East African Friday Feature

Guess what's back? Back again. East African Friday Feature's Back. Tell a friend.

People don't realize the earth is not just theirs. It's like wilful blindness. At least that's what Oran's mother told him when he was old enough to understand.
"Stay away from the man places." she warned.
"They will kill you if they see you", his father added.

But Oran was a pup, brimming chock full of curiosity. He wanted to smell all the plants, pee on every tree and smell every other animal he came upon. As his limbs got longer and stronger he ventured further and further away from his home; the cave where his family gathered in the evening, well hidden and safe from other predators. His mama and papa were apex predators, but they had pups to protect. They took that very seriously.

Oran's brothers and sisters were less adventurous than he was. It was a source of great agitation to his mother and secret pride to his father. He was leader of the pack and Oran was shaping up to be an excellent heir; if he could keep himself out of trouble long enough to achieve adulthood.
Oran was nosing around in the woods one day, following a strange scent when his forehead bumped into something. The something was standing upright clearly, with brown stalks which were thin and straight and also the source of the scent he was following. Oran butted his head against the stalk again seeing if it would move and it made a sound startling Oran so badly he reared backwards, lost his balance and rolled over on his short fat legs. The stalks made another sound, it seemed happy. Delighted. Like Oran did when he yipped because his mother brought a particularly juicy morsel for him and his siblings to share.

Then the stalks were moving! There were two of them, one right next to the other but they did not move in tandem. First one stepped forward, then the other.
Oran had to admit he was a bit afraid. He didn't know what these were! Would they eat him?!?
Then the stalks bent, one lower than the other and suddenly paws appeared in his vision; funny looking ones; not like his and there was a face in front of him, mouth open and teeth on display. It was a scary sight. The thing was much bigger than him.
"Hello. What do we have here puppy? Are you alone?"

The thing was making sounds but Oran couldn't understand them. They didn't sound threatening though, so he unfurled himself and stood on his feet. He was a wolf of the Berach Pack. He would go down fighting if he could not vanquish this enemy. He showed his teeth too, so the enemy would know that he meant business.
"Awww. Are you growling at me? So sweet. I won't hurt you. Promise."
The thing kept on making sounds. And they still didn't sound threatening. It extended one of its paws, like it wanted Oran to scent it! The pup looked up at the thing's face and found that it's teeth weren't showing anymore. Instead it's mouth was spread wide as if it was happy and it had folded it's paw so it's claws were away from Oran. The thing's eyes were staring into Oran's and the pup detected no threat from it. His curiosity got the better of him and he leaned forward to sniff at the paw.

He reared back again, almost losing his balance for a second time. The thing's smell was strong! And definitely alien to the forest. What was this thing? Oran crept forward again, sniffing delicately.
"That's a good boy. See? Not dangerous at all."
The thing was talking in a soothing voice and Oran found he was letting his guard down. He sat on the ground in front of the thing, and it sat too, staring back at Oran.
"Can I take you home?"
The thing was still making sounds. Oran thought it might be trying to communicate. Suddenly he heard a howl from deeper in the woods. He knew that voice; it was his father. It was a warning.
Men.
There were men in the forest; time to get home. Oran stood up and talk off.
"Wait! Pup!"
The thing was shouting behind him, which scared Oran even more; he ran faster disappearing like a ghost into the shadows determined to get home before his father felt it necessary to find him. Before the bad men found him.

The East Africa Friday Feature has been revived; the prompt was "People don't realize that the earth is..." which came about because of the number of trees being cut to make way for the concrete jungle. Participating blogs will be added as they update.
This is my first story I've written from the point of view of an animal. I need critiques. Go crazy.

Cover Art for Bulitia Story

How do you like my cover for the Bulitia story? I tried some lighter hearted ones but they just didn't speak to me. 

I'll be writing one more chapter to the story or two and posting it on smashwords for free. Will you download it? Let me know in the comments.

It's A Rat Race

This is part 4 of my four part East African Friday Feature on the Supernatural. Its based on the slave who appears in every installment of the Child of Destiny Series. I named him Bulitia after my late father; he also had a 'sixth sense' about things so I thought that was appropriate. I hope you've enjoyed reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it.

Asha stood outside the cabin door, debating with herself. Should she come clean to Bulitia? Tell him she was pregnant and that the jitu had threatened the baby? But he was just as much a slave as she was; there wasn’t much he could do…if anything. But if he wasn’t some kind of special then why was the jitu interested in him? He must have some special powers or something. Which meant he could help her if he knew…Knew what though? What could she tell him really? The jitu had come to her, and asked her to seduce Bulitia; didn’t tell her why or how long or anything. Didn’t tell her anything really about Bulitia. She knew he was from East Africa and he and his shipmates were still hopeful; still green. They continued to think there was a way for them to get home when there really wasn’t. They were fucked the moment they got on the boat. No, probably before. The minute they were captured. Not like their families would be willing to take them back if they returned. They’d probably think the runaway slaves were ghosts and kill them on sight. These Africans were very superstitious. Asha had been born a slave; it was the only life she knew. She watched the new recruits come in, still thinking they were people; still thinking their opinion counted for something – that they had rights…it made her sad for them. At the same time she was contemptuous. Why couldn’t they see? It made things very tiresome for the rest of them; having to train them, teach them; whip them, break them…Asha had watched it happen so many times; she was tired of it. Tired of it all. Sometimes she wanted to walk into the creek and let the alligators take her. But she was scared; scared that it would hurt worse than the whips and chains.  What if the afterlife was no escape, but just more of the same? She had to know for sure before she tried anything.

She pushed open the door and entered. Bulitia was lying on his side, nearest the door. His head was pillowed in his hands and she could see the glow of his eyes as he looked at her. He wasn’t asleep then. Good. She crept to him and lay down next to him matching him shoulder to hip to ankles. She was a tall girl too; almost as tall as him; she looked up into his eyes and smiled.

“Bulitia”, she whispered, “Will you save me?”

“Save you from what?” he asked not bothering to keep his voice down.

“From her. From the woman who holds our souls in her hand.”

“No one but Mulungu holds our souls woman. You are mistaken.”

Asha sighed, “You do not get it; the woman who owns us; she is no ordinary human”, she tried again.

“Oh, I know that. But she doesn’t own our souls”, he said.

There was silence in the cabin broken only by the loud snoring of Jefta on the other side and Abednego’s restless rustling. There was a rhythmic  slap of flesh on flesh. He was stimulating himself as he was wont to do every night Asha came. She wondered why he didn’t just get himself a woman.

“What is she?”, Bulitia suddenly asked, startling her.

“She is a monster who eats souls”, Asha told him.

“You know that for a fact?” Bulitia persisted.

“Yes”, Asha cried softly, desperate to convince him.

“How do we kill it?” he asked.

Mama Ruth sat before her fire, scrying for the gatekeeper she knew was nearby. She had settled here because it was a beacon for magic; it drew things to it; including the future Child and the forces trying to thwart its existence. She had followed the trail of soulless bodies; and they had led her here. Met Kafu was up to something; something bad. With the help of Asmodeus the demon he was creating chaos where order should be. Using the lust of man against him. His plans must not be allowed to succeed. Not if there was to be any hope for the future of mankind. Mama Ruth sat back, pondering her own stake in that future. She didn’t know how it would be; would the child destroy her? But she could not let that deter her. There was too much at stake to worry about herself.

∞

Bulitia was standing guard where he had been bade to. Keeping watch on the wall of sugar cane that separated one homestead from the next. He could see the child, the one he had been ordered to kill. He was climbing a tree, following a cat. His nanny was standing below the tree, bellowing up at him to get down. He simply grinned happily at her and kept going. There was no way he would be able to come back down. Perhaps he would fall and break his neck and save Bulitia the trouble of having to make a choice. Do it…or don’t do it? The girl had said that the woman who owned them was a demon. Demons could not be killed; not by humans.  But there were others, others with power. Bulitia could feel them close by. It was his gift; the one that his owner must have known about somehow. He could smell it out like a hound on a scent. He could follow it. But this child that his owner wanted dead; he had no such power. Bulitia didn’t understand it at all. He closed his eyes, sought for the power he could feel. It was close. She was close. He summoned her.

‘In the name of Mulungu and all the spirits of the ancestors; I bid you…help me’

In the name of your ancestors and the god that you call on; what would you have me do?

The reply was instantaneous; it startled Bulitia. He had known she was there but he had expected to have to do more begging before she answered.

‘Kill the demon’ he begged.

“Bulitia Bulitia Bulitia…you disappoint me. Conspiring with unknowns to kill me? How very impolite of you”, The Woman said from behind him and Bulitia froze.  So she could read minds for sure. He kept quiet knowing that he was fucked whether he spoke or he didn’t. And so he opted to go out with his dignity intact.

“You realise that this will result in severe punishment don’t you?” she  whispered in his ear as her nails scratched at his throat. Bulitia kept completely still.

“I’ll have to kill you”, The Woman actually sounded regretful, “But I will also kill all your friends”, she continued. Bulitia felt his knees go weak.

“Please mama”, he tried to whisper but his voice had disappeared.

“Yeess”, she said with relish in her tone, “I will kill you all; and bind you here…so you can be my slaves forever. Wouldn’t you like that?”

The Plot It Thickens

For this month's East African Friday Feature, I have been challenged every Friday, to write 1,000 words of a supernatural story. It can be an ongoing story, or bits and snippets but four times for the four Fridays of October. Now in honour of the release of my baby CHILD OF DESTINY on my birthday October 9th (So Y'all know what I want for a present...buy! buy! buy!) I'm going to do an outtake story that can be read on its own. As a nod to East Africa, I'm going to give the story of the ghost slaves in the wood - how they came to be there, and their hopes and dreams for the future. As a nod to my late father, my protagonist is named Bulitia. He's the slave ghost everyone from BDAH to The Swamp to COD keeps meeting and talking to.

“You are a medicine man are you not?” the woman said to him, “You know how to heal and how to…kill?”

Bulitia stared at her, wondering how she could possibly have come by that information. Nobody knew; not his fellow slaves, nor the slavers who caught him. He had been very careful not to give himself away.  For his own sake and that of his wife and child at home: if he had any hope of seeing them again he could not become essential or important to these people. He had to fade into the background, be forgettable. Looked like that plan was out of the window though. This monster knew, and whatever she wanted from him, Bulitia knew it was not good.

“I…have some herb-craft”, he said, “But…semanya ta.”

“Oh but you do my reluctant witchdoctor. You ‘manya’ a lot”, she said. Bulitia felt his heart go cold and shrivel in his breast.  Was she some kind of spirit? How had she come to know Bukusu? He knew it wasn’t commonly spoken here; most of his fellow slaves were from Hispaniola, St. Domingue, and from West Africa. They had strong juju there; and this…creature liked that.  So why him when she was so spoiled for choice?

“It has to be you my young prince. And you will know why soon. For now, I need to transfer you to another part of my ranch. I need you to keep watch for me.”

“Keep watch on what mistress?” Bulitia asked wanting to say no with every fibre of his being. Wanting to stand up and fight and scream and rage. Wanting to escape this place and go home.

“My erstwhile neighbour…Sylvester B. Devereaux,  he has a young boy; this boy isn’t very well behaved. Sometimes he wanders over the line to my side of the fence. I need you to keep watch for him. Make sure he doesn’t do that. Kill him if you have to.”

Bulitia kept his eyes on the ground, not sure he’d heard correctly. His master…wanted him to kill a young boy? A young white boy? Bulitia might be new to the continent but he already knew that shedding white blood was a death sentence.  And though he was willing to die… not like this. Not with the blood of an innocent on his hands. The ancestors would never accept him. He would be thrown into the empty. No; there had to be another way.  Bulitia resolved that very day to run. His first thought, to kill his mistress, was foiled by the fact that he did not know what she was; or if she could be killed.

Asha was cleaning the mistress’ bedroom when she came in and leaned on the doorway watching her. It always made Asha really nervous when her mistress watched her and she would literally do anything to make it stop. She turned around and curtsied prettily.

“Mama I did as you asked”, she said eyes cast down.

“Oh I know you did. And you did it well. I just might sell you to a brothel. You’re a natural”, she said proudly, “But that is not what I am here to discuss. I need to know; what is he holding on to? Why does he still resist?”

Asha bowed her head lower, heart speeding up with anxiety, “Mistress I do not know. I have tried to speak to him, draw him out…but he just turns away from me and goes to sleep. He won’t talk.”

“Perhaps you’re not trying hard enough Asha. Do you need to be motivated? Because I can motivate you. I am a wonderful mistress like that. Let’s see, I could cut that baby out of your belly and sell it to the shamans in New Orleans. They have so many uses for innocent blood you have no idea.” The mistress sauntered forward, running one long nailed finger down Asha’s abdomen. Her nails were sharp enough that Asha thought they could cut her open if they were so inclined. They seemed to grow longer and sharper the closer they got to her womb, where the baby she hadn’t known she was carrying lay vulnerable. Perhaps it would be better for the baby to be cut out while it was still growing.  Allah knew this was no life for a child. Or for anyone really.  But what of the child’s soul? Would it be trapped here if this creature got its hands on it; perhaps she would eat it. She looked like she fed on the souls of babies.

Not mine.

Something in her rejected completely the thought of giving up her baby to this monster. No, she would protect it to her last breath.

“I will try again mistress”, she said, “And this time, I will succeed.”

“Good girl, Asha. Now go; babies are hungry things and you have not eaten today.”

Asha hurried off, before the mistress could change her mind. The only advantage to being a house slave was the access to food. The mistress didn’t care what they ate; so long as she had food when she asked for it, and drink when she wanted it. So the house slaves were fairly well fed; her field slaves too. Still once in a while, one or two would disappear without explanation. They were not sold…Asha suspected that they were eaten. So did the others. They didn’t discuss it though, not even among themselves in their own languages. The mistress was all knowing – they all knew that. And they did not want to know what would happen to them if her red eye fell on one of them. So they kept their heads down and did as they were told.

“Asha”, Laila’s deep voice cut into her musings. She was a fat old woman who spent her days ordering the kitchen slaves about and grinding corn in her huge mortar and pestle.

“Yes mama?” she said.

Laila sighed, “This time, you have bit off more than you can chew”, she said sadly.

Asha looked at her, wanting to ask what she meant but fearing that Laila already knew what she had been sent to do. The thought filled her with shame. Her mother had taught her better. Still she was a slave; mother’s lessons meant less than nothing compared to what the mistress wanted.

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Porn with Plot

For this month's East African Friday Feature, I have been challenged every Friday, to write 1,000 words of a supernatural story. It can be an ongoing story, or bits and snippets but four times for the four Fridays of October. Now in honour of the release of my baby CHILD OF DESTINY on my birthday October 9th (So Y'all know what I want for a present...buy! buy! buy!) I'm going to do an outtake story that can be read on its own. As a nod to East Africa, I'm going to give the story of the ghost slaves in the wood - how they came to be there, and their hopes and dreams for the future. As a nod to my late father, my protagonist is named Bulitia. He's the slave ghost everyone from BDAH to The Swamp to COD keeps meeting and talking to.

“What did the jitu want with you Bulitia?” the woman whispered to him as they lay facing each other on the bed. He shrugged, not wanting to even think of the mama and her cold hands penetrating his anus like…he cut that thought off fast. Turning to the woman next to him he turned her so her back was on the bed and vaulted his body over her, looking down at her luscious body as his heart beat fast in his chest. He needed to forget.

my vision of Leo/Armand when I started to write

He leaned down and placed his teeth on her left nipple, biting down, hard. The woman hissed with pain and hit him over the head but he ignored her, using one of his strong thighs to make a space between her legs. She got with the program pretty fast after that, widening her legs on her own and allowing himself to lower himself onto her. he grunted, transferring his mouth’s attention to her lips; and bit her lower one before sucking it into his mouth. She moaned softly, arching upward gently, urging him. He took it for the invitation it was and reached between them, fisting his penis in his hands and guiding it none too gently to her waiting, dripping hole.

She’d snuck into his cabin one night as they slept; five to a cabin – surprisingly luxurious accommodations for slaves. She had stepped over the other men and came to lie next to him, pressing her naked body into his. His heart was still in the hills of Mt. Elgon, with his new wife and their offspring; but his body had needs in the here and now. He had turned to her, pushed her under him, and pounded her into the floor. She’d been back every night since.

It made him angry that they were reduced to this; late night trysts that would never mean anything more than physical relief. At least not to him; he was not getting involved with anyone who would be taken from him on the whim of some not quite human master who had somehow managed to reduce a bunch of people into commodities. It was hard for Bulitia to wrap his head around and he was angry all the time.

He slid into her warm, soft, wet hole and it expanded around him, welcoming him with open arms as he thrust into her. and again. And again. The woman reached up and folded her strong thighs around his waist, pulling him as close as she could. Bulitia let out a breath, hips stuttering with desire as he tried not to come so soon. Her moans were getting louder as she came closer to her own climax. The other men around them lay still; pretending to be asleep. Bulitia caught movement at the corner of his eyes. A hand moving rhythmically up and down as Abednego, his roommate brought himself to his own completion on his right. Bulitia cast his eyes to the left where he could see the shine of eyes in the dark. Someone else was watching them; most likely Jefta. He was a short man, teeth stained brown from tobacco and a freaky little bastard.

Bulitia redoubled his efforts, pounding harder into the woman, giving them a show. He found to his surprise that it turned him on to know that the men were watching him fuck this woman. He withdrew himself from her to the head of his penis and then thrust back in with renewed force. She cried out in shock and arousal, pulling her own legs further toward her shoulders to give him better access. He did it again, grunting with effort and heard someone in the room groan. His mouth was set in a rictus of effort and he let go of the fear and anger; drove them into the woman with every thrust and then released it all in a flood of seemingly endless come. She took it all, begging all the while for more, her muscles clutching and releasing him as her own orgasm took her. he dropped down beside her, turned away and closed his eyes. She could stay if she wanted; just as long as she was gone by morning. There was no guarantee though, that one of the other men would not try to rape her if she did. Bulitia heard the woman gather her clothes and creep out. He closed his eyes and slept.

“Did you enjoy yourself last night Bulitia?”, the monster disguised as a woman asked him the next day as he raked out the stable. He was in nothing but his small clothes. Louisiana was sweltering with summer humidity; Bulitia could barely abide the weather. He was used to the mountain coolness of his home; still. He ruthlessly cut off that thought. To think of home was to stab himself in the soul.

“Beg pardon ma’am?” he asked submissively hoping she would think him slow and leave him to his raking.

She took a step toward him and ran a hand down his sweaty back.

“Your session with Asha last night; was it good?” she asked. Bulitia froze, but only for a moment. He would not show his fear for any reason. But she was watching them? Of course a creature like her probably had many ways of finding things out. But how had she found this? Did she perhaps watch them in her fire or perhaps she was right there in the cabin with them, invisible to human eyes.

But no…Bulitia would have known if she was there. He was sensitive like that to the supernatural. Just as he had felt her coming long before she appeared around the cow pen.

“Are you a man or a mouse?”

His father’s voice reprimanding him in his head shocked him so much he almost stopped working. And then he decided that he would stop; he would stop being so afraid; such a craven that he could not turn and face his fears. He stuck the shovel back in the cow patty and turned to face the monster.

“What do you want with me?” he asked.

Amistad Ain't Got Nothin' on Me

For this month's East African Friday Feature, I have been challenged every Friday, to write 1,000 words of a supernatural story. It can be an ongoing story, or bits and snippets but four times for the four Fridays of October. Now in honour of the release of my baby CHILD OF DESTINY on my birthday October 9th (So Y'all know what I want for a present...buy! buy! buy!) I'm going to do an outtake story that can be read on its own. As a nod to East Africa, I'm going to give the story of the ghost slaves in the wood - how they came to be there, and their hopes and dreams for the future. As a nod to my late father, my protagonist is named Bulitia. He's the slave ghost everyone from BDAH to The Swamp to COD keeps meeting and talking to.

Bulitia looked up at the black hole that narrowed until there was just a small circle of blue at the top. This place was aptly named; Shimoni. Bulitia had never been anywhere so dank and dark and miserable. The woman lying next to him was dead. He knew she was because he'd been listening to her laboured breathing for the past three days. It was the chest illness she had; and no way to treat it down here. He didn't know if he would treat it if he could. The slavers looked out for such things. He didn't want to make himself more attractive to them. Perhaps when they were loading them into the ship, and they saw that the woman was dead, and threw her overboard...he could pretend to be dead too. His father, Mulungu bless his soul, had taught him to swim long ago. He could hold his breath under water for as long as it took. Then he could make his way back...back to his people and his new wife; his little baby that must have been birthed by now. Yes, Bulitia was motivated. If he had any leverage, he would have climbed up the hole to the sky. Perhaps enough people would die down here so he could pile up their bodies, climb over them and escape.

No such luck though; the slavers came for them before enough people were dead. They were led out, through a tunnel to the very edge of the sea. Bulitia had smelled it; but that was the first time he was seeing it. It was vast, endless and intimidating. A person could get lost just trying to find the horizon. How was he to get back if they took him away now? Bulitia rattled his chains, looking left and right frantically, trying to find a way; but he was securely tied between a woman whose baby was dead on her breast – yet she clung stubbornly to it – and a man with a potbelly so large it covered his nakedness quite effectively. Bulitia shivered; there was a cool breeze blowing in spite of the heat. The slavers were whipping their backs so they could get moving; get on the huge ship waiting on the docks. One last time Bulitia looked around, looked for a way out. But there was none.

The lady they sold him to scared Bulitia more than the slavers. There was something about her that wasn’t right. He could not say what it was but he knew in his bones she wasn’t all the way human. There were five others with him; all from his own tribe. They spoke Bukusu among themselves, speculating on what she might be, and what she would do with them. Bulitia hoped that it was something that would end in death. He was not about this slave life. It was not his destiny.

The woman took them to a plantation in the bayou where sugarcane grew high in the damp humid air. The air smelt sweet and cloying yet familiar to Bulitia. He’d been somewhere like this before, in the time of Nabongo Mumia he had travelled to his kingdom to trade. It smelled sort of like this. Only without the underlying smell of blood, excrement and death. Bulitia wondered why he wasn’t dead yet; he was starving, he had wounds from the whippings some of which were infected and he wanted to be dead. So why wasn’t he? Perhaps it was fate. Perhaps he would find a way to go home again. Bulitia didn’t share this thought with his companions; they would just laugh at him for his naiveté after all; there was no getting out of this life.

Bulitia was assigned to cattle pen; there were six cows on the plantation and one bull. He was to feed, water, and milk the cows and make sure that the bull remained virile and ready to serve. This was familiar work to him. On his own land, he had thirty cows and three bulls. He wondered who was looking after them now.

One day as he was cleaning out the cow pen in preparation for milking a shadow fell over him that made him cold to the marrow of his bones. He did not have to turn around to know who was there. He went down on one knee and tried to still his trembling.

“Mama”, he said submissively, hoping she would get whatever she wanted and go.

“I have been watching you, Bulitia”, she said in a low voice and he trembled. The slaves had been stripped of their names; they were nothing but numbers. How had she known what his was?

“Don’t be afraid”, she whispered coming closer her cold breath fanning on his naked shoulders. Bulitia wanted to shy away, to turn and run. But he could do nothing but stand there and wait to see what the creature would do to him.

“I think you were meant for greater things than this Bulitia, am I right?” she asked putting one hand on his shoulder in a light caress. Bulitia wanted to scream but he knew better. She didn’t know that they knew that she was some creature from hell. She thought her human disguise held. He could not show more fear than a slave would at being singled out by his master. But what was he to say to her? He had no words to answer. If he told the truth, then Mulungu knew what she would do. If he told a lie…she would know. He was doomed. So he kept silent.

She ran her hand slowly, speculatively down his back until she got to the crack of his ass. He tensed as her finger dug inward, sharp nails causing injury as she pressed into him. He bit his lip so as to not to make a sound but he couldn’t still the trembling.

Suddenly her hand was gone from him and she stepped away. He dare not turn to see why.

“You’ll do”, she said.

For Those About to Rock, We Salute You

This week's prompt was also a picture. Rock concerts are rock n' roll. and so are Sam and Dean Winchester. So I decided to make this prompt the latest chapter of my little fanfic that I write. Enjoy. All you need to know is that Sam may have lied about some things and Dean is mad about it.

“You’re fired. Have you things packed and out of here by noon”, Sam breezed into the office, throwing the information at Missouri as he passed. She stood up and followed him into his office.

“You said get it done, I got it done. What are you in such a tizzy about now?”

“You told Dean that our child was sick! Have you no sense of boundaries. I want you out of here now or I’ll turn our enforcer on you so help me”, he growled, looming over her like a volcano about to erupt.

“Sam. I got the job done. You know he wouldn’t  have come back for anything less”, she soothed arms making calming gestures like there was a hope in hell that he could calm the fuck down. AFTER WHAT SHE DID. there were limits. I mean sure he lied to Dean; he did. Mostly to save him from some sort of  worry or heartache; NOT TO GIVE HIM A FUCKING HEART ATTACK!

“I need you to go Miz”, he bit out pointing imperiously out the door.

“You can’t fire me”, she fired back.

“Why not?” Sam asked momentarily perturbed before he remembered that he was the boss here. He was the rock star. People did whatever he fucking wanted. Not the other way around.

“Because there is a clause in my contract that says so”, Missouri said. Sam stared at her flummoxed.

“That’s not true. None of my employee contracts have such a clause.”

“Mine does.”

Sam drew himself to his full height and folded his arms, hazel eyes narrowed as he glared at her, “Let’s see it then”, he said. There was a flash of light and then Missouri was holding a paper. On first glance the paper seemed to be flaming slightly, with an eerie otherworldly glow but then on second look it was just an ordinary parchment. Wait. Parchment? They didn’t use parchment to write employee contracts.

“Sam Winchester, erstwhile boy King. The witches didn’t exactly bring you to other-Earth out of the goodness of their undead hearts. They needed you here so that you weren’t there to stop something from happening. I am your very own guardian witch and you can’t get rid of me.” She said her voice slightly lower and hoarser than Sam was used to.

“What did you do with the real Missouri Moseley then?” he asked. It was the first thing that occurred to him. That Missouri existed after all; and if he could find her…maybe she could help.

Red-headed Missouri inclined her head to the side, “She’s a vegetable confined in a mental institution by her family for her own good”, she told him, “Oh relax”, she said as she saw him flinch, “She was there long before you came here. Some of the things she saw were a little too much for her poor psychic mind to take. This wasn’t your fault. It was a gap. Just like you and your brother filled a gap. Suck it up.”

Sam was breathing hard, “You caused me a lot of trouble Miz”, he said.

She was nodding sympathetically, “I know. I know. Who knew Dean would take his child’s fake illness that hard? But I’ll make it up to you. I have tickets. To AC/DC.” She said proffering them as if giving a two year old candy. Sam’s eyes cut to the tickets then back to her face.

“I can buy my own concert tickets thank you”, she said.

Her smile widened and she beamed at him, “Not like these; these are exclusive back stage passes mate! And an invitation to the after party where Bon Scott will be taking requests. You know he didn’t die in this realm. Can you imagine how surreal it’ll be for your brother?”

Sam just stared at her.

“Give him the tickets. Don’t offer to go with him, don’t make him take you. Just give them to him as a gift and then back off and look like a lost puppy. I guarantee you; you’ll be humping like the wolves you partly are before the end of the evening.”

Sam Winchester so wanted to believe her. But he was experiencing for himself the seismic shift that happened when someone you thought you knew has been lying to you about who they are for the longest fucking time. He reached out though and grabbed the tickets. Then he slammed the door in Missouri’s face.  He grabbed his phone and called Dean’s agency.

“Winchester Security, how may I direct your call?” a female voice answered at once.

“Macy, I need to speak to my husband please”, Sam said. As far as anyone in this realm knew, Sam and Dean shared the same last name because they were married. It was a surprisingly easy sell. Dean had been pretty perturbed by that shit but for Sam it was just another lie that was maybe based in more truth than all the other lies they were telling. Okay, he was telling.

“Good morning Mr. Winchester, I’ll connect you now.”

Macy had been to lunch at their house more times than Sam could count. She had baby sat their kids on more than one occasion. Still, when she was at work it was always, Mr. Winchester for either of them. Sam listened to Dean’s office phone ring, wondering if he would agree to even speak to him.

“Hello”, he said in Sam’s ear, intimate in the way only a voice on the phone could be. And what a voice Dean had. It was low and gravelly like honey pouring over grits. Sam loved it in a visceral way that could not be enunciated with mere words. He could feel himself stirring with arousal just listening to it. He didn’t think that he and Dean had ever gone this long without seeing each other. Not in this realm anyway.

“Dean”, he said and what he was thinking must have been reflected in his voice because Dean gasped. there was silence on the line.

“Can I see you tonight?” he asked, eyes closed, fingers crossed.

What If...

This week's prompt is about this so I thought why not go back to the original story and reimagine it. Jesus? Mary Magdalene? Welcome to 2015.

Mary Magdalene woke up late, her head throbbing with misery. Tequila was really the devil; newsflash. Somebody needed to tweet that. Not her though. Someone else. She could hear her notifications going off at the rate of a mile a minute and she knew what it was about. She knew she was being trolled like nobody’s business. It was that nude pic that Rick had posted of her. Her friends had warned her about him being a nasty piece of work; but did she listen? Nooo, she went ahead and let him woo her into an affair. Even though she knew he was married to that Paris chick. He said his wife didn’t understand him; that she was cold to him in bed. He’d been so needy. How was Mary to know that he was a stinkin liar. Well…okay, maybe there were signs. For one thing, his Facebook page was full of pictures of him and his supposedly cold wife doing fun things together. Rick had told her that it was all show. Just for the cameras. That as soon as they got home, Paris barely spoke to him. Who was she to dispute that? Heaven knew she’d never been married so she didn’t know that married people did or didn’t behave like that. Besides he was so nice to her, so attentive. He picked up every time she called; texted her like two hundred times a day. It was intoxicating. Plus there was that Mazda he’d bought her for her birthday – to show her how much he cared he’d said. Okay so it turned out to be leased and she’d had to pay like a thousand dollars  which Rick had neglected to pay…he’d apologized so sincerely. Said he’d forgotten to pay that cash and promised to pay her back. I mean he was so sweet! Who wouldn’t be taken in?

When he’d asked if he could take her picture naked, just so he had something to look at when he was lonely, how could she say no. besides they were really classy. Only one really showed her cunt; and it was a pretty cunt anyway; all womanscaped and such…she was proud of it. In fact, Rick had also promised to get her some cash so she could have it vagazzled. I mean, how cool would that be?

But then…last night, she’d gone to surprise him at his club appearance in Miami and she’d caught him tongue wrestling some other chick. Some tall blonde leggy slut with obviously plastic double d’s and a body modeled on Barbie. Mary hadn’t been able to control herself. She was so mad. She’d grabbed at Rick’s drink and thrown it in his face, badly stinging his eye. Then she’d called him a cheating liar and left the club. Too bad that TMZ had been on the scene and taken a video of the whole thing. Worse, Barbie girl found Mary’s nude pics on Rick’s phone and posted them online. Ever since, she’d been getting nasty messages from trolls and she didn’t know what to do.

rickswife67 wrote: kill yourself bitch. You’re nothing but a husband stealing slut!!!

nastygalzsquad wrote: your vagina looks like it smells of patchouli and regret.

videovixen78 wrote: If I ever find u anywea nia ma man I’ll burn your nipples off cunt

kissmyattitude wrote: whore. God will punish you for being a husband stealer

songsoffireandice wrote: if u wa in GOT they’d have made u walk in the street naked already. SHAME on you.

Mary scrolled miserably through her notifications, looking for she knew not what. Would it stop soon or would she be hounded off social media forever? She couldn’t leave! Social media was her life; she might as well be dead without it. She tried tweeting some positive uplifting messages to maybe shame the trolls into leaving her alone but they just responded with even more gusto.

kissmyattitude wrote: you have nerve to even get on here with u’re fake messages. We know who yu r bitch.

pharisee123 wrote: yeah, go on run u’re lil bitch ass outta here slutty mcsluttington. How you even show your face? Your cunt looks sick

devotee101 wrote: YOU HAVE AIDS!! YOU’RE GONNA DIE.

fiftyshadesoffierce wrote: bitch u luk lik a man. Ugly ass vagina.

Mary threw her phone across the room with an anguished cry. It was the new iPhone 6 and the screen cracked as it hit the linoleum. Mary screamed even louder. She wasn’t anywhere near finished paying for that thing. And now it was broken.

“God!” she cried, tears streaming down her cheeks in despair. There was a soft knocking at the door. Mary stopped crying to listen.

“Mary? You in there? I heard screaming. Are you alright?” a soft voice floated in from the other side of the door.

“Who are you?” she asked suspiciously. Had her trolls found out where she lived.

“My name is Jesus. I live just down the hall from you?” he said.

Mary hesitated for a moment but then shrugged. If this was her day to die from some crazed ax man at her door well…it was a good day. She was just about done. She opened the door to behold a Persian guy of middling height, long brown hair tied in a pony tail low on his head and beard flourishing on his face.

“Is everything alright Mary?” he asked.

She shrugged, “I guess you don’t do social media much huh?” she said.

Jesus smiled, “Not really”, he said.

“Come in”, she said stepping back and letting him into her apartment.

“thanks” he said as he stepped in. he reached down, and picked up her phone, handing it to her. inexplicably, the screen was repaired.

“Is there anything I can do for you Mary?” he asked.

She smiled wryly, “Can you stop people trolling me on twitter?” she asked.

Jesus smiled and kissed her forehead, “Is that all?” he asked.

“Yeah”, she said.

“Consider it done”, he said and suddenly the constantly beeping notifications stopped. Mary stared at him.

“Why…? How…?” she stammered in disbelief.

Jesus smiled, “Let him who is without sin, cast the first stone”, he said, “Or tweet as the case may be.”

Mary bent her head, tears leaking in gratitude. Jesus stroked her hair, “Go forth Mary Magdalene, and do not sin again”, he said.