Archive for the ‘THE WORST OF LOVE CONTEST’ Category

LOVE KNOWS NO EMOTION: By Jim Wisneski

Tuesday, December 22nd, 2009

THE WORST OF LOVE  CONTESTANT

Her face was cold.  Again.  It was always cold. 

Cold since he found out about the other guy in her life.  The truth was, no matter how painful it was to accept, the other guy was better for her.  He could provide more, he could accomplish more, he could give her more, but one thing the other guy couldn’t do better was love her.

Nobody loved Scarlet like Drake did.

“Why is your face cold?” he asked her.

She blinked.

“Please, just talk to me,” Drake said reaching out to grab her hand.

Scarlet didn’t return the gesture.

“Do you love him?”

Scarlet lowered her eyes.  She always did this when she was guilty. 

“You know, it’s kind of funny how you would get mad at me for never bringing flowers or getting out of work early to come see you.  Then the one day I do. . .”

“Please, stop,” Scarlet said.  “Please.  There’s nothing I can say to make this right.”

“Just tell me you don’t love him.  Tell me you love me.  Tell me you want to be with me forever.  Tell me.”

Scarlet was quiet again.

Drake leaned forward and hugged Scarlet.  He nuzzled his nose against her cold cheek.

“Please,” he whispered in her ear, “please just tell me.  We don’t have much time.”

“That’s your fault, not mine.”

“Love knows no emotion.  It never has and never will.  Don’t you get that?”

“I love him Drake, I do.  He’s good for me.”

“And me?”

“I love you too.  But you’re not good for me.”

Scarlet looked away.  She never made eye contact.  That was how Drake knew she was telling the truth.  She could stare him down and lie but an ounce of truth comes out and she looks away.

“He’s not so good now, is he?” Drake said with a smile.

“That’s not fair,” Scarlet said. 

She was beginning to sob. 

“I didn’t mean to kill him.  You know that, don’t you?”

Scarlet shook her head.

Drake dropped to his knees.

“If I just knew before hand, that’s all.  I saw a man on top of you.  I didn’t know what was happening.  I thought he was hurting you.  Then I. . . I. . just please. . .”

“It’s okay,” Scarlet said with a smile.  “We don’t have much time.”

Drake knew he only had a minute or so before Scarlet would have to leave.

“Just please,” he begged, “please, just kiss me.”

“Drake, I can’t,” Scarlet replied.

“Please.”

“Love knows no emotion, huh?” Scarlet asked looking away.

“None.  I’m crazy.  For you.  Please.  Just one kiss.”

Scarlet looked at Drake and he leaned in.  Even her lips were cold.  He held her face in his hands and kiss her.  He wished to go back and not mess things up.  He wished he could be with her in bed again, where it was warm.

“I love you,” he whispered into her mouth between kisses.

“I love you too,” Scarlet said.

There was a loud knock at the metal door.  It echoed through the small room.

“Hey, knock it off!” a guard yelled.  The guard turned around and laughed with another guard.  “He’s licking the wall again!”

Drake froze.  He looked behind him and then straightened his shoulders. 

Drake reached out and grabbed with one hand the rotting set of eyeballs he had placed on the window sill in his cell.  He was scared because the odor and mush of the eyes meant Scarlet was almost completely gone forever.  He wanted more time with her. . . he needed to know she had forgiven him and loved him.  He kissed the gooey eyes and whispered, “love knows no emotion” one more time before hiding them under his pillow.

 

©2009 Jim Wisneski
 
Jim Wisneski lives in Pennsylvania where he thinks, writes, and thinks.  Follow him and his many ongoing writing, poetry, and music projects through his blog at www.WritersnWriters.blogspot.com.

SINGLES LINE: By Jessica Brown

Monday, December 14th, 2009

THE WORST OF LOVE  CONTESTANT

“Pittsburgh Local Singles, my name is Dominique. What’s yours?”

“Kelly.”

“I’ve never had a woman call me on this line before. You’re into women, Kelly?”

“No. I can’t really say that I am.”

“I’m not sure why you’d be calling, then, sweetheart. This is a… a way for people to connect, you know.”

“I know.”

“But you’re not calling about sex.”

“I am, kind of. But not from you.”

“Why do you need me, then?”

“My sex appeal, Dominique. It’s gone. My husband lost interest in me.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, but…”

“You have a great voice. When you talk, all anyone can probably think about is sex. I wish I had that kind of voice. I sound like a little girl. Nobody’s going to be turned on by that.”

“You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself, Kelly. Your voice is fine.”

“No, it’s not. But that’s not the only thing that got between my husband and I.”

“Oh?”

“We both worked long hours, and I was too tired for sex when we came home in the evenings. I tried, but I never had the energy. We started fighting.”

“Maybe you should just lay back and enjoy it and not worry too much about your energy, sweetheart.”

“I should have, but I didn’t. I ignored the problem until things were too far gone.”

“Did he leave you?”

“Not in so many words, but yes, he’s gone.”

“Do you want help with your voice? You think talking dirty’s going to bring him back to you? I can give you a few pointers, if you like. You know, this is costing you three dollars a minute. I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on here before too much time goes by.”

“Nothing’s bringing him back now, Dominique. He found another woman. Another local woman. At first, I think he was just looking at porn online. I was so tired that I didn’t mind it. Then I found charges on our phone bill that didn’t make sense, and I blew those off too. Finally, he stopped coming home after work, making excuses about taking clients out for drinks, that kind of thing. I wasn’t born yesterday. I knew what he was doing.”

“I’m sorry to hear all of this. But you’re still willing to take him back, though, right? That’s why you called, isn’t it? You must love him very much.”

“That’s true. I do. Tell me something. Have you ever met someone from the Singles line, Dominique?”

“I can’t say I-”

“Come off it. Have you ever met a man named Doug, in particular?”

“I don’t know, I-”

“Don’t lie to me, Dominique. You want to know something interesting?”

“What?”

“I know where you work, and I know where your office is. It’s a crappy, ramshackle little hole in the wall in the industrial district. Oxidized brass ornaments in front of the ground-floor door. You work on the fourth floor, poor lighting, the paint peeling off the wood in the hallway. There’s only a few desks behind the door of your office, three or four girls besides you, and they’re off this weekend.”

“How do you know all of this?”

“Your business card. You left it in his pocket. Who the hell do you think did his laundry? While he was off fucking you in that thirty-dollar motel, I was at home taking care of things, even after working ten hour days. He left their matches in his pocket, too. Same pocket and everything. I’m starting to think he didn’t even care if I saw. I made him care, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“Have you seen Doug lately, Dominique? Has he called you? Has he met you in the parking lot outside of the motel with his wallet stuffed full of Trojans? I don’t think he has.”

“Is this some kind of joke?”

“Did he ever tell you about his home life? About the house we had just outside the city? It’s a grey cedar house, very popular in the eighties, with about four acres of yard. A real bitch to mow. He bought a nice riding mower a few years ago, cost a pretty penny. Lots of woods surrounding the yard, separating us from our neighbors. It’s a nice place, though the property taxes are a bit high. Did he ever tell you about me, about the house, any of that?”

“No. He didn’t tell me anything. I didn’t even know about you until now.”

“Typical.”

“Why are you telling me this? Why did you even call me?”

“Because I wanted to talk to you, just this once. I wanted to hear it from your side. I don’t think you’ll tell me the truth, which is a shame. I don’t think Doug was entirely honest, either, but when he admitted that you were working alone, he was telling the truth. I can hear it in your voice.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“You should.”

“Where’s Doug now?”

“Back at the house. Back at the house, where he’ll remain from now on. You, too. It’s a beautiful yard, with an amazing view.”

“This is sick. You’re lying.”

“Am I?”

“What was that noise?”

“The footsteps, you mean? That’s me, in the hallway. Your employer doesn’t much care for your safety, I don’t think. Offices like this ought to have locks and buzzers. You don’t sound too sexy right now, Dominique. I thought I should tell you that.”

 
©2009 Jessica Brown

Jessica Brown is an author of horror and dark fantasy whose work has been featured in Shadow Feast, The Nocturnal Lyric, Bloodfetish, Horrotica and The Harrow. Her short story “Forward Forward Forward” has recently been included in Pill Hill Press’ Twisted Legends anthology, and her short “Porn and the First-Person Shooter” will be in the upcoming Baconology collection from Library of Horror Press.  She lives in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania and can be found online at http://jessicarbrown.blogspot.com/