Theatre of the Damned

“Why would the new theatre give us seven complimentary tickets for the grand opening?” Linda inquired, “What makes us so special?”

“Why question a good thing?” Gerald grumbled, “I don’t have much in life to look forward to. My health is deteriorating. So, why don’t we invite 5 of our closest friends.”

They were greeted by a pale man, with a thin mustache. He was stuffed into a starched suit that appeared to be a couple sizes too small for him. “Welcome. I am Percy. Are you ready for your complimentary tour?”

“Wow, you’ve got VIP treatment!” Eddie winked at Linda.

“It’s so hot in here,” Linda complained, “And it looks like a dungeon!”

“Shut up, woman!” Gerald replied.

“I think it’s very nice,” Veronica responded.

The guests sat down for their meal.

A tall, thin man with bloodshot eyes served them a tray full of Chinese food.

“Ugh, Chinese food!” Gerald complained.

“Hey, you can’t beat a free lunch,” Walter replied.

Sheila cracked open her fortune cookie. “This is quite an ominous message. It says…”

The waiter with the bloodshot eyes approached them. “Please do not read your fortune out loud. You will be acting out your fortunes on stage. Whoever does the best interpretation will win a prize.”

“That sounds like fun!” Victoria clapped her hands.

Gerald went on stage, and did an interpretation of driving off a bridge, after hitting a patch of ice.

Linda did her impression of getting trapped in an elevator that floods with water.

Eddie did his interpretation of  falling off an escalator, while shopping at the mall.

Veronica acted out a head-on collision with a semi that occurred on the highway.

Walter did his impression of dying of rabies.

Sheila did her impression of dying of Ebola.

Victoria did her impression of bleeding to death from a botched abortion.

The pale man in the starched suit approached them. “You all did a great job! Congratulations, now you all know how you’re going to die!”

He looked at the bewildered crowd, and gave each of them a grim smile. “I’m going to give each of you a prize.”

He handed each of the 7 contestants a tiny slip of paper that was folded in half.

Linda unfolded her piece of paper. “What does this mean? 3:33 a.m.?”

“That’s what time you’re going to die,” the pale man in the starched suit, replied.

Linda stood frozen in shock. The other six guests dropped their slips of paper, and ran out of the building. marco-bianchetti-532558-unsplash (1)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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The Thought Police: Part Two (A Tribute to Steve Davis)

Twenty minutes later, I noticed a file hanging off his desk. I unintentionally glanced at his paperwork, and I became sick to my stomach, when I noticed that my name was on it, along with my personal information, and detailed notes of my daily activities. Above my name, the words “Under Surveillance, Threat to Hopeland Security” were printed.

“Be honest with me, Richard!” I shouted, tossing the paperwork at him. “What is this about?! You never cared about me! You were monitoring me the whole time!”

Richard wiped a tear from his eye. “That’s not true, baby. I love you. I had my orders.”

I shoved him. “Get away from me!”

“Don’t be like that towards me, babe. Listen, it’s not safe to talk here.” He led me into an underground bomb shelter. “Look, I’m putting my life in jeopardy by telling you this. I’m a CIA agent. I was ordered to put you in  a federal re-education camp in Arizona.”

“Why?”

“Well, because of your wild political beliefs, and your immunity to H.K. Ultra.”

“How could you do this to me, Richard?” I sobbed.

“I never meant to hurt you. You mean everything to me. I’d lay down my life for you.”

“O.K.”

Richard cried as I was escorted out of his apartment by two federal agents. “Tina Emers, you’re coming with us.”

I was taken to a facility, surrounded by barbed-wire, and armed guards. It appeared to be an abandoned train station. There were no medical personnel, and the backyard was lined with plastic coffins.

I was confined to a tiny room infested with bugs. I fought the restraints as the odor of urine, and feces overwhelmed me. I was tied to my bed 20 hours a day. Sometimes, they would strip me nude, and hose me down. My roommate, an elderly gentlemen, was chained to a crib. I pitied the old man. He weeped every night scared, and disoriented.

Amanda, the young girl in the cell next to me, cried out for her mother every night.

“Enough whining!” the guard shouted, as he dragged her out by the hair.

“Help me, mommy,” the girl sobbed.

The guard strapped her into a rotating chair, until she lost consciousness. After several hours, Amanda wouldn’t budge. I noticed that she had vomit on the corners of her mouth. I later found out that she choked to death.

I shivered violently as I was forced to submerge in an ice bath for days at a time.

My veins turned black as I was injected with deadly toxins.

Eric, one of the guards, who took a liking to me (one of Rick’s friends on the inside) stayed with me during the nights when my body was ravaged by fevers.

When I tried to relay a message to Eric, to give to Rick, I was forced into a chemically-induced seizure. I later found out that Eric was reprimanded for holding my hand during my convulsions.

A couple weeks later, I was strapped to a gurney. I trembled as a couple of men in military fatigues, measured my head, to fit me for electrodes. I squeezed my eyes shut, as I heard the buzz of the surgical saw against my ear.

“Sergeant Donnelly, report to base, STAT,” a voice called over the loud speaker.

“You’re lucky, honey,” the man said, “I was ordered to fit electrodes into your brain, to monitor your thoughts. If your viewpoints were unacceptable, I would be required to administer devastating amounts of electrical current into the frontal lobe of your brain. The boss says, you got a couple more weeks. In the meantime, I am required to keep you on a continuous loop of propaganda.

Rick downloaded the TQR browser. “I can’t take it anymore,” he sobbed into his cup of coffee. He threw his half-eaten Danish into the wastebasket. “Even food doesn’t taste the same. I don’t even know if she’s dead, or alive. I haven’t heard from Eric in days.” He wiped a tear from his eye. “I miss you, babe. Life’s not worth living without you.”

He logged onto the “Deep Web.” All kinds of warnings appeared on the screen. Rick bypassed ads for weapons, drugs, hitmen, and other graphic content, too brutal to mention. “I’m risking my career, freedom, and my life for you, babe.”

He stopped at a hyperlink, for a website dedicated to a radical militia, known as the “Freedom Fighters.”

“Wait a minute,” he thought to himself.

Rick posed as a member of the militia, to sneak into the compound, undetected, and changed my records.

“Come on, honey. You’re O.K. You’re being released,” an aging hippie, with long brown hair, balding in the middle, carrying a walking stick, escorted me out. “I’m Ron. I was friends with Richard. I’m afraid I have some bad news. I don’t know how to tell you this, but he was killed in a car bombing.”

“Oh, no,” I gasped, “I bust into tears. “Not Rick!”

“Calm down, sweetie. He sent you up with an apartment, and a job. He gave his life for you.”

“Hey, open up, it’s Ron!”

I answered the door, exhausted.

“What’s up?”

“Rick is looking for you.”

“What?!”

“He’s alive, and well. He had to fake his own death, in order to save you.”

That evening, I had an unexpected guest at my door.

“Rick!”

“Tina!”digital-grunge-computer-1391718819Ntf

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Featured post

Texas Burgers

Jerry had not been the same, since his wife of 22 years had asked him to leave. He was forced to live with his mother in Galveston. Although his mother had a house overlooking the beach, Jerry could not appreciate it. He became very depressed. He did not take care of himself very well, nor did he eat right. He ate fast food for almost every meal. Jerry had no privacy at home, and would drive around for hours after work. He was even hospitalized for a few days, because he hadn’t had a bowel movement in two weeks.

One day, when Jerry was driving through San Antonio, he noticed that a new burger joint had opened up, called “Clyde and Hoppy’s.” He felt his stomach rumble, and thought, “What the hell.” As he walked in, he noticed that the restaurant seemed to have western theme. “I think I might like this place,” Jerry thought.

Suddenly, a buzzer went off. People were cheering, as confetti fell from the ceiling. “Welcome 1000th customer!” Someone dressed like a cowboy slipped an envelope in his hand. “Not only is your meal on us, today, sir, but you have won the prize of judging our 32nd annual burger cook-off. We’ve recently expanded our franchise all the way from Arkansas. People all over the south will be there. You are in for a real treat, sir.”

Jerry grinned as he opened the envelope, and read more about the contest. “Join us on June 22nd, from 2-7 P.M., at the Steerhead Fairgrounds. You will enjoy good music, hot babes, and mouth-watering recipes from all over the south.”

Jerry took his “Judge” badge out of the envelope, and pinned it on his shirt. “Now, that just made my day!”

The first entry was a taco burger, prepared by Eugene Banks of Tallahassee, Florida. Jerry didn’t care much for this burger, because it was so messy. He thought to himself, “Some foods just don’t need to be combined. Tacos are fine the way they are.” The burger reminded him of a taco, because it had corn chips, and taco seasoning mixed into the patty. It was served with salsa. Jerry rated this burger a four out of ten.

The second entry was a Paul Bunyon Burger, prepared by Marcus Trion of Miami, Florida. It had a Cajun flair to it. Jerry was much more impressed by this burger. He could not stop eating spicy food, although he was getting older, and he could not tolerate it as well. This burger was quite spicy. It had Worchestershire sauce, and horseradish cooked into it. Jerry rated this burger a five out of ten.

The third entry was a French Terragon Burger, prepared by Terrance Isaac of Shreveport, Louisiana. This burger nearly made him sick. It had a tangy taste to it. The burger was made with mayo, Dijon mustard, and Terragon. Jerry couldn’t stand Dijon mustard. It was served on French bread. Jerry nearly broke his tooth on the bread. He rated this burger a one out of ten.

The fourth entry a was a grilled pizza burger, prepared by Paula Gardener of Dallas, Texas. This burger made Jerry’s mouth water. He was a kid at heart. It had all the seasonings of a traditional pizza, tomato sauce, onions, Parmesan, and Provolone cheese. It was served over an English muffin. He rated this burger a six out of ten.

Jerry was anxious about tasting the next few entries, because they were turkey burgers. Jerry had never eaten a turkey burger. When he noticed that the fifth entry was a New Mexico Green Chili, turkey burger, he had his mouth set. There is nothing like a spicy, tangy burger. This entry was prepared by Ian Broche of Sarasota, Florida. It had chili peppers, honey, lime juice, and chili powder cooked into it. Jerry rated his burger a seven out of ten.

Jerry couldn’t wait to sample the next entry. He had become fond of turkey burgers. The sixth entry was a Jalapeno Jack Turkey Burger prepared by Nancy Crose of Palm Springs, Florida. It was a sweet, and tangy burger, with cilantro, honey, and salsa cooked into it. It was served with onions, spinach leaves, and guacamole. Jerry rated this burger an eight out of ten.

By the time Jerry had reached the seventh entry, he had sweat running down his face from eating all of the spicy food. It was a Fiery Chipolte Turkey Burger prepared by Danny French of Houston, Texas. Jerry could tell that it was an extremely spicy burger, because it had chipotle chili peppers, and mayo cooked into it. It was served with jalapeno peppers, pepper-jack cheese, spicy barbeque sauce, and fried onions. Jerry gulped down a large glass of ice water before he took a bite. He rated this burger a nine out of ten.

Jerry didn’t care much for the eighth entry, which was a cranberry glazed turkey burger. It was prepared by Josie Sweetin of Houston, Texas. The burger had a sweet, and spicy taste to it. “Burgers should not have a sweet taste,” he thought to himself.” It had sage, thyme, and orange peel cooked into it. It was served with spinach, and onion. Jerry rated it a three out of ten.

Jerry did not like the ninth entry. It was a grilled burger served with thousand island dressing prepared by Mimi of Galveston, Texas. Jerry was not a big fan of thousand island dressing, because it made him queasy. The burger had a sweet, and tangy taste to it. It had mayo, ketchup, and sweet relish cooked into it. It was served with sweet onion, cheddar cheese, and bacon. Jerry rated it a two out of ten.

The last entry was Jerry’s favorite. It was just an ordinary burger prepared by Heidi Kitchen of San Antonio, Texas. This burger was known as the “Down-Home American Burger.” Jerry could not figure out what was so special about it. It tasted excellent! It had a sweet, smoky, hickory taste to it. He decided this would be the winning entry.

After handing out the awards, Jerry asked the winning contestant for the recipe.

Heidi reluctantly agreed. “Sorry, I can’t tell you here. Follow me.”

Jerry followed the tiny redhead, with freckles between two buildings, into an alleyway.

Jerry was mortified to learn that the meat from the burger was made from ground-up prison inmates, who were executed. The restaurant was buying the “meat” from the prisons, because it was so cheap. There were so many executions in Texas, that the prisons were running low on space to bury the bodies…hamburger-royal

 

 

 

Featured post

The Thought Police, Part One (A Tribute To Steve Davis)

digital-grunge-computer-1391718819Ntf“I’ve got an appointment on Monday to apply for a federal grant, for computer classes at Cyberstealth Industries,” I looked over at him, and smiled.

Richard leaned over in his chair, and grinned at me. “I’ve got faith in you.”

“Thank you,” I blushed.

I watched as he worked on the plans for Neversoft Office version of Windscreen 10. I wanted to tell him, how I felt about him, but I was too shy. He had his shirt off, and I could not help myself from looking at him. I memorized the locations of his tattoos.

“Are you, O.K.? I mean you were looking at me like-”

I blushed. Had I been giving him the eyes?! Damn, he looked good for his age.

“I should go.”

I bolted toward the door, embarrassed.

He looked at me with confusion, and then intrigue.

Before, I could reach the door, I felt his hand brush up against my back. It was not the pat on the back of a stranger; it felt like an intimate caress. I became aroused. I looked up at him, wordlessly, and then headed for the door. We exchanged pleasantries, and then I left.

My stomach was in knots, as I waited for the bus. It had been years since I worked, or even taken classes. As I entered the first bus, I was overcome by a sense of adventure. I got to the transit station, exhausted, and quite anxious. I pulled out my laptop, and jotted down some random thoughts about my neighbor, as I gulped down my latte.

I felt panic stricken as I entered the next bus. My hands began to tremble as I studied the route map. I wasn’t quite sure where I was going. My heart sank as I realized that I had gotten off at the wrong stop.

I knew I had to get there. I’d missed out on too many opportunities for stupid reasons.

I panted, and wiped the sweat from my brow, as I climbed the steep hill, looking for addresses. I tripped over the rocks, and my feet ached. I was ready to give up, when I looked down at the pavement, and saw an old dragon wind chime. I thought of Richard, and smiled. I closed my eyes, as I sprinted across the busy street.

“Sorry, I’m late,” I panted. “I got off at the wrong stop, and I had to walk a mile up Sanitarium Road. ”

“No problem. You’re fine. You’re not late. I’m Danny. I care about my students. I’m not here to judge you, or make fun of you. I’ll teach you everything you want to know on the computer. Welcome to StealthTech Industries.”

I couldn’t help but notice the man was giggling the whole time. I may have just been exhausted, but I had a feeling he was looking down my shirt, during the testing. After the test was over, and he recorded my scores, Danny took me on a tour of the facility. “We handle classified material here, so you can never mention what you see.”

“When am I going to know if I qualify?” I inquired.

Danny nodded toward another female. “Step into my office.”

I was scheduled to start the following week. “Welcome, aboard.” Danny grinned.

As I was gathering my belongings, I heard Danny repeat my name, over, and over. I felt uneasy.

“Did that just happen?” I wondered. to myself, as I waited for the bus. “I seems awful strange that they offer me classes, and a job on the same day.”

I received a strange E-mail. from an unknown source, titled “Recruitment Phase.” It included a video of three hooded figures, wearing white masks, covered in blood. “Welcome to the Recruitment Phase,” a disembodied voice hissed through my computer. It sounded like a combination of music, and otherworldly chanting. The only words I could make out were, “You will be tested on poetry, philosophy, art, and music.”

I took the test. When it was confirmed that I passed, everything went haywire. The last thing I remember, is seeing a message displayed on the computer, “Something’s not right.”

Then everything went black.

I awoke that morning to an unusual E-mail. “Your first assignment will be located on 556 Walters Road. You are to report at 1900 hours.”

I thought the message was a little strange, but I was in need of a job. I followed the address on the E-mail, to an abandoned military base. I tried the door. The place seemed to be in operation. The walls were surrounded by people sitting in front of computers. On the bulletin board was a sign that read:” Armageddon Communications Network.” I noticed a huge satellite on top of the building. I felt uneasy.

“Welcome,” Mike said, “We’ve got a couple different positions open.” He motioned me toward the row of computers. “This is the data input station. This is where we key important information into the computer database. You can never discuss anything you see, because it’s classified.” Mike grinned, and raised an eyebrow. “Got it?”

I nodded. I couldn’t help noticing that he kept staring at my chest, and wouldn’t look me in the face. He kept muttering under his breath, “I’m such a big dummy.”

Mike led me into a tiny office. An older man in military fatigues, was relaying a message by short wave radio. He appeared to be using a string of numbers, letters, and music.  “Alpha, Bravo, Delta, Niner, Niner…”

I looked at him, puzzled.

“Oh, yes,” Mike said, “This is a number station. Sure, it’s considered cold war technology, but we use these coded messages, and ciphers for covert operations (to communicate with spies from other countries, and disaster-relief protocol.)

I chose the data entry position. One evening, when I was keying data into the computer, I came across a strange file. It refused to open. A message appeared. “Security clearance required.”

I typed in the only thing that came into my mind, “Cicada 3301.”

After reading the contents within the file, I became sick. My stomach was in knots, and I couldn’t breathe. Apparently, the government was using a form of mind control, through the number stations, to get the population to conform. Those who are immune to this technique, are thrown into federal re-education camps. The project was known as HK-Ultra.

“I miss you,” Richard said from the other end of the phone line. My heart skipped a beat. My throat closed up. The only reply I could get out was, “O.K.”

It hadn’t even been two weeks, and he longed to see me. He had been on my mind frequently, but I was too shy to verbalize this. His brother had recently been killed in a motorcycle accident, and he needed time to grieve.

I approached the parking lot of Dollar Mania, when I saw him honking frantically, and waving his arms, out the window. “Come in.”

Richard reached for me, and pulled me close to him. He ran his fingers through my hair. “You smell so good.”

His fingertips brushed against my face, and he gazed into my eyes. “Want to come over?”

I nodded.

He led me into the bedroom. He tasted my lips, and explored the rest of my body with his tongue. I groped his penis, as I felt it stiffen against my leg. He gasped in excitement. Richard moaned as I glided my tongue against the shaft of his member. I ran my hands through his hair, and stroked his goatee, as he laid his head in my lap. I noticed that he seemed distant. “What’s wrong, honey?”

“Oh,” replied, “I don’t have the part for your computer.”

“That’s O.K.,” I said, tackling him playfully. I kissed each of his tattoos. “What do you want to watch next?”

“How about Digital Lust?” he replied.

 

 

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Legend of Poveglia (FEARLESS)

cemetery-by-the-roadI returned from the passage in the castle. The first time I was too terrified to speak; when I saw the decayed body of my karate teacher, wailing over me, because of what I’d done to myself. Five supernatural (Black Dogs) appeared; each smelling of sewage.

“I’ll spit in your face. This is just an illusion.”

I was in a mental hospital, and the authorities were there.

There was a dead phone in the clinic, with a closed circuit TV, that use to belong to the A.A. members. It rang.

I picked it up, so doped up, that I thought it was a colored pencil. “Rick! I mean Jim Cross.”

The line was dead.

“You’re in the matrix, man,” an older patient that resembled Jim Morrison, from the Doors, said.

Suddenly, she broke out in Jim Cross’s speech pattern, followed by what I can only describe as a guttural hiss. “I thought that you loved me. What, my family isn’t good enough for you?”

I stumbled over to her like a drunk soldier.

“This isn’t the Civil War,” she replied in a southern drawl. “Spirits go home!”

Her thick ebony arms grabbed the coatrack from my arms. “What do you think this is, a musket?”

It took two attendants to pin me down, and sedate me.

I grew less fearful every day, even at the threat of a lobotomy. “At least I’ll still have my soul.”

The spirit of my roommate still haunts the tower. She was a paranoid schizophrenic , who died just 3 days after her lobotomy.

These kind of procedures were practiced in our culture, because the truth is; mental illness therapy is still trial, and error.

I became famous at the mental institution after I confronted the doctor about the death of my roomate. Her condition was guarded, and then she was dead.

I probably wan’t being too smart, when I plagiarized my thesis, in order to time-travel to Poveglia. A mad scientist kidnapped our group, and took us to the Peel Castle. It must have been an entrance to the underworld.

Countless spirits recited in ghostly voices, “Poveglia knows where you are! This place will chill your bones! We allow spirits to enter, but never leave.”

I leapt over the guardrail, hoping to jump into the sea. I opened my medicine bag full of lions claws, and serpent’s tails. I had run away, hoping to catch mind-numbing, excruciating pain, rather than losing my thought processes. I fliched as I saw the mad professor shake the drill at me.  “You’ll be thrown to the wolves! You’re only as good as that snake-headed goddess anyway!”

I watched the mindless ones (escapees) race toward each other; some in a maddening three-legged sprint. They bred in the caves, closest to the sea. Their children were deformed, having three heads, in the manner of cavemen. Eventually, the scientist leapt to his own death, and the passageways of the castle were sealed; never to be used again.

I can only hope that I reach Jim Cross in time. The distance will take four years by sea. All I can say is, it’s a matter of endurance, will, and my biological clock. The time machine is hidden underwater in the Bermuda Triangle area. I unsheathe my knife, tuck it between my teeth, and begin to swim. You do not seem to understand that one slight miscalculation, will cause Jim Cross’s suicide!

 

 

Featured post

Lobotomy

pripyat-chernobyl-1493248420KY2Her life was never the same after the attempted lobotomy. Her husband, Kevin kept her brain alive in a jar high above the bookshelf. He had it designed to perform simple commands.

Kevin joined a freak show shortly after the incident, in hopes of earning enough money to perform the procedure, and finding a suitable body (for his wife.)

The surgeon at the Trans Alleghany Lunatic Asylum had suffered a nervous breakdown, a few days before her (Renee’s) operation. There were some unusual occurences going on, as well as reports of poltergeist.

Patients on the upper floor complained that their light fixtures wouldn’t work, and rapping noises kept them up most of the night.

The night attendants were disturbed by the fact that all their phones would go off at the same time, between 2 and 3 a.m. every night. Sometimes, they even heard bird noises.

One evening, a nurse fled the building, and never returned, after witnessing an alarm clock that wasn’t plugged in, nor did it have batteries in it, turn on by itself, and blast music.

Lenny, the surgeon, shoved an icepick into his eye, after failing Renee’s surgery. Although her brain was able to be kept alive, her body quickly perished.

The residents had their own quarters separate from the patients. There had been a mutiny about a week ago. The residents refused to use the staff bathroom.

“OK., who flooded the toilet this bad? It’s been overflowing for over an hour. You must have done it on purpose. I’ve never seen a group of adults so afraid to use a bathroom!” Dr. Bernstein shouted.

“Why don’t you just see for yourself,” one of the residents chimed in. “Spend the night in our quarters.”

The doctor was jerked awake, by a loud booming voice coming from the lavalory. “I am the Bathroom Ghost!”

The staff did some research, and discovered that a marine had hung himself in that bathroom, because of his girlfriend. His last words to her were: “That wasn’t a very nice thing to say to me.” Apparently, he uttered these words before his neck snapped.

Dr. Foley (of the freak show) had Renee doing psychic readings through a system that resembled a cross between, morse code. and a lie detector test.

“I need to consult an oracle,” Kevin said, “Honey, when you were on that bridge, they tried do an exorcism on you. You were confused, and depressed. That’s how you ended up in the looney bin. You even began to forget who you are!”

Kevin, who was also a shaman, had her soul kept safe within her totem animal, the wolf.

People were fascinated by Renee’s ability as a spiritual psychic. She was able to make contact with ravens, and hawks; even changing their flight formations. Sometimes she could even make them talk like parrots.

Renee had learned some advanced metaphysical techniques from the town gypsy. She came up with a new act. The crowd seemed to love it.

She would find a random audience member, and astral project into that person. The “surprized” person would be in a hypnotized state, and she would have that person dance, sing, bark like a dog, or whatever suited her.

A couple months later, a teenage participant became irate from this particular act. She told off Renee, and insulted her. Renee was so devastated that she didn’t talk for three weeks, after the girl made a nasty remark about her being a disembodied freak.

Kevin finally snapped, and kidnapped the girl, the next time she showed up for the performance. He had more than enough saved up for the procedure, and he had just fallen in love with carnie life.

Renee quickly recuperated. No one ever saw the couple again. Some say that they’re living in the wildernessm while others say that they’re holed up in an underground bunker.

Featured post

Fire In the Attic

fire-1331908227GRP“You lost fool, you’re the demon!” Lori shouted, as she stood up on both legs. She pushed me against the wall, pinning me. “Don’t you see what you’ve done to this man.” She took the charred picture of my karate teacher, and handed it to me. His eyes glowed red.

“I-I thought that you were dead,” I stammered, slipping on the blood.

“Yes,” all but a few perished in the fire at the battered women’s shelter.

“I cringed as I saw Jim Cross’s picture melt. “How do you know about him? What have I done?!!!”

“The demon dog told me.”

I almost vomited from the slobber on Lori’s charred body. “Join me friends. This is the Radio Station For the Dead. This is the Day of Judgement!”

I tried to run, but I couldn’t budge. I was chained to the floor. Metal spikes shot out through the dog’s eyeballs, and nostrils, holding me in place. “Jim Cross has aged significantly, because of your suicide attempts, and he has lost his mind!”

Mary, and Stephanie entered. “Do I need to bring in one of your old neighbors to convince you. Here’s Debbie Garman.”

“Cute,” I said with sarcasm, “No freakin’ way.”

“Choose your passion,” the dog growled.

“Say what?”

“Your vice.”

“W-what do you mean?!!! I inquired.

“How do you wish to lose your SANITY?”

“Can I choose death?”

“No, but you can spin the wheel.”

I was forced to strip naked in front of everyone, and spin a wheel full of sticky glass.

“I’m a good news/bad news kind of monster,” the dog replied.

The arrow on the spinner landed on aggressive masturbation in public. I blushed, and then cried.

“No way,”  I screamed.

I was led into the dungeon with such ferocity, that my foot got caught in a skull, and I had to wrestle it out.

I was forced to follow two prison guards, who seemed to be eyeing my flesh, with forks. “Welcome to HM Manchester, Strangeways Prison.”

I was taken to a cell block, that resembled a piss-poor shantytown. If it wasn’t for the deformed dwarves, it wouldn’t have been so bad. We spent most days playing a makeshift flute to the Cactus Cats, to keep their drunken howls at bay, all night.

During the evening, we played poker for rat’s eyes, the currency in this little known sector.

Every day is more exhausting than the next, when you have no idea what’s going on, nor what to expect.

I got so tired, that I threw myself face first into a mud puddle; breaking my glasses. I punched wildly at nothing.

I knew that disturbing the old house where the women had died, would upset the spirits. I didn’t realize that was the last bad decision I’d make. I was dared by a group of my friends, to steal some of their ashes, during a solar eclipse.

A green wolf floated overhead. “I’m Fenris.” He took a bite out of the old moon. “I’m the last thing you’ll ever see.” He shot fiery arrows out of his eyes.

Little did I realize that I was biting my husband’s toes.

“Honey, what are you doing? You’re sick. I’ll get my revenge.” His freckled arms started to tickle me.

It was all a dream!

 

 

Featured post

Furniture Dog (A Story I Wrote When I Was 5)

There was a dog named F.D. He lived in a furniture stores in England, called “Gwen’s Furniture.”

The owner of the store was not allowed to have animals, so only the customers knew about him. He was a spoiled dog. He would get special treats from the customers, as well as his owner. F.D. had it made.

F.D. panicked as he overheard the conversation Gwen’s husband, Arthur, was having. The building was going to be torn down at noon the following day. He realized that he had to do something, because this was the only home he had.

At 10:00 am that morning, F.D. climbed onto the roof of the store. He figured that if he stayed on top of the building, the wrecking crew would not tear it down.

He could not have been more wrong. Little did he realize the construction crew would not see him, because he was only a small dog on top of a large building. He was knocked back from the impact of the wrecking ball, yet he refused to move. He stood his ground, until he was knocked off the roof. Grandma Gwen had taught him to always fight for what he believes in!

F.D. was hurt very badly. Two of his legs had been shattered. He was afraid, because he couldn’t move. Debris from the building was flying everywhere.

Suddenly, Grandma Gwen came, and scooped him up. “My little hero. You’ll be O.K.”

She took F.D. to the vets office, and brought him home to live with her. He realized that home is where you make it; wherever there is love.

F.D. became an instant celebrity. Grandma Gwen had just set foot in her home, when the phone rang. One of her customers wanted to reward her for saving F.D.

Gwen used the money to build an even better furniture store, where F.D. now works, charming the customers. i-love-london-bag

 

 

 

Duder (A Mini-Memoir)

When I was a child, my grandmother had a strange buck-toothed wiener dog, with a curly tail, named Duder. My mother left him behind when she moved. He was a brown dog, with black spots. My grandmother said that he wasn’t right in the head. When my grandmother would chain him up outside, he would bark at absolutely nothing. No one would be around; not even an animal.

Sometimes, Duder would steal pecans out of my grandmother’s bowl that she kept on the hutch. I used to get blamed for it!

Duder was my best friend growing up. I used to play silly games with him. I had a wooden pole with a stuffed horse head attached to it. I used to tie a string to the end of the pole, put a bent paper clip on it, and attach a dog treat to the end of it. When Duder was behind the couch, I used to cast the string like a fishing line. I called this “dog fishing.”

Sometimes, I would draw a picture of a female dog in a bikini, attach a dog treat to it, and tape it on the wall.

Yes, I was quite a strange child.

When Duder ran away the second time, I was heartbroken. I begged my second grade teacher to search through her closet, to see if Duder was hiding in there. I didn’t believe her when she told me that she kept Christmas decorations in there. She had to go through every item in the closet just to convince me. I was quite a crazy kid! angry-dog-1457976354fxY

 

 

Gambling With Words

Writing is gambling with words

It’s a numbers game if you prefer

Story after story you send in

Hoping for the one acceptance

Odds are 99 to 1

It can take away all the fun

Every day another rejection

It’s like pissing in the wind vintage-drama-poster

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