Coming Together: Under Fire

June 22, 2013 by admin

Fiery words to ease the burn of loss caused by the 2007 Southern California wildfires.

This multi-author anthology of erotic fiction & poetry edited by the dynamic writing (and now editing) team of Alessia Brio & Will Belegon contains Samantha Sommersby’s short story – Rising Phoenix.

The Coming Together anthology series is about giving–and sex; a powerful combination in any setting. These talented authors & poets have donated their fiery words to ease the burn of loss caused by the 2007 Southern California wildfires.

Thanks to the generosity of ARe, 100% of your purchase price benefits the Southern California Wildfire Relief Fund and the San Diego Foundation’s After-the-Fires 2007 Fund.

By reading any further, you are stating that you are at least 18 years of age. If you are under the age of 18, it is necessary to exit this site.

I woke to the dull hum of the humidifier and air filter and looked at my bedside clock. It was five now, I’d slept only a few hours. I reached for the remote control and then stopped myself. A part of me didn’t want to know. A part of me wanted to forget, to erase the images from my mind. The images of displaced people and destroyed homes. I’d been covering the Witch fire for three days, doing stand-up’s for one of the local television stations. This morning the powers that be at the local stations got smart and decided to share footage. That left some of us free to return home and to get rest, only rest hadn’t come easily and some of the reporters didn’t have homes to return to. I was one of the lucky ones.
I lived in a large Craftsman located in an old part of town. A neighborhood where the streets were lined with big Washington palms, and the yards were filled with lush vegetation and thick carpets of green grass. It was the home I’d grown up in, it was my grandmother’s home, only these days it felt more like mine. My grandmother was far away from the fray; on day 83 of her 180-day cruise around the world. It had been her eightieth birthday present to herself. When I last spoke with her the fires had just started. She’d been in Dubai. I realized with sadness that I’d slept through her call from Salalah. I’d have to wait five days until her next stop in Egypt before hearing the latest about her budding romance with Solomon, the “younger” man from Fort Lauderdale who seemed to have stolen my nana’s heart. If I weren’t so happy for her, I’d be thoroughly depressed by the fact that Nana had a hot new boyfriend and my latest dry spell seemed destined to rival the span of he southern California drought.
I climbed out of bed and pulled open the drapes. Even here, the ash was drifting down softly, remnants of a death-like snow. I opened the French doors leading onto the back deck, then promptly closed them again. The entire sky was awash in an orange glow. The air was thick and acrid, a bitter reminder of the losses suffered, sacrificed to the unrelenting and unforgiving whim of Mother Nature.
I reached for my cell phone and checked for messages. There was one from Nana. She’d called while I was sleeping. I began to listen to it as I left the safe refuge of my bedroom in search of coffee. The sound of her voice was comforting as always, soothing, sweet, sure. I padded down the hallway in bare feet and wearing my least favorite tank top and plain white cotton panties. The t-shirt was a present from my last boyfriend. It was black and said, “Freelance journalists do it for money,” That in and of itself should explain why it didn’t work out between us. Not only am I not a Freelance journalist, but four months of dating and he gives me a t shirt for Valentines day?
The distant sound of running water distracted me from Nana’s report on tonight’s dinner menu and her plans for the upcoming talent show. Had I been so tired that I’d left the water running in the shower last night? I opened the door to the bathroom a warm gust of moist steam spilled out to reveal a man, hard and naked in my shower. Jackson. Captain Jackson Phoenix.