Other Books by Jess C Scott
EYELEASH: A BLOG NOVEL
(teenage memoir)
4:PLAY
(a contemporary cocktail of erotic short stories)
THE DEVILIN FEY
(novella in 4:Play)
THE INTERN
(upcoming “Sins07”series / Fall 2010)
THE OTHER SIDE OF LIFE
(upcoming cyberpunk/urban fantasy series / Fall 2010)
DIVA
Jess C Scott
DIVA
Published by Jess C Scott, Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 1995-2010 by Jess C Scott.
Cover art © by Janine
http://www.flickr.com/people/pinkcotton/
All rights reserved.
First Edition: July 2010
1. Fiction/Short Stories
2. Fiction/Anthologies
Summary: A short story collection by author/artist/non-conformist, Jess C Scott. Diva showcases Jess’s penchant for “bending the rules”—read with caution.
Notes:
‘Porcelain’ was originally published in Word Riot.
‘Reflexology Class’ and an excerpt of ‘Black Velvet’ were originally published in Blink Fiction.
‘No Answer’ was originally published in Flashshot and 55 Words.
‘The Evil Man’ was originally published in The Clockwise Cat.
‘Evolution’ was originally published in Xenith.
‘The Boy at The Train Station’ was originally published in Conceit Magazine.
‘Smooth’ was originally published in Bare Back Magazine.
The stories in Diva are available in Porcelain (Jess’s 2010 writing/illustrating portfolio).
. . . CONTENTS . . .
+ SHORT STORIES / FLASH FICTION +
My
Chance Encounter
Reflexology
Class
The
Chef
The
Evil Man
A
Full Half Hour At Least
Diva
How
Dinosaurs Appeared
Journal
of Robinson Crusoe
Moon
and Night
If
I Were an Animal
The
Mask
Shangri-la
No
Answer
The
Girl with Wavy Hair
Talent
Quest
The
Mistress
Savion
4
Seasons
The
Boy at The Train Station
Evolution
Porcelain
Smooth
+ MANIFESTOS +
+ [AUTHOR Q&A] +
SHORT STORIES / FLASH FICTION
I based the ghoulish character of ‘Jess’ after someone I knew (still know) in real life.
My Chance Encounter
I peered at the old house from between the bars of its rusty iron gates. The outer walls of the building were crawled over with vines and ivy. I could spot layers of paint cracking and flaking off, revealing the layer of dirt-red brick underneath.
I gave the gates a push—they swung open without a creak, which surprised me. Something about the old house was fascinating. It had a mysterious charm that lured my senses. I walked in on the stone pathway and waited on the doorstep for a moment. I felt like a guest, awaiting a very elusive but gracious host, the house itself.
“Hellooo,” I called out in a low voice. I rapped my knuckles against the door. Just in case there was anyone inside.
Nothing but quiet. I turned the knob and went in.
The sharp scent of fresh pine shot up my nose in an instant. The house was perfumed with it. The interior decorations of the house were lavish, though it must have looked even more opulent during the days when people were actually living in this place. I saw three gold-framed portraits—of a duke, a soldier on his horse with a scarlet-plumed helmet, and a little girl with soft golden curls standing by a window.
I heard a sound just then—
“Flumph.”
It came from upstairs. What was that? I was hit with visions, snippets of a headless ghost, a zombie that had been thrown back up from the dead, a body lying face down in a pool of blood…a murder, right here in the house I was in! Blood would be seeping through the ceiling…I was just letting my imagination go free. I knew I would be testing my luck going to investigate, but the itch to find out was too much. There was no way I could walk away and simply forget about it either.
I made my way cautiously to a velveteen staircase at the end of the living room. A broken chandelier hung right at the top. The glass shivered and tinkled as a breeze blew in. It made some of the little hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
And then, even that came to a freeze point. A figure had appeared on the top stair, an emaciated, skeletal non-visible figure, much like a flickering hologram. Its face was steeped in the furthest throes of pain and remorse. Ragged clothes clung to its drawn frame. Pallid, wasted skin stretched grimly over its bones. Most unnerving was the figure’s haunting familiarity.
My eyes came to rest on the figure’s right arm, and I gave a slight shriek as I recognized the faint glimmer of a distinct mark there. There was a thin outline of a heart just at the fold of the inner elbow. It was a permanent mark, no longer a daily scribble with a red ballpoint pen. I jumped back in shocking disbelief.
“Jess,” I gasped, “it’s you!”
The figure tossed its, ‘her’ I mean, head back. She placed a hand on her hip, in typical fashion, condescendingly.
“Well of courssse it is,” she hissed. “Who else could it be?”
Who else? Like the former occupants of the house, perhaps?
“I hate asking you this,” I ventured, “but…what are you doing here?”
Jess, the hologram Jess, shook her head as she stared at me with hollow, sunken eyes devoid of all expression. She looked as if she wanted to cry, but I knew better. She wouldn’t take her fixed gaze off me for a microsecond.
“What am I doing here?”
Jess flapped both arms down into the air in annoyance: “Flumph.” So that was the source of the sound. Jess whirled around, crossed her hands behind her, and paced slowly up and down, speaking her thoughts aloud.
“Not even a ‘how’ve you been’…or ‘it’s good to see you’…you’ve no manners at all, you’ve never learned. I think you’ll never learn anyway, Simon.”