So the other afternoon I wrote a little post on Facebook with a photo and had a little fun with it as a pretend commercial for a new book. I had so much fun, I continued the next morning. Then it started to get a response, and before you know it, I had photographed and written my way through a very silly, tongue in cheek romantic thriller.
So just for kicks and giggles, I thought I'd add it on here. Enjoy!
Iced and Diced in Texas
Stay
tuned for my new thriller coming soon… 'Iced and Diced in Texas' !! When the
north winds blow, the windows freeze over, the stew is on the stove and on the
boil, anything can happen! Will the ice ever melt, the wind die down and will
the stew be any good? Brace yourself and batten down the hatches - It's a fast
paced thriller that will keep you guessing till the end...
The
stew was fabulous but the night cold and long, and in the grey morning light, the ice just kept coming...tap, tap,
tapping on the north-facing windows like a glacial stalker begging to be let
in. Dripping and draping itself in insidious icicles that rendered dreams of
summer immobile and forever young, frozen in time and place...in Texas...will
it ever end, she whispered, icicles clinking as they dangled from her fake
eyelashes, will it ever end or will we run out of stew first!!!!?
The
wind still howled like a thwarted witch but the stinging bite of her frozen
curses (aka snow) had finally ceased it's ceaseless assault. Inside, they
huddled, floor heaters blazing and PC's all fired up, their only access to the
far reaches of civilization a flickering screen... But outside, in the newly
minted Texas Tundra, a new subzero drama was unfolding, ruffling it's frosty
feathers, readying it's sharp beak for a fresh assault. And Nature held her
breath in the face of this new challenge, cloaked in glittering ice....Oh for
the love of God and all his Angels, cried out the birds in the trees! Never
mind the stew, will they run out of birdseed!?!!!!!
The
evidence was right there in the sink, staring her in the face. He had not even
bothered to cover his tracks, adding insult to injury. What had happened to
their love, their promises, all their ardent oaths to share, honor and protect
- forever? Passion still burned in her
veins but now it left her with a bitter and disappointed tinge... Her fake
eyelashes, clotted mascara smearing and still dripping from the melting
icicles, now fluttered weakly as the enormity of his betrayal hit her. There
was no denying it. He had enjoyed a bowl of their precious stew without her.
Outside, Winter Storm
Klingon raged but inside the little Texan Tundra farmhouse, a different storm
was brewing. Within its frozen shell, a call for action had been…called . And
while answering it filled her with a pain and suffering that all but blinded
her as tears mixed with her cobalt mascara – his favorite, or so he had said,
but now she must doubt his every word, second guess his every gesture – she
knew he had left her no choice. HE had done this to them, not her. But now,
though it pierced her to the very depths of her shuddering soul, it was up to
her to bring this down upon them, this, their frigid, towering, turbulent hour
of reckoning….
Leaning on the chrysanthemum walls of their bathroom, she
remembered when they picked out the color, how they had laughed, how they had
loved…. Now her cobalt tears slid down the wall, a blue flood as blue as she
felt…but no, this must stop. She must be strong, if not for herself
then…because she had birds to feed.
She must pull herself together. She may be just a Danish
mail order bride to him, but he had been her sun, her moon and stars. Ah, but
words are wind, whispered her latest favorite author in her mind’s perfectly
shaped little ear. Words are wind. Had all their email correspondence meant
nothing to him then? She felt a migraine coming on. And God knew she could not
be held responsible for her actions once a migraine clasped her in its
murderous grip….
It was all over. She stared mutely at the glinting knife and
the blood slowly coagulating on the blade, on her hands as it dripped, plink..
plink... into the creamy enameled sink. One never knows, she thought distantly,
one just never knows how a day will go once you’re up and out of the feathers.
The feathers, ha! Ha ha! She felt hysteria well up inside, like the bubbling
cauldron of a tempestuous volcano threatening to blow. She was just so relieved
it was all over. The feathers, yes, she mustn’t forget to feed the birds….the
dear, freezing little things…how fragile and precious life seemed to her now,
now when hers had felt all but extinguished by his callous disregard for her
needs. But she was a survivor, oh yes. He knew it now, too. Oh yes. He had
learned his lesson. How she loved him but he had to learn.
That hell hath no fury like a woman starved. She better get
on with the stew. Confrontations made her hungry.
It had been short but
oh so sweet. Their reconciliation still sang in her blood with all the heavenly
luster of a choir of angels. The Chippendale kind. Or was that Victoria’s
or…oh, she was so happy, she just didn’t care. She sighed with happiness as she
set the new stew to bubble on the stove, washed her hands then flopped on their
bed, all but engulfed in the Texas size duvet as she clutched her stuffed, baby
blue teddy bear to her chest. Her saltwater breasts rippled in ecstatic
response. He had given her those, her nose and the teddy bear, too. The color
of your eyes, he had whispered.
How could she ever have doubted his love? He
would never leave her now, she knew that for sure, and never again would he
deny her stew. They had an understanding that went bone deep and yet it reached
for the heavens. Oh, the joy of it. They had crossed the bridge that spanned
the gorge that had separated them, fallen into one another’s arms….He had
looked so sweet on his knees, begging for reconciliation, admitting his
wrongdoing…who knew the power of true love? Oh she did. Now she did. They did.
Smiling secretly to herself, she remembered. Her fear, her
pain, her fury as she prepared to bring him to justice. She had looked her
best. Texas had taught her to dress and dress big and he could never take that
away from her, ice storm or no. She added a new layer of cobalt to her freshly
applied eye lashes and teased her hair to new heights. She loved her new
platinum blonde bangs. She slipped into her favorite fuchsia hot pants and the
frilly cream blouse with all the sequins. Her favorite rhinestone bangles were
next, and the belt with all the turquoise conchos. Real turquoise, mind you.
After much thought, and with a nod to her distant ancestors, she slid into her
lederhosen – his favorite. They fit snugly over her hot pants. It would drive
him mad, she knew. And it did.
She’d clean up the mess later. Right now, she’d better go
feed the birds.
The End.
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