His mouth thick with blood, the floor cool beneath his face.
Do as he was told.
A tall imposing figure over him, knuckles stained with his blood.
Follow the rules.
He could see his mother’s eyes, pale in contrast to her dark bruises.
The smell of fear nearly choked out the stench of blood and stale beer.
He was worth nothing.
His mother’s thin arms wrapped around him, dragging him to her heaving chest.
Love was conditional.
In a moment of distraction she escaped.
Ell’s lips twisted in annoyance, as red and blue lights flashed behind her, the siren letting out a piercing wail. She grumbled loudly as she quickly decelerated pulling onto the shoulder of the road. Pursing her lips, she rolled her window down, tapping her wheel impatiently.
The crunch of boots on gravel quickly reached her, and she turned with a forced smile.
“License and registration, ma’am?”
“Oh shit, Cooper! I thought it was a real cop.”
“Oh no, just me,” he said bitingly, though his eyes twinkled with good humor, as he stuck his thumbs into his belt loops. Continue reading “Speed Another Day”
Her hands trembled, caught between a tight grasp and a delicate clutch. The tea cup in her hand was so precious, so fragile, some memento passed down from her Grandmother, the inside was stained a creamy tan from tea with milk, and no matter how many times she washed it, it still smelled faintly of early grey. Her Grandmother adored early grey.
“Is there anything I can do for you?”
Continue reading “Some Comfort”
When the temperature of the room dropped a drastic ten degrees in an instant, the woman lounging in a recliner was not the least bit worried. “Jacob is that you?” she queried, exerting enough energy to lift her eyelids.
“Yes,” a young voice replied, thick with confusion.
Her recliner snapped back into a sitting position. “Took you long enough, you’ve been dead for what? Three months. And everyone in town knows you died in the middle of talking.” Her voice betrayed a weariness that her casual words denied.
“You were expecting me?” A young boy no more than seventeen, stuck to the edges of the room, his hunched, curved in posture doing little to hide his displeasure at being in the town’s crazy ladies house.
“Well of course,” He, and the rest of the town, always believed she had a few screws loose and Lucinda didn’t mind convincing him of the fact.
“Of course! Why the hell would you expect a ghost to come calling?”
Continue reading “Jacob’s Promise”
The flashlight was, of course, dead. The lightbulb could have fried or the battery could have been drained, either way it illuminate absolutely bupkis, which is to say it had become nothing more than a decently heavy sturdy weapon in the case one of the bats, twittering and squeaking in the darkness overhead decided to attack or more unlikely, but more terrifyingly turned into a vampire and attempt to suck my blood. With the dark clawing at my clothes, and shoving it’s way down my throat the creatures of the night were beginning to feel more and more real and less and less like some sort of crazy fantasy.
My voice rasped as I called out for the seventeenth time, yes I was keeping count their was little else to do and gave my mind something to focus on. It was just my fucking luck that I would get lost. There was something about being lost, that sucked all the confidence out of your body and reduced you to a five year old, wandering the halls of the grocery store screaming for your mother. Small, fragile, and very alone, everything was an obstacle, an enemy keeping you from you beloved companions. My foot squelched and I really should have realized, as soon as I shifted my weight, my foot slipped, my ankle rolling, and all my hundred twenty pounds slammed into the cold damp cave floor.
Continue reading “Spelunking is for Batman”
<= Part 1
Odette stroked the tiny unassuming heart inked on her inner wrist trying to gain reassurance from it, confidence would have been preferable. There was something so nerve wracking about meeting a new potential, if her evaluation was well received she would find herself manipulating lives. Though she could not deny the joy when a true loving couple found each other.
Flint stood before her, thumb reaching over to crack a knuckle, the only sign at all that he felt her same apprehensions. Their job was nerve wracking, and took a great deal of finesse but she found it was well worth it.
Continue reading “The Affection Unit: Unassuming”
The man, one Mister Lyon Caswell, looked as if he had one foot in the grave. With skin so paper thin you could see the veins beneath it, a dark contrast of blue to pale white. His eyes were no better, glassy orbs of nearly colorless existence, marred only by the dark pupil. His body was spindly and long, appearing stretched, as if he had suffered some great medieval torture. The expanse of his shoulders was practically touching his ears, and he was hunched, his back burdened with a massive weight.
Continue reading “The Weight of the Dead: Alternate Ending”
“I’ll never forget…” she murmured, eyes glazed over as she stared ahead. “You can’t make me forget.” Hands tied her down, rough and unwavering, moving with bleak efficiency. The straps cut into her wrists, bound her torso, her feet, cut into the soft skin of her checks, the bright florescent light was imprinted upon her retinas.
She captured the memory in her mind, the tilted of her jaw, the long locks of her hair, the warm crystal blue of her eyes, the gentle touch of her hand. She wrapped those memories around her like a blanket, keeping herself warm, in the stark metallic room, with the impressions of the women who had raised her, had shaped and moulded her.
Continue reading “Never Forget”
The man looked as if he had one foot in the grave. With skin so paper thin you could see the veins spidering beneath it, a dark contrast of blue to pale white. His eyes were no better glassy orbs of nearly colorless existence, marred only by the dark pupil. His body was spindly and long, appearing stretched, as if he had suffered some great mediaeval torture. The expanse of his shoulders was practically touching his ears, and he was hunched, his back burdened with a massive weight.
Such an appearance was hardly conducive of setting people at ease, and he wandered a lonely path, his friends few and far between. Those who could look beyond his peculiarities were often as outcast as he. The people who held his trust could be counted on the four fingers of his left hand.
Continue reading “The Weight of the Dead”
“Despite Mrs. Weldon’s wishes, I cannot in good conscience grant you custody. There is no precedent for this. I am sorry.” The voice wavered with the knowledge of the ramifications of her decision.
“Computer, log repair to section 424-E as completed.” The computer chirped a confirmation. With a stained hand, Gar shoved his goggles onto his forehead, the strands of his hair tangled and bent beneath the straps at odd angles, the layers of magnification lenses reflecting the glow of the port-lights. Steam hissed through the air, as the steel door locked behind him.
“Decontamination process commencing.” Liquid chemicals heated into a thick steam, choking the air of the chamber. Ten seconds later, a machine began humming loudly, the thick clouds of chemicals, whispering down ventilation shafts. “Decontamination complete. Please, step from the chamber.”
“Thanks, Computer. See you tomorrow.”
Continue reading “Artificial”