Sharon L. Clark, Author

Tag: short story

romance story, romantic serial, short story chapters, sharon clark, Sharon L. Clark Author

The Path of Least Dysfunction, A Series: Chapter 3

Up. Down. Twist, twist. Up. Down. Twist, twist.

I watched the rhythmic motion of the coffee sleeve as Jamie fiddled with it. He still hadn’t looked at me.

“Are you sure this is what you want?”

“No.” His gaze flicked to my face for a millisecond as I answered. “But I think it’s what I need.”

He nodded absently.

Up. Down. Twist, twist.

“I can’t say I understand why you want to postpone the wedding. I thought you wanted to get married. I thought you wanted to marry me.”

His voice was so quiet I could barely make out the words over the sound of the patrons around us. God, I was hurting him, and it was shattering my heart in my chest.

I really was a monster.

“I do want to marry you! I really do! It’s just…You know I love you, right? More than anything?” His hands stopped moving as I paused, then resumed their steady, distracted activity. “I can’t explain it. I just want to see…I need to make sure…it’s not that…”

I raked my hands through my hair and slammed against the back of the seat. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go down. I clasped my hands in my lap, pulling every muscle in tight and I held very still. I was losing control of the situation.

“Shit! This is coming out all wrong. I practiced what I was going to say a hundred times and it came out so much better than this!”

The corner of his mouth twitched into a smirk, the closest thing to a smile I’d seen since we sat down here thirty minutes ago. Maybe since he heard I climbed out that window.

“Only a hundred?” He flicked his eyes up to me then back at the table. I released my hands and relaxed  just a little.

“Well, maybe not a hundred times – but that’s not far off!”

How could I make him understand? I wanted to marry him. I loved him. But over the course of the last month, since he proposed and I accepted, I started worrying. It’s a thing I did, all the time, over everything. I had been in love before – at least I thought I had been. Why hadn’t those other relationships worked out? I had fallen out of love with other men, or they with me. Who was to say that this relationship, this love, wouldn’t fall to the wayside, just like the rest? In line with my regular prep work and checking and double-checking, I needed to find out why my previous loves had fizzled out – and how to ensure this one wouldn’t. Jamie was the best thing in my life and I couldn’t stand the thought of  finding out too late I wasn’t the best thing in his.

I watched him for a few minutes, neither of us speaking. I didn’t know what else to say. Finally, he sighed and shrugged.

“I mean, I can’t make you marry me. If you need some time to figure things out, to make absolutely sure this is what you want, then time is what you’ll have. And you know I’ll be here whenever you’re ready.”

He was so accepting, so matter-of-fact, that I was immediately angry. One of the traits I had always adored about him was, at this moment, pissing me off. I wanted him to yell at me, to tell me not to go. I wanted to hear that he was scared, too, that his feelings weren’t so indisputable – and that we’d be okay anyway.

Leaning forward with both palms flat on the table I hissed, “Aren’t you at least a little bit afraid?”

At that, his head snapped up, his expression placid, his eyes like steel.

“No. Not at all.”

romance story, romantic serial, short story chapters, sharon clark, Sharon L. Clark Author

The Path of Least Dysfunction, A Series: Chapter 2

This is a new series I’m working on that I want to share with all of you. Each week, I will post another chapter. I hope you enjoy it!

I am not known for wild behavior. I don’t think anyone has ever described me as “unreliable,” “reckless,” or “flakey.” When I say I’m going to be somewhere, you can count on me. I am ten minutes early to all appointments. I prepare a “just-in-case” bag when I meet up with people, filled with things someone might need based on the situation. I plan meals for two weeks ahead of time and have Christmas presents purchased and wrapped before Thanksgiving.

Responsible. I have no doubt that will be etched into my gravestone.

So when I climbed out the window at the bridal boutique and disappeared, my family was frantic. I refused to answer my phone. I checked into a nondescript motel on the opposite side of town with nothing but the clothes on my back and whatever was in my purse. The only contact I accepted was from Jamie. My fiancé.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“People are worried about you. Your mom is about to call the police.”

I groaned. Of course she was. Overdramatic, as per usual.

“God, I’m sorry to have put you in this position, Jamie. It’s not fair. But could you…”

He chuckled.

“I’ll tell her I talked to you and that you are definitely NOT dead in a ditch.” There was a slight pause. “Do I get to know where you are?”

I slid from the bed to the floor, the phone pressed against my ear. “Jamie…”

He immediately backpedaled. “No, right. I understand. You need some space. That’s cool. I’m cool. Take whatever time you need.”

“Thanks,” I sighed. Good old Jamie. He was my rock and my favorite person. I knew he’d never push me. He would let me have my nervous breakdown and would cover for me for as long as I asked him to. If I needed clothes or money or even my passport, he’d find a way to get them to me, no questions asked. There had never been a better man on the planet than my Jamie. He was my ride-or-die.

And I was a monster for treating him like this.

“Just promise you’ll talk to me about this when you’re ready, okay?”

After a few more assurances, a few more apologies, and a plethora of thank yous, I told Jamie I loved him and hung up the phone.

I stared at the cell in my hand for several minutes. He didn’t deserve this. Everything about him was perfect for me: He was funny and kind. He loved to cook and was excellent at it. He loved animals and kids and old people. We’d been together for two years and when he asked me to move in with him – and I declined – he didn’t bat a lash. It wasn’t a major crisis and he didn’t automatically assume I didn’t love him. Where I was tightly wound and had to have a color-coded list or schedule for everything, Jamie was content to go with the flow. He even talked me down from the ledge whenever my intricate plans went off-course and I was convinced my whole life was ruined. Like I said, he was my rock. But he was also my soft place to land when things went off the rails.

So why was I afraid to marry him?

romance story, romantic serial, short story chapters, sharon clark, Sharon L. Clark Author

The Path of Least Dysfunction, A Series: Chapter 1

This is a new series I’m working on that I want to share with all of you. Each week, I will post another chapter. I hope you enjoy it!

I can’t do this.

Alone in the dressing room, my heart was racing and my palms were sweating. What made me think I was ready for this? I was 25 years old – barely an adult – and yet here I was. Trying on dresses for a wedding.

For MY wedding.

I stared at the woman in the mirror, knowing she looked familiar, but I couldn’t quite place her. Dark curls stifled in a French knot, lacy veil cascading over her shoulders, a sleek white dress hugging her curves. She was frozen in space and time, unable to move forward but unable to go back. Trapped in this room, trapped in planning a wedding, trapped in a life she wasn’t ready for and wasn’t sure she wanted.

Suddenly, I couldn’t breathe.

Squeals of delight filtered through the door, snapping me out of my trance. I had to get out of here. This was all wrong, this was the personification of my nightmares. I tore the veil off my head, painfully pulling some bobby pins out in the process. I continued to yank at the rest until my hair was free and wild down my back. Then I twisted and contorted myself to reach the clamps holding the too-big dress on my frame so I could shimmy out of the lace and satin straightjacket. I left it pooled on the floor as I tugged my jeans up over my hips and zipped my hoodie.

Slipping into my shoes, I tiptoed to the door. God, I hoped the saleswoman wasn’t on her way back with more dresses. I didn’t want to knock her down like a linebacker, but by god, if she got in my way that’s exactly what was going to happen! Opening the door barely a crack, I peeked into the hallway. Another party of excited young women were gathered around a mirror, oohing and aahing over the teary-eyed bride-to-be in her enormous white flounces. My stomach clenched, trying to suffocate the terrified butterflies trying to burst free.

When I felt the coast was clear, I slid out of the room, pulling the door closed behind me. I strolled down the hall, my hood pulled close over my head. The exit sign was right in front of me, just at the end of the hallway – I was almost out! I was in such a panicked state that I hadn’t stopped to think about my mom, my sisters, my best friend, waiting in the lounge for me. They’d be so freaked out when they realized I was gone.

Eh, they had champagne to entertain them – they wouldn’t miss me for at least another hour.

Three feet from the exit, I heard Janice, the sales attendant, calling my name.

“Alexis! What are you doing out here? Can I help you find something?”

Shit. I was SO CLOSE. I spun around with what I hoped was a pleasant expression.

“I was looking for the bathroom…?”

Janice forced a smile and inclined her head to my left. “Right there.” The smile didn’t reach her eyes and her voice was falsely upbeat. I didn’t blame her. She was nearly buried in a pile of new dresses for me to try on after putting up with my shenanigans all morning. I had been pretty difficult: One dress was too big, another was too slutty, the next accentuated my many lumps and bumps. I had shown my entourage one dress in more than an hour.

Janice probably hated me, and with good reason.

I shrugged an apology and ducked into the bathroom. Leaning against the door with eyes shut, I waited, counting to ten. That should be enough time for Janice to get back to the room so I could escape without her seeing me.

A sudden rapping on the door made me jump.

“Oh, Alexis? I brought five more dresses to the room – I know THE ONE is in this batch! I’m not sure if you remember the room number so I’ll just wait here for you!”

Great.

Opening my eyes, I glanced around, deciding to make myself comfortable until I could come up with an excuse to cut this torture short. Diarrhea? For sure. She’d probably shove me out the door herself. I just needed to give it a few more minutes to make it believable. Then my eyes landed on the window and another idea started to form.

It didn’t take much effort to pry it open – I just hoped it wasn’t hooked up to some security system that would give away my hasty retreat. There wasn’t a whole lot of room to squeeze all my parts through, but at least the window opened into a deserted alley. Over a closed and fairly clean dumpster, no less. With a little effort, I was able to shimmy through the opening onto the lid. Once on the ground, I straightened my sweatshirt, fluffed my hair, and slipped my purse over my shoulder.

Then I ran like hell.

Short Story: Watching

My editorial calendar says today’s blog post is supposed to be a book review. Well, I am fully unprepared to do that today. Instead, I will be sharing my latest creepy short story with you!

My family will agree that inside my mind is a mysterious and sometimes frightening place. I consider myself to be friendly and pleasant with a big imagination and an alarming amount of anxiety. These factors, coupled with the amount of Criminal Minds in my mental repertoire, are the generous sponsors of this little gem. Enjoy!

 

Watching

He took a drag off his cigarette, his eyes lighting up from more than the glow of the embers. She sure was beautiful. Flipping her long blonde hair over her shoulder, raising her eyebrows in a flirtatious challenge. His heart skipped a couple beats.

When she smiled, he could feel the warmth of it, even from this distance. Her eyes sparkled in amusement at something she heard around her, and she threw her head back to laugh. So free. So full of life.

She was so animated as she talked. Shrugging her shoulders one minute, pouting the next, her arms waving to punctuate whatever point she was trying to make. It seemed as though a light surrounded her, drawing him in, and he was powerless against it.

He licked his lips, imagining how her mouth would taste. That necessitated a shift in his stance, since his body reacted strongly and immediately to that idea. It was okay, though, she wouldn’t notice how excited she made him. She couldn’t even see him.

But she would.

Crushing out the spent cigarette, he quickly picked it up and pocketed it. He certainly didn’t want to leave his trash around – especially when it would have traces of his DNA on it. Once he introduced himself to the object of his affection, he knew the very spot he was standing would be scrutinized thoroughly. He sure as hell wasn’t going to make things easy.

This was his favorite time of year, the early winter. It wasn’t too cold yet, but cold enough that doors and windows were closed. It got dark pretty early, too. No one ever noticed him walking on the path behind the row of houses. He could find a solitary spot to set up for the night before the residents were even home from work. And they were never the wiser.

His lip curled as he lit another smoke. These people. They fancied themselves so far removed from any danger just because they lived in a nice suburban neighborhood. With their big houses, expensive cars, fancy security systems, they felt so safe. Even though it was pitch black outside, it was barely dinner time, so there was no reason to set the alarm quite yet – that would happen just before they all went to bed. At least it seemed that’s the way they went about their lives every night.

They’d arrive home just after dusk, flipping on their lights, rifling through their mail. Always leaving their curtains and blinds open. Dummies. It was almost like a delicatessen or a bakery, allowing him to make his selection based on what he could see, displaying their wares just for him. It was the ultimate in window shopping.

He chuckled at his own joke.

Husbands kissing wives, kids begging for this toy or that new gadget, dinners being made or delivered. He could see it all. He watched it all. The sliding glass doors shining brightly, like a movie screen just for him, letting him peek into the lives he would interrupt very soon.

Yes, the blonde. She was definitely the winner. He could see her smiling up at a man – Husband? Boyfriend? Lover? Didn’t matter. They were all the same to him. Merely an obstacle to be overcome, an appetizer before the main course. Damn. There went his libido again, trying to jump the gun. He adjusted himself and took a few deep calming breaths, to remind himself he had to wait – it would be so much sweeter if he could just wait.

While he had a general plan he followed every time, he cocked his head to the side and tried to determine the best order to do things with this family. Kids first – always the kids first, there was no need for them to suffer in terror for long. It was usually his plan to take them out immediately so they didn’t have to face the fear that would be visited upon their parents. But would the blonde or her husband be the most satisfying?

The man was tall and thin, didn’t look like a fighter – more of an accountant. In a suit and tie, probably didn’t even own a hunting knife, much less a gun or any kind of survival skills. It should be easy enough to subdue him so he could enjoy the show. That was always how he liked to work. Maybe this guy could even be a participant this time. That was something he hadn’t tried yet. He wasn’t opposed to taking the man, too, it just hadn’t really occurred to him before. And then, after…then he could focus on the blonde.

His eyes closed as a thrill ran through him. The thrill of the chase. The ecstasy of seeing the confusion and fear as she ran. That was almost the best part. The moment she realized exactly what was happening – what was going to happen – and that she was powerless against it. He could tell this one would be a screamer. Delicious. She would beg and plead, try to bargain, try to figure out what she had done to deserve this. There would be tears, many, many tears, and he would lap them up like mother’s milk.

The anguish of the significant other who felt he had failed to protect his family…that was almost as satisfying. They always yelled, made threats they had no way to carry out, offered him money. He sneered. It almost always came down to money. That’s not why he got into this recreational activity. He never took anything with him – just the sights, sounds, smells of the encounter. That’s all he needed.

Creeping closer to the edge of the tree line, he leaned against a trunk where he could see the scene a little better. The man hovered around the pretty blonde, pecking her on the cheek every now and then. Oh yes, he would feel guilt. And shame. The last thoughts in the husband’s head would be of despair and self-loathing.

Voices on the trail behind him caught his attention. He froze and cupped his cigarette in the palm of his hand to hide the glow. It was a pair of middle-aged biddies, power walking and chatting up a storm, arms pumping nearly as fast as their jaws. Neither one even glanced in his direction, although he heard one complain, “Ugh – can you smell that? Someone must be out on their back porch sneaking a smoke. I hate having to walk through that! Anyway, Louise was just devastated, and the stylist refused to fix the color…”

The sound of their droning faded into the night. Did they have even an inkling of how close they passed to death just then? No one ever saw him among the trees. Was there nothing left in people, in the modern Homo Sapien, that triggered that sense of danger? No wonder it had gotten easier and easier for him to satiate the need for violence that he’d been carrying inside him most of his life. These meat sacks all around him had gotten soft and weak. He was the apex predator now. And these rich neighborhoods were full of easy picking.

It wasn’t just the complacency that gave him nearly free reign. People were more isolated now than ever before. Most of these folks barely knew their neighbors’ names, much less paid any attention to what was going on in their homes. He lived in a society of ‘none of my business’ where everyone was afraid to stick their noses where they weren’t invited. The busy body with the binoculars on that one show about the witch might have saved a few lives, had she been the norm now. Glancing from house to house on display in front of him, he shook his head and sneered. Even if there was screaming or yelling or even a gunshot, not one of these lazy pieces of garbage would do more than peer out the window, pressing their faces against the glass and shading their eyes to see in the dark a little better. But it would be too late.

Okay, one more cigarette and then the kids would be in the basement while the parents were curled up in the den above them. Each would have their own idiot box commanding their attention – the adults watching scary movies or reality tv and the kids engrossing themselves in the latest bloody video game, their headphones firmly in place to block out any distractions.

He’d been watching them for close to a week. A WEEK. During the day, he would show up at his job, clean and handsome and charming. Making eye contact and small talk with everyone who stopped into his store. Some he even got to know by name, they spoke to him so frequently. Pushing the dark drive down inside himself for so long had taught him how to appear ‘normal’. He was a pro at showing his teeth and asking if there was anything else he could do for them. A wink here and there almost always produced a pretty blush in the housewives who smiled so invitingly at him. Through mimicry he had perfected the most disarming tone of voice that put people at ease almost immediately. When families came up missing or when bloodied and violated bodies were discovered, no one ever thought of him as ‘suspicious’.

Picking up the latest spent filter and tucking it away, he shifted his weight from one foot to another. The kids were getting settled, he could see them through the walk-out basement sliders. Checking all the other windows, he grinned when blondie and her beau settled themselves down to stream some mind-numbing television and ignore their offspring. God, this was going to be easy.

Whoever planned out this neighborhood obviously didn’t have any kind of darkness inside them. A person who had at least a little bad inside would have thought like a monster for at least a minute and tried to figure out how to thwart one. But no…there were no fences, no barriers at all – unless you counted the line of trees that had been left standing after the cement for the path had been poured. But really, anyone with half a criminal mind would have seen it for the perfect camouflage it was. There was barely fifty feet of yard separating the trail from the back of the house. Pulling on his second pair of latex gloves, he threw a silent “thank you” to the powers that be. None of this would have been possible without all of you milk toast suburban developers.

He hated wearing the gloves but it was a necessary precaution in these endeavors. It was so easy to leave fingerprints – there was no way, in the throes of ecstasy, to remember every single surface you had touched to wipe it down after. He had started wearing two pairs of gloves after a particularly lively encounter that had ripped a hole in the fingertip of his solitary pair. No sir, that was not a risk he would take again, no matter how much the gloves interfered with the full sensation of feeling a life leave a body.

Walking through the back yard, he was able to take his time. No one here had dogs, no one here looked out their windows – hell, a lot of them were covered now. But not this one’s. The angle from outside the house let him see into both the den on the first floor and the basement game room at the same time. The anticipation was glorious, knowing what was coming and knowing that they…didn’t.

Oh, his heart was racing and he was no longer able to control his arousal. Pulling the gun out of the back of his waistband with one hand and rubbing the front of his jeans with the other, his tongue darted out to lick his lips. This was it. God, it had been so long. A quick slide of the basement door, two head shots through the silencer, then it was up the stairs for the main course. A solid shot to the shoulder – maybe one to the knee – would put mister man down pretty good, and then the panic would begin. Her eyes would fly open wide, not sure what she just saw, and she would freeze in uncertainty. It was getting harder and harder to keep his hand away from his crotch now, but no – not yet. The knife was burning a hole in his pocket and it was the wet work that this was all about. If he could just hold onto that arousal without giving in for another thirty minutes – sixty, tops – it would be so worth it.

As he expected, the walk-out door was unlocked. He slid it open just far enough for him to slip inside, shutting and locking it behind him. When he turned and lifted the gun, the older kid saw him in the screen’s reflection and his mouth made a horrified “O” before his brains marred the image and his brother had time to react. Two quick shots, older brother first, no suffering. No kid deserved that.

His eyes were lit up with excitement, his breathing fast and shallow – oh thank god, it was finally time! – and he crept up the stairs. Silently, slowly, there was no need to rush. No one had heard a thing. His teeth were bared in a wide, delirious grin as he reached the main floor. He could see the flickering of the television from the room in the hall.

It was time, at last, to meet the neighbors…

 

Join Me On A Short Story Writing Adventure!

Recently I was introduced to a writers’ sharing website called Channillo. Here, you can post poetry, essays, nonfiction articles, short stories, and a variety of other written platforms. Readers pay a small monthly fee for unlimited access to content and can subscribe to a writer’s channel or follow one or more of their posted series.

This is a beautiful thing, especially for a fairly green author like me.

Most authors have a particular genre. I, on the other hand, am kind of all over the place these days. My current work in progress is a fantasy story. The previous one was a romantic thriller. I recently had a suspenseful short ghost story, “Return To Me,” published in a Halloween anthology. My particular writing niche hasn’t revealed itself quite yet – but I hope this little endeavor will change that!

Through the short story structure of Channillo, I will have an opportunity to try my hand at all the genres that appeal to me. I can produce bite-sized morsels of whatever strikes my fancy each week and serve it up to people who love to read. No matter if I’m feeling like a Disney princess or like a patient who flew over the cuckoo’s nest, I don’t have to commit myself to an entire novel in one style and end up hating my creation in the end. Yay!

Throughout this adventure, I will be posting snippets of whatever I’m working on, whether it’s a short story or part of a NaNo project or something entirely new. If you’re curious about “Return To Me” it can be found in the Halloween anthology, Chills Down Your Spine, or on my new Channillo channel.

I invite you to follow along, make suggestions, and hopefully enjoy some interesting and entertaining writing in the process!

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