Living Dead Girl ~Chapter 2

“I’ve got a job for you.”


“A job. Get up.”

“Fuck off. I’m on vacation.”

“Get up. It’s time to work.”


I knew it was too good to be true, dammit. Couldn’t even get a decent night’s sleep in the nut house, for fuck’s sake.


“Where’s the job?” 

“Here, in B wing. Name’s Colton. Darwin Colton. You’ve got about 20 minutes, then you’re on.”

“Shit.  Messy?”

“Quiet. In and out like a mouse, doll. Hard part’s over already, just a walk and a talk.”

“Well, less cleanup that way, at least. Thanks for the favor.”

“No problem, see ya next time.”

“Yeah, see ya.”

The shadow detached from the window’s ledge and slid out through the cracks between the bulletproof glass and the frame, inking its way back out into the night, and leaving me alone in my room.

Great, now to make my way down to B wing, alley of the lost.

I slide out of the sheets & slip into my fuzzy socks, you know the socks you always get at the hospital – the ones with the little rubber grippies on the bottom, so you don’t slide all over & fall down, causing hospital accidents & lawsuits? Yeah, those fugly slippers. I love these socks. Don’t ask me why.  I’m in a mental hospital, I don’t need a damn reason, OK?

At least they don’t make any noise as I move to my door & peer through the peekhole window, checking to see where the nurses & orderlies are. I know their routine pretty well, but every once in a while, they like to mix things up, & run random room checks just to screw with us.

Luck’s with me tonight, everything’s clockwork. 

Nurse Hannah is on desk duty, which means she’s got her phone open, & is playing games, Facebooking, scrolling through some dating app or other, and is generally not paying attention to fuckall. Good for me.

That puts Randy, the night orderly, on the roof, smoking, which he does every night about this time, because he comes in at about 15 minutes to shift change reeking of cigarettes & hits the bathrooms to clean himself up & spray room freshener in his pits, like no one notices that trick. 

Gotta love predictability.

I glide easy back to my bed & lift the mattress, taking out the skeleton key I hid in the springs – one of the tools of the trade I take wherever I go, & use it to open my door. Doesn’t matter the lock, it always works. In my line of work, it has to. Nature of the biz.

Hannah sees nothing as I work my way down the hall, and hears less, ear buds jammed tightly into her ears. 

God, if she were any less clueless, she’d be a toaster.

B wing, here I am.

Key to the automatic lock, a soft click, a passive buzz, and I’m through the door & down the hall, slicker than snot.

Which door?

Oh…he left it cracked for me, how, thoughtful…wait.


That’s a slippered foot sticking out of the door, dammit.

Five little gray fuzzy socked toes stuck in the door jamb peeking out at me.


“Darwin Colton?”


“It’s OK, I’m here to take you home.”


“I know, honey, it’s OK. Take my hand.”



“It’s time to get up. There’s been an incident.”


“We need all the residents in the hall. Get up, please.”


I stumble out of bed and blink my way out into the hallway, pushing my rat’s nest hair to the back of my head. Not nearly enough sleep in this damn place.

After “head count” is over, they shoo us back to our rooms to get dressed for the day & for breakfast. Whoopee.

“Didja hear?” Tommy hisses in my ear while we wait in line for the food. 


“Some guy on B wing cacked it last night! That’s what the head count was about, they think someone helped him!” Tommy’s face is almost gleeful…sick little shit.

“Oh yeah? Who the hell would do that?”

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.”



“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”





“Then die”

“You first”



“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.

Dinner for Idiots

The restaurant was deserted, the sound of the pizza oven’s timer ringing loudly in the empty space.  The poor kids behind the counter shuffled with zombie-style grace and glazed stares, making pizzas for people that wandered in, paid, and wandered back out again. 

It was the perfect place for a high-level classified meeting….. with the Idiot.

The evening started when I walked in the door of the local Pizza joint, a front for the local syndicate.  It was a deep dark secret that only the initiated knew about, and we liked it that way.  Kept the riff-raff in check, and out of the loop.  Dressed in a casual costumel, I was the picture of innocence.  Of course, it was a disguise, but then, how many assassins do you know that wear their profession on their shirt?  Exactly. 

I requested a table up against the wall, and placed my back against it, knowing that I had to keep my eyes on the room, watching both exits with a hawk-like stare.  Scoping out the pizzeria, I noticed the vacant stares of the teenagers behind the counter, paid to work, but not to pay attention, they checked out as the perfect cover for this meeting. 

I walked over to the counter, head on a swivel to make sure that no one snuck up behind me, making me a target.  Picking one of the girls working the front counter, I sauntered over and casually inquired if I was allowed to bring in a “surprise birthday cake” into the joint for one of the group joining me. 

“Sure, ma’am, and if you’d like to share, we wouldn’t say no!”  Bubbly with anticipation of a sweet bonus at the end of her shift, she readily agreed, and I just nodded.  Bribes were always part of the syndicate’s modus operandi, and one I could easily live with.

After fetching the “cake” in from the vehicle, I retreated back to my table, and waited for the rest of the party to arrive.

The first ones through the door were the Idiot and his assistant, Junior.  Junior was a hulking, dark-haired young man, with a tired look on his face.  Obviously, he’d been following this Idiot around for days, cleaning up his messes and taking care of reporting to the “Boss” back at the home office.  It must have been an exhausting job, and I didn’t envy him his position in the syndicate.  Good assistants never get paid enough for what they have to do in their line of work, and I’m sure Junior’s thoughts were running along the same lines that night.

We greeted each other in the secret manner of the syndicate, making it look like the hug that it really wasn’t.  Instead, it was a method of transmitting information, while checking for weapons and secret listening devices.  He seemed to be clean,we both settled into our separate sides of the table, and started discussing the purpose of the meeting.  But we weren’t alone for long.

Sparrow, my favorite partner-in-crime, joined us after the waitress took our drink orders.  I knew that she’d have my back, having worked with her for years, and always being able to count on her to cover the entrances I wasn’t watching at the moment. 

Then, it was time for the presentation of the gifts for our visitors.  It was always a good way to put them at ease, while they assimilated to their new surroundings.  Showing the good-will of the locals meant that we were willing to “deal” with the syndicate, and that was the whole point of the evening.  They seemed to be pleased with the choices we made.

But the best, was yet to come.

The pizza we ordered was just as good as always, meat, with no vegetables to get in the way.  Conversations flowed back and forth over the table, sharing stories of jobs past and possible future ventures.  And then, it was time for the “cake”.

The only thing to be said, can be better shown:

It was a grand-slam, and the big man seemed to decide that we could work together on future syndicate jobs. 

Little did he know about the time-delayed reaction built into the cocoa  laced throughout the dessert.  And just to make sure, I shared some of the confection with the workers behind the counter, making sure of their loyalties for later.  No time like the present to implement our plan for world dominance.

One. Slice. Of. Chocolate. At. A. Time.

Mwahahahaha……… mission accomplished.

The Life of an Animal Cracker

Ok, so I sort of told someone (Kenz, this is for you) that I’d post something I wrote when I was young…  Either it’s the lateness of the hour (about 1:45 am) or I’m still buzzing from icecream and weekend joy, but here.  Written in college for an English Lit. class is:  The Life of an Animal Cracker. 

“Boy, this box is cramped.” 
“I wonder where I am.” 
“You’re in a box, stupid.” 
“Yeah.  That much I know.  But where?  And what are we all doing here?” 
“How should I know?  One minute, I’m being pressed out into the shape of a zebra, the next, I’m in a cramped little box, stuck in here with a bunch of other animals and being thrown around like a ball.”
 “Wow, it’s dark in here.”
 “No doubt.  And it’s warm, too.  How much air is left?  Can we breathe much longer?”
 “What’s ‘breathing’?”
 “I don’t know.  I heard some human say it in the big building.”
 “Really?  They must be smart.”
 “I guess so.  You know, I heard one of them say we were going to something called a ‘store’.  I wonder what that is.”
 “Well, I think we’ll find out now.  Someone’s picking us up again.”
 “Here we go, everybody.  Get ready!”
 “Get ready for what?”
 “Oh, stop with the questions already!  Nobody knows, or they would’ve said so!”
“Hey, we’ve stopped again.  And I hear voices!”
 “What are they saying?”
 “Shhhhh!  I can’t hear!”

“Now, Jimmy, sit still and I’ll give you your animal crackers.  No, be nice, or you can’t have them.”

“Mommy, crackers!”

“Alright, alright.  Here, let me open them for you.”

“Hey!  I see light!  Somebody’s letting us out!”
 “Ouch!  Hey, little human!  Don’t squeeze so tight!  You’re squishing me!  Ouch!  Give me my leg back!  Ow! Ow! OW!”
 “Look what that human did to Lion!  Did he do something wrong?”
 “I don’t know, but I don’t like it.”
 “Me, either.  Let’s get out of here!”

“Now, Jimmy, don’t tip over the animal crackers.  Oh, now look.  Some of them have fallen on the floor.  No, you can’t eat these, they’ve got dirt on them.  Now I have to throw them away.”

“Mommy, crackers!”

“Here, now be careful with them.”

“Geez, did you see that?  That nasty little human ate tiger WHOLE!”
 “Yeah, well at least we escaped.”
 “Yeah, but look where we are now.”
 “It smells in here.”
 “No kidding.”
 “Where are we?”
 “Oh no, not this again.”


*cringe*  I can see a zillion ways to make this better.  How did I get positive reviews from classmates – and my teacher?  Ack.  I want to re-write this so badly, my fingers itch!  But, this is about putting this out there, raw, as it was in college….so, I’ll hit the button now….