Chilling

Tiny

I only knew Tiny from the Internet, so I couldn’t tell for sure if he was really tiny in size, or if his name was one of those ironical-type names. If so, he might have been huge.

Tiny and me were friends in the kind of way you just sling comments back and forth on Facebook and such. Once in a while, we’d say something like, “We should get together for a beer one day,” but it never happened. At least I don’t think it happened.

You see, Tiny disappeared ’round about a year ago. He’d taken a break from the whole online crap for a couple months before, so I wasn’t too worried, until one day when a stranger showed up on his Facebook account. At first they tried to pretend to be Tiny, but I knew. There were little things, like the way words were spelled right that Tiny always spelled wrong. Stuff like that. When I called the character out, they finally said no, they weren’t Tiny and that Tiny had died.

Then three weeks ago, I found the note in my mailbox. It was from Tiny. Said he’d been in town for a month already. It’s a small town; chances are I’ve seen him around and not known it.

Strange thing is, I never told him where I live.

Author’s note: Until October the 31st, I’m going to try to use this space to create possible beginnings for my 2016 NaNoWriMo project. Feedback is welcome.

Flattery

In a world where having a high number of followers was the ultimate form of flattery, the irony didn’t escape William that being followed down a deserted city street was scaring him shitless. It was more than a feeling; he’d determined that, three blocks back when he circled an intersection all of 360 degrees. That’s when he got a good look at the clown who was following him.

Only one block from home, William was beginning to feel safer. He’d resisted the impulse to turn and look back for a while, but he had his hearing on full alert. There was nothing behind him. With only four doors between him and his apartment, a clown stepped out of an alleyway and stood stiffly before him. It couldn’t be the same clown, was William’s first thought. But of course it could. Damn me for taking the long way home to get away from this guy.

William was surprised when the clown spoke – in a woman’s voice.

“I need your help,” said the clown. She handed him a piece of paper and pushed past him, running awkwardly in her clown shoes back the way William had come.

Author’s note: Until October the 31st, I’m going to try to use this space to create possible beginnings for my 2016 NaNoWriMo project. Feedback is welcome.

Shadow

How is a shadow any less real than that which casts it? Of course it’s real, I would have said six months ago. But it has no life of its own. Now I know different.

It was a warm evening last March. My girlfriend, Amanda, and I were sitting in her basement apartment trying to get a breeze to blow through. We gave up eventually and sat down to watch TV. She rolled a joint and we sparked it up. I thought I was that – that I was too stoned and I was seeing things, but she saw it too.

Our shadows, cast by the bluish light of the TV screen, got up and left without us. Life ever since has been like something out of a horror story.

Author’s note: From October 4th to the 31st, I’m going to use this space to create possible beginnings for my 2016 NaNoWriMo project. Feedback is welcome.

Wings

I feel them as they approach, long before I see them. The dust from the road beneath the lone streetlight swirls around me. Will the angel that comes for me tonight be dark, or of the light?

I look up even though I know it’s useless. When I squint, a halo appears around the bulb above me, in all the colours of the rainbow.

Before long, I pick up the scent. Sulfur. The angel is dark.

He lands some distance away. Finally he steps into the ring of light on the pavement; he saunters toward me. His black wings folded loosely behind him, he wears all white, as though that will absolve him. We both know his clothes will soon be drenched in my blood.

“Hello,” he says with a smile.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” I reply.

I hand him the sword and he studies it for a moment. “Your weapons are getting bigger,” he muses, speaking to me as he looks at the blade.

“The stakes are getting higher. I suppose your rival will be here tomorrow to clean up the mess.”

“You prefer it that way?”

“I think so.”

“He believes he’s mastered the art of protection.”

I nod. “Now he needs to work on his healing.”

“Let’s give him something to work on then.”

I’m aroused at his first slice down my cheek. Tonight will prove to be orgasmic. A little death, indeed.

Power outage

I’m riting this as fast as I can. I can hear him outside the door there’s a storm outside and i’ afraid the power will go out This is my last chance. I know he has a knife. I’m scared please come help me. I can’t .. the door. he’s rattleing the knob what can I do? my phoen won’t work if the power goes ou

…says a character to her author

you see me. i know you do. you feel my pain, you know my joy so intensely that you can express it. you understand what i’m going through – you see past the facade.

so why won’t you get me out of this fucking situation? just do it, damn it!

Hike, Part 2 – Silence

Read part 1 here first.

George sat on his rock well past twilight and into night time, but Rod Serling didn’t show up, despite what his brother, Rob, had said. The silence was heavy, the lack of insect voices or small animals shuffling about in the underbrush was unnerving. George felt like he was the only person left on earth. Perhaps he was.

He got off his rock and sat on the ground with it at his back. Eventually he dozed off. By the time he awoke, to a tapping on his shoulder, his neck ached, his rear-end was numb, and the sky had turned a deep indigo.

“George!” said a voice. George opened his eyes and saw it was Rob.

“What are you doing back? And why didn’t your brother show up?”

Rob shrugged. “Maybe because he’s dead?”

“As good an excuse as any, I guess. Hey, do you know the way back to town? I think I’m a bit lost.”

“Why didn’t you ask last night? I just came from there. Not planning to go back.” Rob looked up. “Oh hey, there’s Rod now.”

Rod Serling, or the ghost of Rod Serling, crawled out from behind the rock and sat beside George.

“George,” Rod said, “have you ever considered that bump on your head from yesterday might have made it unwise to go to sleep?”

“I’m beginning to think so,” answered George. “Am I dead?”

Rob spoke up, “Is this the new show, Rod?”

“Rob, it’s what we call, the Dawning Zone.”

Stump

“Honey, we’ve been walking for sooo long! I feel like we’re just going around in circles!”

Ralph raised the binoculars to his eyes and peered through them for the umpteenth time. The woods in the distance were dense. They were made up mostly of dark, shadowy pines, but the occasional maple dotted the way. The birds were both abundant and weird. Rather than chirp, they buzzed. One of them had picked up Spot, their old springer spaniel, three days ago, and flown away with him.

“You can see for yourself, we’re following the road, Martha.” He didn’t want to scare her, but he thought a couple of times that he’d seen the same tree twice.

“I think we should set up camp soon,” Martha said, tiredly.

“Sure, okay.”

“Do you think we could build a campfire tonight?”

Ralph sighed. “And where, exactly, are we going to get wood from?”

“We could just chop up a bit of the road,” she suggested with a shrug.

Great, thought Ralph. Then if we are walking around in circles, we’ll come across the hole in the road and Martha’ll go crazy.

“Please?” Martha begged. “It’s been weeks since we had a hot meal.”

“Yeah, okay.” Come morning, while we’re walking I’ll give her the binoculars and just change lanes when she’s not paying attention, he decided. The lanes both to the left and the right seemed endless.

***
Stump is the word of the day on the Daily Post, and our assignment for today on A Story A Day was to paint a vivid setting. How long did it take you to figure out where they are?

Clowns

“Send in the clowns!” they say,
so we don our paint
and shovel our feet into gigantic shoes,
place the rainbow wigs upon our heads
and screw our noses in place.

Then, what do you know?
The children’re all afraid
they shiverin their boots
for they told us not
to leave off
the pointy teeth.

Oh, Pennywise, you fool,
shiny eyes peeking through the grate
you’ve ruined it for us all.

Paranoia – 100 words

She walks like she’s being followed, slow and fast, turning right four times and then left, watching her back all the time. She sees a cheat from a mile away and wonders why he’s cheating. Look at his beautiful wife, after all. She wishes she could look over her virtual shoulder, to see if they’re all copying her.

She waits.

Tension is her middle name.

Is that something burning?

Are the homeless really spies?

She’d have her groceries delivered if it wasn’t for that weird guy who works at the store.

What was that noise?

The bugs are coming in.