Monthly Archives: July 2009

The Dance

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“No, No, NO! Cara, how many times must I show you? Watch me.”

Cara watched as her mother moved her arms with practiced grace. She paid close attention to how her mother placed her slippered feet confidently upon the worn floorboards. She knew this dance far better than she let on. Her missteps and clumsy movements were Cara’s way of rebelling. As much as she hated to admit it, her mother’s dancing ability was something Cara always coveted. Some of Cara’s fondest childhood memories were of dancing alongside her mother. She would watch as the local men spent their hard earned cash to see her mother’s dances and forget about their wives.

When Cara was seventeen she thought herself old enough to start earning money with her dancing too. She danced for some local boys behind the general store. Unfortunately they weren’t interested in spending money; they were interested in kisses and more. Cara was worried about what her mother would say or do when she found out what happened. Her mother didn’t scold or berate her. She hugged Cara until Cara stopped crying. The next day Cara began learning a new dance. Every bit as seductive as the others, but concentrating on new steps and movements and rhythms helped Cara forget the events of the previous day.

Cara’s mind snapped back to the present as her mother’s dance ended.

“Sorry mother, I’m just a little tired,” said Cara

“Well, you better get un-tired and get it right. I spoke with Mr. Johnson today and he agreed to let you dance on stage this weekend,” Said Cara’s mother.

Cara’s face blanched. “I – I don’t know if I’m ready mom,” said Cara. She couldn’t look her mother in the eyes. “I don’t want to be a whore.”

Cara flinched as her mother’s hand flew toward her face. It stopped just before making contact.

“I am not a whore!” Her mother grabbed Cara’s chin and lifted her head, forcing Cara to make eye contact. “Cara, I don’t take those men into my bed. There was only one man in my life, your father, and he was murdered when you were young.”

“I know,” said Cara sullenly.

Her mother let out a large sigh. She was a strong woman and Cara knew her mother was anything but a whore.

“One more time, Cara, then we’ll go downstairs and get some food.”

Cara watched as her mother walked across the floor of their small room above the saloon. She had no desire to hurt her mother and knew exactly how she would make it up to her. Her mother placed the needle at the beginning of the record and cranked the phonograph.

The music started. Cara danced. Perfectly. Every step perfectly placed. Every movement of her arms perfectly timed. Her lithe body curved provocatively left, right, left, down. Her back arched. Her chest heaved. The music quickened. Her movements were hypnotic. Her silk skirt slid down her long leg as it kicked up past her head. The music became part of her. The room and her mother disappeared. All that was left was the dance. A perfect melding. A perfect dance.

Cara’s mother stood in stunned silence as the needle bounced back and forth against the label of the record. She smiled as she realized that Cara had been holding back for years. She ran across the room to hug her daughter.

“I know we aren’t whores mom,” said Cara. She pulled back from her mother to see her face. “You said something about food?”

The next few days passed quickly as Cara and her mother practiced their steps during the day and worked for the saloon at night. Cara was a serving girl and spent most of her nights in the smoke filled saloon trying to keep her bottom from being slapped by the men playing faro. But tonight was different. Tonight she was in the dressing room getting ready. Cara smiled as she looked at herself in the mirror. She wore a black, high-cut dress. The bodice was cut low and revealed an obscene amount of cleavage. Cara walked to the side stage to watch her mother dance.

There was a large group of men Cara had never seen before in the saloon tonight and they were rowdy. That was good though. It meant her first night would be a lucrative one. Cara watched her dance until two of the men rushed the stage.

Cara ran out to help her mother but was quickly captured by two more men and pinned against the wall.

The men stunk of whisky and their stubble scratched her skin as they began to have their way with her. She screamed for her mother. One of the men holding her grabbed her by the hair and held her head still.

“You might wanna watch this sweetheart.” The man said breathily into her ear. “Your momma pissed off the wrong man some years ago and Jack don’t take shit from no whore.”

Her mother, held by two men struggled to get free, while another man, presumably Jack, advanced slowly.

“Remember me bitch?” said Jack. “I’m the hombre who killed your husband.” Jack backhanded Cara’s mother across the face, splitting her lip. “Did you think you could hide from me forever?

“I’ll kill you!” Screamed Cara’s mother, as she struggled against her assailants.

“When I’m done with you I’m gonna let my crew loose on your daughter.”

Cara’s mother turned her head to look at Cara. “Cara, I want you to run from here and don’t come back, no matter what.”

Jack laughed openly. “She ain’t going nowhere, bitch”

Cara watched as her mother jerked one wrist free and then drove her elbow into the nose of one of the men behind her. Cara recognized her mother’s powerful movements. It was the new dance. Cara realized that for years her mother was teaching her far more than how to make a living; she was teaching her how to survive, how to fight and how to kill. Cara saw her mother reach into her tall black boots and retrieve two silver daggers. She hurled each one in Cara’s direction.

Each dagger plunged into the chests of the men restraining Cara. Cara instinctively pulled them free from their chests. They felt as though they were made to fit her hands. Cara, in the midst of this horror couldn’t help notice every little detail of the daggers. They were perfectly balanced. The handles were fashioned from silver and inlayed with wooden crosses. She held them ready. Her mother’s final gift.

“Run” shouted Cara’s mother. “Don’t look back. I love you.”

Cara started towards her mother.

“NO Cara! Run! Now!” Her mother fixed her gaze on Cara for a second and Cara knew she had to run.

Cara ran. And as her mother continued her dance, Cara swore vengeance.

Author’s Note: I hoped you enjoyed this story. It was composed for Write Anything’s Fiction Friday challenge. This week’s prompt: Write about a misunderstanding between three people. Astute readers will notice that this story is slightly more than 1000 words. Please don’t hold it against Cara and her mother, they had a lot to say. Hopefully Cara and Gabe (see last week’s story) will be meeting up in the near future. Thank you for reading and commenting.

Last Day Of Work

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Gabe rode into town on a red roan. It had been about a month since he had slept in a bed and he was looking forward to it. He studied the main street as he rode towards the livery. Nothing noteworthy. Some would take that as a good sign, welcoming and comforting.

Gabe knew it probably meant the town, or someone rich enough to own most of the town was hiding something. That meant two things to Gabe. One, his employer was probably justified in sending him here and two, if he was here it was because there was no one else with enough skill and experience to ride out of this snake pit alive.

Gabe reigned up at the livery and dismounted. Most people would not have noticed anything special about the way he got off his horse, the subtle way he kept his coat over his guns, how he faced away from his horse when he hit the ground and how he never took his eyes off the livery attendant.

“Two bucks a week includin’ grain and I’ll rub him down for ya,” said the young man outside the livery. Gabe handed him a dollar.

“I’m only staying till Wednesday.” He said. “Keep the saddle handy. I may need to ride out sooner.”

Gabe took his saddle bags and headed towards the saloon. Usually folks thought he was just a common sojourner looking for work or passing through on his way to the gold rush and that’s exactly how he wanted them to think. When Gabe got to work he needed whatever edge he could get. Coming across as a greenhorn had saved his hide many times. The problem was he was getting older. His every movement was practiced and polished and he now carried himself in a way that said he was not a person to be trifled with.

As Gabe entered the saloon one man took notice of him. He saw it happen. It was just a quick glint in the eye before the man glanced away. Even if someone else had noticed they would have discounted it as a regular response to a stranger entering the saloon. But Gabe hadn’t stayed alive all these years by ignoring the little details. Gabe worked in the time that existed between time. His workplace was the fractions of a second that others took for granted. Those fractions of time spelled life and death. Tick your alive, tock your dead.

The man’s attention was unnerving. For Gabe it meant it was time to quit. He had made up his mind on the ride in that this would be his last job and this man confirmed it. His employer would undoubtedly object, but he would deal with that when the time came.

Gabe scoped out the bar and strategically took a seat on the end and ordered a drink.

“I need a bed and a place to clean up. Do you have any vacancies?” He asked the bartender.

“Sure, fifty cents a night. Bath house is around back. I’ll heat up some water. It’ll be ready in about an hour.” Said the bartender

Gabe dropped a dollar on the table. “Thanks. I’ll take a steak too if you got any.”

The bartender smiled, picked up the money then went into the back to cook the food and heat the water.

Gabe discreetly fished in his pockets for a small vile containing a bluish liquid as the bartender served the steak. Gabe cut a small piece of the meat off and dropped it into the vile. The liquid stayed blue. The food was safe to eat. At least the bartender wasn’t trying to poison him. A good sign, it meant there were some people here that didn’t have to die. As Gabe ate his steak he noticed the man from before slip out. By the time Gabe finished his bath the big guns in town would know he was here. Figures, it always felt better to take a long, hot bath before attending to business and now it appeared that Gabe wouldn’t be able to soak too long.

Gabe dried and dressed. He buckled his rig around his waist. The weight of the double .45 colts was very familiar. He thonged the well oiled holsters to his thighs. Common practice for a gunfighter. He grasped each of the walnut grips reverently and pulled the guns out of the holsters a few inches. It was part of his ritual. He pushed his arms into the sleeves of his shirt then started to button it, careful to pull his cross outside his shirt. The cross was very old, given to him from his father and made of olive wood from trees grown in Bethlehem. Time to get to work. He put on his coat and hat, took a deep breath, and then opened the door.

Gabe stepped out and started toward the sheriff’s office. As he walked he became aware of several men paying him plenty of attention. The sheriff and about twelve others stepped out of the building. Gabe recognized one of them as the man from the bar.

“You picked the wrong town to ride into stranger,” said the sheriff. Several of the men behind him chuckled.

Gabe squared off and pulled his coat back to reveal his guns.

The sheriff and his posse laughed openly. The sheriff stopped laughing suddenly for effect before flipping out his fangs. “Them guns ain’t gonna do a damn thing,” said the sheriff. He smiled wickedly and began to advance on Gabe.

“God damn vampires.” Gabe said under his breath. He meant it literally. Gabe let go of the magic that kept his wings hidden. The sheriff and his posse, with smiles now totally erased from their faces stopped dead in their tracks. Gabe pulled his guns from their holsters and leveled them towards the vampric horde. His cross shone brilliantly.

“You’re wrong sheriff. Your time of reckoning has come. Prepare to meet thy Father.”

Author’s Note:I hoped you enjoyed this story. It was composed for Write Anything’s Fiction Friday challenge. This week’s prompt: Where your character is committed to a drastic or extreme change. Thank you for reading and commenting.