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  • Fallen Red Ninja 6:30 am on January 21, 2011 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , it smelled like [fruit]   

    The Art of Scarpering 

    Warning: Foul language and sexual connotations. And a fair amount of Kiwi lingo, feel free to ask for translations. ^,^

    Harsh midday light, suddenly streaming onto my face. I try to roll further under the baby grand to escape but a voice, shrieking like a thousand angle grinders, demands our attention. (More …)

     
    • Shen Git 7:23 am on January 21, 2011 Permalink | Reply

      This is made of awesomesauce!! I love the slang, it makes this character come to life. I know him (or her!?) right off the bat.

      And that ending? Hilarious!

      (Which prompt is this for?)

    • Fallen Red Ninja 3:10 pm on January 21, 2011 Permalink | Reply

      Thanks for the compliments, I’m mighty glad you enjoyed it!! ^,^

      The narrator is a guy, I’m embracing my inner Ag-boy (like jocks but worse). And the end makes me giggle too!

      (It’s for the “it smelled like [fruit]” prompt. Although I fear my reference to it may have been a little subtle.)

    • theinkling 1:49 am on January 22, 2011 Permalink | Reply

      LOVE the slang. I love the character.
      And the ending is hilarious.

      I (think I) caught the fruit reference!

  • roxythekiller 11:59 am on January 20, 2011 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: Blake, cherries, it smelled like [fruit], Sid, smelled like   

    It Smelled Like Cherries 

    It smelled like cherries— the unripened kind that prickled the tongue from a single whiff, and bubbled red in the candy-apple-colored cough syrup dripping down the silver spoon.

    Gross.

    His dark eyes leered at the spoon, his face crouched on his knees, enveloped in white sheets. “I’m fine.” He could see his distorted reflection in the spoon— stringy dark hair and ruddy skin. Twenty-five and covered in tattoos, but didn’t look a day over eighteen. Maybe it was because of the way that every part of him burned and shook at the slightest provocation of the fingers sliding along the back of his neck.

    “No, you aren’t.” came that all-knowing voice, the one crouched behind the deceptively warm brown eyes and close-lipped smile that peered back at him with— amusement. Yes, amusement, because Blake was a piece of work… and it was clear now as much as ever.

    “You have a cold.”

    Sid smacked away Blake’s hand.

    “I do not.”

    “Whose idea was it to go hiking in a snow storm?”

    He pressed his lips together.

    “The view was worth it—”

    “My point exactly. You aren’t competent to determine whether or not you are fine. Hiking in snow-storms for the view.” Blake shook his head and released the breath he’d been holding, forcing it past his lips, “Biggest pile of shit I’ve ever heard.”

    Sid snorted back a laugh and grabbed the spoon, downing the cough liquid back into the vial— which Blake drew away shortly afterward. Blake, with his strong dark hands and broad shoulders, the close-cropped hair and angular jawline.

    “Yeah well, the view here’s not bad, either,” Sid grinned slyly, sliding his hands over the other’s head, and leaning in closely— just as Blake rebuffed the kiss with a firm shove. “You’re not getting any farther until you take the medicine.”

    “This is not my idea of an obstacle course.”

    The bed was only large enough for one person, but the door was locked. No one would know. It was like cheap hotel room, the kind that only stocked hand-towels. And it was for a vacation in the Alps, a backpacking trip, full of danger, and excitement, and the smell of fresh—
    Actually, it had linoleum floors, and an IV in the corner. Beeping softly. There was a desert outside, a cactus in the window.

    “Cherries. There ain’t no god-damn cherries in this thing, it’s just cherry flavoring. Look at the ingredients.” Sid rasped, sliding his tattoo’d arms back in the sheets, and pulling the sheets over his shoulders, “This isn’t what real cherries smell like, and it probably isn’t what they taste like, and—”
    From out of nowhere, a spoon shoved into his mouth.
    Sid gagged, smacking his hand to his mouth and swallowing thickly.
    “No fair.”

    “How’d it taste?”

    “Bloody. Sour, bloody, and like I’m stuck in Twilight. As the vampire.”

    “Edward.” Blake tissued Sid’s mouth, and kissed him quickly. “His name is Edward, and Edward likes blood.”

    Sid gripped Blake’s collar, and pulled him close. “Maybe I do…” His eyes looked him up, then down. “You’d taste a lot better than cough sy—” he started to cough and back loudly, just as Blake patted his back, and eased him down on the mattress.

    “Hey. Blake,” Sid said in the softest of voices. When no reply came, he arched his neck back, threw his wrist over his forehead and chirped, “Doc-tor Blake…”

    “Not a doctor yet,” Blake reminded him, “Just training.”

    “You think that, when Bella gets her period, she pulls out her tampon and goes … popsicle?” his eyes gleamed briefly, as the doctor just shook his head.

    “More like a lollipop. Shift’s over, buddy. Gotta go.”

    “Kiss me again?” Sid sat up on his elbows, “To help me sleep? You promised me…”

    Blake unlocked the door and stood still for a moment, before peering over his shoulder at the boyish grin, the bright eyes, the bony hands that clenched onto the bedsheets… waiting.

    With a sigh, Blake locked the door. He approached the bed, and Sid slid his arms around him,

    “I already kept my promise,” he whispered, as he kissed Sid’s lips again and again, then buried his face in the other’s shoulder. He held him until he felt Sid’s grip loosen against his shoulders; his joints grow rigid and cold. “You don’t have to ask me twice.”

    “I knew it.” Sid breathed, eyes betraying the twitching smile that slowly took over his lips. “I knew the second I smelled it that wasn’t any damn cough syrup… And that you don’t have a place in the Alps, that you don’t work here anymore…” Sid took a shaky breath, closing his eyes. “But that kiss was real.”

    Blake slid his jaw over the other’s shoulder, kissing his neck and holding him close to his chest. When the tears came spilling down his cheeks, Sid whispered, “Don’t be such a crybaby, it’s nothing, and I—”

    “Shut up.”

     
    • Shen Git 12:12 am on January 21, 2011 Permalink | Reply

      Ah, ghost stories! Or vampires? Such a poignant moment, when the end comes… I hope poor Sid can take comfort from his doctor-beau, it’s what he’d want…

    • taraskelt 1:51 am on January 21, 2011 Permalink | Reply

      I absolutely love the imagery in this story, and I am also curious about whether this piece is a ghost story or not. It had a unique manner of catching hold of the reader’s attention, and I enjoyed it a great deal. ^^

    • querkthegroup 5:28 am on January 21, 2011 Permalink | Reply

      Love love love love! Great job, Roxy. *mushmush*

  • sickheartss 11:54 am on January 20, 2011 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , it smelled like [fruit]   

    Blue eyes slowly opened up, blinking away the last remainders of sleep. The bed was old but comfortable, the sheets worn but warm, and none of these factors helped Bert rise in the morning. But as his senses began to awake along with him, he quickly came to notice that the bed he normally shared with his friend was empty, the space besides him cold.

    He sat up, confusion clear in his expression. But then, he noticed that it smelled like strawberries. Something that was totally unusual, when you were two older teenage boys living on your own for the first time, in the slums of New York City. The apartment usually smelled of musk, sex, or drugs. Not something sweet like fruits.

    “Quinn?” he called out, voice almost wary as he climbed out of bed. His hair was messy and his eyes were bloodshot, the track marks on his arms showing up easily on the pale skin of his inner arms. Signs of the fun he had every night and paid for every morning, even if he was shouting at no one it surely wasn’t the weirdest shit he’d ever done. He was answered by the sound of the few pots and kitchen appliances they actually owned, and Bert felt his heart calm down just a tad. He doubted someone would of broken in past the barred windows and eight locks just to cook breakfast in his piece of crap kitchen.

    “Quinn?” he asked again as he turned the corner to see his blonde haired lover in the kitchen, a few sloppily home made pancakes resting on a plate. Bert didn’t need an invitation to walk over and rest his chin on the other boys shoulder, a few small laughs ringing in his throat.

    “Did you really get up and make breakfast on your day off?” Bert asked, actually sounding a bit amazed by his discovery. Quinn just rolled his eyes in reply before leaning in to press their lips together, before returning to working over the stove.

    “I really did, believe it or not,” he began, “But early to rise, just means early to bed, and that means taking you with me.” The smirk on his face growing as he finished his sentence, watching how Bert’s expression changed as he took a few seconds to get what Quinn meant.

    “Oh,” Bert whispered, before breaking out into a few laughs. “Ohhh… okay,” he quickly added then, straightening up before picking up one of the already made pancakes, and biting into it just like that.

    “…These have strawberries in them?” he asked, finally noticing the little fruity bits inside. So that had been the source of the mystery smell. Bert didn’t look up in time to see the grin that grew on Quinn’s face at his remark, but he almost didn’t need to. He knew it was there.

    “There are some in the fridge too, along with a couple things of whipped cream. They were on sale for a dollar each, and I figured we could actually eat one, and use the other for getting high.” Quinn finally turned to look back at Bert then, only to find the other boy already looking back up at him.

    Bert didn’t say anything at first, trying to make himself look tough. That he wasn’t that easy, maybe. But the smile slowly grew again, and even stuffing the rest of the pancake into his mouth and chewing obnoxiously couldn’t hide it forever.

    “Well played, fucker,” he finally said then, scratching at his scalp.

    “Just, uh… lemme know once you wanna go back to bed. And bring the strawberries. They’re my favourite.”

    “I know,” Quinn replied, smugness dripping from his tone, and just laughing as Bert flipped off.

     
    • roxythekiller 3:10 pm on January 20, 2011 Permalink | Reply

      This story manages to be sad and uplifting at the same time… and Bert’s a sweetheart. Sex, getting high, and making breakfast in the morning.

      Domestic bliss, eat your heart out! These two are cute 🙂

      Just a thought: Don’t ruin this great OS by donating it to the fanfiction-verse, where teenyboppers won’t give it the love and affection it deserves.

    • Shen Git 12:00 am on January 21, 2011 Permalink | Reply

      This is a cute one! It feels like a real moment. Playful, with push-pull. I would definitely want to keep reading.

      And Roxy’s right, the teenybopper slash-shippers wouldn’t appreciate it. But maybe I’m just scarred from too much time near them. 😀

  • theinkling 4:32 am on January 20, 2011 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: it smelled like [fruit]   

    It smelled like oranges. The slender par … 

    It smelled like oranges. The slender part of her wrist, the purest skin on her body. Dan kissed her there, but briefly; it was a mark she couldn’t resist. For fifteen years, she breathed and bled the scent just for him.

    Though they went out, they ate their dinner in perfect silence. The only concession they made to one another was an empty table. No phones. Instead, her hyperactive Blackberry sat between her thighs, buzzing uselessly against her leg and then at her crotch as she pushed it upwards.

    Dan kept his phone in his shirt pocket. Sometimes it glowed, straining against the thin material of his shirt. She ordered gnocchi — perfect for stabbing once with a fork before bringing it to her mouth. He ordered papardelle con porcini, which he ate without creating a single stain on his impeccable shirt.

    No hello, how are you, nothing. No hint of his love for her satsuma scent, something she achieved by placing the orange on her skin, rubbing it there for hours. She wanted to smell edible for him.

    They say that the desire to eat one’s love is the most visceral and genuine response possible. It transcends language, forces the mouth to bend to some other purpose.

    When they were finished eating, they left slowly. Like liquid statues, they put their jackets on. Not helping each other, not even noticing the other. The mere existence of others was crass. Even their whispers were shrieks that clawed at them.

    Her first words to him were, Did you like that?

    And the silence made her pant hard, as if she’d just had sex. The slight, chemical shaking of the blackberry left echoes in her skin.

    Sure, he said.

    She was too short to see his face as he turned away from her to call for a taxi. His voice sounded so robust when he yelled, a single, sharp cut in the wind.

    They reached home in mere minutes. Not touching, not speaking. He led her up the stairs and they started kissing as soon as the door was shut, her skull banging up against the door, her hair brushing her shoulders, scratchy and greasy at intervals. Dan had his fingers thrust under the waist of her skirt; he was going to pull it down, and then she smelled it again.

    The oranges.

    She pushed him away.

    Dan titled his head but did not ask. He tried to kiss her again; this time, more gently, though they did not move away from the door, and her skull hurt. She pulled away again. He brought her wrists up to his lips and began to suck the scent from them. Transcending language; it was all he was capable of, anyway.

     
    • Shen Git 7:28 am on January 21, 2011 Permalink | Reply

      Your poor unnamed heroine…

      Who else could be giving him sweet orange bliss?

    • theinkling 1:51 am on January 22, 2011 Permalink | Reply

      Hahaha.
      Yeah, my poor unnamed heroine. Maybe she oughta start smelling like other fruit and he’ll get the message.

  • Chase 3:05 am on January 20, 2011 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: it smelled like [fruit]   

    Perfume 

    He had very few things from his life before leaving home. His mother’s diary, of course. That alone he would have given anything to make sure it was kept safe. He had, too, her copy of Salieri’s concerto in B-flat major, her tiny handwriting pencilled in with phrases like, “breathe, you idiot,” and “don’t rush!”

    But perhaps most important of all, he had managed to run away with what little remained of her perfume. It smelled like oranges; the kind of deep, organic, acidic smell that didn’t come naturally to Siberia. He had hoarded it, the same way she had, trying not to use it all unless it was truly worth it. Smell is one of the strongest triggers of the human memory, and he was willing to be a miser, and keep that one memory to himself as long as possible. Or was it not because he was unwilling to share, but because nothing else seem deserving of that touch of intimacy?

    It did not matter. He was willing to share this, with his love, and he knew that whatever may come, there would not be a more deserving moment than this. So he sprayed their pillows with the perfume, and let it sink in. After all, he intended on asking someone to marry him only once; he was going to pull out all the stops. If not for his lover, then for himself.

     
  • taraskelt 1:37 am on January 20, 2011 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: it smelled like [fruit]   

    Apples and Artwork 

    She smelled like apples, although her hair was the color of coffee with just a bit too much creamer in it. She would have thought that she would have smelled of hazelnuts and vanilla. She turned in her sleep, the corners of her mouth shifting downward in a sharp frown, but she smiled at the way the dappled sunlight fell upon her skin.

    And then she pounced. “Time to get up, Anna!” she shouted as Anna shrieked, tumbling off the bed and landing painfully on her back on the hardwood floor.

    “Why do you DO that?!” she snapped, rubbing her aching back as she glared at the younger woman.

    “Because you’re already about an hour late and you’ve got to prepare for your gallery opening?”

    With that, Anna was up. She stumbled as she  attempted to disentangle herself from her bedsheets, falling once again before she ran to lock herself in the bathroom.

    “God, Danny, you’re such a brat!” she grumbled through her toothpaste as she rushed about the bedroom with the toothbrush still hanging from her mouth, searching for clean clothes. She didn’t find any, so she settled for a pair of old paint-stained jeans and her favorite sweater.

    “Could say the same to you, miss-I-can’t-get-out-of-bed-unless-it’s-after-one-p.-m,” Danielle snorted, sipping her coffee as she watched her roommate rush about.

    “You could have at least woken me up on time!”

    “I’m not your alarm clock, you know,” Danielle replied with a giggle.

    When Anna finally presented herself before her, she still had a bit of paint from the previous night’s work smeared on her cheek, having either not noticed or been in such a hurry that she didn’t bother to scrub it off. Danielle suppressed a peal of laughter at the sight that was presented to her as Anna tried to run a brush through her hair, despite the fact that it looked like some kind of animal had made its nest there, adding in bits of dried paint and twigs to the mixture of snarls.

    “You’ve got paint on your face.”

    “I do?” Anna sighed heavily, raising her hands to the heavens and falling dramatically to her knees. “Why can I never look dignified?!” she said, giving a fake little sob for effect.

    “Because you’re always working yourself until you pass out, and then when you get up you’re always late for something?”

    “Well there is that.” Anna was on her feet, snatching up a granola bar and a water bottle as she made for the door, one arm halfway through the wrong sleeve of her coat.

    “You left your keys on the table.”

    “I wouldn’t be able to function without you,” Anna said with a grin as she took the keys from Danielle’s extended hand, then stepped forward and gave her a quick hug.

    “Seeya later!” she called cheerily from the front of their apartment, before slamming the door loudly. The sound was shortly followed by the crash of one of the picture frames on the wall falling to the floor.

    Danielle grinned. In that respect, Anna was right.

     
  • Shen 4:17 am on January 19, 2011 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: it smelled like [fruit]   

    Current prompt: It smelled like [fruit]. 

    Current prompt: It smelled like [fruit]. Use any fruit you want.

     
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