KendallJaye Collard Week 194: The Tango

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KendallJaye Collard’s Picture Choice: Second

Title: The Tango

There she was. Like nothing before or after.

She was a lone red rose unafraid to bloom in the middle of winter.

I watched her on the dance floor. She knew all the steps by heart. Her face was calm and confident as the music commanded her feet.

ONE. TWO. THREE. FOUR-FIVE.

ONE. TWO. THREE. FOUR-FIVE.

Her tango seemed to last forever. Her dress whirled and captivated. Her hands never breaking from dance position. Her eyes closed. Her soul focused.

I felt like I was intruding.

But roses are meant to be admired, right? I couldn’t tear myself away.

She kept count in her head.

ONE. TWO. THREE. FOUR-FIVE.

ONE. TWO. THREE. FOUR-FIVE.

And abruptly the song cut. Her dance was over. With all her grace, she glided across the floor to gather a towel to wipe the sweat from her brow.

“I miss you Johnny.”

I know Janie. I miss you too.

But she couldn’t hear my ghostly voice.

I relaxed and let myself go knowing I needed my strength to return tomorrow to watch her dance again.

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KendallJaye Collard gets her kicks above the waistline, Sunshine. Wine drinker, Cancer Survivor, and protected by rocksalt. Spread the love with her at @KJCollard.

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KendallJaye Collard Week 192: Reinvention and Renewal

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KendallJaye Collard’s Picture Choice: First

Title: Reinvention and Renewal

Looked a little ragged. Maybe worn on the corners. Nothing you’d look twice at.

But I knew there was something hidden under the layers of neglect.

So I hung a sign on the door: I AM UNDER RENOVATION.

I spent evenings there. Weekends. Every moment I could.

People asked what was wrong with me. All they saw was the ugliness. A project too big.

I AM UNDER RENOVATION

Eventually people stopped being curious and started being scared. People fear change.

But I didn’t let it stop me.

I polished.

I dusted.

I mopped.

I painted.

I AM UNDER RENOVATION

Eventually people stopped being scared and started being skeptical.

But I didn’t let it stop me.

I bled.

I sweat.

I cried.

I never gave up.

I AM UNDER RENOVATION

Eventually I realized I no longer cared what people thought. This was saving my soul.

I AM UNDER RENOVATION

I AM A WORK IN PROGRESS

I AM BUILDING A BETTER ME

I AM

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KendallJaye Collard gets her kicks above the waistline, Sunshine. Wine drinker, Cancer Survivor, and protected by rocksalt. Spread the love with her at @KJCollard.

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KendallJaye Week 189: Live Fully

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KendallJaye Collard’s Picture Choice:

Title: Live Fully

The resort was everything they’d advertised. The food was amazing. The staff was impressively friendly. The scenery was gorgeous. It was exactly as I hoped it would be. And all too soon it would be over. The vacation I’d saved for was on its last day. I spent the morning swimming in the perfectly clear water of the ocean and walking miles of beach. Now, after burning off the wasted calories from the prior night’s cocktails, all I could focus on was getting back to my suite for a nap.

Once back in my room, I shimmied out of my conservative one-piece swimsuit and slipped into my gauzy summer dress. It was a bit sheer, but I didn’t anticipate visitors. Directly outside my suite and down a tiny flight of teak wood steps was my semi-private deck. The deck could be completely enclosed from prying eyes by pulling the drapery on the four sides. But today was hand delivered from the gods. It was a day meant to be savored. Perfect temperature. Perfect humidity. Perfect breezes. I descended the stairs and ungracefully flopped myself into the lounger. I could smell the tropical flowers on the breeze and could taste the salt in the air.

Movement from across the way caught the corner of my eye.

On an identical deck from a neighboring suite, an impossibly beautiful and completely naked boy came into focus. His hair was a shade darker than the dampened sand on the beach. His eyes were blue and crystal clear. They held the story of a soul far older than his body. The way he walked was purely fluid, as if he defied all gravitational laws. He turned his back my direction and sat down on a lounger similar to mine. The muscles in his back danced has he raised his arm to run his fingers through his somewhat rebellious hair. The light and shadow emphasized each ripple on his back. He swung his legs up and let out a deep sigh. Once seated, I could tell how tall he was. His well-muscled legs extended far beyond the edge of the lounger. He had the perfect physique of a professional goalkeeper.

And I was gawking like a high-school girl.

Embarrassed, I dropped my gaze, grabbed my sunglasses, and slapped them on my face. I was old enough to be this boy’s mother.

And yet…

Something made turn back.

He was staring at me in my gauzy white summer dress. He was looking at me in much the same way I had been looking at him just moments before. He gave an upward nod of acknowledgment as our eyes met. He rolled to his side. He dipped his chin and curled his finger in a silent invitation.

It was the last day of my vacation.

I would never be here again.

“Live fully,” my therapist had said when she suggested I get away.

And I had no intention of letting this opportunity pass. The nap could wait.

I bit hard on my lip to stifle a giggle. I was at his suite door in ten seconds.

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KendallJaye Collard gets her kicks above the waistline, Sunshine. Wine drinker, Cancer Survivor, and protected by rocksalt. Spread the love with her at @KJCollard.

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KendallJaye Collard Week 185: George and Martin

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KendallJaye Collard’s Picture Choice: 2

Title: George and Martin

“George. George. George. It’s adoption day. I can feel it. George.”

I had been sleeping so soundly that it took a few minutes of nudging to get me rousted. I did a large yawn and rested my head back down between my paws. “Awww lemme sleep, Martin. It’s good here, yeah? Warmth. Food. Humans with soft hands.”

“Life is more than this, George. Sally in Block Three went home yesterday. SALLY. You remember Sally, right George?”

“Yeah Martin. I remember Sally.” In fact, Sally was a large part of my melancholy. I’d gotten to be pretty good friends with the senior canine. Sally would tell me stories of adventure and of heartbreak. She’s spin tales of heroic street capers and darkened alleys. My brother Martin and I were born in the shelter, and Sally’s masterful storytelling always made me feel like I was outside living her stories.

“George. George. There’s a girl coming. I can smell her. She’s the one George.”

“She’s not the one, Martin.”

She rounded the corner. Her parents were chatting away with the shelter volunteer. She was looking at the big dogs. We were completely ignored.

Martin carried on in the way that Martin always would. Barking and jumping and trying to get her attention any way he knew how. I just sighed heavily and ignored my brother. But something felt wrong. Something was off. Something very bad was about to happen.

I got to my feet and took a deep breath in. The air was heavy with metallic scent. I shoved Martin and his antics aside. I bit into the wire of the cage and started to pull as hard as I could. I had to get to her.

“Now that’s odd,” said the volunteer. “George is usually such a timid boy.”

I continued to tug at the cage door.

“Can we see George?” the mother asked.

“These two have to be adopted together. They’ve never been separated.”

The mother hesitated.

The volunteer opened the cage anyway.

I bounded out.

The girl bent down to pet me.

I tackled her flat to the ground and laid on her.

The mother screamed.

The father yelled.

The volunteered looked shocked.

Martin was stock still.

And the girl started to seize.

I lay as hard as I could on her with my tiny body, wanting to protect her. Only then did everyone realize what was going on. I was trying to save her life.

After her seizure subsided and order was restored, the paperwork was filled out to take me and Martin to their home with Martin as her forever playmate and me as her steadfast protector.

And as fate would have it, we moved in next door to my friend Sally.

Life was good.

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KendallJaye Collard gets her kicks above the waistline, Sunshine. Wine drinker, Cancer Survivor, and protected by rocksalt. Spread the love with her at @KJCollard.

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KendallJaye Collard Week 183: Kid Harper - San Bartolomé

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KendallJaye Collard’s Picture Choice: Both

Title: Kid Harper - San Bartolomé

I knew this was the place. The sign by the door made me laugh. Hilarious since I knew the kind of clientele “Sister” Maria Corona Cavazos serviced. Stuccoed and decorated with painted ceramic tile, I could only imagine how old the structure was. The rural church in its day must have been beautiful. Of course, all things are beautiful when they’re new. Clean. Shiny. Unspoiled.

Now, the Iglesia de las Flores de luna served as little more than an overpriced whorehouse. The only spiritual healing done here was between sheets. Of course, the discretion that Sister Maria exercised was impeccable. High end visitors paying top dollar for beautiful people to use. Or be used. Whichever their flavor was. This is why I was dubious when word came down that my latest bounty was spending the week here. News like that just didn’t come for free.

Sister Maria met me at the beautifully carved hardwood doors. She immediately began to yammer in Spanish until I pushed the brim of my hat high enough for her to meet my eyes.

“Kid Harper,” she said in a rush of breath.

I was used to the reaction.

“The señora is here.” She grabbed my hand seductively and lowered her voice. “Perez said you would bring coin for this information. This is true?”

Perez. That lying sack of crap.

I grumbled as I jammed my fist into satchel and produced a handful of pesos for her. “Don’t spend it all in one place.”

Sister Maria smiled, blew me a kiss, and extended a graceful arm inviting me into her church of ill-repute. Truth was I hated these places. They always smelled of incense, or sweat, or opium, or whatever else people used to dull their senses. I liked to be sharp.

I followed Sister Maria to a closed door down a crooked hallway. She lowered her eyes and nodded. I used the knuckle of my first finger to tap the brim of my hat. With barely a whisper of breeze, the Headmistress disappeared down the hallway.

The door was unlocked, so I barged in.

There she was. Ginger-haired and lilly-assed. Surrounded by a harem of dark-skinned, black-eyed beauties.

“Effie Wallner. Your husband very much wants you to come home. Now, we can do this the hard way or the easy way.” I took my hat off and tossed it on the side table by the door. “I suggest you clean yourself up and we be on our way.”

Fifteen minutes later, we were on my mare headed back to New Mexico.

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KendallJaye Collard gets her kicks above the waistline, Sunshine. Wine drinker, Cancer Survivor, and protected by rocksalt. Spread the love with her at @KJCollard.

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KendallJaye Collard Week 179: Finding Home

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KendallJaye Collard’s Picture Choice: Both

Title: Finding Home

The weather couldn’t have been more perfect.

I mean, I was in Hawaii, for Pete’s sake. It’s always perfect.

Does life get any more ideal than soft, salty breezes in your face as you walk on sand soft as sugar while people back home bundled and shivered? New York City was where I spent my time in between deployments. And while a piece of me missed my overpriced micro-apartment with one dinky window where I would feed the pigeons, New York never truly felt like home. It felt like a temporary stop. It felt constricting. I always looked at the sky, wanting to be back in uniform. Once a pilot, always a pilot.

When my Commanding Officer asked where I was taking Christmas leave, I hadn’t even thought about it. The idea that I could go anywhere over the holiday hadn’t registered. And the beautiful irony of my decision was that I had spent roughly the last nine years with my boots in the sand. But the deserts of Iraq were nothing like this paradise.

I closed my eyes, took another deep breath, and let the sun bake my face. I felt at peace. At home.

Suddenly the air horns sounded from the nearby base. I opened my eyes. A few people on the beach began to stir and whisper amongst themselves. “It’s happening again,” I heard them say. Their fingers pointed skyward.

You could see the jets before you could hear and feel their thunder.

Paradise was about to be torn.

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KendallJaye Collard gets her kicks above the waistline, Sunshine. Wine drinker, Cancer Survivor, and protected by rocksalt. Spread the love with her at @KJCollard.

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KendallJaye Collard Week 177: Hellshot to High Prairie

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KendallJaye Collard’s Picture Choice: 1

Title: Hellshot to High Prairie

I’d barely made it out alive. Blue Eyes had an entourage that I hadn’t accounted for. That meant that every shot had to count. One final, deep breath and I kicked open the door to his hotel room.

Blue Eyes jumped back from the round table where he and his followers were playing cards. “What the...” was all he managed to say before my gunfire rang hard and heavy in the tiny room. As they all reached for their guns, I pointed and fired barely looking their direction. I didn’t want to lose a moment of Blue Eyes’ reaction as I calmly dispatched his entire crew of five. By my count, I had one shot left. Blue Eyes frantically patted his ribcage, his pants pocket, his waistband. I knew his gun was on the bedside table and out of his reach. I continued to walk through the room while Blue Eyes backed himself into the corner. The panic was thick in the room, and it tasted delicious.

“What do you want? Who sent you?” he demanded with little conviction.

“You don’t remember me. It’s been a while. There’s a lot of years and a log book of miles in between here and there.”

I knew I didn’t have time for a monologue. I could already hear people gathering in the hallway.

“Wait,” Blue Eyes mumbled as those icy eyes narrowed. “You’re that Kid. Kid Harper. I heard about you. I never thought I’d get the chance…”

I shot him in the shoulder.

He slid down the wall.

“You missed,” he taunted.

“Hardly,” I bit back. I clobbered him with the butt of my revolver.

His eyes rolled up to the sky, and he went limp. I turned around to the crowd that had gathered outside the room. “Nothing to worry about people. This here man is wanted by Washita County Sherriff in Oklahoma. I’m a US Marshall.” I rummaged in the breast pocket of my coat and pulled out an official enough looking badge that would allow me passage. It was a trinket I had picked up from one of my prior bounties. He was a pedophile scum in Kentucky that used his small town badge to manipulate kids. I kept it. Figured it would come in handy. I held it up long enough for everyone to be able to make out that it was a badge, but not long enough for them to tell where it was from.

The people made a path for me as I slung the unconscious body of Blue Eyes over my shoulder. My height belied my strength. Fine by me. I used every advantage I had.

“I do thank you for your patience, folks. Let the hotel owner I’ll be sending a check for clean up and funeral expenses for these men.” I jerked my head in the direction of the heap of bodies littering the floor. “I need to get this guy to Oklahoma by tomorrow sunset.”

I made my way through the crowd and out the door. I heard the standard hushed voices that always accompanied my work. Let them talk. Let the legend grow. It made my work that much easier.

My mare was waiting for me right where I left her. A quick yank on the reigns loosed the knot. She stayed perfectly still as I gave her soft muzzle a kiss. Most faithful, trusted thing I owned. I heaved the unconscious man over her backside, and I whipped myself up into the saddle.

I made like hellfire out of the two-bit town.

I had my sights on one thing now.

The place where it all started.

I dug in my heels and headed north.

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KendallJaye Collard gets her kicks above the waistline, Sunshine. Wine drinker, Cancer Survivor, and protected by rocksalt. Spread the love with her at @KJCollard.

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KendallJaye Collard Week 175: Lady Masika’s Consort

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KendallJaye Collard’s Picture Choice: Both

Title: Lady Masika’s Consort

Gods Damn It!

Another morning I was going to be late for work.

I lived on a small island. It was mostly a tourist trap with outrageously priced time-shares and vendor stands selling eight dollar lemon shake-ups. I was one of the few residents who called this home. During hurricanes or major storm events, the city hub would send police over to escort everyone off the island. They would raise the drawbridge to prevent people from sneaking back to their homes.

The drawbridge was up. There was no storm.

I slowed my vehicle to a stop and glared at the raised drawbridge. Everything about this Friday the 13th conspired against me. Alarm clock broken. Dropping eggs. Holes in socks. Buttons popping off my coat. I shouldn’t have been surprised to see the drawbridge mocking me as well.

I put my car in park and shut off the engine. No telling how long this wait would be.

I got out of my car and slammed the door. In frustration, I fished my phone from my coat pocket and began to jab at the numbers for work. While waiting for Susan to answer the phone, I heard a soft rumble. The rumbling began to change from audible to physical. The earth under my feet began to buckle and shift as the rumbling grew louder. I had to drop my phone and steady myself with both hands against my car. My attention turned to the rumbling waters.

And then I saw her. The Goddess.

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I’d been asleep far too long. It was good to stretch my arms and feel the sun kiss my face. I smiled as I felt the warmth pushing through my muscles, my blood, my bones. I allowed myself to breathe in deeply of the salty air. I moved my arms and legs through positions and poses I remembered from dances performed thousands of years ago. The summons was complete. I was risen once more.

I opened my heavy lids to see the surroundings had completely changed. The scent of the water was familiar, but my eyes were full of new and wonderful things.

I danced my way to solid ground.

And then I heard him. The Human. He was weeping.

I looked down. Tiny details eventually came to focus. He was so small. So fragile. Had I grown so much in slumber? Had this realm become smaller?

I smiled as I crouched to be closer to Him. “Why are you weeping?” I asked, remembering too late that my language couldn’t be understood. I took my finger and traced a line from the corner of my eye down my cheek. He could only nod as the choking sobs wracked his body. I knew He wasn’t the one who summoned me, but I felt the need to protect Him all the same. His emotion touched me.

I faded until I was small enough to dry the tears from his cheeks with my hair. I vowed immediately to never leave His side. Not even gods know how much time we have to spend. We were bound, He and I, until my summoner could find me.

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KendallJaye Collard gets her kicks above the waistline, Sunshine. Wine drinker, Cancer Survivor, and protected by rocksalt. Spread the love with her at @KJCollard.

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KendallJaye Collard Week 173: The Judgement of Dismas

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KendallJaye Collard’s Picture Choice: Both

Title: The Judgement of Dismas

A lousy loaf of bread. How was I to know it was a cart bound for the King’s palace? All I knew was that my infant and wife were starving at home. My hunger aside, she needed sustenance to feed tiny Asher. Without food they would both die.

The King had been cruel with his taxation. There were no jobs to be found. I offered my carpentry skills to everyone who crossed my path. I begged on street corners for coin. And when all of these options yielded no result, I resorted to theft.

I was returning home. It had been a long day of looking for work. My entire body ached. I saw a street vendor with a broken cart on the road. I recognized the floor of his cart was broken and food had tumbled to the ground. He was sitting on the ground, sleeping against the crooked cart. I was thankful I had my tools with me. Maybe he would be willing trade me some scraps for repairing his cart.

“Sir!” I cried as I approached the man. With each step closer the picture became more focused.

“Sir?” I tested, praying my eyes were lying.

I knelt and shook his shoulder. “Good Sir?” I asked in a near whisper.

His head fell to the side and I noticed the enormous gash decorating his neck. He was sliced from ear to ear. Blood soaked his shirt, and I recoiled at the discovery of his blood on my hand. He was dead. There would be no work for me today.

Immediately I thought of Marae and Asher at home. The goods here would last months. Knowing just one loaf of bread would buy my family almost a week, I knew what I had to do to save them. I gauged my surroundings. I reached into the cart and took a loaf of bread.

Suddenly the thundering of hooves froze me in place. Three men on horseback came over a small rise in the road. “Halt! Thief!” one of the King’s guards called to me. I immediately dropped the loaf. The bread bounced on the hard ground. My bloody palm print was undeniable on its surface.

My mind began to race knowing the situation looked much worse than what it was. “Please. Your Royal Guards. My family is hungry.” I quickly dropped to my knees and raised my hands in submission. “I was only trying to keep my wife and son from dying. I took this….”

“Looks like more than just petty thievery to me,” he declared while pointing to the dead merchant. “Planning on taking the cart for yourself, Murderer?”

“Caught him red-handed at that.”

“No. I…”

The guard closest to the body used his foot to kick over the dead man. “And tried to hide that he was stealing from the King, no less.” The body toppled to the side and revealed the King’s insignia painted on the side of the cart.

“This isn’t what it appears…”

“You know what happens to murderers and thieves who steal from the King?”

Unfortunately, I did.

I was bound and carted to the city proper. I was tossed into a tiny cell with another thief after being stripped and beaten. The verbal assaults never ceased. Even the taunting jailer offered no comfort. “Maybe you two will be famous. You’re being crucified with royalty tomorrow. Maybe he’ll name you his Princes.”

I watched my last sunrise from behind the bars of my prison. I heard the crowds outside who had gathered to watch me and my fellow prisoners meet our fates. I smelled the iron of dried blood in my nose. I felt the sting on my back from last night’s beating. Maybe this was a better fate. Better than wasting away. Better than dying from hunger.

My cross was placed at the right hand of the King of the Jews.

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KendallJaye Collard gets her kicks above the waistline, Sunshine. Wine drinker, Cancer Survivor, and protected by rocksalt. Spread the love with her at @KJCollard.

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KendallJaye Collard Week 171: From High Prairie To Hellshot

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KendallJaye Collard’s Picture Choice: Both

Title: From High Prairie To Hellshot

It had been quite a while since I’d felt so alive. This bounty kept me tracking for nearly two weeks. It was my first real challenge in years. Was I Legend? Myth? Tall Tale? People wondered where I came from. People speculated about my past. People argued if I was a boy or a girl. Truth is it didn’t much matter. I was known as ‘Kid’ Harper. And I was the best in the business.

When Marguerite contacted me to find the husband that abandoned her and the seven children, I’d nearly turned her down. Cases like this usually ended up with some drunk in a saloon elbow deep in whores and liquor too embarrassed to come home. But when Marguerite showed me a picture of her husband, I knew that good fortune had finally smiled on me.

The eyes that stared from the photo took me back to when I was eight. Father and I were at the pond half mile from home. We’d been fishing all afternoon. The angry shotgun blast rang out in the otherwise peaceful day. Father and I abandoned everything and ran like hell to get home. We arrived to find Mother dead on the plank floor of our homestead and a bandit rummaging through everything we owned in hopes of finding treasure. Being caught red-handed, the thief sought to make a clean get away. He shot Father in the chest. His mark was off when he fired at me, and the bullet went clean through my shoulder. I fell to the ground and was as still as possible. He didn’t even check to see if he had killed me. Ten seconds later he was on his horse. I raised my head only when the pounding of hooves had stopped. I was an orphan.

The bandit had scarves over his mouth and neck, but his eyes were clear as day. Ice blue and full of hate. Impossible to forget. And now, fourteen years later, they were within the reach of justice. My justice.

I told Marguerite I’d hunt her husband. She promised money upon his return. I declined. She didn’t know I wouldn’t be bringing him home. I left her residence with renewed spirit and a smile hidden by years of stoic practice.

Two weeks’ tracking led me to Hellshot, Texas. Perched on my horse on the out skirts of town, I planned my ambush. The sun was setting, and the dark clouds rolling in promised a storm. I promised a storm of my own. I stared down Main Street and saw the sign for the hotel swing in the increasing wind. I knew he was there. My hand went without thought to the holster under my left arm and rested on the mother of pearl grip of my revolver.

Now or never.

I spurred my mare to action.

If I fell, I would make sure to take Blue Eyes with me.

Tonight would be another tale for the storytellers. Maybe the greatest of them all

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KendallJaye Collard gets her kicks above the waistline, Sunshine. Wine drinker, Cancer Survivor, and protected by rocksalt. Spread the love with her at @KJCollard.

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KendallJaye Collard Week 167: Death of the Small Town

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KendallJaye Collard’s Picture Choice: Both

Title: Death of the Small Town

What’ll ya have, darlin’?”

I must have asked it a million times. Spent my entire life working this diner in this piece of trash town. Maybe served up five generations of folk by now. Of course, back then when I started here I was only thirteen. Everyone seemed so old to me. The regulars coming in for morning coffee. The middle agers bringing their families for dinner. I was convinced back then that I’d get out. You’re just so damn dumb when you’re thirteen.

Those folk and most their kids are dead now. Hell, I’m 83 and I don’t know how I’m still here.

“What’ll ya have, darlin’?”

And now it’s mostly old farming families tied to land that stop in on weekends for a meal they don’t have to cook. Young kids hang out in the parking lot and ride their skateboards and text each other from four foot away. Even the new wind turbines they put up on the edge of town act like sentinels for progress when farmers have been using windmills for ages.

It’s new, but it’s not.

It’s just different packaging.

“What’ll ya have, darlin’?”

Not as many travelers through here as much since the highway bypass goes around town now. Sometimes people pull off for gasoline, but they never stay. And why would they?

The door chimes just rang. A new young face on the way to the big city in his fancy truck. I hurry up and straighten my plates of homemade pie. The kid smiles until he sees my old, beaten face. I know what he’s thinking: Sad, old lady.

But I put on my best smile and head over to his booth.

“So, what’ll ya have, darlin’?”

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KendallJaye Collard gets her kicks above the waistline, Sunshine. Wine drinker, Cancer Survivor, and protected by rocksalt. Spread the love with her at @KJCollard.

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KendallJaye Collard Week 165: The Last to Hope

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KendallJaye Collard’s Picture Choice: One

Title: The Last to Hope

“C’mon Jeep. I need your help, buddy. We ain’t gonna make it. I need your arms, Jeep. We gotta keep going.”

I’d already been giving him encouragement for hours.

The earthquake shook our island. It destroyed everyone’s homes. It had taken Jeep’s wife and son. It had taken my wife and two daughters. It stole entire families. It wiped out our way of life.

And now here we were, Jeep and I, trying to outrun the tsunami crash and the torrential rain that had followed. We’d been paddling for five hours. I knew if we could just get to the mainland we’d be ok.

We should have hit the mainland hours ago.

Night was about thirty minutes away.

I didn’t want to admit we were screwed.

“Jeep. Don’t you stop now. I can see the coastline.”

It was a total lie.

But I was afraid of dying.

“Jeep. Talk to me Jeep.”

Nothing.

I stopped paddling just long enough to turn. I could see Jeep slumped forward in the battered and waterlogged fishing boat.

Jeep was gone. Flown with his family to the After.

“Fuck, Jeep.”

I was alone.

I threw my paddle into the angry water.

I shimmied myself from the now worthless boat.

I began to swim.

And I prayed.

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KendallJaye Collard gets her kicks above the waistline, Sunshine. Wine drinker, Cancer Survivor, and protected by rocksalt. Spread the love with her at @KJCollard.

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KendallJaye Collard Week 163: The Dual Breed

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KendallJaye Collard’s Picture Choice: Both

Title: The Dual Breed

from the journal of Aubrey Heughan



If the preliminary testing is to be believed, tonight’s full moon will no longer bring the change. Even as I sit here at my desk, my hands are shaking at the thought of once again being normal. Being able to visit a beach that isn’t blackened by sunless skies. Being able to taste food. Being able to feel the burn in my lungs from sprinting. So many things I miss.

When the Wolf and Pyre started their battle on my doorstep, I had no idea what was to come. One howling and vicious. One bloodthirsty and enraged. I opened my door to discover the source of the commotion only to be the target of them both. With a creature drawing blood from each side of my neck, I was instantly changed into something else. Suffering the traits of each. All of the strengths. All of the weaknesses. And somehow the perfect amalgamation of both supernatural creatures.

When the Pyre had had his fill, he turned to flee. The Wolf gave chase. I was left on my front step bleeding to death. The last thing I remember from that night was staring at the full of the moon as my eyes glazed over from death.

I woke in a lavender field at sunrise with the scorch of the sun. Naked, I fled for cover in a nearby cave. I had no memory of how I came to be that field. But the metallic taste of blood filled in more detail that I cared to remember. I waited until sunset to head back to my cottage.

I was told all the stories of folklore from my mother. I thought they were meant to frighten children into good behavior. Now I knew they were true. My father had been a skilled surgeon before war called him away. When he came home, he gave me all of his tools and jumped from The Crags to his death. Mother followed him three years later. I used her stories and his tools to start crafting a way to return to human immediately.

And so it seemed that my imperfect parents were indeed perfectly preparing me for a future I could never have predicted.

Three years of changing with moons to drink blood.

No more.

I’ve administered the injection. My left arm feels like it’s filled with bees. The sensation is starting to cross into my chest.

It’s hard to concentrate.

I hope [ILLEGIBLE] tomorrow.

I am afraid.

I am alone.

I pray no one reads [ILLEGIBLE TO END]

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KendallJaye Collard gets her kicks above the waistline, Sunshine. Wine drinker, Cancer Survivor, and protected by rocksalt. Spread the love with her at @KJCollard.

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KendallJaye Collard Week 159: While the Jukebox Played

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KendallJaye Collard’s Picture Choice: Both

Title: While the Jukebox Played

I’d been working vice for years. This was going to be the case that scored me my shield.

Six months chasing down The Orchid. She’d evaded me this long, but a tip from a CI scored me the chance to arrange a meet. I was in the middle of the street when she’d pinged me. My phone lit up like a firecracker.

“Lose the sweatshirt and meet me at The Juke in 15.”

I looked around cautiously. She clearly had eyes on me. The crowded street made it impossible to tell who her minion was.

I dropped my eyes back to my phone to check the time. I knew seedy nightclub was only a ten minute walk. I tucked my phone back in my pocket and walked as if I didn’t have a care in the world. My heart was racing.

The adrenaline had the better of me, though, and I made the walk in eight minutes. I looked up and down the street. No cars. No pedestrians. Completely eerie.

I shed my sweatshirt and stuffed it into a nearby dumpster. I did a walk around the block to burn time and nervous energy. I was finally getting a meet with the Head Mistress of Gambling.

By the time I made it back to the entrance of The Juke, I met the 15 minute mark. I ran my hands over my hair to smooth it back from my face. I reached for the door latch with my thumb and pressed the release.

Smoke occupied the top third of the room and the prominent jukebox was blaring some kind of techno-new wave funk. The bar seemed filthy and empty.

“Hello, girl.”

The voice came from a dimly lit corner.

I mustered the courage to reply, “Hello. You must be The Orchid.”

“I am.”

I took three quick steps into the room.

I instantly realized my mistake.

The guns cocked from behind me.

This was going to be the case that scored me my shield.

I barely had time to register her beautiful face before the lackeys opened fire.

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KendallJaye Collard gets her kicks above the waistline, Sunshine. Wine drinker, Cancer Survivor, and protected by rocksalt. Spread the love with her at @KJCollard.

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KendallJaye Collard Week 158: The Graveyard

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KendallJaye Collard’s Picture Choice: 2

Title: The Graveyard

“Hurry up, Hitch! We’re almost there!” Blaze ran as fast as his legs would carry him. He had discovered this place on his last adventure and was eager to share it with his best friend.

“I’m trying, Blaze. You’re too fast!” Hitch hadn’t yet hit a growth spurt, so Blaze stood nearly a head taller. His legs burned and his chest heaved as he tried to keep up with his friend. The permanent crook in his knee didn’t help things either. He looked ahead to see how far his red-headed friend had gotten ahead of him. Blaze was already breaking around the corner. Hitch struggled to turn the corner, but when he did, the sight was amazing. It was everything Blaze had described.

Abandoned ancient vehicles. Cars from the 1930’s and 40’s lined up one after one like train cars for as far as he could see. They were rusty and old. And they were beautiful. The metallic smell of oxidation and daisies overwhelmed his brain and his heart. It was so stunning, Hitch nearly cried. Old pick up trucks missing their beds. Coupes with rumble seats. Hitch had never seen anything like it. Only in picture pages did he see glimpses of the past.

“See! I told you. It’s a car graveyard. It’s like they drove here to die. I bet your great-great-great-great-great grandpa had one of these!”

“But Blaze, isn’t it weird that there isn’t anything newer here? I mean...no 1980’s. No 2015’s. No 2035’s. Isn’t that weird to you?”

“Naw, man! Let’s go! Dibs on the rusty sedan over there!” And with his claim made, Blaze sprinted toward his car.

Something felt very wrong about this place. Hitch was no dummy.

Blaze ran to his car and threw open the door. It relented with a screeching groan.

“Blaze, I don’t think…”

“C’mon Hitch! I’m driving!”

“...this is such a good…”

Blaze slammed the door shut. Everything went hauntingly silent.

“...idea.”

Hitch did his best to swallow the fear creeping up his gut like Boston ivy. He cautiously walked to the car Blaze had climbed into. “Blaze?” he tested cautiously. “Blaze, get outta there. We gotta make dinner.”

Complete silence.

The car was empty.

Blaze had vanished.

Hitch wept and ran for home.

The graveyard smiled.

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KendallJaye Collard gets her kicks above the waistline, Sunshine. Wine drinker, Cancer Survivor, and protected by rocksalt. Spread the love with her at @KJCollard.

#DailyPicspiration