Blog Summary

A blog for poetry, prose, and pop culture.

Sunday, April 28, 2013

Flash Fiction: Under a Dead Sun: Past Sins

Chapter 47

Cody yanked hard on her hair pulling her face up to his. She let out a grunt but didn't speak, just stared at him. He could see the tears forming in the corner of her eyes but she was putting on a brave face. He admired that. It made him hard. She looked away but he used one hand to roughly grab her cheeks and turn her face back towards him.

"I'm gonna hear you beg bitch. You can put on whatever brave face you want. But I WILL hear you beg."

He jerked her hair so hard a few strands pulled free and continued pulling her up the staircase of the hotel. She struggled but his grip was to strong. Her feet, knees, and shins smacked hard against the steps until he reached the top floor and she let out a few small grunts, but still no scream. Not yet. He kicked open the first room at the top and muscled Ally through the doorway, violently throwing her on the bed.

She tried to scramble off as soon as she hit the mattress but he was on top of her instantly. He pressed his weight on top of her and she tried to hit at him with her free hands but he used his legs to wedge one of them down.   With his position and weight she couldn't get much leverage against him and he let out a smile as he ran a caressing finger along her cheek. He fondled the split he'd caused on her lip before she took a bite at his finger. His smile quickly lapsed into a frown as he punched her hard in the eye. That did ellicit a cry from her. He watched it welt and start to turn purple as she writhed beneath him.

"Now we'll really have some fun."

She tried squirming left, tugging at her free arm as he slid back on top of her a little. He grabbed one of her breasts hard as his free hand gripped the collar of her dress. He pulled at it, tearing fabric and popping buttons, exposing the tender white flesh beneath, still ripe with the bruises he had given her. That sick, thick grin came back as he used that hand to undo his gun belt, tossing it beside the bed. He kept his other hand around her throat, keeping her eyes on him anytime she tried to turn away. His fingers were stiff and cruel as he forced her to look at him as he spoke.

"You can start crying now."

He slapped her across the face again for good measure before tugging at the button on his pants. This would feel so good. He'd killed to many people to have ignored this urge this long. It had been days since that whore at the farmhouse, and this nectar was twice as sweet as she had been. He let go of her face and used both hands as he slipped his pants down, rising off her slightly in the process. It was in that momentary lapse in pressure that the whore made her move. Her arm suddenly free, he saw her hand blur and felt a searing pain across his eye. He let out a scream and fell backwards off the bed, red filling his vision. He clutched at the socket, feeling the flap of skin where his eye use to be and the salty flecks of blood dribbling on his lips from between his fingers.


With his good eye he saw her stand up, clutching the steak knife from her meal in her hands. The whole world was a vision of red and pain, but he still felt that white hot urge in his gut. He stumbled towards the bed, still holding his eye as he tried to stand up.


She drew close to him, her voice small and hard.

"It's okay to start screaming now."

He did scream then, after he felt her jam the knife into his stomach.

End of Line.

Saturday, April 27, 2013

Flash Fiction: The Sea

The Sea

Everett flicked the tail end of the cigarette away, watching it spin end over end into the sea. He let loose the last remnants of the precious smoke from his lungs and brought the bottle to his lips. He drew a pull of the liquor, cheap, dark, and brown, but serviceable for his needs. He took several more pulls, wishing that hadn't been his only smoke and watched the tide push in its refuse, the beach resembling some waterlogged junkyard. He felt the booze burn his throat and wished it would dull some of his other senses, but it wasn't enough, not yet.

He sat on the shoreline until the tide began to lap at his feet, blending in with the rest of the trash on the beach. Everett laid on his back, holding the bottle in his hand and looked to the sky. It was dark, but the smog and carbon monoxide of the city formed a film over the skyline. Only the brightest stars shown through though and even then they were but a pale reflection behind a scummy veneer.  He tuned to the moon, the only thing that held any light at all. On a night like this, he wished it had been full, bright and warm, lighting the darkness in its pale ether.

Instead the moon was but a sliver, a slim crack of light in the inky paleness of the night sky. Not even a crescent, just the barest of curvature hinting at the lunar globe. An outline of his loneliness. He held the bottle high, letting the sliver of light shine through the bottle, covering himself in a brown moon shadow. In an offered toast, he took one last drink and flung the bottle into the sea. Washed away to wash ashore again, unwanted by the land and the sea, just like him.

It was there he sat on the beach, letting the waves lap at his feet as he watched the moon circle across the sky. The chill of the water and the windy bite of the breeze didn't seem to faze him, nor did the graininess of the sand, wet and cold beneath him. The night seemed to pass in a mire, slowed by the wet slickness of the sea. It blended into the darkness of a night sky meeting a blackened sand. A dead sky meeting a dead beach. It was hard to tell where the horizon ended and the Earth began. A moment in space lost, lost among the refuse of the discarded.

He sat unmoving, numbness slipping into his limbs as the tell tale red trim of the sun approached to the west. The tide had begun to reduce, retreating into the cold green spray of the sea. He sat waiting, wondering if the dawn held the answers that the night had kept from him. Wondering if the beginning of today could be worse than the end of yesterday.

End of Line.

Wednesday, April 10, 2013

Flash Fiction: All I Ever Wanted

All I Ever Wanted

The place smelled of death. Slow rotting, antiseptic death. It was there, underneath the smells of bleach, sanitizer, and the squeaky rubber aroma of the nurses' orthopedic shoes. It permeated the place, underlying the offered lonely peace of the hospital bed. A peace belayed by the beeps of machinery and the sounds of respirators pumping oxygen into so many people who still clung to this precious life. Their time trickling away as they watched re-runs of Dr. Phil in the fading moments of a life well wasted.

In the time that we had left I had tried to cut those distractions away, the only sensation I wanted was the feel of her hand in mind, as we brushed each others fingers softly. She looked at me, tears in her eyes and I tried to smile through the lump in my throat. We didn't need words or sounds, just that soft touch, just the feel of her hand in mine. The knowlege of a life shared, of a dream come true. Of a dream that was soon to end.

She opened her mouth to speak but I softly shook my head no. Words couldn't come to me, not in that moment, not in this place. I closed my eyes and squeezed her hand tighter. I didnt want my last vision of her to be in this place. I wanted to remember her the way I do in my dreams. I wanted to remember that first day I saw her in school, holding her books and laughing at something someone had said. Her shy nod yes the first time I asked her out. The taste of her lips when we first kissed. The day she agreed to marry me. I wanted to remember her from everyday in our life. From every morning she woke, till every night when she slept. I wanted everyday... but not today.

I licked my lips and reached for my own words. How could I sum up everything this woman had meant to me? How could I put into words the meaning her life has had in mine? What do you tell the meaning of life?

I lifted her hand to my cheek slowly, nuzzling it every so gently. Weakness and time had wrought it's toll and life faded with each passing second. I tired to impart with touch what I couldn't with words.   To put a lifetime of memories and love into each caress. I couldn't find my voice, but I hoped she heard my message.

We stayed like that a long time. I knew the end was close, creeping upon us. I could feel it coming, I knew our time was almost over. I tried to feel her hand, to let her know I was still here, but my limbs felt numb. I opened my mouth to speak but my voice had already failed me. The only thing that escaped my lips was one last breath, slow and drawn out, the last moments of my life leaving my body.

I wanted to stay with her. It was all I had ever wanted.

End of Line.

Sunday, March 24, 2013

Poetry: Still and Stark

Hey all,

I've really been feeling some poetry lately so  wanted to try my hand at crafting another poem. This is based on an image I saw on TV about a old man looking at himself in the mirror. The subject matter was completely different than the topic of the poem, but I like how easy this was to write. Maybe a total of 30 minutes all together? It just came really easy.

Anyway, enjoy.

Still and Stark

Softly lit under light bulbs glow,

The darkened recess ebbed of flow,

And the mirror shown in sheerest sheen,

Revealing a haggard man, a sight unseen.

His bristled face a mask of age,

Lines and wrinkles, a time wrought cage.

Hair gone white, thinned and bald,

With sallowed skin, whitened and palled.

He brushed his mouth with gnarled hands,

Withered with hurt, from hour wrought sands.

Eyes grown milky, dimmed from time,

The lust of life so far from its prime.

He knew his time was near the end,

Days gone by, just moments to send.

He touched his echo in reflection's gleam,

Fingers tracing death wrote seam.

His voice croaked from chappened lip,

Muttered prayers of regrets let slip.

He closed his eyes and reached on high,

Smashing the bulb with nary a sigh.

And in the dark he waited still,

As life blood's flow waned to nil.

In the quiet and lonely dark,

He died a death, still and stark.

End of Line.

Saturday, March 23, 2013

Flash Fiction: Under a Dead Sun: Past Sins

Chapter 46:

Morgan's Winchester thundered as he barrelled towards the female rider. She had already mounted her horse and was spurring it towards the stalled stage. He glanced as he rode by, the huddled mass of undead tearing at the body of the downed rider, gore and viscera flinging madly about in the mixture of claws and fangs. He tried not to let the image root in his brain. Morgan shifted the reins to his teeth as he chambered new rounds into the rifle and angled his horse around the herd with his knees. He spurred the horse faster and rode hard.

He watched the female swing free from her saddle and open the door of the stage. She was in such a hurry she didn't see the monster coming up from behind her. Morgan smashed another creature with the butt of his rifle and drew a bead on the one bearing down on the female. She was pulling at someone inside the cabin, her back exposed. His rifle cracked, bucking hard into his shoulder and teh creatures head exploded in a shower of brains and pus. Morgan was impressed watching the woman spin around and snapping up her pistol incredibly fast. they locked eyes momentarily before Morgan fired again, catching another of the monsters as it rounded the back of the stage.

He drew his horse up and looked at the woman. She was shapely, almost poured into the tight leather chaps and shirt she was wearing, but looked comfortable with the feel of the pistol in her hand. She kept the gun pointed at him but he reined the horse about, putting his back to her, unconcerned.

"Best be quick ma'am. There's more of these bastards than I've got bullet's for. I also reckon you may have some business with that fellow who killed yer friend."

Morgan watched as more of the masses drew closer to them and fired two more shots, two more kills. Then he laughed to himself. Killing what was already dead. God damn.

"Listen mister, I don't know who the fuck you are or what the fuck your angle is. But if you help me get my father out of here, I'll make it worth your while. You help me get that sonuvabitch who killed my friends, and you can name your price."

Morgan looked back as she was pulling out an old man from the stage's cab. He could see the man's withered legs and the look on his face, grimacing in pain. He glanced back at the shambling masses heading towards them. he pulled out his Cavalry revolver and clocked the hammer.

"Well the we'd best make this quick if either of us want to live to cash in on those promises."

End of Line.

Wednesday, March 20, 2013

Poetry: Bare to the Earth

Hey all,

Minor activity abounds here at the old blog. It feels like a very long time since I have posted but I am really trying to get back to writing with some regularity. I intend to dial into more of Under A Dead Sun very soon. I really want to finish this tale that I feel like I started so very long ago.

As to poetry, this is the first one I've written in a very long time. I wanted to take the sort of excuses and bullshit of life and strip it away, the same sense I am trying to apply to getting back into writing. Welcome back and enjoy.

Bare to the Earth

Hardened beats upon the petals blade,

The spine of rain sluices the glade.

Earthen grass of greenest flush,

'Neath waters hail of skyfall's rush.

Trees wain in windy frowns,

From the gale of heaven stormy downs.

I stand in the meadow of the deluge,

Awash in those thoughts I can't refuse.

I don't feel the cold or shivers of chill,

The water overflows, my vessels at fill.

The past and present, futures are told,

In this momentary storm, they come, unfold.

Niether wind nor weather can purchase a gain.

Nor will water's fall wash away the pain.

But torrents peal still in hammering blows,

Battering at the truth, as if it already knows.

Nature's attack is mirrored in soul,

Patience and time unending in their toll.

I spread my arms to welcome the sky,

It's thundering clouds and lightning's cry,

Cracking to earth in bolts of pure rage,

Shattering the illusions I've cast with age.

Left bare to the Earth, I lay unfurled.

A rebirth in the storm, newborn to the world.

End of Line.

Monday, March 18, 2013

Flash Fiction: Under a Dead Sun:Past Sins

Chapter 45

Ally's scream echoed in the small hotel lobby. It was him, the man who had taken everything from her. Her family, her life...gone. His blond hair and oily smile were locked into her brain, no amount of undead or death would scrub that image from her memory. She saw the strangers eyes light up when he saw her and he held his arms wide open in greeting.

"My my my.... If it isn't my lost little love. I seem to remember you and I missing an appointment earlier. You certainly must have been missing me ever so bad to come all this way for little ole me."

Ally's eyes went wide with fright and she clawed at the worn Colt still around her waist. the stranger thought was so fast, his hands a blur going to his own revolvers.

"Now now honey.... dead or alive, I'm going to take what I want. You couldn't do a damn thing before, and you'll not do a damn thing now."

"Van Cleft, get their guns."

"Aye Cody."

The one eyed man ripped the gun from her waist and pushed her back down into her seat.

"Now Padre, I'm not sure what relationship you have with my litttle bird here, but I'm not inclined to kill a man of the cloth, but do not mistake this as mercy. No, no... I'd as soon fill you full of lead as piss on your boots if you get in my way."

She watched as Van Cleft took Enrico's gun as Cody sauntered over to her. He shoved Enrico down to his chair and looked over his shoulder as Cody loomed large above, terror and memory flooding her. He smacked her hard across the face, splitting the scab on her lip. Ally looked back up at him, her eyes filled with tears and fresh blood trickled down her lip. She didn't make a sound though. She tried to steel herself for what she knew was coming.

Cody turned, flashing one of his Colts free and pointing it at Clement.

"Put the Padre here with the others Clem and then get yer fat ass on the wall."

He tossed the saddle bags he'd had slung over his shoulders to Van Cleft as he grabbed Ally by the hair, yanking it so hard she inadvertently let out a small shriek.

"Get the boat ready, the lassie and I have a date."

Fresh tears spilled from her eyes as Cody dragged her up the stairs.

End of Line.

Sunday, March 10, 2013

Flash Fiction: To The Last Count

To The Last Count

The world went black for a minute before my eyes registered the white of the mat. I turned my head sideways, my jaw radiating pain and the coppery taste of blood pooling in my mouth. I sluggishly forced one hand down and pushed myself partially up. I spit out a glob of blood, bright read on a field of white, and reached down for my mouth guard. I craned my head to the side, sound still not registering over the ringing in my ears and saw the blurry white and black stripes of the referee's shirt. He was counting, his hands raised high and I forced myself up, stumbling until I made it to the ropes and steadied myself.

The ref came over to me as I jammed my mouth guard in, asking me a series of questions. I couldn't tell what he words he was saying but I'd been playing at the fighting game a long time. I knew the questions he was gonna ask so I made the appropriate nods and mumbled that I didn't want to stop. I snapped my gloved hands together and shook my head, trying to clear the cobwebs. I couldn't quit, not yet.

I squared up my vision and found the man who had knocked me down. He was smiling through his own mouthpiece, his brown body rippling with muscles, his arms covered in sleeves of tattooed fire and webbing. His black hair was slick with sweat as I swallowed another mouthful of my own blood. I could see the ref gesture for us to start fighting and tried to keep my defense up.

I've had a lot of fights over the years, in my youth I use to rely on my strength and stamina to outlast my opponets. Now I had to rely on my defense. I could feel his blows rain down on my arms and ribs as I tried to keep him away. I threw out a few half hearted punches, but the man was to big, to fast to do more than concentrate on keeping my guard up.

I didn't realize the bell had even rung ending the round until I stopped feeling his punches. I groggily turned and lurched back to the stool my trainer had put out. I spat out my guard and washed the blood from my mouth in the spit bucket.  Coach was telling me advice while I took a whiff of smelling salts and felt part of the world slam back into my brain. The roar of the crowd came back behind coach's words but I just looked for the ring girl. I found her as she walked around the ring, holding the placard marking the round. It was the start of the sixth round. I'd made it this far.

Coach was still yelling instructions so I repeated what I did with the ref, nodding my agreements and saying yes until I heard teh bell ring.  felt my mouth guard get slid back in as I puled myself up. I tapped gloves with my opponet and pulled my guard up. Far to slow. I felt the crunch in my jaw before I even heard teh sound. Pain radiated across my face as my head whipped to the side. My guard arched over the ring ropes as I collapsed against the ropes. I spit again and noticed a small kernal of white in the blood. The bastard had knocked out one of my teeth.

I had used the ropes to hold myself up but he was on me immediately. I felt another clubbing blow across the back of my head as I stumbled forward. He stalked me across the ring as I pinwheeled around. I launched myself into a flurry of punches, not much muscle behind most of them, just an effort to keep him away. He seemed caught off guard at first, but only for a moment. The first sound other than the bell that I registered was him laughing. He actually dropped his guard as I glanced two blows off his jaw. His face was like iron though, my blows hammering uselessly on him. He cinched me into a hug to stave off my inneffectual punches and until the ref eased us apart. I could hear him taunting me without ever really registering the words. I came out swinging again but he brushed my punches to the side and landed a punishing blow to my ribs.

I felt the wind rush from my lungs and my eyes went wide with pain. On the second punch I heard something break and I dropped to my knees, clutching my side. I didn't have to much time to think about the pain in my ribs before another crushing fist exploded across my temple and the world went red and starry. What little sound I had been hearing suddenly went mute and everything seemed to slow down. Time inching into stillness.

My brain seemed to belong to a different body, knowing that it needed to force my muscles into working and getting up, but nothing seemed to respond. My arms were like rubber, as I tried to gain some kind of purchase. I managed to roll over and find the faded smudge that I assumed was the ref again. Counting... always counting. I kicked with my feet, sliding across the mat to the corner of the ring.  My brain forcing my limbs into a semblance of order. my entire body cried in protest and I could feel something wrong inside me. I forced all that down, forced the pain and the hurt and the regret away, the only thought in my mind being her. My little girl.

I pulled myself up just before the ref counted ten. I could see my nemesis prancing across the ring and I willed myself to stay upright. He seemed even bigger as my world grew even smaller. He came at me immediately and I braced for another punch, one I knew I wasn't getting up from. it was only the ring of the bell that saved me. A distant chime that seemed to come from somewhere else. He turned his back to me and dropped to the mat, this time for good.

I could feel people around me, the ref, coach, the ring doctor, but the fuzzy haze of the world had lost sound completely and faded to black. The last thing I remember seeing was my little girl. She deserved so much better than a bum like me.

I went six rounds with the champ. I covered the spread before my last ten count. I did it baby.

End of Line.