This is truly wonderful.
Month: May 2018
Short Story Sunday: Under the Stars
Austin stood outside under the stars, away from the motorhomes, tent trailers, and tents. He’d gone out to pee but remained outside to ponder the beauty of the night, and the weirdness of the campfire talk earlier.
His cousin Dirk almost set off a riot with his questions. “Are you Gay or what?”
That came with a chorus of “if he was would it matter?” from other family members.
Austin was in his late 30’s and not married, cohabitation, or otherwise obviously in a relationship with a woman, or anyone else. It was cause for a lot of discussion among his clan. He called them a clan because they acted like it – one organic mass made up of loud and outspoken individuals who all happened to be related by blood and otherwise.
Half of them were Vampire Hunters as well, a family trait that he couldn’t avoid and didn’t…
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“My MOM Has Fibromyalgia!”
This is a must read for everyone. Love this post.
Part 1366 – Hildreth, Come To Me.
A story well worth following.
Hildreth opened the back of his Bossman 550. He reset the hammer plates and clicked the stakes into the open slots. He closed the back and locked it tight.
The click of approaching heels spurred him up to his feet. He automatically balanced his weapon on his shoulder.
A young woman in a white basket-weave tank top and blue jeans approached him. “Hunter.”
He put his finger around the trigger.
“You smell good. I’m hungry.” She looked at him with a new vampire’s desperation. “One bite. One. Give me one bite, hunter.”
“Not in this lifetime.”
“Please. You don’t know. You don’t know what it’s like to be THIS hungry. You don’t know.” A line of drool escaped her lips. “You don’t know how many smells. Everything smells. Every little thing. Except fey. No one told me. No one ever told me that it would be like this. No one…
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Short Story Sunday: Crawl Space
Crawl Space
I took off my sweater and handed it to my brother Aaron. There was no way I was going to crawl on my stomach under the crawl space of a house with it on.
“So tell me again why you can’t get the bodies out from under the building first?” I had to ask.
“They’re not quite dead yet and they might attack Austin. He’s human, a Regular Human,” my brother told me. Austin by the way is a Regular Human and sometimes Vampire Hunter and usually just a guy who does a great job restoring old buildings that seem to be filled with scary shit like ghosts and old musty Vampires.
And of course Aaron was wearing a $5,000 suit of course he couldn’t crawl under the house.
“You might know them”, added Austin, meaning the creatures under the house.
I almost gave him a fang…
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Debut
Suzy Night stepped out on stage knowing it wasn’t like any other night. The head of Little Records, Bernie Lax, was in from New York to hear her sing. She had on that blue gown she wore the night her and Ron first got together.
With Ron in the first row cheering her on, Suzy felt invincible. She kept her gaze on Ron as she sang her version of the Beatles classic Let It Be. Suzy left the stage confident it was the best she ever sang.
Ten minutes later she was in sweats sitting next to her husband. Lax came over to congratulate her on a outstanding performance, and offered her a recording contract. Suzy looked at Ron knowing he would approve.
A week later she was in the recording studio working on her debut album.
The gambler
Gimme your damn wallet
Said the middle-aged pyknic, in a slow and deep cadence. A clearly edacious black man, with an air of dumbfounded innocence. His pinguid complexion bled rancid stains beneath rolls and rotund. While a mayfly’s attention echoed in his cleanly shaven dome.
Gimme your damn wallet
A macilent, black youth wearing a white, tank-top and a minacious gaze. The gold-toothed bruxist, seethed the words with venomous bravado. He was a sheep in wolf’s clothing, surrendering to a survival instinct that perhaps worked better in darkness, than a well lit room.
Gimme your damn wallet
The hoary, flocculent patches of his otherwise dark hair, betrayed his age; as much as the tired wisdom reflected in his watery, bloodshot eyes. His measured, nonchalant delivery, showed he’d been here before; he knew the routine. A gelid, gliding stream hidden within a sinewy, ebony derma.
Gimme your damn wallet
An obviously…
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Bubbles! – How little lives can make life liveable.
Back in very late 2014, still trying to wrap my head around the sudden appearance of, and surgery to remove, a tumour behind my right eye, I found myself dealing with the mini-depression that comes with the end of a relationship. Now, believe me, break ups happen all the time, and I would usually deal with it and get on with life, because it’s just a part of life, not the end of the world. But, because this one came at the tail end of quite honestly the most stressful year of my life, I’d be lying if I said things didn’t feel particularly tough.
In an attempt to keep my mind distracted, I found myself doing some wallpaper removal at my Sisters house. This was actually a bad idea, given how utterly mundane a task wallpaper removal is, and so all I inevitably did was do the one thing…
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Through the brew’s bubbles.
There are many ways to drink and enjoy a night or two at a tavern. With stories to tell and stories to hear and games which, if won, provide your ale. And if you wake before the dawn, close your eyes and try again. And if fortune smiles upon you and you wake when day has broke, enjoy the bedding you have been supplied.
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West Coast Review 