The Queen – Chapter 4 – Conflict for the Queen

I straightened from our huddled position beside the dented cans of rancid garbage, a small rat sat on its haunches, a spectator to the gladiators now positioning themselves in the arena. I turned to my queen, searching her eyes for some sign that it was alright, that this didn’t need to happen. Her face pale now in the cold seamy night, held only fear, and hope, a slight spark in her eye. Her eyes so entrancing, how I longed to…a brutal smack to the right side of my face shook me back to reality. Twice tonight, I lost myself in her, twice now I was yanked back to unrelenting reality. My queen gave a startled, muffled scream, gathering herself back farther from the fray. That was all I needed, to see her so scared. I turned, feeling anger so deep seated it push aside peripheral sight, and looking down the tunnels of my vision, focused my rage on the enemy of my queen. Another smack, to my mouth this time, and then the iron taste of, blood. My blood. I tasted the elixir with a shocked madness. This wound carried with it all the incentive I needed, my instinct, primal and raw, flowed through my bones, my hands. The warrior looked shocked as I turned back toward him, obviously no one had withstood this, his most vehement attack. The rest of his motley entourage stood back at the beginning of the alley, they too, it seemed, were in shock. With ferocity fueled by love for my queen and pure survival instinct, I slammed my fist straight into his jaw, a snap, spin, and at last, at my feet, lay a crumpled warrior. Crumpled like the wads of stained, stinking paper blowing around, an ovation to his last stand. The cohorts scrambled away, along with the rat who, seeing enough, went about his business. I stood a victor, and I knew, this is why I work my mundane, back breaking job, so I might protect her and escape from the listless world
that was mine, outside this Queen’s castle. 

Related Posts: The Queen, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10,  Part 11,, Part 12, Part 13

Also published in: Broowaha

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The Queen – Chapter 3 – Chasing the Queen

She tucked herself close to me, I covered her, encouraging her shelter. Pulling her close, my mind raced with anticipation. How will my queen reward me? Would she possibly let me be her king? How can I, plain and awkward, be a king? That would be…..I was yanked from my fantasy by her frantic tug. We walked quickly but as I turned to my familiar escape, down the lit side street to the paid parking…she pulled me down the alley, into the unknown, a dark way, a mysterious exit. It was a typical alley way by all estimations, lined part way with overflowing garbage cans, the rest lit gloomily by a couple naked bulbs, cutting out their tiny share of hope in this most miserable darkness. I hesitated for a moment, instincts alert, I should follow her, after all she was my queen. She pulled me close, looking up at me with eyes so innocent, and full of fear. I could see a tear forming in both corners of those clear beacons, everything in her so scared and, is that desire I see? Her hand, full of strength from adrenaline, and from excitement, pulled me close, she stood up straight, her cat like arch, long ago left on her stage. Her kiss was hot, intense, her tongue not shy about expressing its new found freedom. I responded like a little kid, almost as if I had never kissed before, how does one kiss his queen? Finishing her assault on my senses, she whispered words that intimated an urgency, which urgency I immediately felt when I heard the scuffled footsteps scrambling toward us. I could only see one at first, but the noise announced several more soon to appear. My queen, what have you done? It doesn’t matter to me, my thoughts now on protecting my queen and, surviving. After all, this is why I work my mundane, back breaking job, so I might protect her and escape from the listless world that was mine, outside this Queen’s castle.

Also Published in: Broowaha

The Queen – Chapter 2 – The subjects of the Queen

The late afternoon turned to the late night, evidenced by the visible change in both volume and appearance of my queens subjects. The large middle aged blue collar slave, began to morph into, a slicker, more refined slave, those whose love for my queen, gave birth to other interests, like little meetings in the restroom, hushed conversation with obvious handshakes concluding their business. The toll my queen takes on her subjects spurred them on to more devious measures of support for her, their habit. I reached for what I thought was my last 10, and with disgruntled acknowledgment, got a small wad of pocket lint in return. My evening was over, time to make room for the others. I swayed a little when I got up, the servants of my queen were generous in their distribution of libations, knowing that it eased the passage of my money, her money, onto her throne. My breath, in a misty complaint of the cold air, clouded my sight as I walked out into the dull colors of the night. I breathed in deep, sorrow at having to leave my queen. Lowering my eyes, focusing on the crumpled paper blowing aimlessly at my feet, I followed it’s haphazard path down the street away from the throne. I felt the slight tap at my shoulder, it jolted me from my miserable summation, and turning, I see, my queen. Or was it? She had removed her royal garb, her hair a different color, (the wig hanging with her ornaments in the changing room). Her eyes softer, dare I say, innocent, without the heavy colors, the extended lashes, that brought out their seductive gaze from the dark. Speaking a whisper in my ear, I knew, it was her, my queen, her voice had confirmed her bond. She still had control, even in this visage. I knew, in a few soft words, my role of servant, now went to protector…amazing how she can put me in positions that I never thought I could fill. I, the newly knighted slave, threw my coat around her. Come my queen, I’ll protect you, youll be safe with me. This is why I work my mundane, back breaking job, so I might protect her and escape from the listless world that was mine, outside this Queen’s castle.

Related Posts: The Queen, 
Also Published in: Broowaha

Again – A journey of addiction

“I keep turning over new leaves, and spoiling them, as I used to spoil my copybooks; and I make so many beginnings there never will be an end. (Jo March)” 

Morning sun lighting the pain of hopelessness, I got messed up – again.

Ashamed to lift my eyes, chemicals course through my mind

Taking me places NO ONE should ever go – again.

Mind scrambles now, panic mode. What do I say to those who are waiting for me – again?

How can I pick up the pieces? What excuse is good enough for my failure?

Stomach hurting from the stress of seeing her cry.

From hearing the phone that rang countless times –

people who love me looking for me – again.

Gotta get some sleep now, rest and think how I can get out of this mess.

Tomorrow, I’ll make it all better. I’ll work harder, I’ll buy gifts, I’ll really pour on the charm, again

Tomorrow I’ll quit, tomorrow I’ll be fine. I’ll never do this.. Again. Again. Again.