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Flash Fiction Challenge from Chuck Wendig. 1000 words. has to be about hiding a body.

once more, any comments, criticisms or suggestions are welcome.

A Habitual Cadaver

“I thought I hid you better” I said out loud. She just grins at me.
I look around the apartment. muddy footprints and a shattered window show how she got back in.
I plop down into a chair across from her and lean back. she stares. she always stares, no matter how many times I close her eyes they’re always open.
She just fuckin’ stares at me.
I notice the last vestige of thread still clinging to her eyelids where they’d been sewn shut.
Not anymore. just the same glassy stare. we sit there, just her and me lookin’ at each other like a couple of mannequins.
‘cept of course- I’m still alive and she’s just the corpse that follows me home. every night.
I remember the first night I buried her. the grave was deep and it took me ’til 4am. but I did the deed.
I came home stinking and dirty and there she was. laying on my couch. her pale body covered in mud. I nearly had a heart attack.
I didn’t, but I came close. instead I passed out. I wake up to find her still laying there.
The fucked up thing was my first reaction was that I thought she was a zombie. how weird is that? Of all the shit it was likely to be, some asshole extortionist,someone out for revenge, what the fuck ever. My brain just snapped to zombie. weird,right? Zombies don’t exist. she doesn’t groan or shamble.
I never see her move. doesn’t breathe or blink. but I can always follow her footprints back to the grave I buried her in. I stand up and head to the liquor cabinet. I make a highball and try to keep my hands from shaking.
I casually ask if she wants one. She gives the same old reply.
I sit back down and wonder what to do next. I could try and burn her again. I saw a TV show where they used acid. maybe acid would work. but I don’t know shit about acid, so maybe not. I tried cutting her up, but she comes back together some how. I don’t see any stitches. but the marks from the saw are still there.
I didn’t know what to do. I was being haunted by a corpse. I rarely slept. I was afraid to while she was here.
I’d even thought about a hotel.
But what if she came to my hotel room?  everyone would see. i would get caught. I would go to prison. possibly get the electric chair. do they still use the chair? doesn’t matter, they’d kill me. and I wouldn’t be showing up again afterwards.
I drained my highball in one long pull. I paced back and forth through the kitchen trying to come up with some sort of plan.
a kiln maybe? burns hot. real hot. could reduce her to ashes. where the fuck was I gonna find a kiln?
okay. maybe drop her into some cement. bury her deep. except once again, I didn’t know where the hell you get cement. maybe a construction site?
dragging her body there would be kinda risky. it’s an option though. I went and made another highball. I studiously ignored her as she sat on my couch.
I was running out of ideas. Someone  would notice eventually. some way, somehow. at this rate I might as well chop her up and feed her the homeless for all the-
Of course. I can do all the work right here in my kitchen. I’ve got cooking supplies.  I grab my meat cleaver from the rack. The crock-pot from Christmas I kept promising myself I’d use someday.
Looks like today’s the day.

I work all night and well into the next morning. over four hundred sandwiches and 30 loaves of bread later, I’ve finished. I throw the sandwiches into some plastic bags and load ’em into the back of my car.

In half an hour I’m at the homeless shelter, I offer the sandwiches to the gray haired lady in charge. She mentions something about a bunch of poisonings. I giver her a confident smile and grab a random sandwich and take a bite.
I can feel her in my mouth. sliding around my teeth and coating my tongue.  I try not to gag.  My stomach almost starts to heave, but I somehow  finish without throwing up. I smile as sweetly as possible to hide how ill that  made me. The gray haired lady gets a couple volunteers to cart in the sandwiches. She asks if I’d like to help out, I beg off saying I have an urgent appointment and leave ASAP.

I can feel her roiling around in there. maybe it’s nerves,but what if isn’t?  Halfway home I pull over and throw up. I stick my fingers down my throat and purge every bit of her from my insides. A while later I’m back on the road, feeling slightly better. covered in puke. but still slightly better.
I pull into the driveway and stare at the door. what if she’s there? what if she’s still sitting on the couch staring with those goddamn glassy eyes? what would I do?
calm down.  it worked.  she’s just meat.
sandwich meat. nothing more.
I open the door slowly. my heart’s hammering in my chest. I wipe my palms on my shirt and enter into the darkened foyer. the couch is empty. same for the living room.
the house is clear. For the first time in a week I breathe. really breathe. she’s gone for good.

I walk into the bedroom and collapse onto the covers.  Oblivion greets me in seconds.

Sunlight smiles from my window and I smile back. My muscle ache and complain as I roll out of bed. I saunter into the living room and my smile dies.
She’s not on the couch.
Instead four hobos sit there with rictus grins and glassy eyes.
I grab the phone book and look up ‘Kiln’.

A Habitual Cadaver

 
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Posted by on November 5, 2012 in Uncategorized

 

Doubt

Doubt enraptured within a hardened mind;
Insidious cynic whispering from my shoulder;
hope enshrined, tempestuous, wanton.
strands of crimson and a soul filled with disquiet.
memory. lying debasing memory.
foolish hope cast across cold reality.
patience waits. trepidation unbridled.
stupid. feel so stupid.
wanting. needing. a future for which one may not be present.
a calcified heart grows weary.

 
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Posted by on October 13, 2012 in Uncategorized

 

TEQUILA: THE DEVIL’S POISONED AMBROSIA.

I WOKE UP THIS MORNING TO THE ROAR OF A HANGOVER VOICED BY R. LEE ERMEY AND THE PATIENCE OF THE L.A.P.D. I TURNED OVER TO FIND  THAT THE TEQUILA OF 4 HOURS AGO HAD DECIDED TO CURB-STOMP MY BRAIN WHILE THE PRECEDING SCREWDRIVERS SHIVED MY INTESTINES LIKE THEIR NAMESAKE. I’D SAY IT WAS A HELL OF A NIGHT, BUT HELL CAME WITH THE SUN.

I’VE HAD A BIT O’ WRITING DRY SPELL.

FUCK IT. I’VE BEEN PLAGUED BY A WORD DROUGHT.
ODDLY ENOUGH AS I CRAWLED BLEEDING AND WHIMPERING FROM MY INDENTION ON THE FLOOR,    I FOUND MY BRAIN WILLING TO SPIT OUT A RAPID SET OF SYMBOLS AND GLYPHS AKIN TO WRITING.   AFTER SOMEHOW FITTING MY LEFT FRONTAL LOBE BACK INTO THE HOLE IT HAD DRIPPED FROM,      I BEGAN TO REORDER THOSE VARIOUS SYMBOLS IN GLYPHS INTO PATTERNS.

TWO HOURS LATER: FAILING AT MAKING ANYTHING FROM THEM (EXCEPT A SEMI-PERVERTED PICTURE OF A ZEBRA FUCKING A TURTLE ON A DESERT ISLAND) I GAVE UP AND STARTED BASHING MY FACE ON THE KEYBOARD.

LO AND BEHOLD, WORDS! OF THE READABLE VARIETY EVEN. SO HEAR IT GOES AGAIN….AGAIN.
OH GREAT ALCOHOL, IS THERE ANYTHING YOU CAN’T DO WHEN TAKEN IN DANGEROUS EXCESS?

ALSO, MY CAPS LOCK SEEMS TO BE GLUED DOWN AND I CAn’t fix i—- oh. there it goes. shut up.

 
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Posted by on October 7, 2012 in Uncategorized

 

Information of a vital nature

A new flash fiction challenge from Chuck Wendig.
http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2012/07/27/flash-fiction-challenge-antagprotag/
Half Protagonist, half Antagonist equals Tagnominist! wait…no. just…no.
half the story as Protag, the other half as Antag. 1000 words.

my protag is kind of a prick. my antag is a bigger prick. just fair forewarning.

anyhoo, comments,suggestion or criticisms are all welcome.

I pull the gun from its holster and hold it loosely at my side. The tall guy stops and his smirk drains away. Loudmouth behind him doesn’t see it.
I should probably wave it around at arms length like in the movies, they might get the picture.  Fatty starts to speak, but a look from me shuts him up quick.
The Loudmouth steps forward and brandishes a knife threateningly. The stupid bastard hasn’t noticed the gun at my side. Wonderful. Loudmouth grins at me. I grin back and aim from my hip.  He sees it and continues to grin. Fatty’s grinning now too.shit, behind me-
I’m dropped like a sack of bricks.  Whoever hit me, he’s a big sumbitch. I black out long enough to lose the gun and have my hands tied with a dirty rope.
What a wonderful turn of events. dirty sack over the head and a shitty ride to the ass-end of nowhere. Great, I’m about to be executed and I haven’t even had my goddamn coffee yet.
fuck it. it’s already noon. it’s probably for the best if they just pop me now.

I’m shoved to my knees and they pull the moldy sack off my head to reveal a Junkyard and the three stooges standing there grinning like the cat who just ate the fuckin’ condor.
Next to them is what I thought a sexy water buffalo might look like,but water buffaloes don’t cross their arms. or have bright orange highlights. jeezus this is the biggest chick I’ve ever seen.  Could probably bench press me without breaking a sweat. My gaze flicks to the front of her jeans. nothin’ pokin’ out, but she could be a tucker.
Then some white suited dandy motherfucker comes sauntering up. Fedora,cane the works. Jeezus Fuckin’ Hell. Did I just get dragged into a bad gangster film?
“so, you here to whack me?” I ask in my best Cagney. Which is awful by the way. I’m ready to give my Bogey a try when he takes his hat off and looks at me.
Those eyes. He’s a killer. Not like the stooges or she-hulk over there. This guy enjoys the act of taking life. I shut up real quick. A man like this doesn’t fuck around.
He’s here for a reason. I’m not dead ’cause he needs something. I may get a bullet in the head yet, but I’ve a hunch being cooperative may buy me a few seconds.
He holds the hat in his hand gingerly as if holding a new born kitten then squats down next to me just like we’re buddy buddies. the best of fuckin’ friends.
“tell me Allard. Do you understand who I am?” He whispers.
I give nod. Fuckin psycho? Check.  Works for the guy I pissed off? Checkarooni.
He nods slightly. Approval ghosts across his face.
” Good. where is she?”

I Examine the unlucky PI. His eyes flickering back and forth. Good.
Even battered and bound, he’s weighing his options. Excellent. No wisecracks, No false machismo. We understand each other implicitly. If the would-be detective wants to live he will give up the location of the woman.
Allard clears his throat. ” Theresa , right? she’s back at her apartment.”
I sigh. I should have known better.
“Mr. Allard, that is a lie. We set fire to her apartment an hour ago. Where is the woman?”
He shakes his head. “you’re right. I’m just a little rattled. y’know  bein’ tossed around by your pet ogre and the three amigos over there.”
I give him my best look of sympathy
“The woman, Mr Allard.”
“yeah, right. she’s at my place.”
He’s digging himself deeper. He knows it. I know it.
I can see the fear in his eyes. He knows how this will end.
I retrieve my favorite scalpel from my inside pocket and hold it up between us so he can inspect it.
It’s beautiful. A sliver of perfection. The distillation of hideous intent.
The despair on his face makes all of this worth it.
His pride will break. the question being, will his body give out before his mind does?
” I hate to have to do this Allard-”
” fuck you! you fuckin’ psycho, you get off on shit like-” Beatrice ends his tirade with a left hook.
I continue. ” As I was saying: I hate to have to do this while wearing my favorite suit, But I fear these things cannot be helped.”
I hand my coat to Beatrice and begin undoing my victim’s shirt.
“oh jesus god, please no.” Allard pleads through bloody teeth.
I look him in the eye.
“there is no god here today.” I place the flat of the scalpel on his cheek. “just me.”
A heartbeat passes like a glacier.
He slumps. “fine, I’ll talk.”
I am very disappointed, but I hide it.
“very good Mr. Allard.”
I force a smile. friendly,easy going.
“Where is Theresa, Mr. Allard?”
“Close.”
My irritation smolders like a oil soaked rag in the sun. I slide the blade across his eyelid.
His scream is exquisite.
” I apologize Mr. Allard. I was under the impression that you would tell me where she is.”
” Know how I met her?”.
“Do tell, Mr. Allard. How?” I draw across his hairline with the edge.
He’s hyperventilating now, his words bubbling and bloody.
“I met her in the corps!” Blood washes down his face.
“is that so?” I position the blade in the crook of his ear.
“peace corps?” I ask politely
The barest hint of pressure causes blood to well up.
He shudders, but continues through gritted teeth.
“n-not peace. Marine Corps.”
“and what exactly did she do in the Corps?”
His grimace turns to a ghastly smile.
The sound of a watermelon being hit with a sledgehammer makes me turn in time to see the nearly headless Beatrice fall to the ground surrounded by the vestige of her cerebellum.
He looks at me with his good eye.
“First Recon Sniper.”

 
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Posted by on August 1, 2012 in Flash Fiction Challenges

 

The Wondering Chamber

Another flash fiction challenge from Chuck Wendig

http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2012/07/13/flash-fiction-challenge-the-android-and-the-wondering-chamber/

The challenge? open with  ‘ the noticed android walks past the wondering chamber.’

For some reason I wanted to try something different (for me anyway) with this one. any comments/criticisms are always helpful. that being said, here goes nothin’.

 Dare to Dream

The noticed android walks by the wondering chamber.
The wondering chamber offers.
The sign denies the android.
The door pulses. Beckoning. Taunting.
The noticed android continues away undaunted.
The wondering chamber calls out to the android.
The android does not respond.
The wondering chamber cajoles.
The android is dutiful;He will not shirk.
The wondering chamber opens.
The noticed android dares to peek inside.
The light flows outward.
Wavelength over wavelength.
Azure luminescence off counterfeit skin.
Logic overridden. Inspection necessary.
No automatons beyond this point: Ignored
The wondering chamber embraces the android.
Powering down.
Synthetic sleep and dreams of artifice

 
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Posted by on July 17, 2012 in Uncategorized

 

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Thinking thematic thoughts at three AM.

I’ve been thinking about the role of props and how they can effect a scene. some scenes have an expected cliche’ that they tend to follow.
example:David sits quietly in the dining room.  the candle light bathes the room in a warm glow. A trail of rosebuds lead from the front door and soft music plays in the background. Maria comes through the door and gasps.

while rather impersonal, the scene sets up what could be a romantic surprise or the unwelcome invasion of a stalker.

but then i began thinking about how specific items tend to carry their own expectations.

this time I did the same thing but added a prop.

David sits quietly in the dining room. A trail of rosebuds lead from the front door and soft music plays in the background. the candle light reflects off of the chrome .45 laying on the table. Maria comes through the door and gasps.

The addition of the gun gives the scene a strange new twist. the implied violence of the gun makes everything else seem more ominous.

This also had me thinking about certain stereotypes and the stories that come with them.

I randomly started searching through some magazine (yes, me and one other guy in the world still read paper magazines.) and I mixed a place, a person and an object. I ended up with a soldier in combat fatigues, a crown and a skyscraper. this made me immediately think of a soldier standing at the top of a skyscraper holding a crown. these three things are interesting by themselves, but together they create a strange frothy potential. ( did I just write ‘frothy potential’? jesus, I need to sleep some year, I may be losing my thinky thinky brain speak.) The variations for ideas can be almost endless.( I say almost endless because, y’know the eventual demise of the universe because of heat death.) This and other forms of auto-didaction have become paramount for me.

anyhoo. In the quest to become a better writer I’ve been thinking about these things long and hard. (….too easy.)and soaking up as much information as possible from many different sources.  a huge thanks to Chuck Wendig’s writing blog http://terribleminds.com/ramble/. His insistence on the usefulness of outlining made me stop and wonder why the hell I wasn’t doin’ just that.
Now?  I’ve been outlining my story and HOLY SHIT does that help. seriously.
I was so damn uncertain as to what the hell I was doing next, that I felt like an apoplectic snake at a rave.

….I don’t even know what that means.

fuck it. I’m keepin’ it. it’s mine now.
hrm. back to the subject. Outlining. it’s the most useful goddamn thing I’ve done all month. I’ve decided I need to incorporate this into other aspects of my life.
Sock drawer? outlined. Fridge? outlined. 150 terabytes of porn? OUTLINED! (and outlined again in another 20 minutes.)
The upside of outlining has also brought my various ineptitudes to the forefront. This allows me to hunt them down with prejudice. stalking them like something something predator.

My weary body demands rest. my weary brain demands………fig newtons. and sleep. actually just sleep. I think the fig newton thing was a hallucination.

 
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Posted by on July 17, 2012 in Uncategorized

 

shaking my fist at the tv and shouting as if it can hear me.

I’ve been rather busy of late. I haven’t posted since….310 BC. hrm. I think that might be an old calendar.
anyhoo, I’ve ripped some spare time from the continuum to drop some blogdacity onto the internets. This one won’t be long but, It does feel good to be typing something other than my WiP.
I’ve been keeping watch on the presidential debates halfheartedly.
I’ve considered the candidates and looked at how they handle specific issues. after much  deliberation and even more research I’ve decided the next president of the USA should be Skynet. Now, I know that most people (specifically “human” people.) think this may be a bad idea, but hear me out.
*Health Care: the state of a human’s health is very important to Skynet.
*Global Warming: meet Nuclear Winter.
*The 99%: whether rich,poor or middle class, Skynet treats everyone equally. (except John Connor.)
*The 1%: This percentage represents the remainder of the human race. now it’s 0.09%.
and again 0.05% and falling! More elbow room for everybody!
*All other important issues – See Global Warming.

Seriously though, the amount of pandering towards potential voters and the bile aimed at perceived enemies has become almost detestable.
( Obama is a Nazi! Romney eats babies! The conservatives want to arm everyone with nuclear weapons! liberals want to sell our freedom to France! The Lotus-Penguin Clan is the weakest of all ninja clans! etc.) A great deal of this can be attributed to the popular news networks and their heavy handed reporting of ANY political event.
I flip through the channels and begin to feel as if I’m actually watching professional wrestling sans the Piledriver.
The sad part being that we put up with the same demagoguery four years ago and we’ll put up with it again in four years- and four years after that- and four years after that. not after that though, 2028 is when the great Hyper American Space War causes the American Rupee to become worthless and we
sell out to McWalmartistan.

go read comic books, because politics rot your brain.

 
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Posted by on July 14, 2012 in Uncategorized