This week on Romantic Friday Writers the theme is voices.My submission is a piece of prologue I wrote a few weeks ago when an idea came into my head. It’s starts of a bit on the dark side but don’t worry it’s ultimately a romance. The title of the story is His Captive. But I also think this piece works well as flash fiction. So join me as we take a walk on the dark side on RFW.
Word Count: 399***
I stand on the precipice.
The stark lights of the city glitter below me. Its sounds surround me permeating my foggy brain; the blaring of car horns, music from loudspeakers and cheery conversations. Its smells filter through my nostrils, exhaust fumes and the scent of suya grilled over open fires. My stomach rumbles.
I can’t remember my last meal or the time. Yet, I feel more alive now than I’ve ever felt. Then again, I don't know what kind of life I've had previously. All I know is here and now.
Across the street a large billboard spans the side of the skyscraper. It has a picture of a woman. Her skin is flawless; sultry almond-shaped brown eyes, a small pert nose and full inviting lips framed in an oval face. There’s something familiar about her although I cannot pinpoint it. Stunningly beautiful, she has the air of someone with the world at her feet.
Just like I do at the moment.
The city beckons me. The salty sea breeze buffets me. My skin prickles, covered in goose-bumps. Though the air is warm, I feel a chill in my bones and my teeth chatter. Feeling a familiar presence, I turn around. Yet, I see no one on the roof with me. I’m all alone.
What am I doing here?
The question clatters in my brain seeking answers. I get none. I’m shrouded in a cloak of despair I cannot shed.
“Step back, my love...Slowly.”
I hear a voice. It’s masculine; deep and calm. A delicious warm shiver travels down my spine settling low in my belly.
There’s no one else here.
Shaking my head, I struggle to ignore the voice and its effect on me. Its husky familiarity reminds me of silken sheets and tangled lovers – me and my dark lover.
How do I know that when I can’t even remember my name?
“Step back from the edge, Clara.”
This time, it sounds closer, harsher, like the owner of the voice is behind me. The hairs on my neck are erect and the prickling sensation on my skin increases. Even as I hear him say it, I know instinctively he speaks my name.
“Who are you?” I ask, suddenly agitated as I swing around sharply. The harsh wind smashes into me. I lose my footing, plummeting off the rooftop, the lights below racing towards me.
Darkness embraces me.
So what do you think? Does it fit the theme? Do you want to read more? Share your thoughts as usual. Remember to visit other entries for this week's RFW via the link above. Thank you.