Terribleminds Flash Fiction: Random Song Title Challenge

If someone would have asked me then why I did it, I would have replied that I was drawn to her. I was compelled to go to her, like a moth to a light. I wanted to be with her more than anything. And when I realized that it wasn’t going to happen I knew I was left with only one option. If I couldn’t have her, no one would.

I remember hearing the moving truck pulling up, the sound of the air breaks drawing my attention. She followed behind them in her little Volvo. I watched from behind my drawn blinds, barely lifting one enough to see through. Her golden blond hair was tossing around in the morning wind. She wore the smallest jean shorts I had ever seen and a snug pink tank top. Her skin looked soft and silky with legs that went on forever. I was aroused just watching her.

That first night I couldn’t keep my mind off of her. I sincerely tried to ignore the urges, but they just kept getting stronger and stronger. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. It got to the point where I had no other choice. I had to go see her.

I knew it was too late to knock. What young girl living alone in a new neighborhood would answer the door at three in the morning? But I couldn’t wait. I just needed to see her. Needed just one quick look at that beautiful, silky skin and then I would be able to go to sleep.

That first time I just slipped on my black, hooded sweatshirt and tried to stay as inconspicuous as I could. That night the shadows were my friends. The neighborhood was quiet. Sleeping. Most of the porch lights were off, but she had left hers on.

Inviting me. Compelling me. Moth to a flame.

I stayed to the side of her yard, near the bushes. All the lights in the house were off but I didn’t want to take any chances. The first window I came to was impossible to see inside of, so I quickly moved to the next. The shades on this one were closed but there were cracks, large cracks on the sides that allowed me to see inside.

It was her bedroom.

I could see her lying in bed through the dim light. The sheets were only partially covering. An exposed leg, all the way up to her upper thigh, caught my attention quickly. I was getting excited again. I moved my eyes up to her chest. She wore a thin t-shirt that allowed me to see the outline of her nipples. I was nearly shaking with excitement. I couldn’t take my eyes away.

It must have been a good hour before she rolled away and pulled the sheets up over her. I couldn’t see anything but a lump in a sheet. My first reaction was frustration. I wasn’t done. I wanted to see more. But I realized it was getting close to sunrise. I needed to get home before I got caught.

The next day I still had the memories fresh in my mind. I had pleasured myself to them numerous times that morning. But by midday I felt my urges returning. I needed to see her again.

I waited all day for her. My mind never straying far from her long legs and blond hair. When she finally came home she wasn’t alone. There was someone with her. A young guy. I remember hoping it was her brother or just a friend. But that night I watched her betray me. She fucked him while I stood there just outside the window.

I felt the anger growing in me. How dare she sleep with another man?

I stormed home, slamming everything in sight. I wanted to break the world. She shattered me, why shouldn’t I do the same to everything around me? I broke all the lights in the house, then the television and the computer. The house was trashed but it didn’t help. There was one thing that still needed breaking.

It was suddenly clear to me what I needed to do.

I sat in the dark watching her house light. It was the only light on the street that was left on. It drew me in.

Her front door burst in with two hard kicks near the knob. I barely remember going into the kitchen, but somehow I had a knife in my hand. It was large, a carving knife. I didn’t care that I wasn’t wearing gloves. I didn’t care that I wasn’t wearing a mask. This was personal. I wanted her to see how I felt. I wanted her to feel how I felt.

I rushed the bedroom, swinging at the young guy as he jumped to his feet. The knife sliced easily across his chest. Blood flung against the wall, a dripping splatter that raced to the floor. He fell back a few steps before grasping at the wound. Screams filled my hears. It was hard to tell if they were from him or her. I didn’t hesitate for long, coming back at him with a forceful stab directly in the face.

His body fell limp as I plucked the blade from his skull.

She stood on the bed screaming. Her naked body was even more beautiful than I had first imagined. I watched her for a few seconds, taking it all in. I would savor these memories of her forever.

When she tried to run passed me I reached out, grabbing a handful of that flowing blond hair. I pulled her back to me. She smelled like flowers and sweat. And sex. I felt my anger raging. That bitch. The knife moved mechanically, I barely registered any of it. In and out. In and out. Blood was flying in all directions. We were both covered instantly.

They told me later I stabbed her twenty-eight times. It felt like more.

When I dropped her lifeless body to the floor, the blood continued to spread everywhere. Between the two of them the carpet was saturated red. I sat down softly on the edge of her bed, the dripping knife still locked in my hands. I still couldn’t keep my eyes off of her. Even through all of the stab wounds, open lacerations, and blood I saw her beauty.

A neighbor must have heard the screams and commotion because it wasn’t long before the police arrived. I did what they said. Dropped the knife. Got on the floor. I didn’t care what happened to me. I had killed the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

I don’t regret what I did. Like I said before, if I couldn’t have her then no one would.

The End.

Draft One Complete!

      Today I finished the first draft of The Bone Carousel.  I have been working on and off for two years on this novel.  I took nearly a year off from all writing in the middle of this book because of personal things but the last few months I really got back into it and knocked it out faster than I anticipated.

      The end result is a very messy 80k draft, however the ground work has now been laid.  I am so excited to start the editing process.   I plan on rewriting nearly all of the opening act.  So much has changed from what was outlined when I first started.  Mostly the beginning of the story, but also a few of the characters need brushing up.  I hope to be done with the second draft within the next month or so and then if it survives a read-through by me, I will be moving on to beta readers.

      Because this is the first book in a trilogy the ending was a bit tricky.  I have never written a series, only stand-alones, so this took a lot of work to get right.  But when I finished the last line today I knew I had something great.  This is by far my best work to date.  Now that I am one step closer, I cannot wait to share it with everyone.

Storytelling or Writing?

Lately I have been writing and reading more than ever.  As I continue to grow as an author and hone my craft I have really begun to notice the difference in a great storyteller and a great writer.  I have also noticed that a lot of people don’t realize this difference. 

I have read many reviews and spoken with many of my friends who have said things like, “the book had some cool characters but the writing sucked” or “the movie had great special effects but the writing was terrible.”  Then once I check it out I think, the writing was pretty good but the storytelling was the biggest issue.

This happens when the technical part of the writing is done well (spelling, punctuation, grammar, well-written prose) but the plot goes nowhere or only in circles.  Most books or movies like this are usually boring and move at a slow pace.  When reading these I would find myself begging the author for a curve ball or some kind of twist. 

On the other hand, if something has terrible writing but great storytelling it usually will have a fast moving plot and great characters but you notice the writing.  Things that should be caught in editing stick out (spelling, punctuation, grammar) or like the book I am currently reading, in which the author writes everything like a fourteen year old girl, but not one of the main characters is supposed to be under eighteen.  The story is intriguing and the pages are turning fast but I can’t help but notice the writing isn’t up to par.

As someone who writes mainly novels I strive have a balance of both in my work.  I hope to have a story that excites the reader and makes them want to finish the book in one sitting.  I want to make them think about the story and the characters after they’ve finished or in between readings.  I don’t want them to think, “This would be good but the writing is terrible.” 

Does it really make a difference?

I think most people prefer a great story over great writing.  A teller/movie/novel can usually be tolerated if the story is good enough to keep your attention, despite the dialogue/narrative being poor.  However, it is much more enjoyable to listen/read a story that has both great storytelling and has great writing.

Terribleminds Flash Fiction: A Drink With A Story Challenge

Sam stepped out of the cab. The rain was still holding off for the moment. He looked around for Kev but there was no sign of him.

Where the hell is he?

They were supposed to meet for a couple of cocktails, before Kev took off for his new out-of-state job. He hadn’t gone out in a couple of years. Felt like he might be too old for the club scene but Kev insisted.

He checked his phone for the time.

Good ol’ Kev. Always late.

Sam looked around for the club. There wasn’t much in this part of town. Mostly this was the abandoned area of the city. The remains. The ruins. The majority of the buildings were boarded up and tagged with graffiti. There was a smell of must and piss that hung in the air.

He said 12^th and Grove didn’t he?

Sam dialed Kev’s number but it went straight to voicemail.

Great Kev, just great.

He started to walk a few blocks, looking from empty store front to empty store front. The area really had gone to shit. There was still nothing even close to resembling a bar or club around. He was about to give up and call the cab back when he saw a young couple stumbling down an alley. They were laughing at something.

He watched them with curious eyes, standing just inside the shadows of the streetlights. The couple knocked on an unmarked door, still laughing uncontrollably. The door opened, pouring out a rainbow of lights and the faint sound of music.

Sam smiled.

This has got to be the place. Not exactly 12^th and Grove, but whatever.

He walked to the unmarked door and checked his phone once more, still nothing from Kev. He contemplated calling again but decided he would just wait inside.

The door looked thick and solid. He balled up his fist and knocked hard three times then stood back trying not to look as old as he felt.

When the door swung open a thick, bald dude stood over him. He was wearing all black, except the over-sized gold chain around his neck. Lights sprayed from all around him, strobe and rainbow. The music was loud and thumping. It was a dance club alright.

“I.D.” the dude said and held out an open hand.

        Sam scrambled to get his wallet out. He passed his driver’s license to the bouncer and smiled sheepishly.

        The guy smirked when he saw the date of birth, then handed the license back.

“Have fun,” he replied and moved out of the doorway so Sam could get by.

Inside was crowded and hot. The air was stale and smoky. Everyone was young, too young and half naked. He was immediately second-thinking his decision to enter but then spotted the bar. There was an open stool at the end, he made it his hideout.

Right away he dialed up Kev, but once again there was no answer.

“What’ll it be?”

Sam looked up at the bartender. She looked half his age, with a pierced septum, dolphin bites, and three studs coming out of both cheeks. Her hair was in sloppy dreads and appeared to be neon green in the club lighting.

“Is there another club nearby, I think I’m lost,” he said to her.

“Not that I’m aware of,” she replied. “You gonna take up one of my bar stools just to fiddle with that phone or you gonna order a drink?”

“Oh, uh, a Bud’s fine.”

She started laughing. The studs in her cheeks were shaking.

“You really are lost aren’t you,” she said. “We don’t serve shit like that here.”

“Any beer is fine,” Sam spoke, still looking at his phone.

“How about something a little stronger? We don’t do beer in this club.”

Sam looked up at her and then along the bar at everyone else’s drinks. They were all glasses filled with an array of different colors. Bright reds, glowing blues, and exotic yellows spread across the bar top like a festival of alcohol.

“Um…”

“How about I fix you up something special?” the bartender said with a sly look in her eyes.

It made Sam uncomfortable the way she said it. He watched her make the drink carefully, paranoid she might try to serve him dishwater and charge twenty bucks for it.

The bartender pulled out a tall glass, scooped in a handful of ice and then reached for the Absinthe. She poured in about two ounces before spinning the bottle in her hand and setting back down. Next, she squeezed in a splash of lemon juice and then a spoonful of what looked like sugar. Finally she pulled out a bottle of white liquid. It had a murky, cloudiness to it. She topped off the glass with it. Then stirred it with a black straw and slid it in front of him.

       “What’s this?” he asked.

       “They call it The Phantom Fairy,” she explained. “You’ll like it.”

       “What was the white stuff?”

       “That’s what she said,” the bartender jabbed.

       “What?” He wasn’t sure if he had actually heard her say that or if the loud thumping music was making him hear things wrong.

       “Imported, northern Europe or something,” she spoke. “They call it ghost blood.”

       Sam looked at the glass. He stirred it with the straw a few times, watching the murky cloud spread throughout the drink.

       “Just try it,” the bartender insisted. “It’s on the house.” She smiled that sly, mischievous way again and then walked to the other end of the bar.

       The music died down for a second and then blasted right back into a trance beat that sent a throb straight into Sam’s head. He looked back into the crowd, all young, sweaty goths with half-naked bodies grinding together. This wasn’t his place. He needed to leave.

       He glanced back at the drink once more.

       The Phantom Fairy.

       “What the hell,” he said softly as he picked up the glass and threw it back, chugging the whole thing.

       Right away he felt it. A burn going down. A fogginess going up. It was beyond strong. It was like nothing he had ever drunk before.

       What the fuck was in that? Ghost blood?

       He was ready to leave, but his head began to swim a little. He felt like he was standing on a boat, swaying from side to side. His eyes were blurry, teary. Across the room, young bodies were bouncing in slow motion to a beat that was slowly being muted out to just a quiet thumper. In the far corner something caught his eye.

A bright spot among the dark. A girl.

She wore all white. A sparkling, white dress, long-sleeved and down to the floor. Her hair was also white, but it looked healthy and shiny. Thick curls fell down into her pale face.

She stared at him, smiling, alluring. He smiled back and then she was gone. Disappeared into the sea of patrons. He strained his neck, up and down, left and right, trying to locate her.

There. She had moved about ten feet to her left, still starting, still smiling. Sam jumped to his feet and headed in that direction. As he fell into the crowd he lost sight of her amongst the arms reaching for the ceiling. It was so congested that he could barely move. He had to twist and weave through any crack of bodies he could find. Once he got through and closer to where he had last seen her she was already gone.

Where’d you go?

Then again he spotted her. She was in a back hall, standing just far enough in the darkness that he could see her. He made eye-contact and she greeted him with a wave, mouthing the words “come on.” It was all the motivation he needed. Quickly Sam pushed his way through the people over to her. The girl backed her way down the hall, staring at him with those eyes that bore into his soul. He wanted her. He wanted her now.

The girl stopped with her back against a door and two seconds later Sam was on her. Arms wrapped around bodies, lips locked together like life depended upon it. His hips knocked into hers causing the door to open and them to fall inside. He landed on her but managed to keep most of his weight on his knees and an extended arm. The floor was hard, and cold, probably soaked in piss, but he didn’t care. His mind was in one place and one place only.

Once the door closed behind them the room was in complete darkness. He couldn’t see her anymore, but that didn’t stop him from touching. His arms were all over her, tugging and pulling. Soon their kissing and grouping had turned into a full on sexual encounter. It was like he couldn’t think of anything else but having her. Any drifting thoughts were caught and turned back toward this sparkling, white girl. He didn’t last long and soon after he felt his eyes getting heavy. He couldn’t keep them open, couldn’t seem to do much besides lay there beside her, exhausted.

The next thing he knew he was opening his eyes. It was morning. He could see faint sunlight peeking in through a few slits of boarded-up windows. His head was throbbing, the echoing sounds of terrible music bounced in his head. As he tried to sit up he nearly puked.

Why are my pants down?

His jeans and underwear were bunched up around his ankles. He had slept half-naked.

Suddenly the image of the girl came back to him. He looked around the room for any sign of her but there was nothing. No note or card or phone number.

Hey, my first one night stand.

Sam pulled his jeans up and got to his feet. The room had a tilt to it and the slightest bit of a spin. He walked over to the door he remembered led to a hall way. When he opened it he expected to see the leftover mess of the crowded dance club, instead he saw an empty room. Completely empty. All the windows were boarded-up, all the shelves empty and covered in dust. Half the bar stools were knocked to the ground and broken. The bar top was clothed in a thick dust covering. There was no sign that there had been anyone there last night. It looked as if it had been years since anyone had been in there.

Sam found the door and had to pry it open. Someone had nailed it shut in hopes to keep people out. The sunlight outside was blinding. He turned back to the empty, dark club.

Did I imagine the whole thing?

His head was still spinning and his stomach was on the edge of sickness.

There’s no way. No way.

Right before he turned to leave something caught his eye. A bright spot amongst the darkness.

The sparkling, white girl stood on the opposite side of the room, laughing and fading away into nothing.

              The End.

 

Terribleminds Flash Fiction: Fairy Tales, Remixed

 

 

        Mom was at it again. Her drinking had been out of control for a few years now, but lately it had gotten beyond out of control. It had become disastrous. It had become violent and abusive. It had become unbearable.

        Sarah was a year younger than me and I did my best to protect her like an older brother should. Nights like tonight it was difficult.

        She was screaming, making it nearly impossible to do homework. Not that I cared much. School had become just another part of my life I was forced to tolerate. I was counting down the days until it was over. Sarah had given up on her studying hours ago. We both knew what kind of night it would be and it was easier to just get out of the way than deal with her.

         We could hear her screaming arguments through the bedroom door. On the phone with some jackass boyfriend, I assumed. She had already killed off a bottle of Vodka by the time we got home from school. That was hours ago.

         “I can’t deal with this again. I’m going for a walk,” Sarah said, standing up and grabbing her jacket.

         “Wait, wait, I’ll come too,” I replied.

         We sneaked out the window and down the fire escape. The city was half shadows in the fading sun.

         Outside I felt free, like I could do anything. The city was so big and full of life. Endless possibilities. When we were out of the house we weren't abused and neglected kids. We could be anyone.

         We walked to the edge of the park and sat on a bench near the entrance. One of our favorite pastimes was to people-watch. So many different lives going on at once. We liked to make-up stories about the interesting ones.

         Sarah always picked women with nice clothes and explained how they were traveling the world.

         “New York today, Paris tomorrow,” she said.

         Mine were always a bit more on the grim side.

         “Keep dreaming, she lives in a tiny apartment, struggling to pay off her credit cards, trying desperately to stay fashionable in hopes that a good-looking rich dude will sweep her off her feet so she can free-load for the rest of her life.”

         “Yeah right, Nicky” Sarah replied. “I don’t think so! Look at those shoes! She has money. She doesn’t need a guy!”

         “It's all a façade.”

         “What?”

         “Never mind.”

         We went through a few more people and their make-believe stories before I noticed something just inside the park. There was a grassy area near two dead trees where a sewer grate sat. It was there that I saw something catch my eye. A movement from down inside.

         “Did you see that?” I asked Sarah, pointing out the area.

         “What about it?”

         “I thought I saw something. An arm reaching out,” I told her.

         “From the sewer? Oooh, let’s go check it out!” she said excitedly, and then jumped to her feet.

         “Sarah wait!”

         I jogged after her, catching up just as she reached the grate.

         We both peered into it but saw nothing but pitch black, darkness. I scooted closer, leaning my body over the grate, but still saw nothing.

         “I guess it was my eyes playing tricks on me,” I said.

         “Maybe,” Sarah replied.

         She brushed past me and jumped on the iron grate, bouncing on it like it was a trampoline.

         “What are doing? Get off that before you fall in,” I spoke.

         But she ignored me and continued to bounce until the grate made a creaking sound. She stopped, staring at me with fearful eyes.

         “Get off!” I shouted, reaching a hand to her.

         Then, before either one of us could do a thing, the grate broke open. Sarah fell in, grabbing my arm and pulling me down with her. We landed in water, only waist deep, but enough to keep us from getting hurt.

         I stood up, spitting out the worst tasting water that had ever brushed across my lips, before I helped Sarah to her feet. We were both soaked from head to toe, feeling like toilet-flushed sewer rats. I rubbed my eyes, hoping to get a clear look around, but stopped when I saw Sarah staring hard at something like she’d seen a ghost.

         Following her eyes I saw what had her so startled. I thought it was a naked woman at first. Old and skinny, covered in filth. But there’s something not-human about her. It was only slight things, elongated fingers tipped with black nails, teeth too long and sharp, green tint to her liver-spotted slimy skin, but it’s enough for me to realize. I jumped in response to the sight, instantly feeling like we were in danger.

         The woman-like creature smiled at us and said, “Now that you have intruded into my home you shall work for me. You shall work hard for me or never leave.”

         Before I could even think to move she had both Sarah and I by the necks, dragging us with an unnatural strength. She took us to an area where the sewer expanded into a larger corridor and up out of the water, tossing us into a corner.

         “You my pretty will fill this bucket with water and return it here,” the creature spoke to Sarah handing her an old, wooden pale with a large hole in the bottom.

         She then looked to me and pulled out an old, dull ax. I reached for it, careful not to touch her black rotted fingernails.   “You will chop this root in half for me.”

         I see a large tree root that has broken through the concrete floor and wall. It looked solid and thick. Even with a sharp ax I knew it would take me hours to get through it.

         “What if we don’t?” Sarah belted out.

         “If you do not, then I will kill your brother. If he does not, then I will kill you,” she said then began cackling so loud it echoed throughout the sewer corridor.

         Sarah shot me a glance, unsure of what to do.

         “Just do it,” I said and walked over to the large root.

         My first swing bounced back at me hard with a loud thud. The ax was so dull there was barely an impression in the root. I swung again with all of my might, determined to make a cut, but the root looked like it hadn’t even been touched.

         Behind me Sarah had made it over to the water, scooping the bucket full only to watch it all drain out the hole in the bottom.

         “This is impossible,” she complained. “I will never get it back over there full.”

         The woman-creature laughed harder, all of her sagging, nude parts shaking in unison. “Then you will never leave.”

         It went on for hours, maybe even days. Sarah filling the bucket with water and watching it spill out before she could make it back, me hacking away at a root that showed no sign of trauma. All the while the strange woman-creature sat in the corner brushing her hair and looking into a small hand-held mirror.

         Finally, after what felt like a lifetime the woman left us alone.

         She slumped out of the corridor and down a tunnel until we couldn’t hear her anymore. Both Sarah and I stopped working. We dropped the bucket and an ax and ran to each other.

         “We have to escape,” I said to her.

         “How?”

         I looked around the room, searching for anything that might help us. I saw that she has left the hairbrush and mirror and walked over picking them up.

         “What are we going to do with that?” Sarah asked me.

         “I don’t know, but feel this. There is something weird about these.”

         Sarah grabbed the mirror from my hand and looked into it.

         “It looks like a normal mirror but it does feel strange,” she said, “like enchanted or something.”

         Suddenly we hear the woman returning down the tunnel.

         “Run! Run!” I shouted, nearly pushing Sarah to move.

         “Don’t touch that! Put those down!” the woman screamed as she ran towards us reaching out a black-clawed hand.

         Sarah turned and led the way down an opposite tunnel, the creature just feet behind us.

         “She’s catching up!”

         I wasn’t sure where the idea came from, but I didn’t hesitate once it was there.

         The hairbrush. It’s magic.

         I threw the brush down to the tunnel floor behind us and instantly felt the enchantments beginning to work. The floor started shaking and rumbling like there was an earthquake. I looked back and saw the brush growing, expanding into a block of a thousand of spikes. The woman-creature stopped in front of it and for a second I thought we’d done it. We’d escaped.

         But she pushed her way through the spikes, darting in-between them until she was on our side and past them.

         “The mirror,” I called out to Sarah.

         She slowed down until I was even with her.

         “Throw it!” I shouted.

         She looked at it once more and then tossed it on the tunnel floor just in front of the creature. Instantly it grew in size, creating a large mirror blocking the tunnel completely.

         “It’s working,” Sarah cried out.

         The woman slammed her hands against it, banging on it hard, but the mirror held.

         “You have stopped me but for a minute,” she calmly stated. “I shall return with a sharp ax and break through this mirror. Then you will be mine forever.”

         Sarah and I didn’t wait around to watch . As soon as she was out of view, we ran until we found a ladder leading to the surface.

         Outside the park was quiet. It was late. Unknown things were lurking in the darkness beyond the streetlights.

         We didn’t care. We were free. We had escaped.

         After that night Sarah and I were closer than ever, keeping the secret of our time in the sewer to ourselves. And never laying another foot in the park or a sewer ever again.

         The End

Terribleminds Flash Fiction: The Who, The Where, The Uh-oh Challenge

 

 

 

 

My head is pounding.

Feels like I’m the pavement in New York City’s rush hour, a rapid thudding of business people and tourists stepping down without the slightest bit of consideration.

I don’t want to open my eyes. I want to enjoy the darkness a bit longer. It’s the calm before the storm or whatever that saying is. Once I open them I know the routine. Renee coming in with the jabs that quickly turns into the screaming match.

Can’t we just skip that part and get to the make-up sex?

I go on and open them, expecting her there with that expression, the one that plainly states that I’m a fucking loser and she is about to leave me. But she never does, ‘cause if there is one thing I’m good at, it’s talking her into staying.

Instead of our closet-of-a-bedroom, I see the sky.

Early morning I think.

Where the hell am I?

I feel grass on my neck and arms, suddenly pricking and itching, morning dew dampening the backside of my clothes. I sit up. It does a number on my pounding head. I don’t remember ordering the early morning jackhammer.

I’m in a field, about twenty feet from route 5. The road is empty, too early for morning commuters.

I don’t see my truck.

How the fuck did I get out here? 

I try to push through the pounding and remember last night.

Billy’s Tavern. I had only planned on getting one to cap off the long day. Maybe two. Okay, I knew at least two but I wasn’t planning on getting smashed. I can picture a shot glass. Empty. Drops of spilled whiskey on the bar. Fucking Garth Brooks blasting way too loud. Everything is hazy, I can’t remember much more.

Why do I do this to myself?

I stand up and start to walk home. It’s a few miles but the movement seems to help my headache die down a little.

The sun is peeking through the trees as I approach the trailer park. The sky lights up with streaks of pink and purple. Reflections of the light bounce off the aluminum roofs making it almost look nice.

Home sweet home, a single-wide in Leighbriar Trailer Park.

My truck isn’t here either. I probably left it at Billy’s. I will have to get Renee to drop me off later.

I walk up to the door and find it open. Not unusual for us during the day, but its early still. Everything looks the same, dishes stacked in the sink, clothes piles on the floor, the over-sized Zenith tube that you couldn’t pay someone to steal.

“Renee,” I call out.

There is no reply. I get concerned and run back to the bedroom.

She’s there, sitting on the bed. Relief washes over me.

“Baby, I’m so sorry,” I begin.

I see black tears streaming down her face. Smeared mascara. I can tell she’s been at it for a while.

“Look, I didn’t mean to. I love you.”

She breaks into a full on fit, shoulders shuddering up and down, a loud wail escapes her mouth.

“I’m serious. It’ll never happen again,” I say as I move forward to her.

Renee quickly sits up and storms into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. I hear her crying turning into a gagging sound and then she is puking. I really hurt her this time. I feel awful. The guilt makes me think of drinking. I know that’s the last thing I need right now. I need to fix this.

The bedroom fills with sounds of electronic pop music. Renee’s phone is lying on the bed. I lean over it and see my best friend Paul’s name.

Paul. Why would Paul be calling her?

She runs out of the bathroom and brushes passed me as she snatches up the phone.

“Paul!” she says, her voice full of emotion.

I can hear his voice but can’t tell what he’s saying.

“Yeah, hanging in there… Sure, that would great… Okay, come as soon as you can,” she tells him and clicks off the phone.

“Renee, what the hell is going on? What did he want?”

She’s still not answering me. Instead she goes to the mirror and cleans up her face. She slips on a new shirt and then gurgles some mouth wash. I’m following her like a lost puppy.

“Renee!”

She bulls passed me again, barely missing my shoulder, and then she’s out the door. I watch as she hops into Paul’s just arriving pick-up.

“Renee!”

They drive away leaving me alone in the trailer. My first reaction is to chase after her, but I know that won’t help. She needs time, I guess.

Fucking Paul. He knows I love her. What the hell is he up to?

I sit on the steps just outside the front door. Nothing seems to add up. I start pleading with my brain to give up more memories of last night. Trying to flip through flash cards of mental images stuffed way back in the memory file cabinet.

Hannah the bartender hands me another shot. “Stop being a pussy,” she says. “That ol’ lady of yours sure has got you whipped!” I throw the shot back. Then another. I’ve lost count now.

Inside the trailer the house phone rings. It startles me from my mental search and I debate answering it. Finally giving in to the slight possibility that it could be Renee, I stand and go inside. The phone stops just before I reach it. The answering machine clicks on.

It’s not Renee.

A male voice leaves a message about everything being ready. His voice sounds like a strained solemn. He’s clearly fake-caring. I check the caller ID and see Andrew’s Funeral Home. Then I spot the date. It says Monday.

Monday! It should be Saturday. I went out last night after work. How is it Monday? The machine must be screwed up, that’s all it is.

I walk back to the bedroom. I want to lie down. My head is spinning with crazed notions, none of them giving me comfort.

Just before I get to the bed I see my wallet and keys sitting on the bedside table. My cell phone is next to them, the screen is shattered, the casing cracked and scratched like it had been dragged behind a runaway stallion. I immediately feel around my jeans, sliding my hand across the pockets. No phone. No keys. No wallet.

Remember. Remember. You have to remember. 

My head is doing cartwheels now. I knock my fists against the sides, trying to knock something loose.

“What time is it?” I ask Hannah. She points to the clock above her head. It’s late. Very late. Like I needed to be home hours ago late. I give her a few twenties and nod goodnight. Walking is like a punishment, I think as I stumble out the door. Just make it home and everything will be alright. 
 

My head hits the pillow. My eyelids feel heavy but I fight shutting them, unsure of what will happen when I open them again. I look to the walls, the pictures hanging around the room and on the dressers. Pictures of Renee and I overpopulate the few others of family members.

She’s so beautiful. Why do I treat her like this? 

I see her photos like it’s the first time I’m seeing her. She’s just as pretty as the first day we moved in here. Still so full of life and optimism, no matter how many times I shit on our life.

I’m suddenly longing for her harder than I can ever remember. I need her. I need her touch and her smell. I want to hold her. The longing is so strong I hear her voice.

“Thanks Paul,” she says.

Renee!

I sit up and go into the front room. She’s there hugging Paul.

You backstabbing motherfucker! Get your hands off of her!

They act like they can’t hear me, not even acknowledging me standing there. I fill with rage. I want to break something.
 

Preferably Paul.

I kick the coffee table onto its side. It gets their attention and they end the hug. Both turn and look at the table like it’s a wild animal.

“What was that?” Paul asked her.

“I don’t know, but we can worry about that later. Let me get dressed and then we can go,” she says.

I watch her maneuver past the overturned coffee table and into the bedroom, still avoiding looking at me. The door shuts behind her, leaving Paul and I alone together.

“So how long has this been going on?” I ask.

He walks into the kitchen and grabs a glass, filling it with water. The sound triggers something in my head and I see images. Memory flash cards.

I pull my keys out and drop them immediately. Taking a deep breath I bend down like I’m going under water, I guess an instinct to keep from puking. There are three sets of keys on the ground, all of them moving in circles. I guess wrong twice before I find the real one and pick it up, exhaling all the way to a standing position. The world is suddenly a carnival ride that I’ve been on way too long. Somehow I get the door to my truck open and the right key into the ignition. Dumb luck I suppose. 

Renee swings the door open just as Paul places the glass in the sink with the other dirty dishes. He turns to her. She's wearing a black dress, black shoes, not her usual style.

“Ready,” he says.

“No. But I know we have to,” she replies.

They walk to the door, about to leave me again without a single word. I can’t let her go. Not without talking to her, explaining everything.

They are out the door before I know and I have to chase them to catch up. As I dart down the steps, Paul’s truck starts up. I barely have time to dive into the truck’s bed before he is driving.

“Renee! Renee! Please let me explain!"

I have no idea what I’m going to say. I’m still not even sure what’s going on.

Paul is driving too fast for me to get a good balance. Every time I get to my feet I end up nearly falling out. I try to crawl up to the back window.

The road is doubling, then tripling, then doubling again. I shake my head, begging my eyes to focus on the right road. You've done it before, you can do it again, I tell myself. Then I notice my speed. I'm going too fast. I check the speedometer, but I can't figure out exactly where the red arrow is pointing to.

Paul parks his pick-up around the back of the church. He and Renee are out and walking before I can stand to my feet.

What's going on? What are they doing here?

I hop out and follow them.

“Renee!"

The door closes behind them without even a look back.

Inside its dark. It takes my eyes a second to adjust. There is someone playing the organ. It's a familiar song, but I can't place it. As I round the corner to the nave I see Renee. She is standing alone. Looking down at something. Someone. It's a casket.

I move in closer and recognize the clothes.

I look up to the road just in time to see the ditch. I yank the wheel hard left. Over-correct. Hard right. Next thing I know I see grass, then sky. I think I'm flipping. My head slams the roof. I never put on the seat belt. Why didn't I buckle my belt? The bridge of my nose slams the steering wheel. All I can hear is smashing. Metal and glass breaking. It feels like slow motion. Then I feel like I'm flying. I am flying. Ejected from the truck. Total blackness.

“I died.” The words fall from my mouth like vomit.

Renee is looking down at my corpse. She is crying again. I walk up next to her, try to put my arm around her. I'm suddenly transparent. My arm moves right through her.

“I'm such a fuck up. I'm so sorry baby. I love you so much,” I say.

“I love you,” she replies.

THE END.

To Playlist or Not To Playlist

I know that a lot of writers have very differentiating opinions on this subject.  Some people prefer to write in silence, some like atmospheric sounds in the background, some like to have music without lyrics, while others like to have a playlist that represents the story playing while they write. 

I fall somewhat in the latter.  I enjoy having a playlist while I write.

However, my playlists aren't made up of songs that remind me of the story or characters, at least not lyrically.  Most of the songs I prefer to listen to are ones that put me in the mood of the story.  Something about each one of these songs, whether it is the lyrics or music or both make me feel something that connects me to my work but doesn't necessarily represent the work itself.

Right now I am nearly finished writing my first draft of The Bone Carousel and thought I would share my playlist.

Keep in mind I have a very large range of musical tastes spanning many different genres. 

In no particular order...


Placebo - A Million Little Pieces
Blaqk Audio - Bliss
Aphex Twin - Flim
The Birthday Massacre - Remember Me
Ashlee Simpson - Bat For A Heart
Empire Of The Sun - Awakening
Katatonia - The One You Are Looking For Is Not Here
Julien-K - Nights Of Future Past
Antihoney - Dove
Halou - Dog Dreams
Mike Shinoda, Feat. Chino Moreno - Razors Out
Lana Del Rey - Born To Die
Sleep Party People - I'm Not Human At All
The Presets - Girl And The Sea
Morgan Page - Fight For You
Skrillex - Summit
Marilyn Manson - The Last Day On Earth