As of this morning, my short story The Abyss is up at Pulp Metal Magazine!
Couldn’t be more thrilled!
Much gratitude to Jason Michel for taking it!
As always, your thoughts are more than welcome!
Much gratitude to Jason Michel for taking it!
As always, your thoughts are more than welcome!
Don’t know if you dressed up and went around the neighborhood hijacking candy, but the combination of the holiday, plus the sky getting darker way too early has me in a Friday Flash funk kind of mood, so here you go:
Inspired by Charli Mills weekly 99 words, no more no less flash-fiction challenge over at Carrotranch.com, monkeys are flying!
Hector cursed them; damn financial aid forms!
Jumping through hoops, that’s what this is. How the hell did they expect him to get all this filled out by Friday, with three papers, two exams and a final to suffer this week? Like monkeys flying bat-shit all over campus, it just wasn’t gonna happen!
What he needed was cash. Lots of it. And now!
The line grew longer by the second, and sensing his out, he took it! The grey gun-metal felt cold to his touch in his pack as he raised it, passing the point of no return…
Lurking in the dark dusty 7th floor corridor, the grad student stared down rows of empty, after hours office doors. Sensing the incoming bomb drop, he’d tried to prepare but hadn’t been able.
Nearly 10 pm now and he knew; his pompous thesis advisor, over an hour late, wasn’t coming. Shuffling his final thesis signature pages, he sighed; no signature, no candidacy! No candidacy, no diploma! Digging into the bottom of his backpack, his fingers found the scissors, sharp and slick, nearly nicking off his pinky in the process. His advisor liked the campus bar, frequented after classes.
His cell phone glowed out 10:45 now; just enough time, before they called last call…
Down and through the apple, over and over and over. Staring blankly out through the kitchen window, Kevin wondered what would happen if the apple weren’t an apple but instead, a head. Somebody’s head, but not just anybody’s head. It would have to be more wide than circular with orange hued lips and a V-shaped mouth and eyes that slanted slightly to the left when they looked at you. And nostrils the size of extra-big peanuts, sniffing in any hint of aggression coming its way. It would have to be…
“Dam it all to hell!!”
Kevin looked down at his hand, now crimson stained and the liquid was leaking to the left and the right and all over the cutting board. The apple that was green a moment ago was now anything but. Stinging like the worst splinter he’d ever recalled, his skin was now splitting like a zipper, only the split was expanding and getting wider.
Grabbing up the lose bit of skin now strewn like oatmeal, Kevin triaged his finger with wet paper towels clamped together so thick that no blood could get through, and cinched the knife with his left hand.
Needing a beer more than ever, he turned and pulled hard on the fridge with the free left hand.
He slammed the door shut on seeing nothing in the fridge but an empty Vodka bottle and a half eaten loaf of stale bread. He grabbed up the utensil, and turned toward his roomie’s door. They’d neve really gotten along well anyway. Bigger steps now, blade still glistening, he knocked hard twice, then kicked open the door….
Oh, as a bonus for your labor day weekend, here’s a great link to an excellent article on how to build your author brand through UTube and more! Thanks to Wendy Van Kamp and Adam Mulholland at nowastedink.com or this link!
YouTube offers content creators a way of cross-utilizing mediums to enhance and bridge engagement beyond a book. Authors wanting more presence should leverage this platform to reach a larger audien…Source: How Authors Can Promote On YouTube & Use Patreon by Adam Mulholland
Here’s a little something for you to gnaw on, if you’re like me, and am pondering the bridge to the depths of despair when it comes time for axing off your characters!
If it seems like a tough choice, just ask yourself the eternal question of the master, “To be, or not to be!” Hahahaha….if you write anything at all like yours truly, you’ll know the answer in a flash! A friday, fun flash, that is!
And now, some words from our sponsor, master of the deathly muse himself, Shakespeare…
(Thanks for sharing this on twitter, Mr. Moon! (@Mr.Moonunity) https://twitter.com/MrMoonUnity?cn=Zm9sbG93ZXI%3D&refsrc=email
A Spring Friday in New York City brings promise of good things yet to come. But I’m more interested in what came before the calm…what might be buried deep underneath this blissful thaw…
Have we got a jogger perhaps, who tripped and fell during winter in the ice packed snow and being alone and without his cell, couldn’t dig himself out in time? Did he break his ankle and couldn’t move, while the ice, rain then dirt washed away all traces of his being??
Or perhaps, a lone German Shepard wandering loose from her home, got caught up in the freezing cold temps that NY winter can bring and broke through the frozen solid over the now thawed over river in the foreground. Her body only now floating up to the top to be seen by passers by…
Or, contemplate the down and out homeless dude begging on a park bench, waiting for something, anything to fall his way, and finally getting nothing, laid down and gave up, NYPD only now finding his remains in the thaw…
What’s your take? I’d luv to hear. Untwist those brain sparks and contemplate,
The storm Before the calm…
Tossing her keys to the dude honking his horn in the Range Rover, Summer threw both legs out of her still running Honda and took off full sprint toward the club’s sprawling entry.
“Park it wherever Mac, I gotta class to teach and I’m already almost ten minutes late.”
Mac, whose solid looking guns hung out of the drivers window, flipped her the bird but she knew he’d get over it eventually. She’d done it before to him and most of the others, and they always did somehow. Especially since everyone knew that the instructors had dibs in the lot, and really, what else could they do? Her new Nikes pounded down hard on the pavement taking the brunt of her speed and she could still hear the honking from his horn and his screams as she flew inside.
“What the hell Summer! Just caz you work here don’t mean you can just ditch your ride any old time and leave it to me to figure where to land it.”
Summer turned quick on her heels, giving Mac a quick thumbs up right before sliding inside, and past Ramone at the front desk. She’d buy Mac a power smoothie later to make up for it. His favorite, the “Orange Groovy” concoction the snack stand guy made usually helped pave these things over. Ramone was busy checking in members and scanning their cards, as usual. He was always fighting with someone over something, since most LA Fitness members were mostly muscle heads, and tended to like a good roe now and then. But being late for her class, she couldn’t have cared less. She was more concerned with Ross, the club manager, who she saw waving frantically from behind his desk as he multi-tasked two phones and a waiting client, sitting in the chair in front of him. She could see him mouthing his usual rave, even from half way across the room:
“Summer” he screamed out. “You’re late. There’s a whole room full of people waiting on you back there and I already got Jason calling on a sub. One more time Summer, just once more, and that’s it. You’ll be teaching classes out on the street.”
She smiled and did the only thing she knew how to do, and the only thing that might appease him. She gave him the double thumbs up. But she didn’t have time to stick around to find out if it worked. There were probably over 100 people waiting on her in the aerobics room and she knew they wanted to move fast, and something fierce! So she hightailed it down the long hall and bounded up onto the platform stage, jammed in her music tape and switched on her microphone. Tone Loc’s Funky Cold Medina’s cool sounds filled up the room while the crowd grooved right and grooved left, and before she knew it, the hour was over. Sweat filled her eyes and down the back of her neck. She grabbed her towel, chatted with a few of the newbies who always liked to introduce themselves, and headed on out toward the front. The thought of that smoothie sounded good now, so she headed on over to the snack bar to find Mac, only to see a line of Paramedics carrying stretchers down the hall.
“Jason, what the hell is happening out here? Why are these Fireman here?”
Jason looked up from his desk, covered in LA Fitness water bottles and fliers. A scantily clad girl in a leotard sat in the chair opposite, waiting for him to take her money.
“Jezus Summer, they’re Paramedics, not fireman. And I don’t know. One minute he was serving smoothies, as usual. The next, he was face down on the floor. Just happened like ten minutes before your class finished. Ross called the paramedics in.”
“No way” Summer said. “ Who? The juice guy? You gotta be kidding me? I was just going over to get an Orange Groovy. Wow. But how, I mean, why?”
Jason handed the girl in front of him some cash and a water bottle. She leaned over the table and signed the contract.
“I don’t know man. Like I said, one minute, the guy’s pouring drinks. The next, boom!”
Summer backed up from Jason’s desk and slowly headed toward the commotion. The paramedics were busy loading the snack stand’s man into the stretcher and trying to clear out some space between them and the door. People were gawking all around. She reached up and let out her pony tail, untied her Nikes and slid down the wall to the carpet to make room. She sat there watching as a stretcher with a still body paraded past, and out into the night. Snack stand man was gone, and he wasn’t coming back. She leaned her head back up against the wall, and wondered, if they would they ever get their Orange Groovy’s again.
Father Trevor’s rolled the rosary beads round in his hand for the twentieth time in the last twelve minutes. He knew how exactly how long it had been, since the hands on the clock overhead were extra noisy as they ticked the down the seconds going round. The digits were painted on bold too, dark green, on a pale cream-colored backdrop, making them hard to miss. Under it sat the calendar with today’s date circled in red, December 31, 1949.
The date was significant for Trevor, since it was one year ago today that he’d been transferred to this stark and quiet parish from his native and decadent Puerto Rico. A move he’d hadn’t wanted, but had resigned himself to. Monsignor had told him it was either that or face expulsion from the order, so he’d sighed and reluctantly agreed. Packed up his things that very night, and was on a plane the next morning. He’d settled down into his new surroundings not ten hours later that evening.
Ohio was certainly not Puerto Rico. There was no escaping the monotony of the strict borders and rules of the priesthood here. No avenues for escape like in San Juan, where the bars he’d found tucked away in the seedier downtown districts had led him to Eduardo. They’d tucked out whenever he could get away, slipping into their nightly rituals just long enough to meet up and shack up. They’d rendezvous in whatever hotel Eduardo had managed to find, usually one of those by the hour places, just long enough to satisfy their urges. Then, once satiated, he’d sneak back to his priestly service, no one being the wiser. But they’d found out, and exiled him, a million miles away from Eduardo and the temptations of his favorite and secretly coveted city.
But he’d found a new hobby, even here, of all places, in Ohio. And he guessed that they knew, once again. He was going to be asked to come clean. Could feel it. His eyes watched the clock as he rolled the beads round and round in his fingers, wondering just what to say.
Should he tell them everything? Or just barely enough. Or maybe, nothing at all.
Maybe they didn’t really know, maybe they only suspected.
The parish’s newest altar boy was so sweet, so young. So compliant. And Trevor’s passions had got the better of him the very first time he glanced the boy through the bathroom mirrors, while stripping down for their morning showers. They’d exchanged glances but once, and it was done. Ever since then, their midnight meetings in the gardens outside the parish walls had become more frequent, and this last time they’d both felt someone or something watching, and looked up just in time to see a window closing high overhead, in a hurry.
“The Monsignor will see you now Father.”
The tall, lean messenger’s request broke Trevor from his thoughts.
“Yes of course.”
Trevor rose from the pew, straightened his robes with the palm of his hand and tucked the beads down deep into his trouser pocket beneath.
I’ll tell them nothing, he thought. If they know, they know. And I’ll suffer the consequences. And if they don’t, then it’s on me. My sins are all on my conscience.
He walked behind the messenger and down the long aisle of the small chapel, where the sun set off the stained glass windows all around, illuminating clearly the things in front of him. Trevor’s eyes took in the round, firm swishing back and forth under the robes of the messenger walking in front of him and something stirred in his pants.
Lord help me, he thought. My sins are not my own. But, they are, will be, my undoing.
He swallowed hard and pushed on, into the abyss, unfolding
So it’s fun flash fiction Friday time again. And what better time than to post a story about a characters secret? Ever have characters in your stories that have something to hide and aren’t doing a very good job of it?
Well I do. And my story, “The secret” is all about it. Man can’t stand his wife, but is too much of a wimp to do anything about it. Well, almost!
What’s the biggest secret your character has ever kept?
And did he, or she, keep it well, or did they run into problems and why? Tell me all about it in the comments, and let’s get that communication going!
Ciao for Now, and darkly yours,
Friday’s tongue licked the man’s face fast and hard, same as always every time he slept over. With Friday around, who needed an alarm clock. Through the window he could see the sun just coming up over the watch tower out on the sand. So nice to live by the water, he thought. Too bad I can’t do it full time. He pushed Friday’s big nose over and out of the way and leaned in to kiss his partner in crime.
“ Good morning, sleepy head. I’m off. Gonne take a quick shower and get going. Busy day today, what with the new boss and all. She’s got an 8 am meeting scheduled. Think she wants to pick out brains, see what’s what.”
The sleeping figure rolled over and yawned, smiled, patted the man on the rear in a playful manner, and turned back toward the window. Out again, the man thought. Sure wish I could sleep in. The mans feet hit the wood floor. Shower on. Water hitting hard on his shoulders. Comb, hair gelled, teeth brushed. Threw on the same clothes he had come over in last night. Not having a lot of storage space in the small apartment was hard. His coworkers were just going to have to deal with seeing him in the same suit he wore last Friday, before the long weekend. Not enough time to go home to get new ones. Being late just wouldn’t be okay this morning. Especially not with her, being the new boss and all.
He fought through the traffic in record time Screeched into the parking lot. He adjusted his tie once more, and pushed through the large double glass doors to the morning meeting with seconds to spare. Spying him immediately she motioned him over, pointing toward the chair next to her. He obliged as she shook her head and re-adjusted the tie to the left. Leaning in close to his left ear, her voice rose just above a whisper:
“Tsk tsk. Almost late again. You never can get this right, can you. How was the business trip? You look terrible, like you slept in your clothes on the plane. Are the contracts signed now?”
Smiling to the last entrant into the room, she smoothed her skirt with her left hand and flicked the lights on with the right, calling the meeting to order. But not before one last quip.
“Don’t forget. Tina has her first soccer match tonight. I have to stay late, so I volunteered you. But she’ll be so happy to have dad on the sidelines.”
She winked, and squeezed his arm tight. His lips curled up on the sides, pretending mutual affection.
“ Let’s celebrate my promotion tonight when I get home. Champagne’s on ice in the fridge”
Done with him now, she turned toward the waiting room. Her husband watched, twirling the ring on his finger. He sipped the cup in front of him, but had to pull back because of the heat. He hadn’t been quite ready for that.
“ So team. Good morning. And welcome. Let’s get started with last week’s rundown, shall we.”
So. It’s that time again kids and kiddettes!
Freaking fun, fantastically fabulous Friday. That day where we get to look forward to the few hours of precious time on the weekends to release, relax, and re-energize! Or, as case may have it, go to the f-ing dentist!
Yes fellow fraidy-cats, today was that time again. And seeing as I’d already been putting it off for as long as humanly possible, having canceled and rescheduled at least 3 times in the last 3 months coming up with brilliant but not so real imaginary excuses every single time, I’d figured it was time to bite the bullett, or rather the probing tool, and buck up for my own Little Shop of Horrors first hand experience!
For those of you who’ve seen the film, and for those of you who haven’t: Here’s a cautionary “viewer beware” rating. A movie caught in the middle, between a PG13, “shield your kids eyes from the nasty” film, and an adult only R, that has you shielding your own eyes from the horrors. Only with this film, your never quite sure whether you should be looking, or not! It’s one of those “peek behind the fingers covering my eyes” but in small doses only. And then retreat back again quick when Seymour (Rick Moranis) starts feeding the insatiable plant, with body parts axed up from the what’s left over of the dentist (Steve Martin.) MMM. Getting hungry just thinking bout’ it!
Things really get twisted when Martin comes riding down the street in his black leather motorcycle get up and singing about how his mom always told him he’d be a success if he’d only become a tooth man. Especially, since he loved to torture and terrorize small animals and other less bully-inclinced types of kids. All I can say is, Go Mom!
Especially love the scene where Seymour’s in Martin’s office under pretense of needing work done, and instead, whips out a gun wanting to kill off Martin for smacking around the film’s femme fatale, and his girlfriend to be, Audry. But, as fate would have it, Martin’s laughing gas gets the last laugh as it gasses him to death in the corner!
Seymour looks on horrified, or, is he really?? Not only did he not have to use the gun, but evil mouth man has been dealt a lesson, a Karma-strikes back only kind of lesson, where the pain he’s inflicted on who knows how many is coming back to haunt him bad! His final and frightening grand finale!
And now, as I sit in my own personal tooth-trench hell, reclining and staring up at the photos of dental menace and mayhem plastered on the ceiling above me, I can’t help but wonder – Just where the hell is the gas?
Real world creative non-fiction, or freakin fun, Friday fantasy? You decide.
Ovef and out, from a half crazed, overly anxious patient waiting room, where darkly insane thoughts are running fast, and furious!
Oh. And just because:
The cover work you see here is the brilliant anthology, where my very first published short story now lives! Another creepy, crawly, and somewhat demented short story called “Midnight in Alaska” where I ramble on about wolves howling and prowling in the distance, and spooky Santa Clause North Pole happenings all in the dead of the Alaskan night!
If any of you ever check it out, do drop me a line, and let me know. Pretty proud of it, as I can now call myself officially published! Happy Friday, fiction fans. See you around the campsite soon!
Ciao for now, and darkly yours,
Sweat poured down my eyes, onto my chest and into my t-shirt getting me all wet and pumped. Adrenaline kicked in as I rounded the corner lot and my stopwatch clicked off the 3/4-mile mark. Hitting my stride now, feet pumping, fast as they could carry me, I was feeling good now, breathe evened, focus narrowed. Two miles was the goal today, and I knew I could do it. I reached down into my pack without breaking my stride, grabbing up my water bottle and slugged it down, not noticing the curb up ahead, when boom! Right foot over left, tumbling down, ankle buckles, and the right knee goes pop while slamming into concrete, hot and dirty. My hands go in front of my face, trying to block the inevitable, but white heat starts spreading up my leg, and into my thigh. I grab my right foot and groan, but no one’s around to hear. It’s midnight here on the other side of the globe, and the sun’s blazing this time of night in Alaska, but I’m all alone on the pavement, while my right knee’s turning purple and my foot’s looking twisted twenty ways from Sunday……I look around for someone, anyone. But all I hear are my own cries. And the lone wolf, somewhere out there in the near distance…
(by yours truly)
Bill sat high up in his DJ tower over looking the frenzied dance crowd down below. He had just started spinning Madonna’s Vogue and the players on the floor were hitting some serious poses. One guy had his right arm up in a salute and the chick he’d been slapping around had her face down in his crotch, tongue going up and down fast, in perfect time to the beats, pretending to do the nasty.
Her licks looked like they were coming in right on target, about 125 per minute. The tongue never seemed to slow down.
Another couple on the floor was bee bopping in 2/4 time and was swinging his partner round in circles like a rag doll. But they were hitting their marks perfectly every time. Not bad considering he had to get her all the way around to land it. But that Janet Jackson crew over in the far corner carving out a semi perfect rendition of Rhythm Nation, now they were impressive! Banging it out on the down beat, 130 beats per minute exact.
Boy, were they ever on point! Looked like their troupe had been practicing since they were born. Not a foot out of line, not a step right when it should have been left. A precision drill team, hitting their marks, spot on every time. Bill would have to stay on his game to keep this this crowd grooving happy.
He leaned down to pick out the next set of discs. Let’s see. Kool and the Gang’s newest on the Celebrate CD was calling to him. It was 125 to 135 BPM’s all the way, right on track with what the crews were slamming out down below. But to be sure, he needed to count it.
He grabbed the massive headphones and stuck them on his ears. Madonna shouted in his left ear, while K and gang rang in his right. He counted, drumming the reps out with his fingers.
Eight reps per set, eight sets per move, two moves per step down below. 130 beats per minute That’s what he was going for. A disco ball flashed in his face. He squinted and held out the left ear to hone in;
95, 100, 110, 120, Nailed it! With a flick of his wrist, he spun the disk round hard and let her rip.
Let’s Get this party started, ya’ll.
Strong read along here folks, from the renowned Paul White. Goes down quick and dirty. Just the way I like em’!!! Itchy finger. by Paul white.
Re-bloggeg from: his site at: .https://alittlemorefiction.wordpress.com
“It was a strange sensation to be pointing my gun at the old man. I should have simply pulled the trigger as I normally do, but something made me hesitate and now I was looking at him, looking at him as a person.
That was a mistake…”
Chuck Wendig: Freelance Penmonkey
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