This is a #vss365 prompt that got out of hand.
It wasn’t a magic word spoken aloud,
nor a sweet rush of chemical crutches
that made them stand out in the masses
it was the glint of blue and freedom in their eyesContinue reading “cloud eater”
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.
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. Continue reading “Going Hemingway with a Line, the Atlantic Ocean, and Heartache (1)”
Olaf is a resourceful man, isn’t he? A skilled hunter and a handy craftsman. A bloodthirsty maniac can still learn a lot from him. On your thirteenth day together, a black cloud comes, and man cannot walk, birds can’t fly, and fish can’t swim. Dear Aries, you will be safe, you will be held. It’s all upside down from here on, but you will BE.
Collect all dolls in your house, and put them into a box. Leave them out in a park, a parking lot, an island, the swamp, anywhere you like, but not near your house or flat. They mustn’t return to you. Their revenge will be most gruesome if they find you. They will punish you for what you did to them. Continue reading “Weekly Horrorscope”
This week you are under the guidance and protection of the Ancient Eldritch Entities, aka THE cephalopods. It’s the eye of a Giant Ethereal Cuttlefish, that judges you 24/7. You will be up on the soul-board next month. You will be judged and disputed upon in the course of following nine days; even your first bids may arrive. We suggest you show your best or your worst. Whichever will do.
You may feel that you want to work more with your hands. That feeling coursing through your muscles will remain with you. What a curious feeling! Dig your hands into the garden soil, into the sand in children’s playground, let your fingertips taste the cold clay if you dig the hole for that body.
These brilliant starters are the work of my favorite electric sheep. Go take look what he is up to.
“This is not a test.” The blank screen flashed with turquoise, and the logo of the Ministry of Safety and Public Opinion Management revolved. I swallowed. “Uh-oh,” I turned to Maria, but she wasn’t in the living room anymore. My eyes went back to the teli. Something shattered into million china pieces in the kitchen. Continue reading “the announcement”
Five minutes ago I hoped to drop the kennel cleaning into the rookie’s lap, but we got the call.
Dispatch told us to get the dogs and meet up, with the search party at Devil’s Peak. “Shit.” I instantly knew this was going to be a bad night. My palms itched, my neck tingled and burned. The rookie was going to have his baptism by fire. “Another kid?” I asked but didn’t need to. The calendar answered before dispatch could confirm. Full moon. “Damn.” The rookie got my gaze and stood up. “On our way.” I hung up. Continue reading “Devil’s Peak”
The vicious little thing, that looked like an ordinary eight years old boy, had a rotten day. He had the onks. Gnomes were prone to get the onks, especially the young ones; and being a member of the royal family did nothing to prevent that. It was bearable in human disguise though, mingling, watching these oafs, and doing little mischiefs was entertaining enough to stand the bad days.
a Chuck Wendig prompt (202 words) - here
“Pablo? Wake up, you’re gonna be late again.”
Only one person says my name like that. That soft, honey like sound, the smile at the end of the sentence. She always used her smile as punctuation.
My love is gone, and I’m alone with a big ass hangover, sprawled on the couch. “Gimme five more,” I mumble out of habit, only five more minutes…Damn Carnival, I drank enough to pass out. How did I make it back then?
I try to remember her scent and pretend I can reach out, and touch her hand, to hear her breathe. Maria…
But she’s gone.
I had the strangest dream. I have made a bargain with an old gipsy last night. My smile and my soul for another body and soul. I still hear the old man laughing his head off…
“Come on, hon.” The couch moves, a weight shifts to hoover over mine. Fingertips and a brush of coconut scented hair brush my cheek? What? “Did I scare you?” I… I can’t believe it!
“Maria… How?” She’s here? Her warmths under my palm, her face… It’s real!
“Oh, sleepyhead. It was just a bad dream.”