“Hate Floats”

I wonder how cold the water would be if I accidentally push her overboard…

Her gold scarf whips around her face in the wind as I watch her lean against the rail and peer down into the blackness of the water. She is completely hypnotized by the cresting white foam that trails alongside the ship as it barrels its way to the next port.

How much would it hurt when she hits the water? Would death be instant? Would her screams go unheard?

These aren’t supposed to be the thoughts of a formerly happy husband on a Christmas anniversary cruise vacation.

But they are.

I’m tired of her hollow commitments and the talk of “The Baby” to mask the lies she’s been spinning. I’m tired of working to exist and existing to work because she’s taken away everything worthwhile in my life and bled my bank accounts dry. Most of all, I’m tired of pretending that I can make things work with a baby she doesn’t realize that I know is not mine.

A man can only take so much of an evil woman but I still hate myself for having gruesome thoughts of her drowning in the middle of nowhere.

There are only four days before this cruise ends and we go home. Four more days before I tell her that this charade is over.

She turns to me with a blank expression as if she’s been reading my thoughts. Suddenly, four days feels like an eternity and I can’t hold myself back.

“I can’t do this anymore. We’re done,” I blurt out. “I can’t stand the sight of you.”

She says nothing for a minute and then says,God knows I never meant to hurt you. I never meant to take it that far…”

But then a smile spreads across her thin red lips.

“Then again, maybe I haven’t taken it far enough,” she whispers.

She turns her back to me, takes a deep breath, throws a leg over the rail and vanishes into the dark.

I don’t move.

I can’t move.

What is happening?

All I remember is the ocean air taking hold of my wife’s gold scarf and gently placing it at my feet.

Did you enjoy this little story? I hope that you did. As a writer who aspires to self-publish, building an email list of readers interested in my fiction is very, very important (at least, that’s what the experts say). If you enjoy my fiction, signing up for my monthly newsletter would support me tremendously. Feel free to sign up for MAILING LIST right here. M  xoxo

©2016 Marquessa Matthews. All Rights Reserved. Save

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“The Day I Died”

 

christmas-lights-9

Photo credit: faith goble / Foter / CC BY

I wish I had known that today would be the day that I died.

I’d sat down to watch the midday news next to my wife Amelia and relax a little before heading back outside to finish putting up the rest of the Christmas lights. I didn’t care that it was almost minus 40 degree Celsius. I just needed to get it done. Maybe all the old decorations would help to jog some of her memories.

I watched Amelia as she ate the grilled cheese sandwich I had made for her almost every day. She was passing her usual commentary on the news anchor’s choice of wardrobe and I smiled because that was one of the few thing that hadn’t changed about her.

I was tired so I tossed the remote onto the coffee table that still had all of our old photo albums strewn across it. There was no use in me putting them away. On a daily basis, we played a game where I quizzed her on the faces and the places within their pages. I wasn’t sure if it was helping but it was at least worth a try. When the boys came to visit, I never let on just how far gone she had gotten – it would only upset their already busy lives.

I closed my eyes for a quick nap and woke up to the oddest feeling.

When I opened my eyes, my wife was still on her fashion wardrobe rant but someone else was sitting next her. His hair was lily-white and unkempt and his face was drawn and tired. He looked sad and as if he hadn’t slept in years. And the sweater he was wearing looked strangely familiar.

Where the hell did this man come from and how had he gotten into my house?

I tried to say something but no voice would come. That is when I realized that I was standing in front of the couch looking at the two of them.

Wait, when had I gotten up from the couch?

“Doug, I want another grilled cheese sandwich.”

I watched as Amelia addressed the man by my name.

Doug? What the hell …?

I watched as Amelia poked the man a few times and he responded by promptly slumping over and falling onto the floor. Amelia wasn’t phased by his lifeless body on the floor next to her.

And that’s when I knew that I was gone.

“Well, if you aren’t going to do it, I’ll do it myself!”

I watched in horror as Amelia got up and headed to the kitchen, a place where I never let her go unattended. Nothing good ever happened when Amelia tried to use the appliances.

No, no, no…stop!

I found myself in the kitchen, watching her take the dirty fry pan from the sink. Amelia placed it back onto the stove, cranked the heat to High and walked back to the living room.

No, no, no!

Back on the couch, Amelia perused some of the pictures from the coffee table. She picked one up that had us standing under the Eiffel Tower on our 45th wedding anniversary. Amelia turned to my body at her feet.

“I don’t remember this one.” She placed the picture back down and continued watching television.

If only I had known that today would have been the day that I died, I would have told the boys the truth about the state of their mother, to explain to them, to prepare them. I would have told them everything was not okay, that I couldn’t leave her alone for too long, that they should have visited more during the years when she was better.

I looked at myself lying there so peacefully.

How long would it be for someone to realize that I was gone? Would today be the day that Amelia joined me?

Did you enjoy this little story? I hope that you did. As a writer who aspires to self-publish, building an email list of readers interested in my fiction is very, very important (at least, that’s what the experts say). If you enjoy my fiction, signing up for my monthly newsletter would support me tremendously. Feel free to sign up for MAILING LIST right here. M  xoxo

©2015 Marquessa Matthews. All Rights Reserved.

 

 

 

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“Breaking the Unbreakable”

Photo credit: Foter.com

My spirit was free and unbreakable until I met you.

But you succeeded in breaking what was unbreakable in me.

You killed them.

The inexperienced girl who would have done anything for you.

The experienced woman who got down on her knees for you.

Your promise of a love story for two was a lie

And you’ll never know about the horror story for three that almost saw the light of day.

Now it’s my chance to return to the day before we met and erase all other traces of you.

Did you enjoy this little story? I hope that you did. As a writer who aspires to self-publish, building an email list of readers interested in my fiction is very, very important (at least, that’s what the experts say). If you enjoy my fiction, signing up for my monthly newsletter would support me tremendously. Feel free to sign up for MAILING LIST right here. M  xoxo

All Rights Reserved ©2017 Marquessa Matthews

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Writing About What You Know #amwriting

I base my stories on what I know and my experiences. I can’t simply throw caution to the wind and totally go with my imagination.

I can’t write about dragons and vampires. And I could never see myself writing about long-blond haired Fabio-like type men (the older women know who I’m talking about and I still don’t know what the allure was) who sweep down to rescue the heroine in distress like in the Harlequin books my grandmother used to devour. I also can’t wrap my brain around writing a female leads who could have stepped out of an episode of The Housewives of (Pick-Your-City) because I know nothing about the world of the rich, bold, beautifully bored.

Sure, I use my imagination and research certain elements of my stories but on the whole, I base my storytelling on what I have experienced, scenes that could possibly happen in real life and locations exist. It makes it all the more real for me. Of course, a story wouldn’t be a good one without a little drama and twists thrown in for good measure. And whose to say that those are made up, right?

That’s my kind of fiction and the kind of fiction I write.

Do you agree with that quote? And if you write fiction, what kind of fiction do you write?

©2017 Marquessa Matthews. All Rights Reserved.

Updated post – originally posted on November 3, 2015

 

 

Great Sex Requires Effort

(Repost)

Just enough intensity …anticipating what will happen next …before diving deeper…visualizing just how …

love girl kawaii heart hearts

*This updated post from February 2017 now includes a link to a short scene I wrote*

Rekindling passion was part of my 52 Things In 52 Weeks challenge, that is, my passion for reading.

I signed up for a Kindle Unlimited because I’m always hearing about how writers should read outside of their genre and it seemed the most efficient way to have access to tons of books.

Mind you, I’m guessing my genre of writing fits into “women’s fiction” but I knew that I couldn’t go wrong with choosing books under the “romance” category. Or so I thought…

I think that the definition of “romance” may have changed when I wasn’t looking.

I started and stopped reading a number of books after just a few chapters, either because lots of Easter Eggs and back story were given away within the first few pages or because the book was simply a string of sex scenes strung together by an anemic storyline.

Call me old-fashioned but great sex scenes in a novel require more than sexually explicit words tossed carelessly onto a page. Or a bed.

In my opinion, writing a great sex scene requires effort, patience and some kind of love thrown into the mix in order to give the characters a happy ending.

That pun was totally intended! 🙂

But there was one e-book that had me shaking my head at just how quickly things unfolded and then deflated.

The breakdown of the book?

4% : Female character (FC) tells her boyfriend that she’s pregnant and the boyfriend dumps her.

6%: FC gets upset, storms out, has a minor accident and is helped by a sexy rugged stranger who takes her home because he lives nearby.

11%: FC tells sexy man her entire story and that she is pregnant. There’s a storm brewing so sexy man insists that she stay in his guest room.

13%: FC and sexy man fall into bed. He declares his love for her and tells her that he is ready and willing to love her and her baby.

Really?

All of that at the 13% of the book? Isn’t that a little quick? Where could the rest of the story possibly go?

I was curious enough to speed read through the rest of the 87% so I really can tell you where the rest of the story went:

Spiraling fast downhill until it crashed and burned.

  • No tense sensual build up between the characters.
  • No slow burn towards that first kiss.
  • No flirty moments between the two characters.

Nothing. Nada. Nein.

I’m not looking for the chaste vanilla of the Harlequin romance books my Granny devoured or the BDSM of Fifty Shades of Grey. There’s nothing wrong with themthey just aren’t my preference.

I can do without the 20 different words to describe the same body part and the blow-by-blow accounts of which body part went where and at what frequency…

I like my “romance” with just enough intensity between main characters that leaves me anticipating what will happen next between them. Romantic scenes that make me want to read and reread certain scenes before diving deeper into the book. Visualizing just how a scene would unfold in my mind.

Less is more.

And a little imagination is good for the soul.

Update: When I reread this post, I decided to write a “sexy” short story. Inspired by being on the beach, I started with one sexy scene and worked my way back to drafting a story line.

If you’re interested and over 18+, feel free to take a read via the link below.

*Mature 18+ content warning*

Straight, No Chaser

All Rights Reserved ©2017 Marquessa Matthews.

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#ShowcaseSunday: “Frozen Cherries, Cashews and a Twist of Trouble” – MelindaKucsera.com

I love how interesting Melinda’s character is in this piece. Please comment directly on the original post via the source below.

Marquessa


(This is a work of flash fiction. Enjoy!) I sat eating frozen cherries and cashews with one knee cocked ‘cause I lost my job after just one night. Okay, you caught me. There might be some dark choc…

Source: Frozen Cherries, Cashews and a Twist of Trouble – MelindaKucsera.com

#Showcase Sunday: The Threads of You | My World With Words

Two words to describe this post by Belinda – Simply beautiful!

Please comment directly on the original post via the source below.

Marquessa


“I finished unpacking last night. My house is a home, but the one thing missing is you. I hear your laugh, see your smile, admire your new haircut in the faces of strangers. I can’t stop for a…”

Source: The Threads of You | My World With Words

https://belindaostrowski.wordpress.com/

https://myworldwithwords.com/