Surrealities, Part III
By J. Dean
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About this ebook
From the mind of storyteller J. Dean comes the "Surrealities," short story series, a concept rooted in and inspired by weekly television serials such as The Twilight Zone, Night Gallery, and The Outer Limits, and classic radio serials such as Suspense, Dimension X, Lights Out, and other regular tales that take the imagination to the heights of exhilaration and the depths of fear.
In the short story "Sliver," a woman preparing for an illicit meeting encounters a distraction requiring more than just a little medical attention. "Charity work" tells the tale of a college professor who stumbles upon a startling discovery while attending a benefit dinner.
J. Dean
"Taking fantasy in a completely unique direction."This is what J. Dean intends to do with the Vein series. Instead of following the tried and true methods and paths of familiar fantasy mythos, he created an original world for an epic story. From his Michigan residence, he captures the fantasy world of the Vein (and other stories) and imprisons them upon paper, until the day when the words are set free by the imagination of those willing to read them. The Vein series is J. Dean's first venture into serious writing, and he hopes that you will join him on the twists and turns of this ride that is part excitement, part drama, part terror, and all adventure.
Read more from J. Dean
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Surrealities, Part III - J. Dean
Surrealities, Part 3
J. Dean
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2014, J. Dean
http://enterthevein.wordpress.com
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Sliver
Alissa had to hand it to herself: she could look smoking hot.
She stood there before the full length mirror, her black hair—dyed, of course—flowing down either side of her face and resting just above the revealing upper border of her equally shaded spaghetti-strap dress. The material of the outfit hugged her body, boasting about her curves in the right spots (Had to be sure about that... yep, a side view of herself in the mirror confirmed all of the right spots) and ending at mid-thigh, exposing bare legs freshly shaved and carefully sculpted through a finicky diet and hours of rigorous exercise (She had debated about whether or not to wear nylons for the better part of the morning, then finally decided against it). A pair of open-toed high heels coated with a beautiful ebony sheen finished the outfit, and after the application of a rich, green eyeshadow meant to bring out even more of her emerald irises, Alissa concluded that she could have competed with any woman half her age in a beauty contest—and won.
And this was without delving into what little underclothing she had donned for the occasion as well.
Behind her on the floor sat the open maw of her suitcase, its tongue composed of her jeans worn yesterday and hastily tossed into the opening while she retrieved her toiletries for the purpose of making herself presentable. Above the unmade hotel bed, the wall was filled with the ghostly glow emanating from the television set. The actual screen could not be seen in the mirror, but Alissa could tell that the disembodied voice was frantic in its urge for the viewer to quickly view the advertised product shown a million times over, as the infomercial was dwindling down to its final minutes, and the offer would be over. Forever.
Golly gee darn.
She pressed the lipstick to her mouth, a shade of bright and bloody red that brought out her lips, transforming them into fleshy rubies, organic gems that would catch the eye and tantalize the tongue, sweet to look upon; even sweeter to taste. At least, that's what she hoped would be conveyed. If there was any area on Alissa's face that brought her discontentment, it was her lips. Either they retained a thin, scrawny appearance in her estimation (this was without any lipstick, of course), or they turned into a hideous smear due to an overcompensation of applying coloring to them, and nightmarish impressions of Mick Jagger or Steven Tyler (or sometimes even the Joker—Nicholson's, though, not Ledger's) flooded her mind. Plenty of other people tried to assure her about this point, tried to convince her that her lips looked just fine, with or without additional color, but Alissa could never bring herself to agree with their assessments.
Still, at least right now, they looked like they had been tamed, looked like they were going to play nice, to help make her look good for the day, and she'd take that advantage for the moment. Anything to keep her from dwelling upon it too much and thus ruin her plans.
Because today was too good a day for anything bad to happen to Alissa. She was going to have fun.
A lot of fun.
**
Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, Alissa caught the last few seconds of the infomercial. The announcer's voice rose in a frantic crescendo as the counter in the lower right-hand corner of the screen ticked down the final minute. Call quickly!
he pleaded, Time's running out for you! This offer is not—repeat, NOT—available in stores! Act now before it's too la—
The sight and sound before her disappeared in concurrence with her thumb depressing the red power button on the remote. Too late for her.
She set the device down, glancing at the clock: almost high noon.