Musings of Fiction

Today was my first full day of freelance writing and let me tell you, I’m tired! I am currently going through a trial arrangement with Urban News Magazine in the hopes of becoming either a column or feature contributor – or both! But between that and my gig at Bright Hub, I can tell my fingers will be busy for a while.

But I love it. I feel a sense of satisfaction that I haven’t had with any other job. I get to do what I love and I get to do it where I love being. No stale 9 – 5 jobs, uncomfortable work close, or showering before 2 pm. Not for me! Today I was invited to join the Gaming Console channel on Bright Hub and so (for part of my work) I played Wii and wrote about it. Does it get better?!

I spend a lot of my time writing technical reviews and how-to’s, and I’d like to use this blog to share my creative side, and if you like what you read, please visit my other pages - I’m always looking for the right gig!


He was behind her before she knew it. Wet with dishwater, her hands trembled. She wished she had a knife in the sink.

“It’s been a long time, little girl.” She recognized his voice, it was deep. She was grateful she hadn’t herd it during the trial because she was crumbling right now, and now was not the time to crumble.

“This is a very scenic road you’re on. I’ve always loved fall.” She turned and whipped her hands, met his eyes, and pushed up her sleeves, matching tattoo for tattoo. It had been a long time and she wasn’t a little girl. This was her house.

“The boyfriend is gone. Nice beard.” He chuckled and moved forward. Her back was against the wall, hand on the gun behind the bedroom curtain. She didn’t say anything. She couldn’t.

“Are you going to use that?” She could smell Camels.

“If I have to.” The barrel rested on her shoulder. Prayers flooded in and out of her with every breath and the Lord’s Prayer steadied her hands. Her lips trembled with words and she could see his dilated eyes burn red. His faith was not as merciful, and his hands grabbed hers, and the gun, and with a blast of courage she swung the butt around.

The first hit was to the nose and stunned him, the second to the jaw, and the third to the throat – hard. His wind was gone and he was down. Red revenge boiled her blood and her own breath had been taken.
Beaten and sullen, she sank to the floor and dropped the weapon to her side. The hunting rife looked bulky and heavy next to her and in a daze she wondered how she had swung so hard. And then she remembered.

His body lay limp and a pool was forming under his neck. She could hear his breath and it sounded shallow, weak, and wet. Glistening against the dark of his blood was a golden cross, still attached.

“Lord, Forgive Me of My Trespasses”

© Cindy Marcelle, 2008