SHELTERSHELTERSHELTER9 months ago in Short Stories More Like This
It had been three days and the younger man couldn’t take much more. Surely this was the place they’d heard about: the Place of Sanctuary?
The rocks had cut their feet as they climbed and the arid air had scoured their lungs but at least the autumn season meant that their skins had not been burnt to the blistering, peeling wreckage that they had seen on other trophies when they had been brought lifeless back to the holding facility. The blanket must be a sign that this was the place. Or had it just been abandonned by one of the hunters? Was he halucinating? Was it even there? It didn’t matter they just had to rest.
They had been running (in as much as they could still run) for a day since they last tasted water and they wished that they hadn’t been able to taste that. Neither man realised before that water could be rancid. But at least the scattered muddy puddles would keep them alive until they died
A pictureA PictureA picture1 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
Three years I have been modeling for her; and through all this time as she paints and stares she never makes a sound. Her butterfly eyelashes sweep every nook of my naked body. Her two wells of desire are fixated over me with silent passion. Her unshakable determination grows weak with the sunset. Her brush will stop then, for her to proceed to cover her canvas with rehearsed motions. She'd start with the acrylics, then the water glimmering with bleak light over the vases, to finally reach the brushes. Her robotic routine felt dull at first, but I began to grow fond of it as my eyes now anticipate her every move with certain eagerness observing the delicate differences between one day and another. I believe her dirtied hands conceal the most wonderful movements, from her dancing wrists as she closes her utensils to the tip of her long fingers that caress slowly her brushes as she washes them with the utmost care. Her eyes have such focus for whatever she does. Those unwaveri