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There Is No End

There Is No End

By EmyNaso

There Is No End
Short Flash Story
By Emy Naso.

High summer softened the raw, stark edges of the coastal plans. The holidaymakers were increasingly seen along the sandy dunes from Breyton to Krestingham. They came, they stared and then moved on. It was strangely beautiful to their eyes but also unnerving to folk who talked about being alone and when they encountered nature slid back to the comforts of modern conveniences. Only the bird watchers and itinerant twitchers totally embraced the hidden charms and fascinations of this secret country.
This awakening world passed by the two remaining inhabitants at Dunes Farm. Alun and Serene didn’t venture beyond the house and yard any more.
Alun thought of Izena and Katrina but didn’t return. When the mistress entered the summerhouse pleasure room, he and Izena had been in the warm embrace of fellatio. Their whole session had been filmed and Katrina instructed them to sit with her on the bed and view the video. At the end, she’d put a gold medallion around Izena’s neck and welcomed her as the victor. Lewis was banished from her presence and told never to return.
When Serene and Alun first discovered passion, they would have hailed idle solitude as a lover’s paradise. Now they were free from disapproving eyes and menial tasks, they wandered around in a dazed bewilderment not having a purpose beyond their introspective obsession. Three days after Jessica’s departure, the pots, pans and plates filled the sink, sandy dust needed sweeping from the floor and eggs in the chicken coop waited to be collected.
Their hold on reality was through their sex. It became a game of invention. Days of domination would belong to one or the other to think of new variations, locations and obsessions. Serene was by far the more imaginative and Lewis was content to persuade her that the discovery of bondage was her idea. She became a natural dominatrix -- perhaps it was the Sorrell genes -- and when she’d devised a particular kinky and weird game he told her he was willing for her to be in charge as it gave her pleasure. The gratification it brought to him was sublime.
They sat late one morning eating a breakfast of buttered bread and the last of the blackcurrant jam. Alun found himself wishing for one of Jessica’s cooked meals that he used to heartily eat before going off to work in the fields.
Serene stopped flicking through the junk mail and narrowed her eyes. “Someone’s coming up the drive,” she informed Alun. Going to the kitchen window she added, “It’s two uniformed policemen.”
Panic and fear returned to churn Alun’s stomach. “Quick, go upstairs,” Serene instructed. Alun hurried out of the kitchen, through the lounge and stood in panic on the landing trying to listen to what was happening.
There was a knock, knock. Serene opened the door and tried to smile sweetly at the policemen.
“Miss Serene Sorrell?” one of them enquired in that way police have of asking the obvious.
“Yes,” she replied.
“May we have a word?” Serene nodded. “Perhaps if we could come in for a moment.” It was a request, statement and a strong suggestion from the policeman who stood slightly in front of his colleague. The dark blue uniforms plodded into the kitchen and one of their radios, fixed to the jacket collar, constantly buzzed and fizzed as if it needed tuning in.
At the top of the stairs, Alun was torn between going down to be by Serene’s side and self-preservation. He couldn’t make out the exact words, only tones, the rising and falling of voices and the deeper measured questions of the policemen followed by the light, rhythmic replies from Serene. As he strained to hear, the tick-tock of the pendulum clock resonated in his head. He’d never realized the sound was so loud.
The voices stopped, or seemed more distant and then the door closing told him the police had left. He waited until Serene came to the foot of the stairs and called him to come down. By the time he reached the lounge, a car engine could be heard starting and then moving down the lane. Alun knew it was the police car leaving Dunes Farm.
“What did they want?” he urgently asked Serene.
She paused, then held him close. “They asked me about my father and that man Richard Turner,” she started.
“What did you say?”
“What did I know?” Serene queried. “I told them what you and aunt Jessica told me, that they were drunk. Why, wasn’t that true?”
Alun shrugged the question to one side. “Is that all?”
“No, there were all sorts of insinuations about the death of my mother. I told them she wasn’t dead. That she’d left my father and stayed overseas.”
Alun avoided her enquiring look. He asked, “So that was it?”
Serene took a deep breath and engaged Alun eyes. “They wanted to know about you, my sweet. Where you were, where had you come from and… were you really Alun Griffin.”
Alun’s body froze but his brain went haywire. Thoughts rushed and crashed around his mind. Eventually he asked, “What did you say?”
Serene’s lips moistened as she found it difficult to frame the words. “I love you, Alun. I’d do anything to keep you with me. I… I told them you were a distant cousin and you’d gone back home to Manchester. I didn’t know what to say so just made something up. Please don’t be angry.”
“I’m not angry, my precious Serene,” Alun comforted her. He felt sick and helpless.
Although neither of them spoke of the fear, both Alun and Serene had an instinctive premonition that their time together could be counted and measured.
* * * *
After two days the apprehension, if not dispelled, had at least been put into the recesses of their anxious thoughts.
“Let’s get out for the day,” Serene suggested.
Alun was reluctant but Serene knew how to cajole him into agreement. They drove alone the lanes, out on to the A12 and headed north. After a few more miles, Serene called out, “Look, Westheath. I haven’t been there for years.”
Had it been the weekend, it would have been crowded. Mid-week saw enough life to believe you’d made the right decision without so many people it was hard to breathe and move. They felt space was needed at the moment.
They parked by the village green and walked down to the river. It was a popular crabbing area and small clusters of children dangled string over the edge of jetties trying to entice pincer legs to bite and hold on long enough to be hauled out of the water. The riverside was a mixture of traditional fishing huts, bijou second homes frequented by the rich from London and the northeastern Home Counties. The balance was about right but given time it would tip over into another lost authentic retreat. Modern society had an unenviable record of always destroying the ones it loved. No doubt it would eventually be totally smarted up and become a theme park of “bygone years”.
They walked back to the green and decided to blow almost the last of their money on a pub lunch. The Green Man had an eclectic mixture of nautical types, telling loud tales always involving battling with strong winds and bloody awful crews, retired couples with the men reading newspapers and their wives studying everyone else and a smattering of locals hogging the best seats.
They ordered a local crab dish and a bottle of wine from a vineyard in Suffolk. Alun read the label and it said the Romans had brought the grape to England and they were now reviving the tradition. He recalled the Romans had brought mass crucifixion to the Celtic tribes but hoped the police authority weren’t thinking of bringing back that particular public spectacle.
After the meal and wine they drove back to Dunes Farm and although only eight o’clock went to bed and loved each other till the early hours of the morning. Sleep and exhaustion kept them from waking until nine. Perhaps if it hadn’t been for the slamming of a car door they wouldn’t have been disturbed.
Serene went to the bedroom window and looked out. She stared into the fields and lane for a long time.
Alun yawned. “What is it?”
Serene bit her lip and closed her eyes. “Nothing, sweetie, go back to sleep.” He fidgeted restlessly, so Serene gently wriggled her nakedness against his nude torso, stimulating both his fetish mind and aching body. Her breasts caressed his chest, her thighs his dreaming rampant penis, her voice whispered all the erotic confessions and promises of dark, succulent love she would bring to him.
* * * *
Alun stretched and flexed his satisfied body and drifted into total, deep slumber. Serene crept downstairs and searched in the cupboard by the cooker. She found what she was looking for and slowly went back to the bedroom. Alun looked so at peace she couldn’t let him lose his freedom or her.
She lifted her grandfather’s shotgun to her shoulder and pulled the trigger. The blood from her dead lover dripped on the floor. By the time the armed unit of police had stormed Dunes Farm another shot boomed out and Serene slumped over Alun. They were never going to be parted.
* * * *
Jessica rocked and sang a tune her mother had always sung when it was time for bed. For three days Jessica had been detained in the psychiatric ward at St Clements Hospital in Gurton. A doctor had sectioned her when the leader at The Light of the Host sanctuary had become alarmed at her behavior. Jessica didn’t mind. This place was comfortable and the meals were well cooked.
She thought of Ricky Boyton. She’d met him at the Breyton Manor House. He was a long-term disciple of the Host. Jessica was a very attractive woman and she knew her physical charm could beguile men.
She’d certainly entranced Ricky. Her seduction kept him one tantalizing step away from her penetration -- she wanted Alun to be the only one to enter her. Ricky was content with her favors and ways to satisfy him. He’d been a sapper in the British army. Jessica told him some of her secrets and promised him every fulfillment with her body in the future, but he must help her. Ricky agreed and had put the plan into action. At this very moment, an explosive device was ticking its way to a detonation hour at the Breyton nuclear power station.
The Sorrell’s were always troubled. Jessica heard the clock strike on the tower of the chapel in the grounds of the institution. Within her womb, the embryo that was partly Jones and partly Sorrell began its transformation. The family would not forget or forgive.

The End
Copyright Emy Naso

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About This Story
10 Sep, 2010
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9 mins
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