Ring My Bell
By Christine Stoddard
QuailBellMagazine.com
QuailBellMagazine.com
Cerebral VegetationBy Rachel Jones QuailBellMagazine.com 
Heaven's Guard By Storm DeVille QuailBellMagazine.com Oil glistened on his skin, showing trails where their love had rubbed him smooth; he was bronzed, buff and satin, the affect on the senses intoxicating to the one who lay amidst rumpled sheets. Wait a minute, baby... Long sweep of inked hair fell forward, obscuring his chiseled face from her gaze. His movements were sleek, leashed power beneath corded muscle, reminding her of both the passion and tenderness he had shown her during their long hours together. Stay with me awhile. The words, were not her own, and yet they were, sticking in throat and mind like overly warm honey, dripping down in to silence. He had warned her of the dangers of their coming together, had told her of the light, had hinted at more, but now as the fire of longing gnawed in her belly, reaching long, tenuous fingers ever lower, her head pounded with the realization that he had never intended for this to happen. Unable to give voice to the words that all but choked her, she reached out, slender fingers lightly brushing his arm. "Valen?" His dark eyes lifted to meet her stare, reflecting a myriad of things he would never discuss with her. He was not unmoved by the hours they had spent in each others' arms, for that matter his traitorous body was still showing signs of his arousal. Then, a shimmer of something passed over his eyes, a softening that warned of emotions he could ill afford. "Asha, close your eyes," he let out thickly. "Lie down and go to sleep. Try to forget all about this night. It never happened." Her breath caught sharply in her throat, the sting of the words hitting her like a slap in the face. His own breath expelled harshly. For a intense moment, he steeled himself against the pleas her eyes made, the soft inviting curves of her bare breasts as the low lighting played over them, making them far more tempting that they had a right to be. Asha held very still, seeing that he was torn. At last, she reluctantly lifted her hand from his arm, feeling a sudden chill at the lack of contact. She could hear her own heartbeats pounding in her head, she could almost hear his in the suffocating quiet. Valen groaned, dropping his clothes and turning. His hands drifted over her curves again, relearning the planes and rises of her body, seeking the secrets that she had bared to him throughout the night. "I need you," he whispered, choked on his own weakness and desire, never having expected such a reaction to her, not to anyone. It was so easy to welcome him, sinking back against the tumbled bedding, arms open and warm, her mouth eagerly meeting his in a ravenous kiss of dueling tongues and sweet, low groans. Her hips rose to tease him of their own volition, her instincts kicking in as thoughts fled, and passion rose. Oils rubbed between them, spreading and warming, making his entrance even more sleek than it had been before. Her gasp filled his mouth as he thrust deeply, remembering that hot, tight feel of wet silk clinging and clutching, his hips falling into a rhythm old as time as he reclaimed what a feral streak in him demanded was his to take. Long legs slid against him, hugging and teasing before wrapping around his back, eager to drag him deeper into her hungering body. Rise, fall, push, pull their bodies moved against the other in timeless battle for fulfillment. Asha savored the heat of him filling her, touching the depths of her with no hesitation, and yet there was still that odd tenderness that nearly broke her heart with its beauty. Valen tightened his hold on her, possessing and protecting as he pushed as deeply as he could, then withdrew to plunge again and again. He could smell her, taste her, could feel the tremors of her orgasm rising swiftly as his own teased him, determined to make him wait for release. Eyes flashing up at him, Asha nudged him onto his back, changing their positions as she rode him, tearing her mouth free and tossing her head back as she screamed her pleasure. Valen came on the heels of that, his mind blanking as a wash of sensation drowned out his every thought. Reeling from such intensity, he sank in to momentary unconsciousness. Tired, heavy lids slowly rose, his hazy eyes seeking the lovely vision that had fallen across him, her breathing ragged, her tumble of dark golden hair streaked with his sweat and hers, their mingled scents filling his nostrils as he breathed deeply, knowing what this moment of letting his guard down could cost him. Encounters with the Empress By Brian Michael Barbeito QuailBellMagazine.com The help will go without miles counting. - Mother Meera, in ‘Answers’ It happened in that time of significant trouble. The outward dilemmas had finally ceased. These included but were by no means limited to the two women that had appeared, and through a particular sort of magnetism, caused certain misfortunes to Jacob and themselves. They had been like sirens or like some kind of bright purple or orange fighter fish adorned with painted bodies. It took a long time to put them in abeyance, along with other more amicable contacts that had turned conspiratorial. And what was more; there was no twelve step program for matters of the soul, or even for more nuanced problems of the secular type. But it had been done, and to give up the past proved akin to letting go of a chemical dependence or at the least something sorely required. The problem was that there was an inner life also. Its ache and voice would not be dulled or stilled. Universal processes and all of that. Jacob just went along, having faith in things unseen, which as they say, is a definition of faith in itself. Soon days and weeks turned to months and even years. He was in some kind of transition period, difficult to be sure, but necessary. It resembled the abyss, of which he was familiar, but was not an abyss as such. Turquoise can be mistaken for shattuckite, as both have various blue hues and are beautiful, but both hold different characteristics and properties, come from different mines, and most importantly of all, assist in different purposes. The uninitiated might scoff, and say a stone is just a stone, and both are stones, not flowers of Southern France, Chinese lanterns, industrial machinery, crochet needles, or metropolises, and those times of dark are just that,- times of dark and nothing more or less. But though both prove difficult to maneuver within, and appear similar, the abyss and the time of transition are not the same animal. In the middle of it all an archetypal and esoteric figure made an appearance. She came to see Jacob and Kara in a part of the night that was deepest and most silent. A part of the night before and yet beyond- in depth- the proverbial witching hours. A labyrinthine part that inhabited a secret envelope contained in an under layer of an under layer. There are things there, and they are difficult to remember. Jacob had lived there at times, and Kara was a visitor to such places, and often came back from those places to speak about future events in the lives of those she knew. The figure appeared with a door behind her, and holding an object in her left hand, though the exact identification of the object was not known about right away. Kara, normally a woman of strong spiritual stature, was starting to go into shock, and soon was paralysed with fear. The figure was tall and looking out from black eyes that stood under white hair. She wore a long green dress that had small symbols emblazoned on it. Jacob walked over to her and hugged her. At his point, as stunned to her core as Kara was, she went into an even deeper shock. Trembling. Awe. Angst. Trembling. Laboured breath. Mind off. Something else on. Trembling. Trembling. Trembling. The woman was staring at and straight through Kara. The figure looked and looked some more and then with unwavering intent, in a raised voice, spoke one word. It was the only word that was spoken at all during the visit. “Kneel!” And so Kara knelt. With a sure-fire immediacy the figure raised what she was holding in the hand. She then struck Kara with the cylindrical object. Shock. Crashing. Body. Second body into first. Shock. In a moment, they were out of that instance. Kara explained to Jacob that the woman was simply too powerful. Sitting up in the bed and staring into space she said, “I was overwhelmed...” “She came to tell you to take it easy on me,” replied Jacob. “Why does it always have to be about you?” “It doesn’t,” said Jacob, “Maybe she just came to kick your ass.” In the light, by the new hours of days, Jacob contemplated the Empress. He thought about other things, such as Mother Meera, a divine incarnation of the feminine that worked mostly in silence. He had written to Mother Meera once upon a time. Her words, if there were any sent back from Germany, did not reach his hands those years and years ago. But she had spoken to answer questions at some point and Jacob remembered reading the words of the divine mother. She had said that ‘The help will go without miles counting’. Maybe, Jacob thought, for now, somehow, with the aid of the divine feminine figures, he had managed to end up on the right sight of the difficult transitory hours. Octo ReaderBy Christine Stoddard QuailBellMagazine.com 
A New Family for Charles By Jennifer Hor QuailBellMagazine.com Charles wondered what his new parents and grandmother were going to be like. He had spent many years in the orphanage since his parents died and he often wished he had a family again. Now the carers and the orphanage director had told him his new parents would be picking up tomorrow and taking him "home." He had met the couple a few times with the director at the orphanage and after every meeting he had with them, the director would always say what lovely people they were. "And your new grandmother is such a delightful lady and an excellent cook!" she would add. Charles wondered how she knew if she was such a busy lady she hardly had time to leave the orphanage as she was always saying to see the grandmother but he supposed grown-ups had their own way of finding out things. He spent much of the following morning looking outside the window of his room which he shared with three other children, watching the cars entering and exiting the orphanage grounds through the front gate. What sort of house did the new parents live in? He had already seen their car and knew what a swanky black sports sedan it was. What was the new grandmother like? Was she really a good cook? He saw the shiny black car glide through the front gates and sail as if on air into a spot in the visitors' car park. Charles saw the two front doors open. The couple in black got out of the car, the woman straightening her hat and brushing her clothes. He saw the two walk out of the car park quickly and onto the path leading to the director's office. Not long after, one of the carers entered his room. "Charles, your new parents have just arrived," the young woman said, "are you ready to go? Got all your things packed?" Charles grabbed his carry-bag holding his clothes and his backpack crammed with his teddy and toy dinosaur and followed the carer down the corridor, down the stairs, through the dining-room and a maze of hallways and into the director's office. Already the couple in black were sitting there talking to the director. When Charles was ushered in, they stopped talking and turned to look at him. "Don't be shy, Charles," the director said, "you've met your new parents before. Come and say hello." Magic Carpet Mania at Fitzalen's Castle 
Hordes of people descended upon the peaceful castle grounds of Chariton’s favorite giant, Rye Fitzalen, for the much-heralded Magic Carpet Rides and other Summer activities such as Summer Bathing, Dancing, and Garden Mazing Madness. A total of 20 lovely and intricately woven carpets stood hovering at attention in the enormous back cobbled stone courtyard where excited guests of all ages waited to be seated. From antiquated and intricate to minimalist and sophisticated, the carpets are known not only for their expert flying skills and keen sense of adventure but also for their mid-flight storytelling via song. ‘The songs were my favorite part! If I want to fly I could use my own wings but I could never hear those kinds of stories. They know stories about the skies and how land was formed and what used to be here,’ said carpet rider Perline Ott. Recently, Magic Carpets region round have been added to the list of Endangered Species as all the ones currently in existence have all been handed down and no new ones have been created. In spite of many attempts and access to a wealth of modern technology, Inventors are simply unable to duplicate the mind-boggling intricacy of the Weaves. Undoubtedly, there are only a few of the true ancient breed of Magic Carpets now in existence. Couple that with a history cloaked in mystery, and it is easier to understand why the many attempts to create new Magic Carpets have led to disastrous results. Apocalyptic Head By P. Casey Telesk QuailBellMagazine.com In the cold, strange atmosphere of this planet we called Earth I sat in the stupor we had all come to regard as 'normal.' A disease had struck humanity. People no longer had any want or need to communicate with each other on any personal level. The electronic landscape consumed the human psyche like a digital tidal wave. Children no longer played in yards. The world existent outside their windows fell tragically to the world inside their heads. The internet was supposed to save the world. It was supposed to revolutionize the American economy and revive a dying country. Instead what we got was a four-figure jerk-off box. This sort of technology could have ultimately helped create self-sustaining utopias, perhaps even ended world hunger. But instead we found ourselves white-knuckled with lust while our husbands or wives were out of the house or sleeping. The sexual landscape had changed so drastically that it was no longer a singular act between two people but rather a repeatable equation applicable to almost anything. We literally fucked machines. The pornography epidemic was nature's way of alerting us to a threat of extinction. Nature was telling us to breed, or to die. The least of our worries was the Atomic Bomb. It was the social network that had caused the end of the world. People became more inclined to communicate via electronic device. They became content to stay in their homes experiencing friends and family digitally through pictures and textual communication. Reality became something existent inside their heads. It became another world; an elaborate fantasy where man could act out his most sexual of desires. It became a stage, alone on which the individual stood to battle with their own existence. They stopped caring about the analog world around them. The onset of this sick digital psychosis within the human brain did not lead us into salvation but rather into a dark pit of damnation and sin where we remained until the end of days, stupefied. It wasn't until I met Audrey Clemens, who I believe to have been my doppelganger, that this became all so clear. | The Unreal
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