Living Dead Girl -Chapter 1

“Hello, my name’s Patsy,” I spoke, mostly to the floor.

“Hello, Patsy”, disembodied voices echoed back at me from the circle I sat in. I refused to look up…there was no point.

“Did you have anything else to tell us today, Patsy? Why you’re here, maybe?” The cool, soft voice of Dr. Tellman (yeah, irony there, am I right?) cut through the gloom of the purposely-dimmed room from my right. She kept us in a semi-darkened state to “free our inhibitions and allow us to speak easier”, or something like that.

“I’m here because the State thinks I’m nuts, that’s why I’m here, Dr. Tellman”.

“And what did you say to them to give them that impression, Patsy?” Still, with that same easy, coaxing voice. God! She could sell milk to cows, which would be difficult, because of the whole lack of communic-

“Patsy?”

“Oh, sorry, Doc, woolgathering. I told the State’s doc the truth, is all. And he marked up my sheet like a game of tic-tac-toe. Next thing I know, here I am with the rest of the Cranks, Tanks & Yanks.”

Creaks, whines and rustling met with that statement, & I knew I touched nerves, and got some of them curious. 

Off to me left, I heard 

“Whatzat? Whatchoo said? Cranks, Tanks & Yanks? Zat some kind of insult or sumpthin?”

“No, not an insult, Tommy, it’s just my own way of describing this place.  You see…Cranks are real crazies, through no fault of their own. Something’s wrong upstairs, & they can’t help it. I feel bad for them. 

Tanks are the ones gone crazy because of drugs, alcohol, or both. They did it to themselves, so they get no sympathy from me.

And Yanks, well…those are the poor ones that been through hell so bad, abuse, war, rape, you name it, they’ve suffered & seen it, and they can’t contain it inside their brains by themselves. They get yanked all over by others, put through torture so horrible, ain’t no one should have to go through that shit, specially not alone.”

“And where would you put yourself in that labeling system, Patsy?” Dr. Tellman attempted to get us back on track, but I could hear in her voice that I had her interest.

“Nowhere, Dr. Tellman. I’m not in any of those categories, because I’m not crazy. But the truth sounds an awful lot like crazy, these days, so I might as well have a vacation, hmm?”

I could hear her pen scritching against her clipboard as she wrote notes, quick & efficient, just like her. If I concentrated, I could probably envision her wrinkling her nose as her ash-blonde hair fell over her eyes while she wrote, and her tucking it neatly back behind her ear, sliding her pen atop her ear to wait for the next thought.

“And what is this ‘crazy truth’, Patsy?”

“Well, that I’m a Reaper, and that I’m a living dead girl.”

Whisper #FamChallenge #flashfiction

I can hear the whispering again…

For the last 2 years… On every full moon…the voices call to me…

Shiya…come…come to us…Shiya…the moon rises…come…

Every month, for the 2 years since I’d turned 18, I’d heard this soft, insistent voice, pushing, pulling, tugging at me. 

Come…Shiya…come now…come to the circle…

“Shiya. Shiya! What the hell?! Are you listening?”

Shaking my head, I look up at Brenda, her staring, puzzled, back at me. My friend perched on her chair across the table from me, our coffees between us at the small town bakery we met at every other week for brunch. I knew she wanted to hear me tell her that everything was normal, that I was fine…but that was so not the truth.

“Sorry, Bren, I was…just – ah hell. I don’t know.”

I scrubbed my fingers through my hair, raking it back over my head, knowing it would be an unholy mess, and totally not caring. 

“Shit, Shiya, it’s the voices again, isn’t it?”

“Shhhh!” I hushed quickly, glancing around the room to see who was looking. Last thing I wanted was for the local gossips to hear that I was hearing voices, for gods’ sake! Oh, that’d set the biddies up for a lifetime supply of stories over their fence lines, and my family would send me packing with the men driving the padded truck.

“I don’t want to talk about that here. Not now.”

“Ok, fine. But you know this is nuts, right?”

“I know.”

That night, the moon rose, silver and full.

And the whisper rose with it, filling my head.

And then, just in that moment as the moon shone overhead, I knew I had to get out, and I knew where to go.

To the trees…the whisper was coming from the trees…

Opposable #FlashFiction

“You’ll write what I want you to write, and that’s that, goddammit!”

Moira flinched as a meaty hand slammed the table in front of her, punctuating the sentence with a slap.

“No,” she breathed firmly, “I won’t. I’m not a smut writer, and I won’t start just because you’re threatening me. I write what I want, and kidnapping me won’t matter, you fucktard. You’ll never get what you want from me. Sick bastard.”

Moira could hear him grinding his teeth as he growled under his breath at her refusal, but she refused to cave in to his sicko demands.

She’d been here for just over 3 nights now, or 4 days…she couldn’t really tell. She knew she was underground in some kind of bomb shelter, since she could smell the musty, mildewy smell of old water on concrete, but he’d fixed the place up…almost nice.

Creepily so.

The walls were covered with faux wood panels, that had pictures and paintings hanging from them, to add some semblance of “windows”, even to having curtains hung around a few. It was – homey – and macabre, all at the same time.

The table at which she was now seated was real wood, a deep butcher’s block kitchen- style surface, ready to seat at least 6 people, but currently only holding her and an old manual typewriter, a fresh ream of paper, & a cup full of freshly sharpened Number 2 pencils.

Exactly like she’d told Author’s Gazette last month when she’d done that article about her writing habits, & her quirks about liking to have pencils on hand for the odd note-taking, twirling, putting up her hair in a bun when really getting serious, & chewing on the erasers when she got stuck on plot points.

“Alright. Well, you’ll stay here until you write what I want, then.”

************

“Are you going to write it yet?”

“No, go to hell, asshole.”

“Supper’s on the table.”

“Carrots and cheese sticks again?”

“Bologna tomorrow. You know you get meat once a week.”

“Fuck off”

“Write it.”

“Die.”

****************

“Maybe…maybe if I just… No, I can’t.  But…then he’d let me leave, right? Yeah, sure, after all this time…he’d just let me go. What, it’s been how long? How many weeks, months…ohh…god…so long…he’s never going to let me go…”

***********************

“Write it”

“Never”

“WRITE IT!! I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU!”

“THEN JUST DO IT ALREADY!”

“no”

“Then die”

“You first”

*************************

“Crunch…crunch….crunch…..”

“carrots all gone…hehe hehe…”

********

“OH GOD! What did you do!!”

The blood dripped from the table, smeared along the walls, spelling out “Never” before slumping into an indecipherable scrawl near the bed where the dead woman lay. All her fingers bitten off, strewn about on the floor and tabletop.

“No, dammit! I never got my story!”

He flipped her over onto her back, furious, noticing as he did so, that she was smiling, with her own thumb, firmly wedged in her own mouth and throat.

Well…it was an opposable thumb, after all.


Perspective – Flash Fiction

There was a dead body in the kitchen.

Again.

A heavy sigh escaped Jonah’s lips, deflating his hope of getting through this evening without drama.

How the hell was he going to explain this?

“Shit. It’s Thanksgiving, all over again”, he muttered to no one in particular. “Can’t I get even  one holiday off?”

Obviously not. 

At least this one wasn’t bloated and blue like the last one. Those drowned ones were the worst, in his opinion.  Impossible to dispose of them without making a huge, freaking wet mess all over the kitchen floor.  And the grout between the tiles was almost impossible to scrub completely spotless.  Totally useless, hard to clean up, & leaving a fishy smell around for days…But…sigh… Time to get to work.

An hour later, Jonah knew why the body had been in the kitchen, who had put it there, and what he was going to do about it.  

Absolutely fucking nothing.

The body was gone, Jonah’s specialty & his talent…to make the uncomfortable truths and the inconvenient secrets disappear.  It was all a matter of perspective.  

And his restaurant had one of the highest ratings in the city because of his personal outlook on life…and a cousin in the mob.

Come Along With Me

I’ve added the third and, probably, final page.  This one’s a doozy… trust me.

The story is somewhat of a departure for me, as I don’t write in this style, usually… but this story just pummeled me until I wrote it down.  I’ve only posted half, so far, as it’s long.

This is why, I’ve also gone ahead and numbered the separate pieces, so if you want to read a little, and come back to it later, you’ll be able to find your place easier.

It’s a new twist on an old myth… those who get into mythology might recognize it, or not. But, really, it’s a fairy tale-type story based loosely on the story of Persephone, Hades, her mother, Demeter, and her grandmother, Hecate.

I’ll post the other half as soon as I can get back on my laptop.

 

The Gypsy Road

I’m done posting stories from my other blog, they’re all moved over here now. 

Except 3.

Those, I’ll be putting on pages of their own, as they’re much longer than my regular flash fiction. 

I’ve moved the first one… The Gypsy Road. Check out the top of my blog, & you should see the page appear there.

I’ll be moving the other 2 as soon as time permits.

Also, if you want to check out my other flash fiction that already exists here, on this blog, type “fiction” into the search button. There is some, buried in the archives here.

Happy reading!

How Mary Spent Her Summer Vacation

​Oh. My. God.  The summer had been soboring.

No friends, no sun, no warm summer sand and cool blue water.

Just gray walls and boring, boring,boring.

Mary’d just about gone out of her mind with all the nothing that had been going on around here all summer.  She’d just been hanging out, watching people through the windows, driving down the streets, walking past on the sidewalks, but never coming in to visit.

Up and down the halls, walking, walking, looking out all the windows, waiting for someone to notice her there.  Maybe, if someone had just looked up, just seen her at the window, maybe they would have come to let her out.

But they never looked up.

I mean, c’mon, just one??  Not even out of curiosity?

Chickens.

Ha.

But that was about to change.

Because the summer was over, and school was about to start again.

Finally, Mary thought to herself. Someone to talk to.  Someone to hang out with.

God, this summer’s been boring, I’m so glad school’s in again.

Tonight was move-in night at the dorms, and Mary was ready for the new students, fresh meat.

But she knew… they probably wouldn’t be ready for her…

Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary…

-Feb.24, 2014