Night Time Wanderer

This story falls into the same vein of the two before. Night Time Wanderer is a story I crafted specifically for No Sleep. I enjoyed writing this story more than the last two and I think it has a little more...meat.

I knew they loved me. My mother. My father. My sister, Vera. I knew they cared for me and just wanted the best for me. I'm the one that was broken. The one that isn't right. Normal people don't hear talking in their head. They don't hear screams in the dead of night that no one else hears. They don't catch snippets of conversation from people out in the middle of nowhere, while they are completely alone.

No. I'm the one that was broken. It came as no surprise when they finally sent me to St. Mary's. I fought and kicked and screamed. Yelled that they didn't love me. That there were other ways. I grabbed Vera as they pulled me out the door and she gave me big watery eyes and said nothing.

Jenny Sever and Johnny Stitch

I started this blog a while ago and somewhere between then and now I began posting my stories over at Reddit No Sleep. Some of my stories would get really high ratings otherwise would get nary any. Jenny Sever and Johnny Stitch were my attempts to write stories that fit in the No Sleep style of writing and characterizations.

These are my second and third highest rated stories. That being said, they are not my favorite and I don't think they are written well, but this is a repository of work, so here they are. Despite my thoughts both stories fit into the No Sleep mythology. 

Jenny Sever

We're all connected to the things and people around us. The strings that bind us to family and friends are dark blue. Thick little bastards. Strum it and it thrums with potential. Smaller strings connect us to our things. Little and green.

Then there are the hidden threads. The ones that tie us to more conceptual ideas and memories. Lines that connect us to happy birthdays and embarrassing tumbles. To heartbreak and love. Then there is that tiny silver one. Life. So very delicate really.

Not many people can see the strings.

I can.

The Station

(Feel free to listen to this as you read or listen to this.)

“How much longer?” Donny asks, the shovel rests on his shoulder, stained with dirt.

“Two minutes!” Sara calls back. She grips a tire iron with both hands. A few strands of blonde hair hang down over her face.

“You guys are kidding right? This is a joke. Dig up the dead guy and scare the new ki-” Carlos starts, but Donny hisses at him.

“Shut up and get ready!”

The lights of my dad’s hatchback bathes the whole scene in a strange, clinical way. The grave was recent, so the dirt was easier to move. Donny and I had been digging for most of the night; we managed to get the coffin out just as Carlos rolled up. At first he freaked, but who wouldn’t? We handed him a bat and told him that he’d see.

(Read more after the Jump)

Eyes in The Dark Acts I-III

Shit man...shit! I don't know, ok? They...they were some theater troupe from out of state. They needed a little black box theater and mine had gotten some good publicity lately and was becoming...I don't know...trendy?

So the director of the this troupe he finds me and pays me in cash, big bills, for them to use the space. I told him he'd be better off contacting one of the more major theaters, but he refused. I gave him the space.

I wasn't allowed into rehearsals. Told that it was going to be a masterpiece. The theater scene was abuzz about it before opening night and then...

Christ, I've never seen so much blood. So much violence. They had tried to run. Police said there were fingernail gouges in the door. Yeah. I still have a copy of their script. It's not long. I'll let you look at it sure. Just...just buy me another drink.

(Read the play after the jump)

Ten Dollars

 

Ramsay puffed his cigarette by the window. Smoke curled from his nostrils and mouth creating disfigured, ethereal faces in the gloom of the apartment. The tip of the white stick burned bright orange, and served as the only real source of light in the apartment. The rest of the light came from the occasional flash of lightning or the streetlights below trying to leak into the house.

He had not stopped smoking since Nellie told him what she was going to do. He was angry. In the middle of him yelling at her he ran out of wordcred and did not want to rack up a huge debt to The Factory, so he stopped. His credits would refresh at midnight. Nellie continued to scream at him. She had wordcred gold due to her job as a lawyer. She could use and waste as many words as she wanted.

 

(More after the Jump)