flash fiction friday #3: my cross to bear

cdm — Sat, 16 May 2009 19:08:08 +0000

She checked her appearence in the hatstand mirror and knocked on her uncle’s study door. A bass come, equal in power and authority to his in pricipios. Rubbing shoecaps against kneesocks, she twisted the wrought-iron knob.

He had vested already and summoned her forward with efficient finger. She preferred him in smoking jacket to rector’s cassock, though it made no difference to his right arm.

He crossed his arms and forced a frown. “What are we going to do with you?”

She looked down. A rustle of robes, then his hand lifted her chin, firm yet compassionate.

“Haven’t you anything to say, child?” She blinked, setting her jaw against the sudden sting in her eyes. Outside the lead-paned windows, a bruise-colored cloud advanced across blue sky, promising a May shower. His hand shifted to the back of her neck, his ring warm against her ear. “I suppose you’re my cross to bear,” he said wryly. She hoped he wasn’t attempting a pun.

“Right.” He stepped back. “I’m not going to cane you for this.” A surge of relief, and surprise. “But I am going to take the strap to you.” He reached for the tawse unseen on his desk, its back rough leather. She swallowed.

Directing her to the arm of the settee, he bent her over it and lifted her grey school skirt.

“What is this?” His voice scandalized. She craned to see the hem of her skirt smeared with lemon meringue from luncheon.

“I – ” she began.

He returned her to position. “You, child, are incorrigible. My cross to bear indeed.”

What is Flash Fiction Friday?

My story went a few words over, but with six wildcards (albeit six of the best), you gotta hope for leeway.

Check out other FFF stories from this week:

TGI Friday – misc. thoughts upon waking up in the morning

cdm — Sat, 14 Feb 2009 03:38:57 +0000

How RP used to insist on giving Casey a hand spanking across his knee after administering any implement. This was to reinforce the closeness of the relationship and to overcome whatever false stoicism or independence the implement had caused.
How, in the early days and even later, he would insist she sit on his knee after, especially when her instinct was to go and hide somewhere.
After remembering 1 + 2, a vague sense of happiness came over me, or was it contentment? Security? Hope? It was the feeling I used to get knowing M would be home soon from Englandland, home and able to take care of Casey as she so profoundly needed, and as no one else on the earth could propose to, or want to.
Then, a breath later, the abyss – in fact, just as I realized the feeling of safety, it vanished, like every other awakening since last spring. When he was alive, I sometimes had nightmares that he was dying or dead, and I’d wake up to the most profound reprieve, and reach for him in the bed and weep with relief that it had only been a dream. Now that’s reversed. Is all hope now located in error? Can I only feel hope and goodness in mistakenly imagining he’s coming back, like all those dreams where he has come back? (He was only shipwrecked! He was only on a trip! We were only divorced! It’s not as though he was dead – )
Then I physically longed – so powerfully – to put my arms around him and hold him. I’d never let him go again if he would only come back. Later, in the park with the dogs, I broke down sobbing. Was it the “O Salutaris Hostia” on my ipod? The “Ubi Caritas”? Oh, da robur! Fer auxillium!
Earlier that night there had been a dream about a tgi liason with a guy I didn’t know, on the 11th floor of some big, modern building with complicated elevators. I don’t think I ever got there.
And a dream fragment in which one of my RW students had the idea that I deserved the strap, and so gave it to me. It didn’t hurt, though, and several strokes outright missed. I almost laughed. When it came time for his punishment I said, You aren’t going to like this. I lined up the tawse to strike. This is actually going to hurt, so prepare yourself.

supplicium post mortem » tawse

flash fiction friday #3: my cross to bear

TGI Friday – misc. thoughts upon waking up in the morning