Authors: Ker Dukey
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Romance, #Romantic Suspense, #Mystery & Suspense, #Suspense, #novel
Rifts in Beat
Copyright © 2014 Ker Dukey
Published by Ker Dukey
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book 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 are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.
To the lovers who found the lyrics to your song. Sing, even when the beat gives out.
Torn to follow one soul, when tethered to another, my heart still beating for its lost lover.
My mind tracing memories so I can breathe, to teach me how to live when your air can just leave.
Time still moves, the season pass, life flows forward but my heart remains in the past.
Echoes of our song, the scent on the breeze, everything reminds me, I’m chasing your shadow as it flees.
Your love devoured me, wrapped me in its soul, than tore itself from me, left me in despairs dark hold.
A song without lyrics, a beat without sound, a soul with-out its mate, frayed and dying on the ground.
Thank you to my fans, I write these for you. Strap on your helmet, I’m taking you on another ride.
“NO WAY! ‘HE is already Facebook requesting? That’s surprising.”
I look up from the laptop into the bloodshot eyes of my best friend leaning over my shoulder, her minty breath tickling the skin on my cheek.
“So,” she continues, “what was he like?”
I slam the laptop closed and stand. “I need to shower.” My voice is strained, still suffering from the drinking and singing (moaning) of the night before.
“Oh come on, Meds. I got so drunk I stuck my tongue down that guitarist’s throat then threw up on his shoes. I need to live hot, dirty, sex through you.”
I turn to my best friend, holding back a laugh at her attire; one sock, her brother’s basketball shorts rolled a million times at the waist, and her bra. “He was a deserter like always.”
Her brow furrows and she sips from the cup she’s holding. “Like always? I don’t understand. Did you just meet him last night?”
“It’s a long, complicated story, Crystal. I’m tired, hung over and I need to ice my knuckles.”
She walks towards me, handing me her cup. I sip at the strong coffee, sucking it into my mouth like I’ll never be given the chance again.
Her eyes widen at my greed for caffeine. “You want me to start a drip?” she quips with a raised eyebrow.
I squint my eyes and flip her the bird.
“We haven’t got to check out until two, Meds. Spill your fucking shit, now.”
“GET YOUR BAG, Meadow. I can’t be late again,” my Mom calls through the door to my small bedroom in our dingy two-bedroom home.