all that is beyond

inspired by twitter prompt: #vss365

The silver dollar danced up and down the stranger’s fingers, tumbled from his knuckles in a brilliant flurry of bright flashes, cutting light and sticky curses.

Max was suddenly sober for the first time in twenty-three months. More even, the feeling of sleepwalking fell off of him as soon as that silver light pierced his eyes.

The presence of the coin dragged him into this bar and slammed him into that seat near the stranger. It put him back into his place. Fifty-four years old, profusely sweating, diabetic, a man without a home or family or a penny to his name – that was his place, the only one he merited. It brought back the insecurity, the impotence, the numbness in his hands and feet, the inadequacy, the being alone. There was tingling in his crotch. He saw the stains on his pants for the first time.
Finally, the coin snapped him into the present heartbeat, like a bungee cord attached to his bum ticker.

30st March

writing exercise, perfectly normal & mediocre

Morning coffee swapped for morning tea. I blinked.

First, it didn’t even register much. Blistering hot liquid was just the next best blistering hot liquid, the aftertaste made me do a double take.

I couldn’t have foreseen that turn of events. Really. One sip perfectly fine dark roasted wakey-wakey, and the next mouthfull it was peppermint tea. This was less than ideal. I needed my coffee. I wanted my coffee. The people around me needed me to have that morning coffee.

may, 31st

the perfectly normal and mediocre, writing exercise

The downpour surprised me just ten minutes away from home. It came down in sheets and I was soaked to the bones in less than two minutes. That was that with the relaxed grocery shopping. Thank God I didn’t buy fresh bread or croissants. Soggy backed goods were bad juju, I hated that. Nothing could spoil green onions, zucchinis, two pound of tomatoes, and black cherries. The cardboard package for the eggs could be a problem though. It could have been worse. Luckily, this wasn’t a hail storm.

may, 28th

writing exercise, the perfectly normal and mediocre

The toaster threw my toast at me. No. It just made the hot piece of bread pop out and that jumpscared me. This was how my morning started. I sent my cup flying from the counter. Of course, it was filled to the brim with coffee as it exploded on the floor tiles. I yelped cause it burnt my foot and didn’t catch the toast, which promptly landed in the dark puddle. This was going to be a weird day.

Devil’s Peak (alt 1)

alternative D.P. with changed POV, bc I suck & wrote myself into a corner. So here you go.
Parent text: here

PART 1

-SUPERSTITION-

The call saved me from kennel cleaning. Thank God to whoever rang.

I sat in my mock-ffice, in the nook between a dresser that was a stand-in for a kitchen counter, the wall, and a bunk-bed. Across the half breakroom, half guestroom was a real office, and it belonged to Ranger Mark Smith. I tried to listen to the call he just received in the most casual way I could manage without falling over. To be honest, all I had to lean on, was a white plastic folding table behind a cardboard stand with an assortment of fliers and educational pamphlets about the fauna and flora, as well as general information about campgrounds, and some new pencils. Yay.

Going Hemingway with a Line, the Atlantic Ocean, and Heartache (1)

Sooo late for this one. 
This is a Chuck Wendig Prompt, in honour of Anthony Bourdain.
RIP.

You ever been to the Island of Flowers? No? You shouldn’t miss out on this one. Portuguese Madeira is a hungry but beautiful place. The mild climate and the rich soil gives it the most precious gifts Mother Nature can give an island.

Okay, I’m done with the touristic daisy-incrusted crap. Pull your fingers out of your ears and stop with the ‘la-la-la-la’.

We’re free for the real stuff, the naked appreciation of food, nature, life.

peter midnight

Part 1 - Wings of an Angel

The gulls make a ruckus. They are restless. News will arrive shortly, my mother used to say. God rest her poor soul.

No clouds hide the blue sky. Before the morning mass, I see the sails. They appear on the horizon like the wings of an angel. Bright. White. Impatiently expected. I’ve been waiting for this ship. Everything is going to be fine now. Thank God Almighty.  She will arrive at noon. I give out the orders to bring Captain Andersen to my office as soon as possible.

Do I wanna know?

He has me, as I enter my hotel room with my keycard. The cold steel of a blade presses against my throat.

Furniture lays on its back, like dead flies. Pillows are gutted, ripped apart. What a mess!

I bolt. But he yanks me back. Hard.

No chance to reach the door. I catch myself by falling to one knee. Who the hell is this guy? His fist digs into my ponytail and drags me back.

“OW!” He pulls me to the furthermost corner of the room. My back hurts. His grip in my hair is angry iron! “STOP!”

Why is he so incredibly fast and strong? I don’t even see him move! How is this even possible? As if I have no weight at all.

“Gomen nasai!” I stammer. My apology has no effect. Why is this happening to me? Where are my things?

DEVIL’S PEAK (2)

Part 1 Superstition

– NAMES FOR BLADES –

The sky was still bright enough but caught amber on the west side. Darkness approached, but only I could feel it around me. The silence was accompanying a sense of dread and heaviness on my chest. “We should hurry,” I told Frank.

No birds chirped, no animal rustled the leaves. The longer we had our feet on the trail, the quieter the forest got. We were already far enough, that the commotion from the trailhead didn’t reach us. As if there were no humans at all.

Improbable

“THE HORSE DID IT!” I roared at Detective Inspector Redfern, pointing at the nervous beast in the box behind me. He rolled his eyes. The Detective Inspector, not the horse. This was my only chance to solve the murder of Beggy, the jockey, and save myself.

“You, braindead ululating crumpet! You snuck into my crime scene to – what?- brighten my sad little day up?” I kept out of his and the horse’s reach. My jaw still had vivid memories of the time he caught me good with his famous left hook, and no way I came close to that thing.