Reddit Writings 4

It has often been said that we are all one sentence away from insanity...

"What are you, but skin, blood and bones? Thoughts, feelings and emotions all tied up in a gooey, nature freindly disposable package. What makes you better than me? Different? You defend this city. They worship you. I prune this city and THEY HATE ME!"

"Why do I kill? Why do I maim, torture and use my cell phone in theaters?! That's an easy answer."

"We are alone."

"Utterly and terribly and wonderfully alone. Sure we say we have family, have friends and lovers, but what use are they when your drowning in an ocean? Maybe as rafts, until the sharks start circling. Then that's it! Bye bye. You're kaput and everyone forgets about you after a year. YOU DIE AND THERE IS NOTHING LEFT!"

"I kill them to put them out of their misery. Sure they may beg for mercy, but I grant them the kindest mercy. The utter release from the fact that we are alone. "

"But people like you and me, we put a mark on this world. No one will forget us."

"And I know you'll always be there for me, two peas in a pod you and me! Two bats in the belfry!"

"As long as one of us is alive, we'll never be alone. HAHAHAHAHA"

(More after the jump!)

Reddit Writings 3

Flash Fiction: You come to realize you exist within a computer simulation. Things were not always this way. (250 words)

        "Did you know octopi have their intelligence distributed through their arms?" Murph asks as he taps away at his keyboard.

         "Yeah, I saw a video of that once. They put an octopus in a new tank and half it's arms reached out to explore while the other half moved towards a little hidey hole." Martha yells over the sound of machinery. The grinding of the gears and the cooing slide of the pistons were a racket, but they had a sort of music behind them.

        "Do you think any of those arms ever wonder about being attached to the octopus? Ever just want to pop-off and explore the little tank on it's own? Maybe slither up and out and realize that universe is bigger than just four glass walls and some colored stones." Murph leans back and squints really hard at his screen.

        It flickers and for a moment he can see Earth hanging in dark surrounded by stars. His home, where his body still is, moving, laughing, living.

       His job now, Martha's, everyone within, was to make sure the MACHINE ran smoothly. Like a farmer, it cherry picked minds from Earth. Scanned them and replicated them within itself. Thousands, maybe millions of minds given form to take care of and treat the MACHINE.

       "No." Carol shook her head as she tightened a bolt. "The tentacle will die without the rest of the body and the octopus will just grow a new arm."

      Murph returned to work.


(More after the jump)

Reddit Writings 2

Flash Fiction:"I have fallen but the Sun has not."
     Do you remember the Winter nights? The tales of Autumn and Spring? The lusts of Summer?

     Aye boy, you don't. You've only lived in the sands and the wastes. You've only felt the coarse kiss of the wind as she picks herself up and whips through the valley.

     Do you know of darkness? No. The last time you felt darkness you were in your mother's belly, but even then Light came through. Burning you. Readying you.

    This is where the chariot fell. There was a time he ran through the sky and true, real darkness came, and then the the sun would reappear, gentle and soft. Not now. Now the sun leers at us, turns us dark and sick. Drinks water from our bones.

    It is here the mighty hunter Orios came and claimed he could bring down any game here or in heaven. Hearing his hubris, the sun rider himself shouted challenge from the sky above.

    Orios took aim, and proved himself that day the world's greatest hunter. The chariot that pulled the sun came crashing down. The the great steeds dead and the god himself choking on his own divine blood.

    'I have fallen, but the Sun has not'

    A curse. For the sun has not set, and darkness has not come for one hundred years. The sun will not move, for the rider is dead.

(More after the jump)

Reddit Writings

Due to my crazy hectic schedule writing can be get hard. Just writing small things can be hard. Then I discovered Reddit's writing prompt subreddit! There users put up a short prompt or ask for flash fiction and the other users respond. Real simple. I've been writing some responses and I thought I'd throw them up here.

Check out two more after the jump!

An incredibly intelligent person is trying to tell someone something important, but is losing their extensive vocabulary. Fast.

     The letter sat on the table. A glass paperweight held it down against a breeze from the open window next to the desk. Andrew picked it up.

      We were doing great things, Andrew. Through our extensive research we'd found a remedy to not only Alzheimer's but a variety of other memory degenerative diseases that came with age. We would've been heroes, Andrew, but we fucked up.

      I don't kno how the it escaped the lab. The cure was less of a pill more of a virus. The literl fountain of young youth. The problem was that it regrass it made you younger too fast. The body stays normal, but the brain begins to dwindle

     I am sory Andy. we just wanted to be nice. we just want to fix the wurld.

     im so scared i

     Andrew put down the note and sat in the chair. He knew there was writing on the paper, but he'd forgotten how to read. Mom read to him, but that was usually at night, right before bed. It was still day.

     Andy began to cry.

Check out two more after the jump!

Finding It's Way Back

Like, the unfinished, Ash Addicts, this was the start of a series of shorts in its own universe. It's more likely that I'll finish AA before adding anymore Lockeheart Stories.

I don't know what to do. I've removed it. It was messy. A left molar is sitting on blue plate, with happy little flowers painted on it. Spit and blood really seem to ruin the effect.

I can hear the lights again. I know that sounds ridiculous, but you have to believe me. They buzz. Like florescent lights, but, softer? Deeper? Like, you can feel it in your bones, hum.

When it starts I screw my eyes shut and get under the table with the dish. I can hear the small metallic worm thing attached to the tooth whipping around, scraping the clay of the plate. The house is shaking. The windows are rattling. Something like a high pitched pig's squeal begins to fill the cabin. It reaches a frequency and I'm terrified that when it finally stops, I'll be deaf.

Can't open my eyes.

The sound stops.

"Stover! Come in! Terry! He's all fucked up! Chief, pick up. Chris-" My radio blinks. Deputy Markus' voice crackles to a stop. I don't know why I haven't turned it off yet. What's left of the hum finally dies and I count to one-hundred before I slowly open my eyes. The cabin is dark again. THEY didn't find the body, slouched on the opposite wall from me. His head is back, mouth open, red saliva running down his chin.

Moving out from under the desk I notice the metal worm has stopped twitching. That's good. Always good when THEIR objects stop moving. It means that THEY are gone for now.

I open the door to the small cabin and warm late Summer wind blows in, but it doesn't console me. Gooseflesh runs down my arms as I see Lockeheart below me, at the base of the small mountain the cabin is on. The town is on fire. Smoke hangs over it. I want to scream out to the people, but I know better then that.

The smoke and fire aren't right. It begins to reverse. The smoke is pulled back down into the buildings and cars and shapes I can only assume are people. The fires begin to die and fade as the family homes begin to rebuild themselves. St. Micheal's, the only hospital in fifty miles, begins to grow out of the rubble, back to its normal shape. The charred bodies stand. Skin and clothes melt in reverse back onto their charred shapes. They begin to walk around. The cars start up and drive.

It's like Lockeheart wasn't a blasted crater just a moment ago.

I want to go down there. I want to go to Sal's and get a big greasy burger. I want to see my husband and kids.

Sounds of life from the town drift up to me. Stepping in, I close the door and try not to cry.

"Hey, chief, we're getting lots of reports of strange stuff this evening. Danny Whitehead said someone tried to break into his house tonight. Martha Bell said she's been hearing someone screaming out in the fields by her and Terry called back again. He found his dog, but the poor thing has been torn to shreds. Probably coyotes. Just going to be one of those nights." I listen to Markus' voice on the radio while I stare at his body, head back, mouth open, molar missing.

The dead man on the radio laughs. "Yeah, one of those nights."

It has been April 27th, for three days. The sun hasn't risen.

Every four hours THEY return and kill everyone.

Then Lockeheart finds its way back.

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)

Ash Addicts 2

The Start

The apartment is too stuffy. I throw open a window. Still stuffy. I open another. October air whips through the place and knocks a few pieces of paper around. The magazine by the window flips its pages.

Sitting on the couch, I finally let go of the baggie. It takes a moment to fall out of my hand and onto my lap. My hand is sweaty. I wipe it on a couch arm next to me. A black sharpied name stares up at me.

“Hey man. Uh.” It’s the first words that he’s said since we left Zeke’s. “Look. Do you want...do you want to do her together?”

I look up at him. The smallest of smiles touches my mouth. It looks like a million pounds is taken off him.

“Yeah. I realize that sounds way worse than I meant.” He looks down at the bag, then back at me. He looks hungry. He flinches. I didn’t realize it, but my fists are clenched.

“You know what. I’ll...I’ll hit the bars tonight.” He makes his way out of the door tossing me a small wave. Closed. Locked.

The bag of human remains in my lap feels heavy. I gently take it and set it next to me. Standing, I strip off my hoodie and go into the kitchen. The sandwich I slap together is made with bread that may have gone bad, but just has that start of it. Hint of decay.

It feels like she is on the couch staring at me. I haven’t turned around since I made it to the kitchen. I get a beer out and finish it facing the sink.

Kira “Krystal” Higgins is sitting on my couch in a baggy. I fight the beer and sandwich back down, and turn.

I thought it would move. Or maybe she would be there. Those cool brown eyes focused on me. Her lips drawn up into a smile, black hair reaching just below her chin. ‘Didn’t make one for me?’ she’d say. I’d laugh and tell her about the bread and we’d go to a taco joint with shitty lightning and greasy food.

Fuck it was cold in here.

I slammed the windows closed then picked up the bag.

(Read more after the jump)