1 & 2; 3; 5; 6; 7;
Farnsworth had spent over an hour pacing up and down the hallway before giving up and facing me. I could smell his fear, or discomfort over the stench of the hospital sanitizer. He stood there as if he went to his own funeral. “Morning. Please, take a seat,” I spoke gently and gestured to the long table. Pale and troubled he studied his feet. Finally, he and his resignation came in.
I kept myself in the furthest corner. Funny, how I found myself searching for the darkness. I stood in the shadows, like any good villain. Ha! Adam Lake, Professor, and villain. Sounded like something from a cheap action movie, from the 90ties. Also, I haven’t slept much for the last two days. I needed to match my looks with Farnsworth’s. That came handy later, I hoped. Just to make a point. Continue reading “Black Door”
1 & 2, 4, 5, 6, 7,
Nearly two months now, that I was trapped in this old shabby hospital in Bucharest. What did one of the doctors say? As God created Romania, he only had dirt, rust, desperation, and poverty left to work with. Someone muttered a genius response. It was the biggest and most elaborate shell game con that made this country survive another legislation period. Two sides of the same coin.
There. Romania in a nutshell.
As amusing as this forced holiday was, it started to bore me to tears. I needed to go back to my cave. The gravitation of the discovery cradled my mind day and night. I dreamt of Ostra. I saw Ostra in my mind. I thought of Ostra. It called for me.
So I planned.
I plotted. Continue reading “Black Door”
I’m not superstitious. Nobody should be. I tell Ira every day I walk him to the theatre.
Fluffy feather-like snowflakes sail down from the grey December sky. The lighter in my hand spits and hisses sparks. The paper of my cigarette catches fire, one drag and my lungs fill with hot, dry smoke.
I thumb Ira’s number in my phone. It goes straight to voicemail. „Fuuu-it’s Ben. Again. Come on. I’m freezing.” The drama group will give me a chew-out for this. Continue reading “Jinx”
The emptiness in Jack’s chest is drilling ache. The skin feels numb and knotted under his sweaty shirt. His fingertips trace the long pink scar on his breastbone.
There is no reason to rush things.
The surgeons have saved his life. He wonders if it has been worth it. They take away that weak heart. Jack imagines how they pry him open, strip him bare of that sick metronome of his past. They steal all of who he was and hoped to be. Jack’s a new man, with new life force in his groins, a new heart to match and no memories to regret. There are no memories at all. The doctors call it amnesia. Jack calls it a blank slate.
Continue reading “Heartless Jack”
A cough ripped at my head and throat. I felt like I had razors for dinner. All was wet and dark. A grey reddish blur was all I could make out. My left hand stretched out to grab at the world. My head hurt and swam, and I shut my eyes. Fingers crossed my brows and came away sticky and warm. Continue reading “Waves”
chuck wendig prompt – song lyrics prompt
…”Don’t you ever tame your demons, but always keep’em on a leash” … HOZIER, ARSONIST’S LULLABY
Cold. Someone slaps me. It’s wet, hard. And freezing. My arms and legs hurt. Can’t move. Getting dark.
“Wake up, rat. You won’t duck justice!” Barking. Far away a dog barks. “WAKE THE FUCK UP! Don’t you dare to die! 911- Hello? Yes. Send an ambulance, fast. Corinth 1507. There’s been a fire. Yes, male, Caucasian, shot several times. I don’t know… Yeah… I’m starting CPR.”
Continue reading “Traitor’s Hell”
Part 3 – Judge, Jury & Executioner
Part 2 – I’m that kind of Guy
Part 1 – Safe Atmosphere
trigger warning: murder, death, insanity -the usual darkness,
you have been warned
Larry stares over Tycho Crater, arms hanging by his side, like broken wings. “Last murder.” He sighs. Rustling with its feathers, the vast blackness above him stirs. Its many empty eyes blink down at him curiously. He deactivates the jammers – still, the silence of the lunar remoteness echoes through his com.
Cold and loneliness pierce him, like an insect to the ash colored background of an oversized display case. He needs to move. The suit adds weight to his weary limbs. Only the oxygen injectors hiss their reliable song.
Continue reading “Greater Good Protocol (3)”
Part 1 – “SAFE ATMOSPHERE” – here
Part 2: published here
Part 3 – Judge, Jury & Executioner
I’M THAT KIND OF GUY
It’s no fun, being tied up and dragged behind a vehicle at breakneck speed.
In case you’re wondering, and want to try it yourself – DON’T! Contain your beer-fueled impulses, folks! Don’t kid yourselves, I only make this look easy and enjoyable!
Continue reading “Greater Good Protocol (2)”
Part 1 – Safe Atmosphere
part 2 – I’m that kind of guy
part 3 – Judge, Jury &Executioner
The safe sign and the notification flash on the screen shield, blink and then fade away. The pressure sensors in the seats activate the engine. Gently purring, the rover comes to life, instruments flare up on the dashboard and project unto windshield. The underground magnetic guidance system pings back on its navigation, showing their position on the southern hemisphere of the Moon.
“Great booty, innit?” Terry nudges Larry’s elbow, as they take their helmets off. Larry, Terry’s twin brother, is paler than usual. His grey eyes scan the inside of the cabin. No Chinese or Cyrillic characters, he sighs with relief. Blue arrows project unto the screen, showing the routes to the nearest landmarks. Tycho Crater is eighteen kilometers away. Surveyor Tycho City is six points seven, and Surveyor Seven fourteen kilometers north-to-northeast. “Lots of bucks.” Terry pats and kisses the console affectionately. He pulls his thin lips into a satisfied grin and straps into his seat. In the knowledge of a job well done, he holds out his palm and awaits the high-five.
Continue reading “The Greater Good Protocol”
A Chuck Wending – RANDOM SONG TITLE STORY CHALLENGE
This popped up on my dash: Grounds for Divorce, by Elbow
“Dogs bark. Money talks.” The bartender leans over, and winks at me… I nod at the shelves with the rum. He pours me a drink. And a second one too, for himself. Cocky jackass. I blow the smoke of my cigarito straight into that slick stony mug of his. Not flinching, eh? Not one muscle moving.
He’s not the only die-hard in here… The moment holds its breath ‘n turns blue.
Continue reading “Grounds for Divorce”