Lisa Geiger
Stories (4/0)
The World's Misconception
I knew the impact from the torpedo fired by the German U-Boat would be coming, and yet the adrenaline still rushed through my fingers. I looked down. My hands weren’t shaking, but I thought they would be once my body hit the freezing water. It would all be worth it when I presented the book to my government: the Germans that would rule the world. This would pay my debt to them. Charles Dickens owned THIS copy of A Christmas Carol. He put notes in it! And it was tucked inside my jacket in a waterproof bag. All I had to do was get off the ship. Chaos reigned like a psychotic monarchy in Egypt. I laughed because I was thinking of the Ptolemy’s as I was on a doomed ship. The creaking started as the hull split. It was time to bail. I scrambled to put on my life vest and look as disoriented as the other screaming passengers. Brits and Americans shouted English in accents that clashed like symbols in my ears. I dove overboard, keeping my hands, which were now shaking, on the priceless book in my jacket. The world would think it sank with the Lusitania.
By Lisa Geigerabout a year ago in Fiction
Lessons on Love
”I am a rock, I am an island.” I identified with Simon and Garfunkel’s lyrics so thoroughly that I believed my poetry and my books were all I needed. But then you swam my channel and invaded my island. Together we tore down my fortress and built a chateau. You made me remember that passion and excitement are real, not just words in my memory. I’ve traded my shroud of snow for one of burial. Thank you, Zaroff. You taught me that love isn’t the most dangerous game you can play. Welcome to my Ship-Trap.
By Lisa Geigerabout a year ago in Fiction
Time for Revenge
Trigger Warning: DV Tied up and naked on the bed, Lucia pulls at her restraints gently to see if there is any give. Her ankles and wrists are already rubbed raw by the nylon and Velcro cutting into them for hours. A strand of her golden hair slides off her forehead and tickles her nose. Shaking her head is one of the only movements she can manage in her exhausted state. For the last two hours he ravaged her body, slowly using her for his sick fantasies. She knows that begging and crying only make him more excited, so she holds back as much as she can. But she can’t help writhing under the hot wax, as droplets hit her bare skin, turning the porcelain color to a deep red. And she stopped wanting to know what he is shoving inside of her a few days ago. Not knowing is better. Her ribs ache where his weight was centered as he forced himself inside of her. She heard a crack as he bounced up and down, and she had to stifle the scream that crawled up her throat. Today is no different than other days, Lucia. You’re still alive. Let’s set the pain aside, travel to that safe spot in your mind: the one he has no access to. There you go. Breathe. Breathe.
By Lisa Geigerabout a year ago in Horror