Heartless​ Jack

Heartless​ Jack

The bar holds its breath. Bogeyed people keep a secure distance to the fight. Smashed bottles and blood glisten on the counter and the tile floor. Someone urges words into their phone.

The emptiness in Jack’s chest is drilling ache. The skin feels numb under his bloody shirt. His fingertips trace the long scar on his breastbone.

The surgeons take his heart and soul. They strip him bare of his past, of all who he was, and hoped to be. The doctors call it amnesia.

Continue reading “Heartless​ Jack”

bruises

bruises

“I admit, it was a kneejerk reaction,” John shivered. We were both nearly naked and dripping wet. The dive I took into the frozen lake was an accident, and John did his best to rescue me. He had a conscience after all. It was his fault that I broke in, in the first place. So he pulled me out, brought me back to the mansion. The blanket I had on my shoulders started itching. I hoped his itched as well. Continue reading “bruises”

Black Door

Black Door

1

Dirt rained from the ceiling of the dome. A deep rumble went through the cave. The Carpathians woke up. “Did you feel that?” Farnsworth couldn’t keep the scare out of his voice. Pathetic. A tiny earthquake was enough to get the man terrified. My flashlight illuminated the ancient pictograms on the basalt slab. This must be Ostra. “Let’s take some pictures, and go back!” His breath made little vapor clouds. Continue reading “Black Door”

Consul

Consul

First time I met consul Niishima, I was preparing tea for the European diplomats. I had that part of the embassy, the guest wing, and the lower common kitchen to myself, so I din’t bother to close any of the doors. The meeting was scheduled that early afternoon.

A tall handsome man manifested in the doorway. I nearly dropped the tray with the cups and napkins. Back then, I didn’t know who he was. I threatened to call security on him. He smirked and said he was going to steal some cakes.  Continue reading “Consul”

Exposure

Exposure

I have to stay awake and write. The blizzard howls. I sit and write, and can’t feel my fingers. Can’t feel anything below my chest. I’m dying, I know.

Guilt crushes my bones. Words carve at my soul, exposing it. Parts of me are broken beyond repair. The void roars burning through my head. Again I am all: starved, thirsty, furious, desperate… For what I did, and can’t take back. I pay.

To whomever: I am. Human.

good stuff

good stuff

I slide two golden coins over to the barman. He gives me a cool green bottle. “The good stuff,” he grins and pockets the money, like the bad seed that he is. The mere thought of work tomorrow, makes me irritable.

I melt to the back of the bar, to my kind.

“Wicked day?” Morningstar smiles and invites me to his table. I nod. “You have it?” I pull out his commissioned sword. As it touches his table, the wood smokes. The bottle on top explodes. “Man! My drink!”

“Buy you another one, if you don’t use the sword.” I grin. ” Until I get back at my dear brother, and my wife.”