An Edward a Day
A/N: I've had a terrible case of writer's block recently, so these ficlets/bits of flash fiction are my way of working through that. They're all very different. Each is about a thousand words and features Edward in some way. That's where the similarities end. They have different pairings, different ratings, different styles, different Edwards. (To be safe, consider everything rated M.) Some human, some vamp. A little of everything. I hope you enjoy.
I'll try to post every day or two. I know they're miniature. :)
Thanks to BeautifulFigment and ArcadianMaggie for prereading this first one, and TwilightMundi for betaing.
Stephenie Meyer owns everything you recognize.
1. The Hunt
He's creepy, the man in the moon.
It's difficult to enjoy hunting when he's staring down at me. Watching me. Judging me.
It's actually rather rude. Off-putting.
He makes it hard to concentrate, feeling his eyes on me. It makes me uncomfortable, like the showers after gym class.
Hunting is, after all, an intimate activity. Sensual.
Which is why hunting together as a coven was all sorts of ridiculous.
Try explaining that to Esme.
Oh, Edward, don't be silly. It's a bonding experience. It will strengthen our ties, and make us even more of a family.
I wanted to roll my eyes, but it would be dangerous even for a vampire, to take my eyes off my path, hurtling through the forest with Emmett at my side. He was relentless in his efforts to trip me.
Falling twice during a single outing would be unacceptable, even though the first time could hardly be considered my fault—the pit of mud had been covered by leaves and forest debris. This was of little comfort as I ran, however, what with the muck in my shoes squishing audibly through my toes with every step, and the man in the moon smirking at my misfortune.
Apparently going home to change wasn't an option.
Oh, Edward, a little mud won't hurt you. Don't pout, darling. You'll see; hunting together will be a wonderful experience. You don't want to miss it.
But I did. I very, very much wanted exactly that.
I wondered at what point Esme would give up on her plans for family bonding via the hunt. It never went well.
Especially for me.
Edward, darling, surely it was an accident that you were punched in the jaw. Twice. And then kicked in the stomach. You really must watch where you're going. Hunting can be dangerous.
As though it was my fault that Emmett succeeded—finally—in tripping me, yet doing so in such a way that momentum carried me forward and I took Rosalie to the ground, landing atop her in rather crude position.
Scrambling to my feet I tried to explain as I was subsequently thrashed by Rosalie. Nor would Emmett listen, though it was his fault to begin with. As if I wanted to lie on top of his mate. Asshole.
Thank God none of that actually hurt. But Rosalie did pull out a bit of my hair, and it's not like it'll grow back. That shit's permanent.
I just knew the fucking moon told all of his little moon friends about that one.
And there was the time everyone thought I called Jasper "my dear", even though I'd very clearly been telling him that it was "my deer" and he needed to back off. And no, Esme, in that case, sharing was not caring. That doe was mine.
Oh Edward, it was just a bit of teasing, sweetie. Chin up!
Needless to say, hunting with my family was not one of my favorite experiences, despite Esme's assurances to the contrary.
Alas, I'd promised Carlisle I'd join the family for one final group hunting expedition before giving up. After all, I'd do just about anything for a signed note from my doctor ensuring my absence from school the week prior to prom. An entire school of girls who thought of nothing but hairstyles and dresses and boys who spent study halls forming plans to get into their classmates' pants...
As a mind-reader, the annual event tended to nearly cost me my will to go on.
Oh, Edward, don't be so dramatic. Put the lighter down and let the kids have their fun.
The damn moon man didn't know how lucky he was, only having to witness the stupidity of high school dances on those rare occasions when the lunar calendar intersected with that of the PTA.
At least this hunt would be over soon. We had school in the morning, and Alice would need time to repaint the nail she chipped on the antler of a large buck, our first prey of the evening, and one that barely qualified as an appetizer when split seven ways.
Of course, it was the damn appetizer's fault that I had sullied my shirt with droplets of blood. After 80 years of hunting, it was an unusual occurrence indeed. But when my siblings simultaneously envisioned Carlisle doing Esme while she was draped across the back of a polar bear—clearly a plot that had been hashed out in advance—I choked and sprayed the thick red liquid down my formerly pristine shirt.
It was the clapping penguins that sealed the deal. I'd have to thank Alice for that extra special touch.
Being a gentleman I refrained from sharing the details with our mother, of course.
They tease you because they love you, darling.Now come and give me a nice big Edward hug.
Oh Esme, if only you knew.
The scent of grizzly wafted through the air. Not my preference, of course, but as of late I'd engaged in a bit of stress-induced over-feeding. As Carlisle was wont to remind me, mountain lions didn't grow on trees. Grizzly it was.
Picking up my pace, I moved up to the front of our group, determined to get more than a sip from our next victim. In the lead during our final approach, I gracefully tackled the bear to the ground so my family members could join in the feast.
"Edward, thanks, man."
"Dude, you're the bomb."
"Oh, Edward, darling, thank you!"
One by one, they expressed their appreciation as they latched on.
Once everyone had done so, I surveyed the landscape in search of a vein that suited my discriminating tastes. Carlisle and Esme clustered at its neck, enjoying the jugular and carotid. Emmett and Rosalie also had superior territory, enjoying a little subclavian action. Jasper had found the posterior vena cava, and Alice, the pulmonary artery, locating them both near the animal's midsection.
Which only left me one option. Son of a bitch. I stared at the bear's ass.
Oh, Edward, darling. The femoral is lovely, nice and sweet. Now, go on, have a sip.
I glared at her, then back at the animal.
Fuck it. I was thirsty.
I tried not to pay attention to the knotted fur and stray twigs adorning the rear of our prey. Closing my eyes, I sank my teeth into the business end of the bear.
I could hear the moon laughing all the way in Forks.