Nightmare Fuel: Day One

I'm several days behind in Nightmare Fuel, but I really want to edit these flash fiction pieces and make them something worth reading.  If I don't have any good ideas for a photo, then I'll move onto the next.

For those that don't know, Nightmare Fuel was started by Bliss Morgan.  It is a daily photo prompt for the month of October (Hallo-month) and is horror based.  If you do not like horror or dark stories, you probably shouldn't read these.  You've been warned.

Link to day one photo prompt - you can also read other people's stories there.

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They had done something to my eyes.  The only thing I had left was the ability to shut my lids, to will it all away.  Wish away all the madness of this place.  But they did something. My lids were gone, vanished. All that I had left were scratchy eyes that used to stare upon beauty, upon a world so glorious and vast that I couldn't comprehend the end.

But stuck in this small, forsaken place, I still knew not what eternity meant, but if it was anything like this - I knew every minute would be worse than the last.

I toppled over onto a cross, no - a grave. A grave so aged and ruined that it almost toppled over under my weight. I couldn't weigh that much anymore; the lifeless, limp body I used to call my own. I couldn't possibly be more than a dead leaf, caught up in a hailstorm waiting to be pelted back down to earth.

I tried to blink again, more subconsciously than anything else. My eyes ached, all I wanted was one moment of blackness, one moment to forget this place.

My skin rippled along my wrists. I stared closely at it. Wasn't much more I could do than stare. My veins turned black and wiggled under my skin like snakes, snapping at the surface. I screamed as one of them burst forth through my skin. Blood pooled down my arms, the sight made me gag as my other arm wrenched itself open. My veins were crawling out of my skin, killing me for the hundredth time over. They pulled at themselves like long bits of yarn, tearing bits of muscle and pulling loads of blood out with them. Every synapse in my body shot off, lighting small fires throughout my core. This was the hundredth, no thousandth time they have killed me slowly. But this was the first time I couldn't shut my eyes.

Self-Publishing

I am working on a marvelously long short story.  So far, I haven't really finished a short story that I'm proud of, and technically, this one isn't finished either... but I'm proud of it - and that stands for something.

Over the next month, I hope to finish the short story, get beta readers, line edits, and critiques back from people.  By the end of the month, I hope to have the editing completely, with a perfectly polished (or to the best of my capability) piece in my hands.

Sometime in October, I want to publish it.

It's going to sit a little over 10k, or so I imagine with the number of words I have and how much of the plot I have yet to write.  And I'm going to publish it for a small fee of .99.  I figure I'll go by the standard of .99 for every 10k.  It seems reasonable.

Now, I'm still seeking the traditional publishing route for the rest of my novels, and I still have to get them polished and send them out there into the world.  This isn't a novel, and I feel like it will be a steal for .99, but we'll see how that goes.

Over the next two months, I hope to keep my blog updated with specifics about self-publishing.  I understand the concepts, but I have yet to put them into practice.

And the lovely cover is above - and probably isn't changing (unless someone has some super awesome amazing idea that I haven't thought of yet).

Stay tuned for more information on "My Summer Vacation by Terrance Wade" by RADesilets (I know, it's a total mouthful).

Flash Fiction

I've been in a bit of a rut as far as writing has gone.

"My Summer Vacation by Terrance Wade" is sitting at home - too far away for me to work on it on my lunch break.  And Rioss is finished, hopefully getting edited soon.  Rioss II is a project that I don't want to undertake until Rioss is being queried.  I should probably finish my other projects too.

"My Summer Vacation by Terrance Wade" is about Terrance Wade - a precarious little kid that gets kidnapped by his mother over the summer vacation.  He tells an epic tale of adventure, even though he should be scared because he's been kidnapped.  But that's not Terry's style - he likes "seeing the world."  This might end up being my first self-published short story - as I'm aiming for 5-10k, and it sits at 2.5k right now.  A small goal, but I think I need smaller goals right now while Rioss is in the balance.

But, I'm still writing.  Here's my silly little flash fiction piece:

Sometimes the scratching is more than I can bear.  It seeps into my head, swirling around my brain and crawls deep within the recesses of my nervous system. I want to scream.  I want to claw and tear out my own skin, but they tell me that’s crazy.  There’s nothing there, it’s all in my head.

But what you can’t hear, I can.  It sounds like distant clicking of tongues mixed with a small undertone of bee hums.  And they dance around in human flesh, pretending to be normal.  Pretending to be like us.  After a few too many drinks, after they let their guard down, after they overindulge on the fantasies and pleasures earth promised them, you can see it.  Just a flicker, just a moment, but the whites in their eyes flash to black.  And their pupils shrink to the size of a pin.  The color of their eyes turns bright yellow.  

And they say I’m crazy, but the woman who made that decision is one of them.  I’m sure of it.  There’s no such thing as aliens, and they certainly don’t wear human skin.  They are wrong.  So so so wrong.  And as the humming gets closer and threatens to burst my cells from the inside out, I see him.  He’s the one that I’ve been waiting for.  He’s their leader.

He’s beautiful.

He must die.

Late, I'm late!

The wind ruffled the leaves in the trees. She felt herself slipping. Her eyes grew wide, sucking in the last bits of the gorgeous robin’s egg sky. The wheat melted around her skin, caving way to the bed sheets she was lying in. Her eyes shifted from seeing the blue, melding into white, then just shadows danced on the walls of her ceiling. A tear ran down her cheek as she knew she had to leave her place behind, leave what she loved.

What she loved, the thought pang in her head like an arrow. The clock, where was the clock? It was spilling out onto the floor, the contents from this morning’s not-so-great wake up. She cursed inside her head. She grabbed a jacket, didn’t even bother looking at her hair, and flew down the stairs. She glimpsed at the clock in the hallway.

Already ten minutes late, he was going to kill me. She ran to the car, jammed her key in the ignition and sped off. Every light seemed to turn red in front of her, she slapped the steering wheel and screamed at the light. Then she screamed above her head.

“This really isn’t cool, okay? Just stop it, stop messing with me today.” But she knew why the universe was. She was messing with it. She was playing inside her own head and leaving this world behind. A smile crept across her face. She realized she didn’t care if she was late. Who cares about this world, when I have my own?

She pulled her car up to the restaurant twenty five minutes late. She bounded into the dimly lit place and scanned the room. Before the hostess could say a word, Jess was off. She weaved in between tables, ducked under a waiter, and slumped down in the seat.

“I’m sorry.” Her words came out without meaning, without sympathy or worry, without concern. She couldn’t find a reason to fret over him anymore, though she really wanted to. Something was telling her it was time to let go.

“No worries.” Kevin flashed a brilliant smile that captivated the light of the candle that was almost burned out on their table. “I knew you’d make it.”

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Today's prompt is brought to you by the fabulous Nina Pelletier on G+.

"This week we are going to put your character (or yourself) in a specific situation. Your character is late, he/she's late for a very important date, no time to say "hello", "goodbye" they're late they're late they're late.
400 words or less - Show your character rushing against time."

Be sure to circle Nina to participate in any future prompts - they definitely are very fun.  

The Green Stuff

I was handsome.  Even with my portly size and mismatched skin, I was handsome.  And maybe I was a bit on the furry side, dark puffs rising out of all parts of my body - okay, maybe I was very furry, but I was still handsome.  And I'll tell you, I know how to strut my stuff to get whatever I want.

That was the greatest thing about me, the fact that I could be portly and a little round in the middle and still get all the access that I wanted to human contact.  Maybe I was a little forceful in situations, jamming my face into someone else's or maybe just poking them a whole bunch in the stomach.  But that's what all people wanted, right?  So yes, I was fine, me and my handsome self.  We could strut our stuff around the kitchen, the living room, the dining room like it was no body's business.  I would sit on the counters, the tables, the couches, even the arm rests, I didn't care.  I was too handsome to care.  And when it came down to it, my voice was like angels kissing the air, so really, I never had to worry about getting in trouble.  So maybe my life was easy, but then I discovered grass.

Grass, sweet, delectable grass.  No one understands what it does to me, how it makes me feel.  So full, euphoric almost - that maybe for just that minute, it is me.  Me and my grass sitting out back, lazing around on another day.  I didn't understand why anyone would get upset over a little obsession with grass.  I was so angry when I was boarded up inside, kept away from this delicious substance.  Why was it such a big deal for me to go outside, to inhale the sweet smelling air of freedom and feed my indulgences with a little green stuff.  Right?

But my mentality stayed the same.  I had to find a way out, some way, when no one was watching.  And I did, then they boarded those exits up to.  But it was always the same outcome, which is why I wondered why it mattered to them so much.  I went outside and was stunned - how big the world was.  The ceiling melded into the distance, there were actual, living creatures in the world besides myself.  There were endless possibilities, but all I wanted was some grass.  Being chased by them, I only ran to get to the next patch, the next location to sit down and enjoy my greens in peace, before being boarded back up inside.  Thing was, I never wanted to escape, really.  I would always come back to the door and sit, crying until someone found me.  It wasn't a big deal because I never went very far.  So why did they keep boarding up all the windows?  Stronger screens that my claws couldn't tear, annoying feet blocking my exits when the doors were open.

It was a tough life, being a portly house cat addicted to grass.

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Inspired by and dedicated to the fat cat, Mogwai.

Delete

He stared at the letter, reading the words over and over to himself, his eyes skimming the page backwards and forwards.  He couldn't believe that he had received another one.  Frustrated, his fingers clenched on the keys.  He wanted to find the right words to send back, something to scream "You made the wrong choice."  But instead, they just softened instead.  His right hand moved over to the mouse and he hovered the cursor over the "Delete" key.  If only there were some way to go back, edit the past, make him look and sound better on paper.  Write a biography about himself and send it for review - he was interesting, he was an asset, he was helpful, but here he was stuck, like moss growing on a tree.  He feared that if he moved, he would shrivel to pieces, his whole life would unravel.  Maybe that's why he never tried to "sell himself on paper."

"We regret to inform you that you have not been chosen for this position."  Number seventeen?

Was he to remain stuck at this job for ever.  He looked around his cubicle office, drones of faces, long from boredom, paste white from lack of healthy vitamin D.  He could almost see people throwing themselves out the windows in their mind's eye.  Was he the only one going this crazy, or did people see these things when they looked at him?  A rat clawing at the bars of his cage, praying that the grubby fingers from that chunky five year old won't come back to knock him around.  Hoping that there will be a chance to move through the maze, get the prize at the end and finally rest for a moment in piece.

It had taken this job two months to get back to him, he had almost completely forgotten about it since he had given up hope.  But instead of deciding that he wasn't good enough, he just became pissed off.  He was good enough, and he wanted to rise up and scream it.  In fact, he was rising up and screaming it.

"WHY THE HELL CAN'T I FIND A JOB?!"  He stood on his desk, the soapbox of his life, his moment to live, his moment to decide that survival was better than money.  "All of you, can't you see it, why do you stand for this?!"  He pointed wildly out the window, their building stood facing the bricks of another building, "That view isn't reality, neither is this!"  He kicked over his keyboard, attempted to kick down the cubical wall, but it wouldn't budge from the weight of all the other walls stacked against it.  His foot throbbed in his polished, now scuffed, black dress shoe.  "The real world isn't stuck in your monitors, your life doesn't need to be here!"  His hair shifted into an unruly, brown mesh on the top of his head, his eyes sank from years of committing his life to being in this place.  He remembered all the moments that he waited patiently for a raise, a promotion, something so that he could get a little more money, save more, retire early, finally do what he wanted to do.

"I've been waiting too long!  And I think you have to!"  He climbed over the gray cubical, half walking, half jogging away from the security guards that were now encroaching on his space.  Papers flew out from under his feet, people dodged into their corners, one person from the mail room and copy center clapped, a few sparse chuckles were heard in the office, but mostly, people were scared.

"I'm telling you!  Get out!  Don't waste your life like me!"  As the security guards took this man away, my friend turned to me and asked me if I knew who he was.

I shook my head, "But I'll tell you what, it's these moments that are the only reason worth working in a place like this - when people go crazy.  Everyone has that breaking point."

My friend scowled, "So what happens when you reach yours?"

I smirked, "I just hope that I put on a better show than anyone else - one that people talk about for years to come."

Whipping Boy

His fingernails turned black with dirt, the shovel just wasn't fast enough and his back hurt from the long day.  He turned the soil over, digging farther and farther down.  He kept looking back and forth, measuring with his eyes, making sure that he, indeed, had enough space.  Just a few more inches, he thought, a sly grin growing across his face.  The sky seemed to dance, captivated in his eyes.  A huge weight was lifted off his shoulders as he breathed in the freshly turned dirt - this should be the way everyone celebrates the end of their work week.  He wished so deeply that he could share this strange euphoria with his co-workers.  Maybe they could feel the same, if only they knew his secret.

With a gruff huff, he shoved himself off the ground, wiping his soiled hands on his khaki pants.  He almost laughed at the hand print streaks that they made, how his wife would be so angry with him for messing in the garden again, or what she thought was the garden. 

He walked a few feet east where the five foot some inches long bag was sitting.  He grabbed one edge of it and dragged it slowly towards the slightly longer three foot deep hole in the ground.  The bag rolled into the hole with a sickening thud.  The man scratched his itchy nose and then took another deep breath of fresh dirt and forest.  He didn't care how long it took the cops to find the body, he didn't care if he died after this, he just knew it was time to bask.  He could bask in the moments at work without someone breathing down his shoulder, he could finish his memoirs as everyone frantically figured out what happened to their fearful leader, he might even be congratulated for doing the deed that no one else dreamed of completing, but everyone wished they had the guts to.  Sadly, there was nothing redeemable about the boss in the bag, and although one might wish that there was - that such a cruel act of human violence should be punished, but honestly, this wasn't the person to miss.  The slave driver, manipulator, the person that stepped on everyone else and kept everyone down while clawing their way up the corporate ladder.

Yes, he thought, this was a good thing - and as he covered the bag and dirt sprinkled on the plastic like rain on a rooftop, he knew that this was the only way he could keep living.  It was either the whipper or the whipping boy, and frankly, he thought, there was no way he'd let himself end up in a shallow grave - even if he now would meet his death in a chair.

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It's been awhile since I've written.  I wrote another piece that will be submitted to a publisher - once I polish it.  I went on vacation - to a Unitarian Universalist camp in the woods, and it was super relaxing.  It put me back in touch with myself, made me self-reflect.  But while I was lost inside my own head, it was hard to put myself into another set of shoes.  I actually love the feeling that I get from writing.  It was nice to reflect on that, realizing that I am made for something more, and having some people affirm that I am, indeed, a half decent, if not good, writer.  So now I'm back, in full force, for one blog entry a day.  It's go time.

Today, I am a...

Let’s play a game.  The inner monologue begins at the start of the day, something to end the endless tasks ahead.  So let’s play a game.  Data entry is no longer just data, no, it’s now a secret code to a safe that contains a bomb.  If I get it wrong, the bomb explodes, if I get it right, then I move onto the next secret code.  I listen, watch the numbers, convincing myself that they could change at any time.  I actually get the slightest big nervous as my fingers stroke the wrong key.  “Shoot!  Game over!”  Oh wait, I’m not actually part of a bomb squad… okay, backspace, enter the number “4” correctly this time.

Entering names and updating lists is really just me doing my job – my job of updating the most wanted list.  And oh!  There goes the guy on the street down below my office window.  Quick, someone run and grab him, tackle him!  He’s the most wanted… erm… CEO of a major corporation who has done nothing wrong.  Right, never mind, I’m not some cop searching for the predators of our streets. 

When I enter our galley kitchenette, I’m really going into a giant pantry, with millions of possibilities of things to cook.  I’m a gourmet chef, serving something amazing from our miraculous, deep cabinetry.  I open one cabinet, open another, open another, step back and wonder – what can I make today?  What delicious meal can I serve myself?  I close all the cabinets because they are full of bitter, high fiber, low calorie food and snag some pretzels out of the giant, plastic bin.  Munch, munch, yes, this is my gourmet lunch.

When I take my plant to water it, I’m really in a lush garden with green vines growing so high up the sides of the fence that you cannot even see any connection to the outside world.  This fern is a gateway to a land of butterflies, squirrels, and endless rows of flowers and fresh vegetables.  I dig my fingers into the dirt, get the warm earth underneath my fingernails and play with the grains on my skin.

Let’s play a game – where imagination can take you everywhere you want to be and no where that you are.  The sun is setting somewhere, over a lakefront, with someone lazing in a boat, a line dipping into the water with no intention on catching any fish.  This is me, it’s my boat, and my lake, and my house is a short paddle away.  I bask in the last of the sunlight for the day and breathe the fresh air deeply into my lungs.  This is my life. 

The clock ticks lazily over to 4:45pm and I gather my things out of the receptionist area, walk out the front door, jump onto my scooter and rocket myself in between cars – getting home as fast as I can.  Right now, I’m a motocross driver, and I’m winning the race.

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What are you today?  Because today, I'm really an uninspired receptionist, with a new, dashingly good haircut.  And I feel pretty good.

Sinking

My feet sunk underneath the surface of the thick, wet sand.  I watched as the grains rubbed themselves across my toes, sank in between them, consumed them.  The tiny molecules worked their way up my feet, over my veins, across my ankles.  My body sank a little bit further into the thick soup, my heels parted the grains and allowed the weight of gravity to take me further into the dirt.  I wiggled my toes and they disappeared under brown, washed, exfoliated, renewed.

With a sucking sound, I picked my feet out of the ocean.  I walked on my heels, careful not the let the sand fall off my feet.  I arrived at a red, plaid blanket, strewn across the beach so carefully that it didn't have an ounce of sand on it.  I considered for a moment, then kicked my feet, flinging sand onto the pale, almost red, boy that lied there.  It covered him with a thud, the brown particles spreading all over his body.

He lifted himself up with rage in his eyes, squinting to locate me for just a brief moment before landing directly on my grinning face.  I dashed back towards the ocean, obscenities revolving around my ears, I hit the ocean waves hard, flowed into them as they crashed into me.  I dove underneath the next wave and lived for a moment in peace.  The air bubbles from the waves rushing around you, making your ears crackle, but behind it was silence - something you cannot hear in the city.  I let my lungs release the air that trapped inside them and swam out as far as I could before popping out of the water.

My brother was standing in the shallows, his face twisted, snarled, redder than the sunburn that he had gotten.  I don't think I would have continued to torture him into our teenage years if he hadn't been so terrified of the ocean.

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I find myself stuck again - mind racing, but not settling on any one image, any one person, any one story.  There's a million different things going on in my head, and I cannot focus.  Working overtime last night definitely didn't help, as I didn't even really have time to relax - though, I did make fantastic at home mac and cheese with 4 different kinds of cheddar and almond milk.

Picture of a Woman

Who was this woman?  I knew what to call her before, what to say a few months ago.  She was a loving wife, an aspiring photographer, a real estate agent, but really, most of all she was a mother.  She prided herself on that.  But this woman that stood before me was a shell of that, someone so convinced that her life was over that she was willing to give it all up.  This woman was spineless, she lacked motivation, she had fallen into the trap of being content.  Her eyes frozen on mine, hollow in the deepest meaning of the term.  No more green reflecting the world with glimmers of hope and fascination, it’s all replaced by anger and hatred towards her situation, towards what happened.

As the picture of her clouded over from the steam of the shower, I didn’t bother wiping it off again.  I didn’t want to see this woman, I didn’t want to admit that this was where I was.  Couldn’t I live in ignorant bliss?  But that’s the problem, when you know what you once had, you can’t live without it – at least, not as happy as you once were.  I knew what I had to do, but I had no idea what to tell him.  What do you say to a man?  How do you tell him you’re no longer in love with him?  That you were never in love with him?  How do you say, “You were just a means to an end for me – yes, I was using you, but I’m terribly sorry about it.”

But had I been using him?  That was the part I would never quite get, because it wasn’t true.  A part of me had fallen for this man, but he wasn’t mine.  And that was the difference, I supposed.  He never stood a chance against the man that I loved, no one did really – but why did it have to be him, of all the thousands of other people in the world that I could have taken solace in – why him?

I wanted to destroy the mirror, but instead, I walked into the shower for the third time today.  I watched my fingers turn to wet, hot prunes.  “I have something to tell you…  I have…  I have to tell you something…  I have to be honest, look…  I have…  Ugh.”  I concentrated on the water rushing down my face, dripping off my nose.  I had to convince myself, for the hundredth time this month, that it was all going to work out.  Somehow.  The impossible had already happened – so what’s one more “miracle?”

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This may, or may not, end up in my final piece for a longer work.  Haven't decided yet, but I wanted to get into her head again - so that I can continue writing her story.  Yes, it is ambiguous, but I don't want to give away too much about this novel until it is actually done.

Under Our Feet

She ran through the train.  Her frame was so thin that she had a way of sneaking between people, ducking and dodging and laughing.  She heard his voice, begging him to slow down, but he couldn’t help but laugh too.  Hers was infectious, she had the squeal that bordered on annoying, but really was just pure joy that reminded most people of their childhood – of sillier times, simpler times.  Her red, long curly locks tossed behind her.  They were bright red, the color most people dyed their hair in attempts to imitate, but hers was completely natural.  Everything was natural – from her perfect, flawless skin that captured the sunlight in crystals and released them with a flash of her pearly whites.  It seemed that she sucked up all the life around her, releasing it back with more ecstasy than the rest of the world could ever know what to do with.

She raced back through the dessert cart.  Laughed and twirled herself around to make sure his beige eyes were still running after her.  She almost sideswiped a man drinking at the bar, but was able to roll around him.  She murmured a laughing apology before hitting the last cart.  She was almost at the end of the train.  

The door flew open underneath her feathery grip and she jumped out onto the end of the train with her arms open wide.  She watched the world float by underneath her feet, turned around just in time to allow those beige eyes to catch a glimpse of perfection.  Her eyes danced with mischievous determination, her mouth in a joyful smirk, her hair falling on all sides of her shoulders, but still framing her peach colored face.  She grinned, “Told you I’d win.”

He walked up to her and tucked an unruly piece of hair behind her ear.  With the world passing beneath them, he cusped her head in his hands and kissed her.  They embraced for a few moments before he pulled away.  He had a funny look on his face, a twisted side-smile that she couldn’t quite place.  She was about to ask what was wrong, but hesitated a moment too long and he knelt down on one knee.  He opened a small, red box.

Words cannot describe how she felt in that moment, but the crystals forming in her eyes were enough.  They danced on their way down her cheek, then got swept off her face and sent onto the world rushing out from under their feet.

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Inspired by my time in Napa Valley with my love - he proposed to me on the Wine Train, in the dessert cart, while the world passed under our feet.

Jess

“Anthony, you can’t keep doing this!  We worry about you so much, and … god, I sound like your mom.”

“So then stop worrying okay?  It’s whatever.”  He was lying back on our couch, eating the food that Tyler had just made for him, after we picked him up half dead in the rain storm, and he wanted us not to worry?  Seriously?!

“No, this isn’t okay!  It’s not just whatever!”  Tyler grabbed my arm and I shot bullets at him, “Don’t you stick up for him, not again!”  I stormed out of the room and slammed the door behind me.  I breathed several breaths, calming my head.  Okay, I know, he has a tough life, but to make all of us worry, keep all of us on edge like he does – I never will understand why the rest of the band fell in love with this kid.  He’s like a lost puppy that refuses any real help, but will take the occasional hand out after life really shits on him.  I sighed.

I twisted my lips in thought and marched back into the living room.  “I’m sorry.  That was rude, you called us because you needed help.  And we do love you, it’s just hard to help you when you don’t act like you want it.”

“I never asked for help, I asked for a place to stay.  I asked for some food, and yeah, maybe that’s help, but damn it, what the fuck else am I supposed to do?”  He sat up and we got into a staring contest.  “You want me to just walk back home, hey mom and dad, it’s me, do you love me yet?  Can I talk to you about my fucking problems?  Sorry, I don’t have a support system.” 

My face got hot, “You want to talk to me about support systems, see this?”  I held up Tyler’s arm.  “This is mine!  No parents, no bullshit like that – you don’t like your home life, just get out!”

Anthony rubbed his face with his hands, “Who the hell do you think I go to for support, Jess?”

I was taken aback.  It wasn’t the band that wanted to care for Anthony – it wasn’t that they loved him, it was that Anthony needed them.  As much as I needed Tyler, he depended on these guys to be there for them.  And while it was endearing, it was infuriating to have him bunk with us on so many occasions, have us taxi him around numerous times, play house and act like the adults while he throws away any chance at a normal life.

“Okay, I’m sorry, I got it…”  I sat down next to Tyler, “It’s been a long day, and picking you up at 2am didn’t really help.  I’m exhausted.”

Anthony uncrossed his arms and moved his hair out of his face, “I guess I really don’t thank you guys as much as I should… so, thank you.”  He looked between me and Tyler, “I mean, honestly, I don’t know what else I would do if you two hadn’t come into my life.”  The stupid, dark gray-eyed kid had a way of melting your heart for him.  Even I wanted to protect him, and sometimes, I absolutely hated him.

Eric

I jumped off stage and scooped her into my arms.  Amanda was so light, I could pretty much throw her across the room, though I have no strength to speak off.  I was just lanky, really tall, and she was just really petite.

I was talking a mile a minute.  “You thought it was good right, I mean, I didn’t mess anything up, and it sounded okay?”  She laughed and nodded, I stared at her teeth – perfect, straight, glowing white.  That smile was kind of what I lived for, though, I could never tell her that.

She swilled whatever drink she had convinced some 21-year-old to buy her as she listened to me go on until I couldn’t even speak anymore.  I realized that I had some serious cotton mouth going on and watched the world swill inside her cup.

“You can have some if you want,” she pushed it towards me.  I met her eyes with mine and smiled.

“Who’d you swipe it from?”  She shrugged and laughed.  “Fair enough,” and I took a huge gasping gulp.  It was just your traditional rum and coke – with entirely too much rum.  I almost coughed, which just made her laugh harder.

“So, hey, I was wondering,” she placed her fingers in mine, “if you wanted to do something this weekend?”  The warmth of her fingers pushed against my hands, I could almost feel my blood cells stealing whatever kind of heat they could from her.

“Yeah, sure like what?”

“I don’t know, I was thinking you could come up with something.”

I shook my head, “You know what happens when I do that.”  Countless times I’ve been with this girl entirely too stoned, usually because of my poor planning.  And I mean, it wasn’t like now, where my head was gently rolling and I could still focus on her, her perfect lips, the way her hair framed her face… no , it was usually the high where I start pouring confessions, crying about nothing.  I remember the look in her eyes when I knocked on her door – my hair was slick with sleet, my fingers were freezing, and my eyes bleary from the walk.

“What’s wrong?” She asked, glancing between both my eyes, completely focused on me.  I struggled to find the words, but ended up just mouthing, “I don’t know.”  She took me by the hand and guided me inside her apartment.  She took off my coat and I felt absolutely helpless, hopeless, futureless.  She brought me into bed with her and I lied on her chest while she stroked my hair for hours, until we fell asleep.  I think I fell in love with the way that she smelled that night, if you can fall in love with a person’s smell.  But it was that strange, musty lavender and it was intoxicating.

But right now, her lips were sour, so I shook the memory away and said, “Sure, I’ll try something, but I can’t promise it’ll be legal.”

“You know I’m always game.”  She pinched my cheek.  “I’m going to go drag Kelli, we have to get to this other party tonight.”  She looked around, “Shit, you think she dragged Derrick off again?”

“Probably.”

“Figures.  I don’t know why she can’t get over that boy, I mean, he doesn’t even act into her – is he?”

I shrugged, “Hell if I know.”

“Well, who does he talk to?”  She stood up, hands on her hips, lips pursed, but her eyes were still filled with laughter.

“You always try to act so serious,” I smirked and reached my hand up, gently taking her face in my hands and I kissed her.  “I’ll see you Saturday, 2pm, it’s a date.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Anthony.”  

Amanda made a face.  We both knew exactly how Anthony felt about Kelli.

Derrick

Kelli sauntered towards me after the show was over.  I tried to turn my back on her, but she made it impossible.  It might have been the fact that she followed your eye wherever you turned.  She wouldn’t let me forget about her.  So eventually I gave in. 

There was nothing about her I particularly liked – but I didn’t hate her either.  The ratty nest of bleached blond hair with black underneath, the dark make up coating her eyes, the pink lip gloss she used, the over-sized t-shirt which dangling off of one shoulder; she was a complete scene girl, and for whatever reason, had decided to fall for me.  I never had the heart to tell her I wasn’t into her, but I figured, what else did I really have going for me at the time?  She wasn’t a bad girl, but she wasn’t particularly nice either.

“So where are we going?”  She smacked her gum chewing lips together and tossed her hair behind her shoulder, it fell in a clump.  I looked to the guys – they were already doing their thing.  Anthony spoke with Tyler and Jess about god knows what, and Eric was off with his girl, what the hell was her name again?  She was one of Kelli’s friends.  I always thought it was weird that someone would be into him – he had scruffy long hair and was kind of dirty.  And he was insanely lazy.  Sure, he came up with great lyrics for our bands and was somewhat of a musical genius, but if we weren’t going to become famous, he really had no future to speak of.  Kelli’s friend was what you would call gorgeous; short, petite, a pixie brown haircut and eyes to make you melt.  I never understood it.

“No idea,” I shrugged the band’s gear onto my shoulders.  “Tyler, is your car open?”  He was locked in conversation with Anthony – who looked bored, but he always looked bored.  The crossed arms, jaded look in his eyes, shuffling his feet every minute or so - yup, definitely bored.  Maybe he was always bored.

"Tyler, your car, man?”  He tossed me the keys without even looking.  Kelli swooped down and plucked them off the floor.

“Perfect,” she got a smirk on her face.  I almost sighed, but followed her swaying body out back towards the car.  I put in two of the cases, shut the trunk, and turned around as Kelli crashed into me.  Her lips collided with mine.  I wondered if other guys ever felt this way – completely and utterly molested when a girl kissed them.  Did they just “go with it to” or were they actually into it?  And it wasn’t that I wasn’t into Kelli – okay, it really was that I wasn’t into her, but what was I supposed to do?  So I kissed her back and felt miserable about it.  I continued to keep up the charade with her, and for what?  She was just using me, probably not the same way that I was her, but it was still similar.  She had no interest in the type of person I was, she probably wouldn’t even tell you what color my eyes were if I shut them.  She was just, dare I say it?  A groupie.

That’s when we heard the screaming and saw Anthony and Tyler run into the alleyway.  “Should we go help them?”  I was thankful to get the moment to pull my lips away from hers.

“Naw, let them take care of it – Tyler’s strong, I mean, you’ve seen the guy right.”  Kelli rested her head on my chest, I put my arm around the small of her back.  “He’s so handsome, I mean have you ever seen his muscles, ugh.” 

I made a face as Jess came up from behind Kelli.

“Excuse me, bitch?”

I stepped back away from both of them as their voices raised, cussing and screaming at each other.  I stared up at the sky, I could just barely see the outlines of the clouds in the dark, midnight blue.

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I figure when I run out of ideas, I'm just going to do this from now on - excepts from my novel but NOT from my main character's point of view.  So this is what else happened when Jaden was pulled into the alleyway.  There's a whole world of events in these few people's lives, and I've only really explored Anthony's.  It's kind of fun to get a different perspective, put myself in someone else's shoes.

Real Faces of Evil

          Twigs cracked underneath my feet, I could swear I was going fast enough to fly.  My heartbeat swelled in my head and drowned out my heavy breathing.  If I gasped any more, my chest would explode.  My pants ripped on the underbrush.  I could smell him, he was getting closer.  Fuck.

          I pulled a branch back and snapped it behind me.  I heard some indistinct yelling so close, but it felt so far away.  He really was that close to me.  The lake house was about a half a mile away.  I had no idea if my body was going to let me continue at this pace, but I had to try.  I had to get there.

          The wind had picked up and my eyes started watering down my cheeks.  I didn’t have time in my frantic haze to tell if I was actually crying, or if it really was just the wind.  My shoe got caught on something and flipped off into the dark.  The next step down had my leg jolt with a searing pain, something had lodged itself in between my toes.  I looked down just long enough to see blood pooling around the stick that was protruding out.  I wanted to vomit, but shook the image out of my head.  I continued to run, as fast as my limp filled run would take me. 

          “Erica!”

          “Shut up!”

          “Just freaking stop!”

          “No!”

          I looked behind me to see if I could make him out.  He might even be up in the trees, I had no idea.  I just wanted to get out of the forest.  My head was pounding from the last two mile run, I could barely make out anything in the dark.  I saw the lake house up ahead, it wasn’t that much farther.

          “Erica, don’t you dare!”

          “Just stay away from me!”

          The pain was getting increasingly worse, and the limp was ruining my pace even more.  He was going to catch me, this much I was sure of.  Though, every time I looked for him, he wasn’t anywhere.  It seemed like his voice was coming from all over the woods, and I couldn’t pinpoint the sound.  I couldn’t shake the picture out of my head.  Those dark eyes, the deafening silence after he changed.  The anger the loomed behind every sense of his being.  The romantic side of me thought that maybe this was just the mysterious part that ever girl dreamed of.  But I quickly reminded myself that this wasn’t a blockbuster movie, this was my life – and this wasn’t a mystery.  It was as clear as day, but as dark as night.

          I pounded my feet up the porch steps and reached to open the door – we never kept the porch door locked, but now there was good reason to.  I gasped as gnarled hands curled around mine and I was face to face with Victor.

          “Get. Your. Hands. Off. Me.”  I tried to shake him off, but it was useless.

          “It took you long enough to get here.”

          “Well, if you don’t mind, you can just go home, okay?  Just get out.”

          “You know,” he leaned into me.  I could smell that musky smell, the smell I never was able to place before now.  “I’m not like them, I don’t need an invitation inside.”  I shifted under him.

          “Look,” he released my hand.  “Can we just talk?”  I shook my head, speechless.  I couldn’t take my eyes off of his.  The darkness, the emptiness, all of it I had never seen in true color before tonight.  His quickness to get angry with me, I thought we were just going to another one of those semi-abusive couples that really do love each other.  But no, nope.  I had to go and fall in love with a stupid freaking… do I dare even say it?  Do I dare even admit to myself how deeply in danger I am?

          I winced.  The pain in my foot was finally catching up to me and I leaned on the glass door for support.

          “Erica…”  He looked at my foot and to the look at my face.  His hands melded back into their regular form, the still rough looking, but ever so much more pleasant to look at hands that I had held many nights before.  I started crying.  He lifted my foot up, and I bit my lip, instinctively pulling away from him.  “What on earth did you do?”

          “I don’t…”  I lost my footing and slumped over on Vincent.  “This doesn’t mean…”

          “I know, love, I know.”  He lifted me up and carried me into the lake house.  “But right now, we need to get this stick out of your toe.  I mean, this is really disgusting.”

          “Says the guy that looks gross thirty percent of his life.”

          “More like twenty, and I don’t think it’s that gross.  Is it?”

          “It’s fowl.”  I nuzzled my head into his shoulder.  “It’s disgusting, it’s horrific, it’s horrible, and I can’t believe I’m still in love with you.”  This was me, and my boyfriend.  My disgusting werewolf of a boyfriend.  Oh, I know that you’ve seen on those movies – the nice fur, the warmth.  But no, this was some horrible half-man, lanky kind of creature with gnarled, worn limps that looked so ferocious that you wanted to run the opposite direction.  There was nothing romantic about his shape shifting.  It was scary.  And that’s why I ran blindly into the night – I was terrified of him.  And I wasn’t sure that anything would be the same, but I was sure happy to not be stepping on my foot anymore.

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I don't typically write science fiction - I always find that most of those stories fall flat after a point.  Not other authors, I think some people have done a great job at creative fantasy works - but I don't have that kind of skill in my writer's box.  But it's fun to experiment with shorts every once and awhile.  If you're looking for a great Science Fiction read, check out Brom's The Child Thief.  It is the evil side of Peter Pan - and yes, it's wicked cool.

Kasha

He stopped in his tracks.  The horse’s muzzle shook underneath the reigns behind him.  He could feel the frostbite seeping through his fingertips as the snow filled in what footprints they had made.  The horse’s breath fell in wisps upon his shoulders, causing a small break of warmth in the bitter, dead cold of winter.  No one ever believed that they would have the opportunity to die like this, like Miles was currently.  He never believed he’d get the chance to think of his short thirty-two years of life before it was ended.  Who would ever believe that through the cold of winter that you could still feel the fire on your face?  You could see you son napping with red cheeks, curled up next to his favorite stuffed animal.

“Dad, we can get one someday, right?”  He shook the ragged puppy in Miles’ face.

“Sure, son, whatever you want, we’ll get it, definitely.”

And that’s how it all began.  The brutal cold pierced through their cabin, came down the chimney, dowsing their fire.  His wife begged him, said it would be too much on his body, that they could just eat Kasha.

There was no way Miles would ever let that happen.  The way his son’s face lit up at the prospect of riding her.  She was the closest thing he ever had to a friend.  So much for living the nomadic life.

Something that no one ever tells you about dying, is the ultimate peace that washes over you after you’ve already accepted it.  It has that pit of despair, that desperate desire to continue, but there comes a time when you finally just relax, and accept what’s coming.  So this was it, this was Miles’ end.  And he wanted so badly just to get Kasha to safety, or somewhere, maybe that someone could find her.

So he pushed them forward.  She nudged his back every once and awhile.  The brown mare had her own language.  It was if she was begging him, begging his legs, to keep going, one step at a time.  Miles had no regrets.  His family would starve if he didn’t get back, and he supposed that was a regret, but maybe they wouldn’t.  He held on hope for them, that this bitter, cold winter wouldn’t shake their bones like it did his.  He always thought he was the weakest one anyway.  His wife had such a painful childbirth, and she had made it out with an exhausted smile on her face.  That same sideways smirk that she always gave Miles at the best of times in their life.

And his son had overcome the famine.  He had survived two grave illnesses that many children his age had died from years prior.  All of this without medication.  Miles knew, or convinced himself, they would make it.  They had to make it, because one more step in this white snow wasn’t going to happen.  He knelt down and felt the dampness seep up through his two heavy layers.  The whinny behind him made him reach up and scratch Kasha’s nose.  “It’ll be okay, girl.  You have to keep going.”  He pointed and looked at her, pleading.  “One more mile, girl, it’s fine.  Please.”  She nudged his shoulder.  He felt hot tears rising up in him.  He choked them back, it was no use to have them freeze on his face.  It would just make him colder.

Miles blinked slowly, holding eye contact with Kasha.  “Please, Kasha, go.”  She opened her great mouth and grabbed his jacket, almost pulling him up.  Miles couldn’t help but let out a meek laugh.  She was choosing to die with him.

-------

Though I could see this becoming a longer piece, I don't think it will.  Frankly, I know nothing of being a nomad, having settled down for most of my life.  I've always wanted to just live on the road, travel to random, outback destinations.  Some of my favorite stories are of people trapped in the wilderness.