Scarlett's Dream and Its Giver

"Scarlett appeared by the single street light in an unexpected flash. She could not remember how she got there or why she was even here, on this desolate pavement by the only light for miles.
And then he materialized through the mist.
Of course it was him. Her eyes widened and she stopped breathing. Classic moment before the heart turmoil begins.
He recognized Scarlett and walked straight to her. She noticed that not once did he take his alluring blue-green eyes off her. It was almost as if he felt it too.
"So where are we going?" She said,  only slightly cocking her head to the side when he stood in front of her. It was the tell.
The young man brushed his finger tips along her jaw line and down to her collarbone, still not blinking, still penetrating her with his intense gaze.
He sighed, obviously satisfied with himself, as well as with her.
"We're going to Sarah's."
Scarlett raised her wild eyebrows. "Which Sarah?"
"Blonde Sarah. Thin Sarah. The one with the annoying voice."
"There is no way I'm going to hers."
He caught on to something. "And why not?" He pulled her a little closer.
"Because I slept with the guy she liked and potentially still likes. The one that's now working in Canada."
The man laughed, running a rough hand through his shiny black hair.
"We're going to Sarah's."

They appeared at hers. It was not exactly what Scarlett had expected, as there was a full-blown orgy happening in the living room and on the staircase, where the drunker people were congregating in the hope of pulling someone decent looking and equally as drunk.
Scarlett thought only one thing: "How depraved."
She had had three and foursome experiences herself, but nothing as public as this, and with good reason. A quarter of the participants were occasionally fumbling for their phones.

Scarlett looked over at the man she had come with.
"What are we doing here?" She asked him openly, defiance written on her pale face. But he just smiled and went to greet a few people he knew. People who had no idea who she was. Presumably just another one of his many conquests. It was the way he worked after all. Nevertheless, if only they had looked better, with a critical eye instead of an inebriated one, they could have seen the power that they had over each other, even without realizing it. Oblivious.
There were sparks flying everywhere. They would have burned the house down with everyone in it.
Arsonists with electricity. Hmm.

And then they were in the garden, finally locking onto each other like they should have done by the street light where he had appeared to her through all of the lack of clarity.
She opened her blue eyes after a particularly intense kiss.
He was gone."

Cigarette Lips

"The taste of cigarette smoke clung to her tongue, even though she had not touched a single one in months.
On her short walk home, the girl waded through her whereabouts of the last few days, still wondering where this bitter taste in her mouth came from.
Was it Charlie?
Charlie smoked, but they had not kissed in three days. He was still at the conference in Brighton. And she was here, in the City, alone with her cigarette lips and a strong desire to get rid of them.
Vi's thoughts returned to the night she had passed in rowdy company in a seedy pub in a "you should avoid it if you can" part of town. Not once did it occur to her that she might not be safe. She had worn thick eyeliner and lipstick for the first time in months. Charlie did not like her with make-up on. She loved it.
"Who. Is. That?" A friend of Charlie had asked another friend of Charlie.
"Charlie's girlfriend."
That was that. He did not come talk to her. But... Another friend of theirs, whose first love was eavesdropping, did. He came over to where Vi was sitting among a group of other people, discussing the latest nihilistic novel they supposedly had all read. It was exactly the kind of conversation that would get you in trouble in those parts of town, but no one seemed to care that a bunch of intellectuals were congregating at a rock concert that quickly escalated into a beer throwing fest.
Vi did not seem to mind, neither did the rest.
By the end of the night, every single person smelt like the floor of a brewery and looked like a broken hearted drag queen. But the night had been a success, for the aim had been to "expand their horizons". They had fulfilled their weekend mission and could now return to their monotonous every day lives, packed with coffee orders and mindless chit-chat, as well as being one step from suicidal.
Vi thought about Charlie. She would soon have to tell him that she was no longer in love with the life they had built together and that she wanted to wear make-up every day and dance on podiums all night. He'd hate it.
She was strangely looking forward to it, as if she was finally answering long awaited call from a friend in a war zone."

Snigger Away

"The Queen threw the dirty letter on the floor.
"They have murdered my ambassador on the steps of the Temple." Her voice shook and she clenched her fists tightly as she spoke. "You know what this means, do you not? War. I say it means war!"
The King looked over at her, slouched in his throne of thorns, chewing on a juicy grape.
"And what might you, a woman, know of these matters?"
The Queen turned to face him, eyes thunderous and fists still clenched, in an attempt to steady herself.
"Might I recall a certain Battle of the Three Hills to Your Majesty's attention? A conflict where my counsel was the only one that led you and your generals to victory?" She bowed her head slightly.
He paid no mind.
"Take her away. I'm not in the mood for your moods and your dramatic nature. As you know, I haven't been for a very long time. Your being here bores me. Leave."
The first general stood up briskly. "Your Majesty. If I may have permission to speak -"
"Silence. I won't have you defending your whore's honour."
The throne room grew silent. One could have heard a handkerchief falling to the ground.
The Queen was the first to recompose herself.
"Majesty. I beg your indulgence for just a moment before I take my leave of you. It sounded to my ears as though you were accusing me of having an affair with the here present general, a man most loyal to you, my dear husband. How ridiculous." She smiled at him.
"And now, if you will excuse me, I have grown tired of your insults. I shall retire to the drawing room." She nodded towards her ladies in waiting and they followed her out of the still silent throne room like obedient little ducklings.
"She's a madwoman and a whore. Your whore." The King nodded to the general. "Better yours than mine." He laughed wholeheartedly.
If only he could have seen his second in command quietly sniggering behind him. What everyone except the King and Queen knew, was that for a long time that man had been spying on them both, paying careful attention never to be caught in the act, but catching many others in flagrante delicto and in many other, rather uncomfortable positions."

Realization

"The strangest thing happened the last time I saw him.
The most unexpected thought crawled into my mind as he was joking around with the rest of them. We have nothing to say to each other, we don't even look at each other with interest anymore. And now that the physical thing between us has run its course, there is no reason for us to interact, to see or to even think about the other.
When these thoughts occurred to me, there was a calmness floating through my mind, along with the realization that should have come to me sooner: no matter for how long I did not see it, the truth had been there for years. It just took seeing him clearly for me to finally comprehend that there never was and never will be a true friendship between us. This must all seem quite repetitive, and I must apologize for that, dear Kitty, but you are the companion that never retorts or laughs inadequately or hiccups at the wrong moment during our conversations. And most importantly, you knew him too, through my eyes and your own. A blessing and a curse, both in disguise.
Now we are rid of him, of thoughts that would start with the likes of "what if we ended up in bed together again" and end with, let's be honest, a few graphic images. Now we are rid of him. Now we are rid of him.
No matter how many times I repeat it to myself, and inevitably to you my dear, I await a sensation of sadness and a feeling of loss to slowly make its descent upon me. It has not done so, and I know that it will not ever come to that. He is gone, lost to me, in a good way. He is there, should I want to talk to him, but at the same time, he is gone from my world.
You felt it too, did you not? You know what I mean.
You knew before I did that there was nothing more between us and you just wanted me to find out on my own, not to be influenced by your opinions, my sweetest friend.
And I love you dearly for it."

Semper Catatonic, Semper Paratus

"He's been catatonic for months now and we have seen no change in his condition whatsoever. I'm very sorry."
The doctor's distant voice momentarily broke through the bubble Victoria had carefully constructed around herself before she stepped into the waiting room.
"I see."
"You might want to start considering the treatment we discussed in our last session. I realize that this level of aggressiveness may have its consequences, but so far nothing else has worked."
"Yes. Yes we might consider that", Victoria mumbled. She pressed her hands together, letting the fingers slip through each other. He had always said that she had the hands of an angel.
"Won't you come through to my office? We can make an appointment for you to come back and review the situation with Dr. Bergman and I."
Why did doctors' voices always sound so forced? How many other people had she told that they may very well lose their already lost loved one? That they would be swallowed up by a darkness that could neither be fought nor controlled?
A deadly shiver ran through Victoria.
"Mummy. Mummy I want to go home. I don't like this place."
"Yes darling, Mummy is almost finished." Victoria turned to the doctor, who for the first time had taken her lifeless eyes off of her and had directed her cold, calculating gaze onto Jamie, Victoria's six year old son. He hid behind his mother when he felt the doctor's stare upon him. Being looked at intently made him uncomfortable, as if someone else wanted to be in his skin and expel him from his body. He had been that way since his father, the man now known only as "Catatonic SX655", had lost all possible sensation and had collapsed on the floor in front of him. He spoke solely with his wide-open eyes, pleading for Jamie to go find help. Then they glazed over and Jamie never saw a look of life in him again.
"Mummy. Mummy please."
Victoria caressed his little head. How she wanted to shield him from what was happening and what was bound to happen sooner rather than later."

Cold At Heart and Through and Through

The man behind the large wooden desk sipped on his brandy. One day it would kill him and he knew it, but the surge of power he felt as the liquid transformed into fire inside his body was addictive. How could he let go now? How did he ever stand a chance against it?
The man's secretary was waiting for an answer. He scared her with his silence as he had always done, from the first day she had worked for him and every day since. Outside the office, she was a pretty confident woman, a wife who stood up to her husband and her two loud sons, a friend you could rely on for uncompromising honesty. But in here, power was not hers. It was sucked out of her violently as she stepped over the threshold. Her voice became a whisper and her wits deserted her.
As the man turned to her, she lowered her gaze. She would not want him to take her unflinching stare as a challenge. That would be most unwelcome. And very unprofessional.
The secretary had met his wife. She too was a creature of the dark. Pale as can be she was. And cold like the marble her expensive heels sharply clicked on. Their marriage had been a business deal like any other. The wife's family's company had been in serious financial trouble and she had been ready to sell herself to a loveless life in order to keep the legacy from drowning into irrelevance. And she did, without a moment's hesitation. Neither of them would ever dream of disgracing their arrangement with an affair. And yet, sometimes, the secretary could have sworn that there were suspicious noises coming from the great big cold office opposite hers.
"Do it", he said, his deep, self-assured, crude voice causing the little delicate hairs on the back of her neck to stand up straight in protest. She nodded, eyes held low.
"Do it", he repeated. The calm urgency in his voice was most unusual.

Harlot Set Up (follows "From A Man")

"I was with my girlfriend of two years, meeting a few of our mutual friends in a bar in New York. I was on a business trip and she decided to join me. She had never been to New York. Really all she wanted was to have her picture taken on 5th Avenue. Like a real Italian tourist.
But no matter, back to October and that night.
We went to a truly curious place. I can't even remember its name. All I recall are the expensive cocktails and the English porcelain tea sets. A waiter came up to us and asked one of our friends something, to which he nodded and gave the waiter a 100 dollar bill. He's rich, he could afford it. The waiter's smile suddenly looked real and soon he was flashing his fake pearly whites, escorting us through the bar, down to what at first glance looked like an unused wine cellar. I thought he might murder us, or rob us, or something along those nasty lines. Instead, he opened a passage into one of the wine vaults. We passed through there, suddenly aware that at the end of this mystery trail there was sultry jazz music playing. What was this? A sex club? Burlesque? Illegal poker game? Time travel even? I was drunk on excitement. My girlfriend, lovely as always, was dubious.
We turned a corner and found ourselves in an underground, 1930s inspired club. The little booths that you would expect to find in a gangster film had been turned into large divans, where people gathered to admire each other's beauty.
And there she was.
October."

E.