Wednesday Briefs: Trapped in Time #4

Happy Hump Day! Welcome to another edition of the Wednesday Briefs, brought to you by the purveyors of flash fiction, the Wednesday Briefers! This week the prompt was: use a safe word in your story. The alternate prompts were:  Use cherry, innocence and scarf or "I thought you were... but you really aren't, you're..." or use any Beatle title in your story or use: independence, master, and control, or make a 50 Shades of Grey reference.

 My story Trapped in Time continues this week with Myron having fallen into quicksand. Will Doll and Vittorio save him, or will they leave him to fate? Don't forget to check out the other Briefers, whose links follow my story!

Trapped in Time #4


How tempting to simply walk away as if we haven’t seen or heard a thing, and let Mother Nature do what she will with the despicable Myron.  How easy to look the other way. And who to bear witness to our perfectly understandable act of vengeance? None, for we are the only people here. And who would miss this loathsome creature were he to sink from view, lost in the morass into which he has fallen? Not a single soul.

So why are we not walking away from Myron Cornwinkle and washing our hands of the entire affair? Because my Vittorio is too honorable a man to do so. If it were up to me, I would do it in a heartbeat.

“My love,” Vittorio tries to reason with me because I’ve turned quite sullen at the idea of rescuing Myron. He peppers my face with small kisses, even as he takes some of the thickest vines he can find from those that strew the ground and braids them together to form a makeshift rope. “He brought us here, he must take us back.”

It’s hard to find fault with such impeccable logic.

“Very well,” I reluctantly agree, and I am rewarded with another kiss. It takes all of my self-control to keep from having carnal knowledge of Vittorio right then and there, but somehow I manage.

Meanwhile, Myron is screaming his fool head off, alternating between entreating us to help him and issuing dire threats of what will occur should we choose not to do so.

This soggy patch of ground is bigger than we’d thought at first, at least several meters across. It’s impossible to estimate its depth, but I’m going to hypothesize that it’s at least as deep as Myron is tall. I find myself curious—in a purely scientific way, of course—regarding the process by which Myron is sinking. For some reason, he takes my objectivity as deliberate, and viciously aimed at him.

“I thought you were stupid, but you really aren’t, you’re an imbecile,” he raves at me, which is earning him not the slightest measure of my respect, rather it gains him only my enmity. As well as the wrath of Vittorio, who mutters under his breath as he prepares to heave the makeshift lifeline across the swampy mess and into Myron’s grasp.

Myron is imbedded up to his hips and his screams only grow louder as his fear of dying grows.

“Please do not yell,” Vittorio entreats Myron. “And do not flail so much. The more you struggle, the faster you will sink.”

This cautionary statement only serves to induce Myron to yell all the more louder, thrashing about as if he’s trying to do the jitterbug.

Vittorio shakes his head and tosses the vine. Myron makes no attempt to catch it and it falls flat against the surface of the quicksand with a loud schlurp.

“Are you stupid?” I scream. “Grab the damn thing!”

“I… I was afraid to move. He told me I’d sink if I did.”

“I said do not flail,” Vittorio corrects him.  “I did not say don’t try to catch it.” He pulls on the vine and draws it back to him. “Catch it this time,” he cautions Myron. He fastens the rope into a loop which he swings over his head and for just a moment while he is silhouetted against the fading evening sun he reminds me of the hero of a Tom Mix movie we watched together once while at our place of employment, and my heart pounds faster at the sight. Vittorio is my very own cowboy, and such a sexy one he is, too. He tosses the “rope” straight at Myron who at least has the common sense to grab it this time and hold on for dear life.

“Doll, stand in front of me, please, and pull.”

Why should I, is my first thought, but since it’s my lover asking, I’ll do as he requests, albeit not with very good grace. I grumble beneath my breath, but I understand why he has placed me between him and Myron—because Vittorio is stronger than I am, and thus would serve as a better anchor than I would.

Myron is whimpering now, and I can see glistening tears on both cheeks. He has given up on swearing—or speaking of any kind—and I can see that he has sunk to about the level of his elbows. I guess we really need to hurry or we’ll be trapped here—wherever here might be.

I plant my feet into the rich soil, gripping the vine with both hands. I know Vittorio is just behind me, doing the same.

“Ready, Doll?”

“I’m ready, Vittorio.”

“On the count of three, then, si? Uno… due… tre…”

Even as the sound of the last number falls away, we both begin to pull with all our strength. Myron has gone into full-fledge panic now, and he is buried almost to his shoulders, his pathetic cries rending the air. I want to slap him, hard, until he closes his mouth; remind him that it is his own fault that we are in this predicament. But I behave.

The vine is sharper than it looks; I feel it slicing into my palm. I grit my teeth and never let on that it has drawn blood. That can be taken care of later.

Just when I think we are on a fool’s errand, I notice that more of Myron is visible now; Vittorio sees it as well.  “Harder, Doll!’ Vittorio encourages me, and I double my efforts, feeling that we are in a demented tug of war with a madman.

Our efforts are finally rewarded by the emergence of one slimy and very unhappy Myron. He collapses into a heap at Vittorio’s feet. I quickly drop the vine and resist the temptation to wrap it around Myron’s fool neck. Vittorio gathers me close to him.

“Now take us home, Myron,” he commands.

to be continued

Now see what the other Briefers are up to!

AJ Jarrett   m/m

MA Church    m/m

Sara York     m/m

Michael Mandrake   m/m

Nephylim     m/m

Tali      m/m

Until next time, take care!

♥ Julie