Moving

Gary had been carrying heavy and heavier boxes for what had seemed like hours. Kathryn, on the other hand, was upstairs in the townhouse they had been renting cleaning the bathroom they had just cleaned a few days ago. “Christ, she's gonna scrub the tile off the floor,” he grumbled to himself as he manhandled another box into the moving truck. When he thought about it Gary really didn't mind that Kathy was doing the cleaning and the nit-noid parts of the clearing out. She was, after all, better at it than he was and he was much stronger than she so he could carry the larger boxes and stack them all higher in the truck.

After he fit this box into position Gary paused a moment to look at the great wall of stuff; large, formidable, foreboding even. It was nothing less than a great wall. Empty space in the truck was becoming scarce. The smaller items would get packed into the old blazer with Kathy, the three kids, two cats, two dogs, rabbit, and the iguana. The driver's seat in the moving truck would be occupied by him. “Damn it, I wish we could afford to have someone do this for us.”

“Yeah, that would be nice, honey.” Kathy was obviously taking a break from the sweaty jobs inside to catch her breath in the sweltering Texas summer day. “How's it going, baby?”

Gary answered almost solemnly, “It's going,” he hung his head and shook it slightly. “I need a cold drink.”

“Great!” Kathy tried to be perky, annoyingly perky, but she was too hot and tired to pull it off, “There's bottled water in the fridge.” Gary didn't hear her as he was already shoulders deep in the fridge getting two bottles of water.

When he got back to the truck and handed Kathy an opened bottle she thanked him. Then said, “You know, I think we have plenty of room to get everything in there easily.”

Gary was dumbstruck. The thought of not getting everything into the two vehicles had not come anywhere near to his mind yet alone crossed it. “Whatever,” he shook his head and smiled.

“I just hope that the start date for your position with Homeland gets set.” Now that was the fear. That was what was keeping Gary up at night. Why hadn't the department come back yet with a start date? Was it a wise gamble to move the entire family on the promise of a job without a start date? Sitting there, in the sweltering heat and humidity again Gary heard the voice of Kathy's old world intelligence operative uncle that night on the phone years ago. “I would stay the hell away from Homeland Security. They are about as inbred and inept as a government organization can get.”

Still, it was more than he had in Texas right now. He went back to packing the can. “Gotta keep moving,” he mumbled to himself.

Out of Place

I'd been away for 9 months. Nothing had really changed, yet everything was out of place somehow, different. Even the house was alien to me. The furnishings were different and the rooms had all been rearranged. The only thing that was unchanged was my motorcycle.

Opening the garage door and letting daylight fall onto her showed me even that changed. She was still burnt yellow and black, but there was new chrome. Still, her curves brought a smile to my haggard face. Hell, I got off the plane yesterday and slept, apparently, till noon.

Settling into the saddle and backing out of the garage I felt at home, no, at peace. Yeah, it was November but it also Texas and I had grown up in NJ. A ride now was what just the ticket to feeling better, at home, you know. I was already tired of feeling like a stranger in my house.

What they say is true, stress is wind soluble. Having my leathers back on and being in the wind was fantastic. I felt good enough for lunch and a beer.

I rolled into the next roadside eatery that I could find. There were several other motorcycles there, Harley-Davidsons, all of them.

It was darker inside than any bars or restaurants you'd go into at this time of day. This was more of a biker bar. Here I was, on my Honda amongst some hard core, long bearded Harley riders.

The bar was full of smoke, odd pieces of broken bikes, biker gang emblems. The bar itself was beaten and scarred, most of the wooden parts were replaced with 2x4's and 4x4's, some were newer than others. It was stark in one sense, colorful in another, but at the same time.

I knew that the other patrons were watching me. After some much time working in Bosnia as a Field Operator with one partner and an interpreter I knew, could feel it, when I was being watched. I held onto that feeling, pulled off my helmet and walked up to the bar. That was when I drew more attention than I could have ever wanted.

Knowing that bar fare was bar fare anywhere I looked at the beer signs and made my choice. Yes, I was still being watched. The bartender, about 6'6" fat, muscled, a walking lump of scar tissue now stood in front of me. His eyes were cold. "What'll it be?" he asked around the cigarette in his teeth.

"I would a burger, fries, and an Amber Bock, please." The voice I heard was not mine. The voice was thickly and heavily accented. It was a Serbian voice talking in broken English. Holy, shit! In the mirror i could see that there was now a group of bikers were now standing behind me.

My skin prickled all over as the adrenaline pumped into my veins. A bit of sweat trickled down my back. The smells of stale smoke, old sweat, and, now that I could see the dried blood stains about the bar and on the tables, the memories of the smell of blood filled senses.

One old, long beard with steely grey eyes looked me over as I stood up. In his Texas drawl, asked, "That yer Honda out there?"

My answer was reflexive, "Da .... yes, it is." The bartender was behind me with God knows what kind of weapon behind the bar, baseball bat, shotgun, pistol anything was possible. I was facing a group of 10 bikers of varying sizes. Not one of them looking like an easy target. I was surrounded and not a friendly face in the place was to be found.

The group was spread out in a semi circular pattern in front of me. The old grey beard who asked about my bike stepped forward. What I wouldn't give for that piss-ant 9mm I had to turn in back at Capodiccino in Italy. Now I took my sunglasses off and put them on the bar and changed my footing so that I was in a decent kickboxing position, all I had to do was to pick up my hands. That I had used this a number of times in Bosnia brought was comforting. Right then, the entire bar closed down in my vision to just this one guy and me.

I had read enough about Honda burning at several biker rallies to get a picture of what might be going on. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. With that same thick Serbian accent, I said "Yes, that is my ride." I stood tall, somewhat relaxed, ready to move. One man at a time and this one is first.

The others just stood there, outside the edge of my conscious awareness. They weren't moving. Me, inside this circle with another man; seemingly ready for a knock-down drag out fight.

Churchill had once said that he likes a man who smiles when he fights. This guy smiled at me. You could see that some of his teeth were missing and the rest were stained by who knew what. With that gapped tooth, stained grin coming from that scarred face with steely eyes, the old codger, still smiling. "That's a sweet ride. I'ma thinking 'bout gittin' one m'self."

Back On The Hunt, a 100 word story

It was quite a spree that he had enjoyed recently. He had been enjoying his cooling off period, as do most serial killers. The itch was starting up again so he was out on the prowl, hunting for the next kill. There were so many in the plaza to choose from, the abusers, the cheaters, there were so many deserving targets to be hunted, tortured, and dispatched.

A child, a little girl who was lost. She was crying. Even the a sociopathic serial killer can do the right thing from time to time and help a child find her parents.

The Split, a 100 word story

Timothy went to the shed behind his home. A rough day at work left him stressed. He was looking for some logs to split.

Several logs later, Timothy was stacking the pieces neatly when a twig snapped behind him. “Hey, sweety-pie,” he was turning around to greet his wife, Ruth.

He was punched hard in the jaw. “Ruth, I peeled her skin off like a banana.” said a the most nondescript man he had ever seen. “I'm going to split your head like a melon.”

Timothy saw the man's face, my God, he was smiling as he swung the axe.

A Drink Amongst Friends, a 100 word story

Everyone gathered in the dining before room their host came in with a tray a drinks. "Since it has been so cold and wet, my friends, warm up near the fire first, please."


One of the ten couples came forward and passed out the drinks, "I propose a toast to the generosity of our host." Glasses were raised, and, in unison, poured over the lips of everyone there.


The shocked and pained noises that followed as the acid washed around their tender mouths. A few, very few, had gulped their drinks and had the acids eating away at their innards.

Hot Water, a 100 word story

Chad, already five drinks in him, settled back in his hot tub. “Damn,” he said to himself, “this is the high profile case I deserve.” A serial killer, completely psychotic by Chad's profile. He was thinking about some female entertainment.

Chad was pushed under water and held therefor several moments. “Chad, I am a sociopath and a brilliant one at that. Tsk tsk.” Chad was back under the water again and panicking.

Chad came into the air again. “When your coworkers find you Monday they'll be calling you 'Stew',” he laughed before pushing Chad back under for the last time.

Dinner For Two, a 100 word story

Peering into her mouth he commented, "I've noticed that you have all of your teeth." She pulled her head away.

"What does that have to do with anything?" she spat back.

He smiled a sickening, frightening smile. "I am going to make a necklace of those lovely teeth." He gently pushed her blouse aside revealing her soft, tanned skin. She tried to pull away, but bound too well to move.

He motioned grandly to the table behind him, "Perhaps you're hungry? Some leg of Sam?"

Oh, shit! Sam! Her boyfriend, she hadn't seen him since for the last two days!

The Morning After, a 100 word story

Gabrielle awoke slowly, smiling. The scent of last night's love hung in the air. Wistfully, she looked over at the now empty bed. She knew he was going to leave early, still, she felt a twinge.



She dressed and left for work, smiling over their secret. She could feel the warmth of his touch, the heat of his breath on her.



The elevator doors opened and her blood went cold. Her mouth dropped open. The memory of his touch turned to hollow, aching pain. He was hanging from the access hatch. Bloodied and mutilated, his body swayed and turned slightly.

Turn About, a 100 word story

It was late afternoon, quiet and still. Snow was falling onto the scuffed earth. It fell onto the puddle of blood at his feet.


The attack was so unexpected out here that the fight shouldn't have happened, but this was his day. John's victim happened to know how to fight. That and the adrenaline rush his target used to his advantage turned the odds against himself.


John stood there, unable to speak, his hands tight against blood oozing stomach wounds, watching his blood pulse out of the gash on his inner thigh. The silence and darkness fell hard upon him.

Ransacked

Ash and dust cover my skin
No longer does the light of life burn within these eyes
The ash and dust but residue of the pyres once lit by, and now for, me
Nothing is left here to see
It lays in ruins before thee
Nothing left sacred
Everything laid bare
Wrent asunder
Left for scavengers
To pick the bones bare

Tag, a 100 word story

Everything was finally quiet after the party. The fireplace kept the house warm and the living room lit. Finally, there was time to sit and relax. A moment of quiet before going to bed. The vodka was cool and tasted slightly sweet.

Outside it was still snowing. Michael closed his eyes and leaned back into the couch. A chill ran through him as a metallic click sounded near him. Opening his eyes he saw the muzzle of a gun. The woman holding it had a scarred face. “Brenda?” he stammered.

Brenda smiled, “Tag, you're it.”

He never heard the shot.

Hot Date, a 100 word story

Two people stood alone in the Kalapana Lava fields. It took some time to find what he was looking for, but Hazel found it. They stopped about 50 yards from where the lave flows met the ocean.

“The view isn't much,” Tony commented, “but, I'm loving the company.” Hazel leaned back against Tony and felt his body against hers. The smell of sulfur wasn't helping things for Tony, either.

Hazel suddenly stomped hard on his foot causing him to hop. When he did, Hazel pushed him into the lava vent.

“The sulfur covers the stench of your burning.”

Memoirs of a Madman, part 6, a 100 word story

It was an unseasonably warm day that everyone seemed to be enjoying. No matter how horrid or distasteful it seems to others, it brought me peace of mind knowing that all the people at that park that day were there for me to pick from.

How can anyone be so cold as to simply kill? How much more evil must someone be to enjoy killing? People see what I do as evil. They see me as sick, twisted, broken, in need of something as well as evil. I do not see myself necessarily as evil. None of us are saints.

The Fortune Teller, a short story

Carnivals come about just in time to distract everyone from their bigger concerns. Stepping into the flashy games and losing yourself in the cigarettes, popcorn, and the shouts of carnies vying for your money. Tonight was no different for Clyde.

Clyde was strongly thinking about putting his money into the fortune teller machine when a young woman in colorful scarves stepped out of a shadowed corner, “Don't waste your money on that broken machine. I'll tell your fortune at the same price.” She looked into Clyde's eyes with a 'come hither' look. She eased back into the shadows entreating him with a crooked finger.

Inside the small tent was the gypsy girl, a low table, and an empty pillow for him to sit on. Clyde sat down, placed his $5.00 bill on the table. “Now what?” He has never been to a fortune teller before and had no idea what to expect.

She batted her large eyes at him as she took his money, “Thank you,” she spoke in a heavy Eastern accent, Russian or something like that thought Clyde. “You must relax and let Veronica Yefimova look into your future.”As she said her name she placed one delicate hand against the tauntingly exposed flesh of her chest.

“Then, I'm in your hands all the way,” Clyde smiled. Somewhere he was hoping to see more of her body escape the scarves, but something told him that wasn't likely to happen. Still, the bright greens and blues of the scarves against her cool, creamy skin, her lacquered lips, and smoky eyes all kept his attention completely on Veronica.

The candles lit the small area nicely. The shadows they threw danced comfortably about. The candles flickered and the reflections danced in her eyes as Clyde watched Veronica produce a deck of tarot cards. “The cards will tell us your future”

She lay down a card with a picture of a winged blue human with blue skin and antlers. “The Devil,” Veronica spoke the title in a foreboding way, one that left Clyde thinking he heard a hiss somewhere. She pouted as she looked sadly into Clyde's face. “Your love life is not so very good right now, my dear.” He sighed and nodded slowly. “You must demand less from people. But mostly your self.”

The next card she put down showed an old man in a long dark robe. “The Hermit tells us that you will be solitary, alone for a time.” Her dark eyes saddened as she spoke. “I do not enjoy to be telling you sad things, but it is what the cards have to say for you.”

Clyde shrugged, “Well, let's keep moving. My luck has to change sooner or later, right?” Somehow he managed a hopeful look that seemed to be reflected in Veronica's eyes. She smiled broadly then flipped over a third card which she placed on top of the other two. It was clearly the grim reaper, death. The meaning of this card was clear to everyone.

Veronica gasped, Clyde suddenly lifted his head. Their eyes locked. Reflecting the fear he saw on Veronica's face he stammered, “What … am I … going … to … ?” He was too afraid to say the word die.Veronica smiled.

The curtain behind him moved silently as a hatchet flashed and sank deep into the back of Clyde's skull.

Such Twisted Joy

Such a twisted smile

Such twisted joy

In using you as a toy

This world is cold and cruel

This world will feed you gruel

Believing in it only marks you a fool

Ambition and greed makes people swarm

They gather in mobs, planning, and plotting

In using you as a toy

Some gather like hyenas

Others appear, like ravens, as harbingers of death, taunting you with honey

Believing in it only marks you a fool

Such a twisted smile

Such twisted joy

This world takes in using you as a toy

Believing in this world only marks you a fool

Dug In, a 100 word story

"Troy, you have been a royal pain in my ass for years, Paul said as he finished pressing dirt around Troy's neck.

"C'mon, man! This has gone far enough. You dig me out right now, you little piss ant!"

Paul stood back and skewed his face up a little. "Lemme think about this. I dig you out and you stomp on me worse than before. I leave you there and Eddie drives the combine over yer fat head."

The rumbling of the combine was coming closer.

Paul flashed a vengeful smile. "Boss thinks you left town some time last night."

Game Night, a 100 word story

George laughed and drew a card, “I get to take ...” he smiled, your hair.”

With a snirk Alice pulled off her eye brows and her wig. “Here, I've played this game before and won.” Alice drew a card from the pack. Her eyes flashed as a wicked grin crossed her face. “I get your legs.”

She took a small sledgehammer from her shoulder bag and knocked George senseless. As he was regaining his senses Alice, now sitting atop him, smashed the hammer down upon his one shin and then the other. She continued, through his screams, laughing and hammering.

Geotrek, part 2, a 100 word story

Tom lay down, to enjoy the warm midday rays. He had hiked up to the base point and decided a little rest was in order. “Damn, I wish the rest of the group was here for this.”

Tom had paid no attention to the ground around him as the warm sun hit his face. Something else was also hitting his face. Dirt and some small stones were falling around, some of which landed on him.

Tom never got his eyes opened to see the boulder falling at him. He didn't notice the boot under the rock next to him, either.

Wooden Maiden, a 100 word story

“What the?!” Jeffery was awakened by a sudden thump.

“That is a nail gun.” a man's voice calmly explained. “You are in a wooden Iron Maiden.” The nailing continued with sharp pains across Jeffery's shoulders and chest.

“What are you doing?” Jeffery demanded.

“Rather than building a Maiden with spikes for you, I chose to nail you once inside one.”

Pain and bleeding came from movement, like breathing and involuntary twitches. He felt the trickling of blood down his front.

“Wait until I find your joints or nail into your eyes, those will be fun.”

Cold Heart, a 100 word story

It was really cold in the garage, colder than it should have been. “Carmen? Carmen, why the hell is it so damn cold out here?” Kenneth demanded. There was a small work space that had been closed off from the rest of the garage.

When he walked into the room Carmen sprayed him with something cold. Kenneth could not move his legs. His hands and legs were covered in frost and would not move. “Carmen, when I get outta this I'm gonna ...”

Carmen Swung a metal rod and shattered his frozen hand. “Be dead,” she finished for him, smiling.

Drop It, a 100 word story

“Here we are, William, at the top of your world.” Kelly taunted him. He was naked and chained with his hands overhead, his feet were locked in place.

“Kelly, I know that what I did was ... “ She pulled a knife sliced into his stomach. He screamed as she cut through his abdomen and pulled out several feet of intestine. Almost playfully she knelt before him. Smiling up into his tear streaked face she hooked his intestine onto a cement block. “Drop it,” she threw the block off the building, ripping out his innards as it fell.

Angie's Doctor, a 100 word story

She lay peacefully under the sheet. Angela was just quietly thinking to herself when someone pulled the sheet off of her. He looked at her and smiled then uncovered her completely and looked over her body from head to toe.

He put one hand on her right breast and moved his left hand near her right shoulder. She felt sharp pain. He did this again on her left side. Angela wanted to scream, she tried to move but couldn't. She did hear him speaking, to whom she couldn't tell. “This is Dr. Jimmy Riser conducting an autopsy on Angela Whitehead.”

Hanging out, a 100 word story

Derrick walked into the kitchen. He never saw what hit him. Something had slammed him across the jaw. Derrick shook his head and the cobwebs started to clear a bit when someone grabbed his arm and pulled him flat onto the floor. He was face down as the blows began to fall about his lower back and his head.

He came to, his head pounding. It took time to realize he was hung upside down. The voice was behind him. “If you can get out, good for you. If not, you have 24 hour before your brain hemorrhages, killing you.”

Black

Black

When it's hot and steamy

In a cup

We like that stuff,

Coffee.

It soothes us,

Lifts our spirits,

Clears our minds

Provides a gazing pool at times.

Black

When it's cold and empty

In my chest

You step away

Fear or something like that in your eyes

It beats without feeling,

It echos in the cavity of my chest,

My mind fills with growing shadows,

Nothing reflects.

Cold, Damp, and Dreary

cold, damp, and dreary

eyes red, itchy, and bleary

heart heavy, beating relentlessly on

ghosts of my past flitting through my mind

like the wind through an abandoned house

cold, damp, dreary

day after day, trudging forward

to the unyielding drum beat

heart heavy, beating relentlessly on

aching and weary beyond words

neither warmth nor comfort exist in this place

cold, damp, dreary

one moment bleeds into the next

each step in endless monotony

cold, damp, and dreary

heart heavy, beating relentlessly

Morning Sunrise, a 100 word story

The early morning sounds of birds and woodland animals were all about as the sun was just starting to peek over the mountains to the east. There was a fine mist clinging to the low areas in the wooded hills. Darrick was waking up and shaking off the party. There was something tickling his face, but his arms couldn't reach it.

Darrick finally got his eyes opened, cleared. and focused. He was looking at the forest but from a very different perspective. Everything towered over him. He was buried up to his neck. What was snorting behind me, he thought.

Memoirs of a Madman, part 5, a 100 word story

Timothy was a psychopath I worked with for a while. His impulsiveness had caught the attention of the police, he left too many clues. I even tried to teach him how to clean up when finished.

I modified a large vice with a steel bowl so as to hold the top of his head and a chin cup on the other side of the vice. I meant to fully enjoy this. He flailed and screamed through the mess as his teeth imploded into his jaws. He was alive when his eyes popped in the sockets. He died shortly after that.

Snowy Night in Baltimore

TV was on, but muted. Every news channel it was the same damn thing. "Winter weather warning!"

"No shit," I said sipping my vodka. "It's winter, therefore every bit of the weather we have now is, technically speaking, winter weather." I knew that the local WalMart and the dozen or so stop-and-robs were getting cleaned out of snow shovels, ice melt, milk, bread, and toilet paper. It never ceased to amaze me how spun up people get about thing that happen on a regular cycle.

There were few lights on over the streets, that was strange to me. Even during the storm that dropped 5 feet of snow on Baltimore a few years ago the street lights showed it all. Nights like this are fantastic. I just love to let my imagination go. My mind imagines all the monsters the falling snow could be hiding.

On nights like this the famed yeti could be stomping about in search of a meal. A hapless pedestrian coming home from the local corner store could be gobbled up by the snowy behemoth, never to be heard of again on a night like this.

Packs of white wolves darting from tree to tree and using the shrubs along the streets to hide their movements. On the prowl, searching silently on hairy paws for their next unwitting prey.

Or perhaps someone out for an evening stroll slips and finds themselves laying in the gutter suddenly. As they mumble to themselves about their awkward steps and clumsiness a clawed and misshapen hand reaches out from the drainage area along the curb. With sinews strengthened by a lifetime of climbing and clawing, with a grip of steel cables, the clawed hand clamps hard around the ankle of another hapless victim. The person, screaming, is pulled into the drain, killed, eaten, and the snow falls silently covering the street again. All signs of struggle wiped away.

I do so love these quiet, snowy evenings. They just fuel the imagination.

Back Home, a 100 word story

Charlie had finally gotten home. Business trips are business trips even when in Hawaii. Even if there was time to enjoy the beach, it was clouded with work issues.

Charlie was ready to relax. He never saw what took him down. He never saw who tackled him, he was pinned, helpless, his back being sliced. Then came the snapping of bones.

When the breaking of ribs was finished Charlie was lifted up on wooden boards. As he was leaned up against the wall something was thrown over each shoulder, looking down he saw his lungs as he gasped for breath.

Nailed It, a 100 wordf story

When the impact comes it just happens so fast you don't really feel it. When you look at where that psycho just shot a nail through your hand you're in disbelief. Then, the realization of the impact happens. The area gets hot as blood rushes in. Then comes the involuntary scream.

When that lunatic puts the nail gun against your skin again your body goes cold for the second one. The reaction is the same, accept for the scream of shock. You realize this guy enjoys your screams. Fingers, toes, knees, joints are each nailed. He laughs as I cry.

The New Year

One more year has passed
Another year of anguish, struggle, and pain
What hope is there that this new one will be better than the last?
The future is predicted by the past.

A lifetime of innocence stolen not lost
Virtues violated
Mores mashed
The future is predicted by the past.

One more year has passed
Another year with no expectations of anything different
Another year of hopes dying on the rocks in the raw, glaring sun
Another year, no better than the last.

Giving up is not an option
But, success is so far when survival is simply the name of the game
The game that we each play every day
Another year, no better than the last

Another year of predatory practices
Another year of hunters and hunted
Another year of morals severely stunted
Another year that was predicted hy the past
Another year no better than the last.