Five Sentence Fiction and The 100 Word Song-The Pursuer


Sleep came to Audrey in trivial amounts, and when she least expected it to. Sitting in a coffee shop by the open door, waiting for the waitress to bring the only drug she could afford. She supported her blonde head in her left arm, the sounds around her muffled. How much she wished for a peaceful night’s sleep, without that prickle of anxiety that continued to nag at her. There were not enough locks in the world to hide her away from her mistakes.

Five Sentence Fiction

Continuing to sleep, her regular order was delivered to the table, but Audrey hadn’t spoken to anyone. Involuntarily her arm bumped into the warm cup, but she didn’t startle awake as she usually did. It seemed her body had given up. Whatever was pursuing her had won. Audrey was done, finished, spent. There was no awesome need to prove anything to anyone, anymore. Her shoulders relaxed. She softly snored into the crook of her arm.

The Pursuer stood before the sleeping beauty. Placing the silenced pistol to Audrey’s temple, she fired. In a flash of gun powder, Audrey discovered oblivion.



100 Word Song-I’m Shaking

This is my first attempt at the 100 Word Song prompt sponsored by My Blog Can Beat Up Your Blog. I’m not sure how well I did, but what came out of me was pretty damn hot. Damon and Rhiannon are recurring characters that I write about. If you ever wondered why they love each other so much, I guess now their secret is revealed. There will still be stories of romance. Maybe there will be a continuation of this storyline. But probably not. I don’t want to reveal too much about them. These characters in some way, shape and form are real. And they’re all mine.



Damon placed the rope around Rhiannon’s wrists gently and tied her down. He never wanted to restrain her legs. Placing his hand under her chin, he kissed her. Her lips quivered as she begged for more. The sadist in him pulled away, delighting in her torment. There she lay naked, ready for him to do what he wanted. His heart softened with his love for her, as his cock became more turgid.

As he began to take her he whispered, ‘I love you Rhiannon.’

Shaking with desire and the hope of satiation she replied, ‘Daddy, make me your good girl.’





Friday Fictioneers-Freedom in the Forest



I go to nature to be soothed and healed, and to have my senses put in order.-John Burroughs

‘There is freedom in the forest, not afforded in any city.’ Damon had told her that, but Rhiannon didn’t believe it. Until she slept next to him under the stars last night, a bonfire warming their bones.

She requested a vacation together. The Caribbean Sea and a hotel on the beach. He asked for something simpler, purer. With some trepidation she consented.

Now here she was, seated before a fire she’d made, sipping coffee. The sun rose through the trees, painting Damon’s sleeping face with the colors of morning. Heart brimming with love, she went to him.

100 words/Genre: romance and nature (I guess)

Thank you  Rochelle Wisoff-Fieldsfor hosting Friday Fictioneers. It is an honor and a privilege to have Ms. Rochelle critique my work. Please be sure to go to her page and read their stories too. We are a rather eclectic group and the genres run the gamut.

I welcome kudos and criticism. Happy reading.

Romantic Wednesday-The Aroma of Fresh Earth


Rhiannon picks up the basket of potatoes and carrots that Damon left by the door for her. She wanders across the kitchen careful not to get entangled in the orange Tom cat weaving between her legs. She places the basket on the counter. They are stainless steel and ancient. Perfect for an old farmhouse. She places the dirt covered root vegetables from the basket on the silvery counter top and with her right hand turns on the tap.

There’s the gentlest squeak, as water begins to cascade from the goose neck faucet into the sink. They’re recent upgrades made to the old-fashioned kitchen by Damon. How could a faucet and farmer’s sink become a reason for her to smile each day? She doesn’t know, but it really doesn’t matter. Maybe it’s the idea that her sweetheart did the renovation just for her.

As she washes away the grit with her fingers, she is overcome by a memory of her mother. 

“God made your hands to work as a scrubber darlin’ ,” mama instructed while Rhiannon washed veggies. “You just have to work a little harder at keepin’ your hands clean is all.”

“Yes ma’am,” a young Rhiannon said in response. Sure to make use of the nail brush after she was done with whatever chore her mama allowed her to do.

What she wouldn’t give to have her mother help in her kitchen. Rhiannon is lucky enough to have Damon now. They plant the garden and grow vegetables together, but she has the chore of cleaning them. They do cook together though. Wouldn’t Mama be shocked to see a man cooking a meal alongside his wife? Rhiannon is sure it would make her kinda proud though.

While washing away the grit, she hums an incoherent tune and thinks of him. Her cheeks rouge and match  the hue of the tiny, freshly scrubbed russet. Bringing it to her nose, she takes in the aroma of fresh earth. Who would have thought its scent would intoxicate her? She sets about the task of peeling carrots and removing their leafy tops with a knife that’s been sharpened at least a couple dozen times by her man.

She wonders where Damon is, but her curiosity is quickly sated by the familiar slamming of the screen door. Without a word, he glides up behind her, and presses  his body into the curve of hers. She smiles as he puts his arms around her, helping her to set the knife and carrot down with care. He kisses her neck and cheek, and her body conforms to his like she was born to be a part of it.

Taking his hands into hers, she states, “Darling, your hands are filthy.”

“It comes from hard work honey.” he lovingly replies.

Rhiannon takes Damon’s hands into hers and places them lovingly under the tepid water. With one hand she grabs the liquid soap from beside the faucet and dispenses two pumps of it onto his work roughened hands. Setting it back down, she grabs the nail brush. Mama always told her to keep one handy in the kitchen. She sets about the task of gently exfoliating the work day from Damon’s hands. As she does, she feels the warmth of his body permeate her skin and knows that this is exactly what love feels like. The simple act of washing a loved one’s hands is, love.

Rhiannon rinses away the dirt under the rushing water. Upon closer inspection, she sees some dirt under his nails. With a few more strokes of the brush, they become pristine. After a final rinse, she grabs a dish towel to dry their hands. Damon places his  hands on her hips. She reaches forward  and turns the water off. The handle gives its familiar squeak.

In the din, comes only the sound of Damon’s breath in Rhiannon’s ear. His lips and tongue slide up the length of her neck, as the flush returns to her cheeks. Turning around, Rhiannon lets his arms engulf her. Damon kisses her voraciously on her slightly parted lips. His tongue slips between them and into her warm mouth. Tongues entwine while their desire is at its Genesis. They leave the kitchen and vegetables behind.

Dinner will have to wait while their other appetites are satisfied.

Friday Fictioneers-Is She Worth It?


Copyright-Dawn M. Miller

Damon’s fingers tap the display case as the saleswoman waits expectantly.  He’s never had such trouble buying jewelry before. Why is it so difficult for such an incomplex woman as Rhiannon?

He beams at a memory of her. Dirty bare feet, flowers in her hair, while seated on a blanket in their backyard.

What’s her favorite gemstone?

Blue Topaz.

Those are junk. What about Sapphires?

She’d tell me I spent too much.

Is she worth it?

More than she’ll ever know.

After careful consideration, Damon makes his purchase. A sapphire ring. For the third finger of her left hand.

Thank you Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting Friday Fictioneers. Please be sure to go to her page and read the stories from other writers. We are a rather eclectic group. I welcome kudos and criticism. Bring it on!