So, why am I posting again? Like, a few minutes after the first? I'll tell you why. I hate starting fresh. Which means I have a butt-load of stories, and other stuff that I have stored up. Luckily for you, I'm only reaching back to the past few weeks. Maybe a month. That's where I'm drawing the line.

This second piece is actually also from the first day--I liked the prompts(they give you a selection to choose from) so much that I did a second. Using this image as a prompt: Amnesia by Essilou--warning, some nudity

Siren, the second story.
Again, if you don't want to just click the link...here. but I'll warn you it's got the word 'breast' in it, if you can't handle that sort of thing.

I hate mannequins. I hate shopping. And when I asked my friend to go shopping with me, I don't know why she agreed. Surely she knew I was possessed?

Honestly.

But I woke up on Tuesday with it staring me in the face. Ever since, it stays in my closet. I can't touch it. I think it would hurt, if I did. Not that I tried, you think I'm crazy? Good god.

But every morning I look at it. I don't want to. I have to. And every morning, she--I mean it--is dressed, in a new outfit.

My credit card is running low. I need to go shopping for food, but I don't want to go, leaving the mannequin alone. Who knows what it might do?

It's hungry. I can hear it's stomach growling my dreams.

I feed it. My friend doesn't know where I am. She comes knocking, and calling me, but I can't answer--what if my new friend doesn't like it? I think she's jealous....

She only eats chocolate. I telecommute now, so I know when to feed her. Maggie. That's her name.

She's wearing a red dress. God, it's beautiful....I touch her now. Sometimes she feels like skin, not fabric. I trace my fingers down her shoulders, down, down to her breast....


She touched me. A fleeting grasp with her long fingers, brought my cheek to hers, and for a moment I felt eyelashes where, when I look, there is only fabric. No face.

It is time. I know now, it is time to see her face to face. Kiss her. be with her.

I am in the closet. I close the door. Her eyes glow, like a cat's. Her lips caress mine, and I rest her on my lap. It is hot in here. I cannot breathe.

My eyes are closed, it is stifling but I cannot leave her here. My skin is pale, wet, her touch ceaseless.

I hear nothing but her words in my ears.

The door opens, my eyes burn and I scream.

Humans take me out, I cannot leave her, but they tear and burn me away.

I am alone. I am gone. People watch me, through a window, their faces shining. Ugly.


I feel my breath catch. I turn. I see her. Legs,silky, approach me. 
Her teeth, opalescent, bear down on me.

Crimson bejewels my white, and I am with her at last.