I was given a prompt and ended up writing this silly little flash piece.
He watched it, as it lay there on the table, gleaming in the morning light. He couldn’t take his eyes from it. From the soft curves to the gleaming silver. He wanted to touch it so badly his fingers trembled.
It had been seven days since he last dared touch it, seven days since the tip of his fingers had been burned to the bone. The pain was still excruciating, pulsing through him like a dark power, both warning him and urging him on. He wanted more. Wanted everything.
The silver teaspoon, inherited from his grandmother, called to him in a way he couldn’t explain. His chest ached when he wasn’t near it, his dreams was filled with images of touching it, slowly sliding it between his lips, letting the smooth silver glide over his skin.
He wanted to throw off his clothes, grab the beautiful spoon, and slide it over his skin. He wanted to let it mark him, burn a trail over his body. He wanted to let it set his lips aflame as he brought himself to climax. Any pain that would follow would be worth every second he got to keep the spoon close.
With a last breath, he reached for it. Ignoring the sizzling of his skin, he pulled it close, letting it rest near his heart. This was right, this was home.
A writer's life
This is the blog where a slightly crazy author writes rambling posts about everything and nothing. There are posts about cooking, books, and movies. There's funny stuff, videos, and music. And sometimes there's even snippets, updates on books and other interesting reader stuff. Because if nothing else, this writer's life is never boring.