a real pretty smile. She saw the guitar case in the back of the truck and waved me over. I sat on the grass, sang some harmonies, played some counterpoint. It was fun. I lowered my guard, forgot who I was, what I was. I just wanted a moment of normality, of peace.

  I gave her a flower, held her hand, talked about my life up north, well, the parts that wouldn’t identify me anyway. After a few days I even started to dream about staying here, with Becky. She calmed me and I made her laugh.

  I mean, who would think to look for me out here in the boondocks? I could play guitar in the bars, do some farm work.

  **

  I mean, farm work? Me? Really?

  No. If it hadn’t been Billy, it would have been something else. I’m just a trouble magnet, you see, like my Mother always used to say.

  The dawning sun drove the night time shadows away and a whole country beckoned to me, one road at a time.

  What about Florida for now? The Cubans keep it pretty tight down there. I may even find something more in my line.

  So long Becky, it was great while it lasted.

  That’s the trouble with dreams, eventually you wake up in the cold, hard light of day.

  ********

  Nick Johns lives in Wellingborough UK. Since retiring from a life of crime, he has turned to writing flash fiction. Some of his work appears in Blink Ink, Ether Books, Burrst.com and on Amazon. Some of his tiny tales can be found at on his blog at www.talesfromatightrope.blogspot.co.uk He sometimes tweets @nickjohns999.

  BROKEN HANDS / Nathan Ignacio

  SECOND CHANCES / LE Jamez

  It was an odd pairing, Sebastian, a short skinny lad with long lank hair that always looked like it needed a wash, Jeremy heading towards 6ft and still carrying an excess of puppy fat. Ignored or bullied by their peers, both boys found solace in each other’s company, soon becoming fast friends. Brothers in all but blood. By the time they had dropped out of school, with no qualifications between them, they had developed into an imposing force. Bullying and petty crimes became the norm with both boys in and out of juvenile detention centers, never seeming to learn any lessons.

  Sebastian was the brains, Jeremy the brawn and when the thrill from stealing from shops and empty houses wore off, the jump to mugging and aggravated assault was easy. Unfortunately for them everyone knew who they were, so it wasn't long before they were up in front of a judge. Charged with assault they found themselves sentenced to five years apiece, the possibility of being out early if they towed the line and kept out of trouble. They were separated after the trial and Jeremy soon found himself in a six by eight concrete cell far away from his only friend.

  His grandfather had never scolded him over the petty crimes he had committed, always stood up for him when the family started with the lectures. ‘Everyone deserves a second chance, Jeremy. You just need to find yours.' He was the only member of Jeremy's family that visited, encouraging him to take qualifications so that when he came out of prison, he would be able to 'grab his second chance.'

  Thriving in prison away from the influence of Sebastian, it didn't take long for Jeremy to stop missing his best friend. Keeping his nose clean and working hard he found himself released after serving only 3 years of his sentence. The guards all wished him well when he left and hoped never to see him again, a promise Jeremy gladly made.

  His probation officer helped him settle back into the world and he soon found himself gainfully employed and happy with his life. He was part of a community, well liked and supported, his troubled past was far behind him. All that changed when Sebastian was released, not choosing to 'grab his second chance', he had served an extra 2 years on top of his 5 year sentence.

  It wasn't long before Sebastian found where Jeremy lived and persuaded him to let him stay ‘just a few nights, mate. For old times’ sake.' Jeremy, remembering the kindness others had shown him, even managed to get Sebastian an interview for a job at the supermarket where he worked. Needless to say all Jeremy's kindness was thrown back in his face. Sebastian wanted things to back to the way they were before, he wasn't interested in moving on with his life. But still Jeremy persevered, his grandfather's words a constant in his mind.

  The more Jeremy tried to include Sebastian in his life, the more Sebastian rebelled and reverted back to the bully he had always been. Friends stopped inviting them to events as they didn't want to risk Sebastian making a scene and were fed up listening to Jeremy's apologies and excuses. Soon they found themselves once again ostracized from their peers, on the outside looking in. Only this time was worse for Jeremy. He remembered what it had felt like to belong and he desperately wanted to be allowed back in.

  No longer the young overweight boy of his youth, Jeremy was stronger in mind and body. He had not worked so hard for so long to see his dreams taken from him, he would have to find a solution. Taking time off from work he persuaded Sebastian to accompany him home 'come on, let’s visit some of our old haunts', hoping to show him how bad life had been and how good life could be.

  The trip wasn't successful. Sebastian enjoyed remembering the robberies, the muggings and took delight in seeing an old victim still unable to walk without the assistant of a cane. It took this trip down memory lane for Jeremy to realize that not everyone deserved a second chance and it was with a heavy heart that he returned home, alone.

  He never talked about his trip or why he knew he'd never see Sebastian again. He just fitted back into his new life and forever remembered his grandfather and the words that finally set him free.

  "When you get your second chance, you grab onto it with both hands and squeeze."

  ********

  LE Jamez is a writer with a sharp wit, ready pen, and love of the macabre. Her website contains many examples of her work, some gruesome, most creepy and plenty that will give you sleepless nights. When she's not thinking up ways to scare her readers she is found running after her two children and husband in Dunfermline, Scotland. Alwa
ys around on Facebook and Twitter, Laura will happily engage in discussions about any subject whether it be writing, reading or simply the joy of living.

  Twitter : @lejamez

  Facebook : officemango

  Website : www.officemango.com

  YOU MAKE ME INK / Lovecore Singing Telegrams

  BLOOD AND ROSES / Jeff Hollar

  She stood at the side of a dusty and poorly-maintained stretch of interstate highway, just on the edge of the high desert country of Arizona, sweating and waiting. She’d known the pickings would be slim in an area so remote, but when the need took her over and became undeniable, she had no choice but to indulge it. She’d long since learned the only way to silence the ghosts of her past was to add to their numbers…as if the newly-made spirit gave the myriad of others that followed in her wake someone to commune with that distracted their attention from her. She had, as yet, found them nobody to sate their interest this day and that was not good.