Reading the Signs – #MenageMonday

shallow focus photography of gray cable

Photo by Erwan Hesry on Unsplash

The message floated as Gawayne read then turned towards Loreena.

“What does it mean?”

Loreena stepped closer, standing next to him, she contemplated the words, a thoughtful expression creased her brow.

“Who are these Knights of Cydonia?”

“Ancient stories tell of a warrior goddess whose sworn duty was to protect her king. She commanded soldiers, knights, into battle under her name Athena Promachos.”

“This part mentions a Muse. What do you make of that?”

“The tales also point to her as a patron of the Arts.”

“That’s odd. Still, they appear to be in danger. They ask for my assistance.”

“So, it would seem.”

“Get me there, but don’t forget the tether line like you did last time.”

Loreena nodded and began chanting the words that would send him to Oracle Arena.

Gawayne felt himself being transported. Passing a door marked ‘Backstage’, he entered the interior of a building larger than anything he had imagined. On a large raised area, dwarfed by its surroundings three men with strange interments milled around.

“What is this place?”

“Cool get up,” one of the men said as he reached to touch Gawyne’s armored shoulder. Recoiling, Gawayne sidestepped his inquisitive fingers.

“Easy,” he said, withdrawing his hand.

“I received a summons. I seek an audience with the Knights of Cydonia.”

“Dude, we’re not Knights. It’s the name of our song. You ready to make a video?”

“What is required?”

“It’s not difficult. Just fake it.”

Gawayne considered the man’s words then drew his sword.


Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer


The Devil’s Playground – #MenageMonday

Source: Dreamstime

Friday night regulars, they met to drink, play cards and see how much of each other’s payday they could steal.

“Does it help?” Malachi asked flipping a card toward Tyrone.

Tyrone’s gnarled finger directed it to rest on top of his other cards. He sighed.

“Naw man. Ain’t nothing helpin my luck, tonight,” he pushed back his chair and took the last drag off his cigarette as it burned into the filter.

“Hey, you leavin?”

Tyrone stubbed out the butt and fished a handful of coins from his pocket.

“Reckon I gots me enough to git home.”

“Just me and you, Reggie,” Malachi said as he gathered the deck.

Smoke billowed around Reggie’s head, but he remained silent.

Tyrone and Willie watched the hand play out. Willie ordered another drink, and Tyrone sauntered to the wrought iron exit. Outside, the express pulled away. He considered making it stop. As he sat in darkness, it began to rain, and the gutter became a rushing river. Wind howled and lightening flashed in the sky.

“Brother looks like misery done shit on your parade.” A red Cadillac rolled up on the curb.

“Ain’t as bad as all that,” Tyrone said.

Reggie leaned across the Cadillac’s seat.

“Hey, O Mighty Prince of Darkness. H’bout you hop in and we’ll truck your ass home where it belongs? All Hell’s bustin lose, and your subjects be needin your dark hand.”

Tyrone puffed on another glowing cigarette.

“Like I was sayin, ain’t as bad as all that.”


Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Escape Plan – #MenageMonday

Source: Dreamstime

Filled with only the essentials, I tucked the bag under a pile of laundry in the closet’s corner. I closed the door and waited. Silence filled the apartment, and I dared to breathe. Months of planning, scheming, subterfuge, and second-guessing had brought me here. Perched on the brink, I wondered if I possessed the courage to jump.

“What are you doing?”

He reeked of vodka. His question froze my blood making my heart pound as it tried to keep me alive.

“I cleaned. I know you don’t like when things are messy.”

The voice was mine, it echoed in my ears He studied the room before his piercing eyes returned to study me. My hands betrayed me. They trembled and I jammed them on my hips, elbows thrust wide, hoping I exuded confidence.

He turned, and I nearly laughed. Then, he stopped time. Unable to move, the scene unfolded, and he dangled my escape in front of me. So close, I could almost touch it.

“Going somewhere?”

I gulped precious air. I planned for this, rehearsed my lines.

“Isn’t that yours?”

He ripped the zipper open and shook the contents free, never showing a single emotion.

“Is this some sick trick? Why is my stuff, in your bag?” I let my anger and rage creep into my questions.

I didn’t see it coming, but I lay on the floor, his shoes walking away.

I fished my phone from my pocket and called 911. It was now, my only way out.


Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

The Warrior’s Path – #MenageMonday

Source: Dreamstime

Jeremy stopped looking for easy answers. There weren’t any. Not for him. Maybe the shaman had a point. His life would be less difficult if he didn’t fight.

“Fighting is a way,” he told him. The wise man smiled and nodded.

It is what brought him here tonight, his latest fight. The latest obstacle standing between him and success was fifty feet of bridge. Simple. Except the damn harvest moon illuminated the world brighter than a cloudless day at high noon.

Cables groaned and the planks spanning the abyss twisted, swaying in the wind. He couldn’t see them, but they were there. Eleven o’clock, at the ridge’s cleft where the tree line provided protection yet afforded a clear shot. It was the site he’d chose. Easy as shooting fish in a barrel.

“Why are we waiting?” his second asked.

“I figure we’ve got about a twenty-five percent chance of making it to the other side.”

“Better than zero.”

“I promised to keep you alive.”

“No, you said you would try. These last weeks, we’ve had more freedom than we’ve ever known. You’ve gotten us this far. Considering where we started, we have already won.” The faces behind him smiled and nodded.

Jeremy let his breath explode through his lips.

“We should wait.”

“We should let the devil dogs catch us?” An angel’s face confronted Jeremy.

“We knew the risks and made our choices. It is our only way. The question is… Are you ready?” she asked. Jeremy smiled and nodded.


Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Running on Empty – #MenageMonday

Source: Dreamstime

Daylight faded and the gas gauge’s needle dipped ever downward. I alone followed the black ribbon which wavered, shimmering as it grasped at the horizon. Flat, desolate county rolled past my windows, a study in beige monotony. The only interruption was the occasional posts on the roadside. Shoes dangled there.

With nothing better to do and the sound of my own wheels driving me crazy, I counted them, noting the numbers on my odometer. Mile markers, they marched in tune with my evaporating gas.

Three, two, one…

Lights materialized at the roadside. Gas. Food. Lodging. Last rest stop next 247 miles, the sign warned. My car informed me we were coasting on fumes.

“Guess we’re stopping,” I said aloud.

I gassed up, paid, parked and headed inside. The truck stop was full of people. They packed the greasy diner. The door’s bell tinkled, and the room grew silent, as everyone turned to stare. “Hotel California” crackled from the overhead speakers.

“H’bout we get you checked in and a blue plate?” an attractive face asked.

“Checked in?”

“You’re not going out in the dark, are you?”

I sensed the blackness behind me and quickly turned away.

“Got somethin’ to lose?”

I shook my head.

“He’s why you’re wearin’ those shoes,” he said to my stiletto clad feet.

The straps wound around my ankles like the chains encircling my heart.

“Don’t worry Darlin, we’ll help you to forget. Perhaps one night you’ll see the light and realize you’ve always held the key.”


Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Befriending the Boogeyman – #MenageMonday

Source: Dreamstime

Stacy walked a fragile line. It was a precarious balance between her two worlds. Light and dark, right and wrong, battling for her soul.

She kept going, doing the work of living while she waited for the voices. Lights flashed, and a cop stepped from the squad car. She glanced into the shadows. She saw him lurking there, watching.

“What are you doing here?” the officer asked.

Stacy checked the darkness again but didn’t answer.

“Are you lost?” he tried again.

“Everything is black and white for you, isn’t it?” she asked.

“I only want to help you, my friend.”

“You’re not my buddy, cop. Hell, you’re acting like my father, and that isn’t a compliment.”

“Let’s get you home, somewhere safe,” he reached for her, touching her elbow.

“Safe? At home?” Stacy sniffed and twisted free from his grasp.

She felt the shadow figure smile, and she smiled in response. He was everywhere, always watching.

But he wasn’t the one she feared. He had threatened her for years and told her he would punish her if she did not behave. She lived in fear of making him angry and inflicting his punishment. She was small and delicate, and she bruised easily.

When she was nine, her mother died, a casualty of a stern hand too heavily applied. During the day, dark corners were her refuge, and the creature whispered secrets. He swore to protect her.

His white-gloved hand extended from his coal-black uniform.

Stacy hesitated, then descended into darkness.


Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Cutting Deep – #MenageMonday!

Title: Cutting Deep
Source:  #MenageMonday! Challenge Week 2x 41

Source: Dreamstime

I struggle, fighting tangled sheets, I reach for my phone, knowing it’s him.

“Hey,” I answer. My speech is thick and breathless.

His voice sounds distant in my ear.

“You sound so far from home,” I hear myself say.

There is laughter, his friends shout hello to me as he shoos them aside.

“You’re so far away from me. We’re half a world apart,” I explain facts he already knows.

A door closes. He is alone now, and I am his desire. Beneath the almost imperceptible slur, his voice deepens and sweet memories tingle on my skin.

“We only make out on the telephone. It’s not the same,” I tell him.

He makes promises. I can recite them. I have repeated them so many times, cried countless nights, and believed in him. Will I never stop?

“You’re sitting in the sun,” I repeat, blinded by his accounts, truly happy for his triumphs.

“While I’ve been in the rain,” I say, but perhaps those words are only spoken to myself.

I wait for the call to end; a click and the line is dead. Laying the phone in the charger, I feel his arms around me, pulling me close. I roll towards him, eyes closed. His scent is asphyxiating as the tendrils snake into my mind, they wind down my throat and ensnare my heart. Our kiss is filled with longing, hope, undeniable love, and tears.

“You should tell him,” he whispers.

“Trust me.”

It is a promise I must keep.


Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Ascension – #MenageMonday!

Title: Ascension
Source:  #MenageMonday! Challenge Week 2×35
Word count: 250 words

To Camp, by Zhong Fenghua
Source: deviantart

I was alone. The campfire crackled and popped while the swamp echoed with chirps of tree frogs and trills of the moorhen. The barred owl’s distinctive call signaled the end of a day to remember. One I could never forget.

Pulling my coat collar tight around my neck, I moved closer to the fire. Cold, exhausted from the journey, I missed Sōshō. I wasn’t ready for the responsibility and I beseeched him to stay. He only smiled, patted my arm and handed me the massive leather-bound tome.

“You will record the entries now,” he said.

The weight threatened to crush me. “I can’t do this. Please, Sōshō,” I begged.

“I have written your destiny.”

He took his place on the rocks and began the incantations that would meld him with the earth. He left me no choice, and I performed the rituals with him. The transformation required the entire day. When it was complete, his chrysalis appeared as if it had stood on this spot for thousands of years. As my final act, I inscribed the sacred message on the monument’s base.

We had passed hundreds of stone statues on our journey. At each shrine, we repeated the prescribed devotions. He had taken his place among them. Tomorrow, I would strike camp, pack everything on the two mules, and return to the Eagle’s Aerie as the new Sōshō.

Pulling the book onto my lap, I opened it. I caressed the words he recorded only yesterday, then I turned the page.


Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Initiation – #MenageMonday

Title: Initiation
Source:  #MenageMonday! Challenge Week 2×27
Word count: 250 words

Source: Dreamstime

It took me two years to convince Sammi to hire a runner for the boneyard. When she broke, she made it clear. The kid was my responsibility.

The teenager was eager, and he took his job title to heart. I chucked when I saw him sprinting towards me. He stopped a few feet away, resting his palms on his thighs as he sucked air.

“You okay, kid?” I asked.

He looked at me and raised his right index finger. I tapped my foot and waited.

“I’m fine,” he panted sliding his hands to his waist as he straightened.

“Sammi sent a message?” I prodded, eager to hear her latest edict.

“Hey, she said this was the plane that started it all,” he motioned to the shell in front of us.

“She said a bomb went off, killed everyone on board, and it crash-landed here.”

I laughed, and he looked confused.

“Sorry kid, we make it look that way. Some movie people paid to shoot footage. The rest we cannibalized for parts.”

“Oh, I see, and like a fool, I believed her,” the kid said.

“Gotta take Sammi with a grain of salt. She’s a jokester.”

The kid shook his head.

“She also said the lost keys are no excuse.  We have to get it started.”

I purposefully looked at the plane, before turning to face him again. I could hear the gears working in his head. He wasn’t stupid.

“Let me guess? Never any keys?”

“Happy April Fool’s Day, kid.”


Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Scavenger Hunt – #MenageMonday!

Title: Scavenger Hunt
Source:  #MenageMonday! Challenge Week 2×26
Word count: 250 words

malaysia rain on window overlooking the city

Source: Malleni-Stock

I arrived late to the party.

“Jon. You’re here. Let’s pair you with Abby,” Miriam pulled me toward the rain-drenched window and a quiet brunette in a grey trench coat. Miriam introduced us, shoved a paper in my hands and left.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“Scavenger hunt,” Abby said indicating her crumpled page.

Rex completed our group, and we began.

“A circus elephant?” Abby read as we reached street level.

“Dude, I’ve got this. Follow me,” Rex smiled and headed south. Abby shrugged, and we followed.

Rain pelted us as we shot photos of the items on the list.  After one photo, Abby pulled me aside and pointed to her list. Where the raindrops wet the page, words appeared.

“Look in the windowbox,” it said.

Abby nodded at the planter affixed to the front of the shop. Searching among the flowers she retrieved a gun. I stared in disbelief as she let her coat sleeve drop, concealing everything except the gun’s silencer.

“Rex. This way,” she said as she stepped into the dark alley.

Rex followed while I hesitated. Halfway along the ally, Abby turned, aimed, and shot Rex in the head.

“Holy shit,” I screamed. “What the hell?”

“Read the next item,” Abby said as if Rex’s corpse had disappeared.

“Kill the King? But that’s a song. Right?”

“And the next one.”

My hands shook as I scanned the list, watching the words appear.

“Meet your new partner,” I read, then looked back at Abby. She smiled.

“Howdy, partner.”


Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer