Wicca’s Originals @ Kinky // December 28th – January 23rd
The metal heels of her boots clicked loudly as Ivy walked the long length of the runway. She always liked to walk it prior to a show when the room was quiet and empty.
This was a holy place to Ivy. The long path where she could strut with an attitude that few true professionals possessed. Ivy had a natural grace that drew the eye of everyone in the audience. It wasn’t vanity, but fact. It’s why she earned the big money.
However, for Ivy, it wasn’t about fame or money or ego. It was a sense of belonging. The runway was her home: her emotional and spiritual center.
At the end, Ivy took a slow, languid spin before she closed her eyes. She could feel the energy already, even when she was alone. Her body vibrated with excitement. In a few short hours the room would be filled to capacity and Ivy’s entrance was highly anticipated.
When showtime arrived, Ivy was dressed for success. Hair and make-up was perfect as always and she wore her favorite boots for good luck. The music swelled and Ivy threw the curtains wide as she made her entrance. The applause was deafening as Ivy made her way down the lit runway.
At the end she made a graceful leap and wrapped an arm and a leg around the metal pole securely bolted to the floor and ceiling. The crowd roared and the boisterous shouts and whistles guaranteed her big tips.
She was English Ivy, the best pole dancer in Philly.
Wicca’s Originals @ The Warehouse Sale // December 23rd – January 18th
Black Swan
My friends call me Ash.
That is, if I had any friends. No friends. No family. No one gives a damn. That’s what happens when you grow in foster homes. You become invisible.
At age eighteen, you graduate out of the system and onto the streets. Left out in the cold. Survival of the fittest. Eat or be eaten. Nothing prepares you for becoming a Ghost.
Everyone treated me like I was inviable, so I became invisible. I blended into the shadows, into the darkness. When I’m hungry, I eat. When I am tired, I find a warm, safe shelter. It’s not that difficult if your smart and invisible.
Sometimes my methods are not quite acceptable in the eyes of the law. but I never take from people who cannot afford to lose it. The innocent have nothing to fear from me.
It’s the greedy bastards that evicts the poor and elderly from their homes so they can build overpriced luxury condos. The ones that pay low wages, then terminate employees one month before retirement to save from paying a pension.
No one sees me coming for them. No one knows I was there. I am a ghost to them. I stay hidden in the shadows while I take their most cherished possessions – their secrets. People pay well for secrets.
It is night and I weave in and out of the shadows now, gliding smoothly through the darkness, as I approach my next target. He does not hear me. He does not see me. He doesn’t know what is about to happen.
He sleeps as I stand silently over him; so unsuspecting. I lean down and in less than sixty seconds my task is complete. Once again, I am swallowed by the night.
When the old man awakes, he will find sandwiches and fruit beside him, along with a new, warm blanket covering his shivering body.
I am the night. I am the shadow. I am the ghost.
They call me Black Swan.
Wicca’s Originals @ SL Holiday Shop & Hop // December 8th – January 2nd
Pandoras Box
Pandora’s Box There is something seriously wrong with me!
Normal people do not spend hours upon hours every weekend shifting through flea markets and antique stores looking for jewelry to re-purpose. But me? It’s a compulsion. An obsession.
Not only is it my passion, but its how I make a living. Because God only knows, waiting tables 10 hours a day doesn’t keep a girl in the essentials like food and heat. So I need to supplement my income.
When other girls my age are out partying or glued to their boyfriend-of-the-week, I am hunched over trays and boxes of discarded jewelry, looking for buried treasure. Rather than get wasted every night at the clubs, I create unique designs from other people’s rejects.
Over time, when the seller’s see me coming, they pull out boxes and containers they have set aside just for me. At one booth they even scribbled ‘Pandora’s Box’ on the carton. It was meant as a joke, a nod to the Greek mythology of the infamous box that contained all of mankind’s evils and temptations. Thanks again Mom for the name. I may be a joke to them, and, yes, I know that’s how they see me, but where they see junk, I see beauty. I deconstruct earrings here, a necklace there. Rings, pendants bracelets – all become fodder for my imagination. Shoe boxes are filled chains, gems, lumps of gold and silver. All waiting for a new life.
So every free moment I can spare is spent at my work table in my tiny apartment, with my tools and soldering gun, repurposing what everyone refers to as ‘junk’ jewelry. When I am finished, a one-of-a-kind piece is born.
They must look pretty good, because a customer at the restaurant raved over the craftsmanship when I told her I made the ear piercings I had on that day. She gave me her business card and told me if I can provide one hundred quality pieces by the end of the month, she will sell them in her boutique.
That was on the 19th of the month. No pressure there. So for the passed eleven days I have worked my fingers to the bone, literally. Cuts, nicks and burns decorate my hands, but I am finished. Today’s the day I take everything to the boutique and set up the special display case she cleared out just for my jewelry.
With each piece carefully wrapped and packed in a plastic container, I take the subway downtown. For a few minutes I stand across the street just staring at the upscale shop, wondering what the hell I have gotten myself into now. There is something seriously wrong with me.
Tina sees me through the window and waves me in with a smile. She oohs and aahs as I unwrap each necklace, bracelet, broach and earring set I created. We spend the next hour arranging each piece onto velvet trays and display mannequins. Finished, I step back and cannot help the smile on my face, despite the butterflies’ dive bombing my stomach.
I thought this day would never come, but there it is. My creations, all my hard work, on display for all to see and purchase. No way could this day get any better. Until …
The bell over the door rings to life and two very stylishly dressed women enter, chatting endlessly about some exclusive party in two days. Tina greets them warmly, so I assume they are returning customers. I panic when one woman stops, freezes before the newly stocked display case and falls silent. Worried, her companion turns and she, too, is stunned to silence.
My heart lodges in my throat and I am ready to run for my life, but I am a deer caught in headlights. I wait for the laughter, the scorn, the inevitable dissection of my soul. But in the next heartbeat chaos fills the silence as the two women explode in a shopping frenzy.
Soon they were selecting clothing to go with the jewelry – MY jewelry. I look like a cartoon character with my jaw hanging open and my eyes bugging out. These cultured, sophisticated women are shopping to showcase MY jewelry. I sneak a peek at Tina and she gives me a knowing smile as she helps makes suggestions from the high end clothing she sells.
Soon, nearly a third of the inventory I brought to the boutique is purchased and the women are happily chatting about how everyone will be green with envy when they show off their new jewelry. No way could this day get any better. Until …
Tina brings out dark red tissue to carefully wrap the jewelry, along with several white boxes. On the lid of each box, beautifully scripted in the same dark red, are two words.
Pandora’s Box.
Wicca’s Originals @ Kinky // November 28th – December 23rd
Beneath the Skin
The subway train sways roughly, but everyone took it in stride. The car was full, every seat occupied. No one made eye contact, but she felt the disapproving and judgmental stares, just the same.
Sharira wrapped her arm around a metal pole to balance against the jerks and lurches as the train sped along the tracks. She was used to people looking down their noses at her. All her life Sharira was seen as … different. You never really get used to it, but just learn to live with it. She gave up caring what people thought about her a long, long time ago.
So what if her hair was dyed pitch black and she wore heavy black eyeliner and black lipstick. Her wardrobe consisted of black, black and, well, black. Yes, she had tattoos; each and every one represented a deep and profound meaning in her life. And the piercings, mostly on her head, but also a few discreetly hidden that would never see the light of day outside the privacy of her tiny efficiency apartment.
She ran the tip of her finger over the newest addition; a spiked ear cuff with a pierced ring and barbell, both connected with fine, delicate chains. The guy was an artist and worked out of the hole-in-the-wall tattoo shop where she got all her ink.
Slowing as it approached the next station; the train came to a shuddering stop. Passengers surged to the exit and Sharira rode the wave like an experienced surfer rode a ten foot curl. Sometimes you just have to go with the flow.
In a spaghetti string tank top, denim skirt and heavy combat boots (all black, of course), summer in the city is oppressive. The ten block hike to work from the station doesn’t help, but Sharira always arrives at work an hour early. Today is no exception as she bounds up the concrete steps and pulls open the heavy door.
It’s early, but there are a few people milling around the common area. They call her name and wave as if they haven’t seen her in years, even though she just left them yesterday evening. She stows her purse away in a locker and grabs her coat before she pays her first visit
She quietly pushes the door open to peek inside and finds Mrs. Gerhardt awake, staring out the window; her eyes shiny with unshed tears. Sharira tiptoes quietly inside and places a small wooden box on the small table that hovers over the elderly woman’s hospital bed. A gentle lift of the delicate lid and the soft melody of Edelweiss pings from the small music box.
The old woman’s tears flow freely now, but a soft smile graces her wrinkled face as sweet memories temporarily wash away the constant pain. No words are needed between them as Sharira holds a frail hand and strokes the woman’s hair in a slow, comforting motion.
It won’t be long now. The patients that come to this hospice don’t have long – days, maybe a week or two, but never more. Treatments are over. Medication exists only to ease the pain. The only thing left is comfort and compassion. Mrs. Gerhardt’s eyes drift closed as she falls into a light sleep, the soft smile still on her face.
Just as quietly as she came, Sharira slipped from the room to let the woman rest. She already planned to stay the night at the hospice. Mrs. Gerhardt would not see another sunrise and Sharira didn’t want her to be alone at the end.
In the hallway, Sharira slipped into her white coat as she walks purposely toward the center station. The nurses on duty have all the charts and updates ready, along with Sharira’s morning dose of caffeine. They know her so well. The people here, staff and patients, look past her outward appearance and see only the person beneath.
After a healthy sip of the strong brew, Dr. Sharira Merlin is ready to start rounds
Wicca’s Originals @ The Warehouse Sale // November 23rd – December 18th
Reality bites!
I remember the Zombie apocalypse movies and televisions shows from Before. Those were nothing compared to life After. But I always knew Hollywood was full of shit.
Some might call me psycho survivalist or a fanatic, but in the end I am alive and they are all dead. Ten years in the army, in the worst conditions possible, prepared me for this. The After has been a long time coming and I made damn sure I was ready for it.
The only thing I failed at was protecting my family. Lost Mom during my second tour in Afghanistan, but Pop was still going strong raising my kid sister and brother in Brooklyn. During one of my leaves, I built a damn good bomb shelter in the basement of the family home. Before I shipped out again I made sure it was well stocked with provisions.
The night the world went to Hell, I was video chatting with Pop and the twins, who had just graduated from high school. They were all so damn happy. All I needed was a few more weeks and the bunker would have been ready for all of us. Instead, the last I saw of them was their smiling faces huddled in front of Pop’s computer before the flash that knocked out everything.
Took me months to get back to the city. I carried the hope that Pop managed to get them down to the basement and into the bunker before the worst happened. That hope turned to ash, much like my childhood home when I finally arrived. I dug through the remains until I found the door to the bunker and opened it with a combination. No one made it inside.
So I packed up all the supplies I had stocked there and started back to my remote bunker, just me and Whiskey; the mongrel mutt I rescued from an animal shelter when he was a puppy. Half canine, half bear, but one hell of a guard dog. Quiet as hell, too, for a dog the size of a small pony.
It will be sunrise soon and it’s suicide to travel during the day; too easy to be seen. My boat is filled with the supplies from the family house and I don’t dare risk being seen during the day. I know a place in the city I can hide the boat and wait out the daylight. Whiskey will alert me to anyone approaching.
The old warehouse had completely collapsed, but otherwise looked sturdy. Over time the debris had settled and left pockets where a body or even a dog could squeeze in and find shelter. But as we approached, Whiskey’s ears perked and he stopped and stared at a tiny dark spot. I moved in cautiously and found a small form hiding in the recesses.
Her thin, burned face and bloody hands did not compare to the fear in her eyes. Before I could offer any assurance of safety, Whiskey jumped ahead of me and stood protectively over her small frame. Hackles raised and teeth bared, Whiskey alerted me to the imminent danger. With a hand gesture order to stay and guard, I quietly covered the small cubby hole with debris and moved to high ground where I could see what or who was coming.
Soon, two men came into view dragging a body between them. They striped the body clean of every piece of clothing then shoved it off the end of the dock. Then they began to fight amongst themselves for what they had just scavenged. One man grabbed a loose board and began to beat his companion. The other, disoriented between blows, still managed to pull out a makeshift weapon and jammed it into his companion’s stomach. Both men fell to the ground and after an eerie silence, neither man moved.
They were both dead. I had seen enough of it in Afghanistan to know what it looks, smells and sounds like. Quietly, I left my vantage point to return to women’s hiding spot and slipped inside my hastily built shelter. She sat huddled close to Whiskey with fists full of his fur and her face buried into the dog’s massive chest.
Since the men were only a few yards away, she had to have heard and seen everything. I slipped inside the shelter, but stayed as far away from the terrified woman as I could. I rummaged through my knapsack and pulled out a couple bottles of water I retrieved from Pop’s house and a few protein bars. Carefully, so not to startle her, I slid a bottle and bar toward her with my foot.
On a metal plate, I broke apart a second bar and held it out for Whiskey. The food was gone in seconds. I emptied half my water bottle onto the plate for my dog while the girl remained frozen by the canine’s side. Once Whiskey was taken care of, I made short order of my own meager breakfast, careful not to look at the woman directly.
I did see her slowly reach for the food and water and clutch them to her chest. She drew up into a tighter ball, keeping Whiskey between her and me. That was fine. I could not blame her. But when she whimpered in pain trying to open the bottle of water, that nearly broke me. Her hands were so torn up she could not manage the simple act.
I held out my hand and waited. Whiskey took that moment to stretch out and bump my hand with his head. With a smile, I obliged my faithful friend with a scratch behind the ears. This is one smart dog, because by showing me his trust, he showed the woman she could trust me as well.
Cautiously, a trembling hand passed over the water bottle. I took the bottle and unscrewed the cap enough so she could manage the rest herself. She snatched it back and took what looked like a couple painful swallows. How long had it been since she had water?
She tore at the bar with her teeth and managed to tear it open enough to get at the food inside. Damn, I thought Whiskey ate fast. Between bites and gulps she stared at me warily, expecting me to attack at any second. Can’t blame her for that either.
Using my knapsack as a pillow, I rested as best I could, but always conscious of my environment. Whiskey laid his head over his massive paws and went to sleep. The woman struggled to stay awake, but finally exhaustion won out and she fell into a deep slumber against the dog’s back.
By the time she woke up I had torn my tee shirt into bandages and cleaned and dressed her hands. Ointment from my kit was carefully applied to the burns on her face. This is all I dared to do for now. I couldn’t risk her waking and running. When darkness fell, I left her with Whiskey on guard and another bottle of water while I scouted the area.
When I returned, she was staring at her hands in disbelief as her body shook and jerked in an odd way. It took me a moment to realize she was crying. No tears fell, clearly too dehydrated to expend the dampness from her eyes.
I gathered my things and silently signaled fo Whiskey to follow. The dog nudged the women’s arm with his nose before he rose and followed me from the shelter. I waited outside until I saw her inch forward the opening to peer out at me. An outstretched hand was my silent offer, for I dare not risk even a word of comfort with danger still around us.
Wide and fearful eyes stared at my hand for a long time before her eyes shifted to my bare chest. The night was still hot, so I was not uncomfortable without my shirt. I had my durable pants and boots that never let me down. Her oversized shirt was torn and dirty, but it was long enough to protect her.
I was patient. The decision was hers to remain or come with me. We were both alone in this new world. I am not going to lie. I wanted human companionship. Female companionship. But I wasn’t going to take anything that was not offered.
I looked out at the once great city and knew it was the last time I would ever see it. Life Before is just a memory. I looked down when I felt her hand slip into mine. She slowly stood and stared up at me. The fear was still there, but not directed at me, but for the future before us.
This was a new and strange world for both of us. I offered her a reassuring smile as I led her to the awaiting boat.
One step at a time.
– The End –
Sizes: Maitreya, Legacy[F], Legacy[M], Gianni, Jake
(one full version and one coat-cut included – matches the Scavenger Coat)
HUD: 10 Colors & Metals
Event Location: The Warehouse Sale // November 2021
Wicca’s Originals @ Salvage Station // November 20th – December 20th
The world has ended. There was once a Before. Now it is just After.
At least, the world we knew. When food was a matter of walking into a store or pulling up to a drive through window. When water and power was piped into your homes and the Internet was a source of communication and entertainment. It’s all gone now.
The radiation left the ground barren and broken. Food now comes from the only other survivors of the apocalypse – the cockroaches. Clean water doesn’t exist – water barely exists. I am lucky to find water at all.
Supplies of any kind are long gone. The looters saw to that. What little I have I stole from the dead, including the shirt off a corpse’s back. My sneakers barely have any rubber sole left and my toes are already poking through ever growing holes. I am no better than a vulture picking bones clean. I am a scavenger…
Back in the time Before, I was beautiful. My skin had a peaches-and-cream glow and was soft as silk. Once long, golden blond hair crowned my head. I was carefree and happy. My parents had money and I lived a charmed and privileged life.
Now After, my face is scarred by radiation burns and my skin is so badly cracked that it’s bleeding. Only chopped and uneven brittle strands of hair peek out beneath a filthy cap. A plastic bag holds my few precious possessions.
Everyone i knew is dead. My parents and grandparents were all at some gala/fund raiser/charity event -whatever the cause of the month was, while I was in the underground parking garage where we lived. One minute I was getting out of my Mercedes and the next the building seemed to collapse around me. How I survived, I will never understand.
There is nowhere safe. It is too hot to move around by day, so I have to find a small hole or tiny space in a collapsed building to hide and sleep. I know what will happen if I am caught by one of the gangs. I know what they do to women. I know all too well.
Soon I will be ready to leave the city. It’s taken weeks to gather what I need and make my way to the docks. Better to take my chances in the wilderness than here among the other survivors who kill for no other reason than they can. I learned to sail when I was young and can handle a sail boat on my own. If I can make it out of the city, I will head for the ocean and …
What was that noise? I clutch my meager belongs to my chest and draw up into a tight ball. If I stay small and quiet, maybe they won’t find me. Just maybe i can survive another day. Just maybe … <gasp>
“WICCA!” I slam the door behind me as I walk into Wicca and Red’s studio. Sometimes I don’t know whether to laugh or cry at their antics.
“Wicca, you naughty girl,” I scold as I take the sharp instruments out of her hands. “Look at the mess you made. Blood all over your brand new boots.”
“How many times have I told you not to play with knives,” I huff as I drop the soiled tools into the sink.
“Just look at what you did to Red,” I sigh as I gather up his limbs, scattered all across the room. “Now I have to clean this place up, again and stitch Red back together, again! What am I going to do with you, young lady.”
“All out of surgical thread,” I mutter to myself as I search the dwindling medical supplies. “What will I use to put Red back together again?”
That is when I spot stapler on the desk. “Staples will work in a pinch.”
“Don’t worry, Red. This won’t hurt,” I say with an evil smile on my face, ” … much.”
Wicca’s Originals @ We♥RP // November 4th – November 28th
A gasp escapes as the first pin is inserted into my spine. Not from the pain, but the power.
I was not prepared for the heat that radiates though my body like the Sun. The essence of the elements of the earth converge inside me.
The Priestesses that form the circle around me chant their prayers to the Goddess. Tonight, I am to be anointed into their sect. I am to become a Guardian of the Earth.
The chanting intensifies as the second pin hovers over my back. The Iron Cross, a symbol used by the Crusaders of ancient lore, is plunged in slowly. Strength surges into every pore of my being.
I resist the urge to pull against the leather straps that hold me motionless to the stone altar. Should I move, even a centimeter, it would mean my death. My trust in the Goddess is undeniable.
The third pin, he Inverted Cross, instantly fills me with a peace and serenity I could never imagine. I feel my consciousness, my very soul, open to the universe. I feel unity with the Priestesses as they welcome me into the fold. I feel the love of the Goddess.
For a moment, there is no sound. Al of nature is silent as the Priestesses approach the altar. When the warmth of their hands touch my bare skin, the chanting returns, low and soft.
The fourth and final pin, the Pentagram, slides in slower than all the others. Focus. Clarity. Harmony. Everything in perfect balance. I see beyond light and dark. All four pins merge together into cohesion – elements, strength, peace and balance.
Wicca’s Originals @ Kinky // October 28th – November 23rd
I hear the ding of the elevator and the squeak of the janitor’s cart being loaded onto the car. What does it say when the cleaning staff is calling it a night before me?
Working late hours suck, but this one contract will put my company on the map. Just a few more weeks and all my hard work and long hours will pay off. At least, professionally.
My personal life is another story. Working late hours suck!
The ding of the elevator makes me look up from my computer. This late, no one should be here. I hear the click, click, click of heels coming down the long hallway that lead to my office and stop outside my door.
The knob turns and the door opens slowly. I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until I see my unexpected guest. Skye! We have dated now for six months. Once this is project is over, I planned to take the next step and ask her to move in with me. But since we haven’t seen each other in a couple weeks, because I practically live at the office, I am sure she is ready to break-up with me instead.
Skye doesn’t say a word as she closes and locks the door behind her. That is when I notice her clothing. So very un-Skye like. She’s wearing a short, belted leather coat that comes to the top of a sexy pair of leather thigh high boots. All the blood just left my head; well, the one on my shoulders.
A mischievous smile spread over Skye‘s face as she reached for the belt of her coat. In seconds, her coat was pooled on the floor at her feet. At the foot of those damned sexy thigh high boots. Those boots and NOTHING else.
“Since you are too busy to leave the office,” Skye says in a seductive voice as she walks over to my chair and straddles my lap. “I thought I would pay a house call.”
