Caller Number Ten By Julie Nuernberg "Don't talk to the group unless they approach you; do it and we'll throw you out. Don't take pictures; do it and we'll throw you out. They're showering now but they'll join you in a bit." She moved aside from the entrance and held the door open. "Be cool. That's all." Lydia pushed and shoved her way into the room. Long tables lined the walls with bowls of Doritos, Fritos, Cheetos, platters of sandwiches and rows and rows of wine and beer.
 | | The River Inside |
She grabbed a beer and sat on a sofa. A couple of girls seemed to know each other, seemed like they had done this before. Lydia kept to herself. She was too nervous to make friends with these girls. Plus, she reasoned, they could be competition. The other members came in, piled their plates full of food and sat in the corner. Then Victor came in. The vibe changed. The girls sat up straighter, thrust their chests forward and put on sexy pouts. Lydia's heart sprinted out of rhythm. He was wearing ripped, faded jeans with a black leather vest, bare-chested and showing off his multitude of tattoos. A cigarette hung from his lips which were curled in a sneer. He carried an opened bottled of tequila. Still wearing the crown of thorns on his wet, wavy black hair, he surveyed the room until his eyes stopped at Lydia. He curled his finger at her, beckoning her over. She floated to him. "Ya like the gig, sweetheart?" "Loved it." "I hate this after-show rubbish. Wanna come with me to the hotel bar?" "Love to." Two burly bodyguards, looking side to side, led Lydia and Victor across the street from the Amphitheater to the Hyatt Hotel. "Do they always help you cross the street?" "Groupies. They can be vicious little bitches." In the hotel bar, Lydia noticed girls, who had obviously been at the concert, perk up when she walked in with Victor. It was as though he flicked a switch and turned them on. Bloodlust by Toby Malamute
 | | Bloodlust |
If she wasn't so beautiful I might have been scared. Lying there beaten after being ejected from another club. Feeling my heart pounding after running from the police, again. It didn't matter when you were with her though, I could take my pounding heart and hold her close to it until it slowed. I could take my finger and trace her open wounds, paint fingertip smudges of blood like rouge onto her pretty cheeks. I could lick it from her perfect face and pull her arms around me smearing her over my clothes. I would give my soul to live forever in one of those moments. With my heart racing next to hers and her blood all over me. It was worth anything just to be that alive, just to be near her pain. Pain so fragile for its closeness to beauty, like it needn't exist. Pain like that doesn't come around often, it makes the rest look so watered down it isn't even real. I loved her for it. Even At That Hour Brian Was Still There by Rhodri Tuck Like all good friends I laughed and suggested things he could do, except this being Darren he had a few ideas of his own, and for the last part of our journey his trousers hung out of the car window, having been scrubbed with a potato he'd bought from a roadside vendor. He'd read about it somewhere.
Finally we reached the end of traffic and tarmac. Tenby was glowing. The sky above was cornflower blue, full of timeless summer memories. It had been a while since I'd last visited. Probably as a sulking fifteen year old who was desperate to be alone, at least alone from his parents. It looked more or less the same, small streets full of families clogging the pavements with their arguments. Darren knew of a small bar inside the town walls and insisted we go there before taking the boat across to Caldey Island. Since the services all he would mention, apart from his trousers, was Caldey Island. He'd never been there and wanted to see if monks did actually live on the island. He just wouldn't take my word for it. Find out more about 'Lanterns' by clicking on the link in the top right hand corner of this page. | 
