Tuesday Tales: From the Word GUT

Welcome to June and this week’s Tuesday Tales where a small group of authors share excerpts from their works in progress with you. Our word prompt this week is GUT and I’m continuing with Listen to the Stones. Apologies since I’m a few words over. Enjoy!

Turning off the taps, Jerome toweled dry, the strange sensation persisting, as if he didn’t belong in his own skin. He shook his head. This line of thought was absurd. No doubt, it was the result of not getting enough sleep. It couldn’t have anything to do with Na Fir Chlis last night.

He’d been to the stones several times when the aurora had danced across the sky and fed them. Was that the problem? He didn’t recall ever absorbing as many rays as he had last night. Frowning, he tied the towel around his waist. Would Marina feel off kilter today, too? She’d absorbed a great deal of energy last night. In his mind’s eye, he saw her glittering before him, her body a mass of minute star fragments pulsing with energy. Everything had seemed perfect until … The kiss … if only he could’ve held on to his self-control a few minutes longer. Had he ruined the fragile relationship they’d forged?

Don’t apologize.

Her words echoed inside his head once more, just as they had followed him down the hallway until he’d returned to his room.

Stepping over to the basin, he stood in front of the mirror to shave and gasped. In the center of his chest, covering his heart and the site of the pain he’d experienced earlier was a pentagram. Drawn in black ink, within its center stood a slight, circular red mark, roughly the size of a one-pound coin, that seemed to get lighter as he stared at it, until it disappeared, leaving only the surrounding image of the five-pointed star in its wake.

He massaged his temples, his gut tightening as he tried to make sense of what he saw. He’d never wanted a tattoo, but had he decided to get one, this most certainly was not the one he would’ve chosen. Looking at it more closely, he realized that the ink wasn’t fresh as if the tattoo were old and had always been there, which made even less sense. Was he seeing things? Was he losing his mind? Perhaps he was still dreaming?

Knowing it was a futile act but needing to try, he grabbed the loofah he used in the shower, covered it with soap, and scrubbed at the design on his chest. As he’d suspected, nothing happened. If this strange mark was permanent, who had put it there and how had they done so?

That’s it. Come back next week for more. Don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales.