Sunday, October 31, 2010
Today's muse: What else would it be today?
* * *
Black and orange candles, etched with protective symbols, flickered throughout the house. Crouched in the corner of the front hall, her arms wrapped around her knees, Sandra rocked back and forth, chanting incoherently.
Darkness approached and with it, she knew, would come the same creatures who terrorized her home before. Threatened with violence if she offered no sacrifice, she proffered what she had, but it was never enough. Each terrifying monster was replaced with another and another and another, until she had no more to give.
Sandra’s head snapped up as the front porch creaked. Footsteps came closer and closer, then a vicious pounding on the front door. She squeezed her eyes shut and clamped her hands over her ears to block out the demanding voices that shouted their threat.
“Trick or treat!”
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Today's muse: Three Word Wednesday
Today's words (well, the words from October 6, at least):
hint, lust, sheen
* * *
Cause and Effect
With the slightest hint, he could convey lust and desire; make her body tremble with a thin sheen of anticipation.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Today's muse: I’m more than a little disturbed by the increasing incidents of bullying.
Be forewarned: This is a dark piece and not for everyone.
* * *
Just Messin' Around
I killed Gerry Dodds.
Not with my own hands, o’ course, but I killed him. Gerry Dodds was this snot-nosed little shit who did nothin’ but whine and cry. Jesus, he pissed me off! He pissed everyone off.
Me and CeeCee, we was down by the ball diamond, hunched behind the bleachers, smokin’ a couple, when Dodds walks by. He’s got this humungous backpack and he keeps his head down cuz he knows if he makes eye contact, one of us is gonna slam him. So he keeps walkin’ by, like we’re not even there. It’s not like he don’t see us cuz CeeCee’s a pretty big guy and he kinda stands out, ya know?
“Hey!” CeeCee yells.
Gerry jumps about three fuckin’ feet in the air and I swear he shit himself. He looks over at us, then runs for it. I look at CeeCee. He looks at me. And we both shrug. Why the hell not, right? So we run after Dodds. It doesn’t take long before we catch up to him and shove him against the fence.
“Why the hell did you run?” CeeCee asks him.
Dodds is cryin’ and he’s got snot runnin’ all down his face. I roll my eyes and smack him. “Don’t be such a pussy,” I say.
I yank his backpack from him and dump it on the ground. There’s a bunch of books on math and shit and a few bills. I grab the bills and shove them in my pocket.
“Bring some more tomorrow.” I plant a solid right into his stomach and he doubles over and yacks on the sidewalk. CeeCee laughs like I just told the best god-dammed joke, and we walk away.
The whole school year went by pretty much like that. We smacked Dodds around a bit and he gave us money. No big deal really. I mean, we wasn’t gonna hurt him or nothin’, just mess around with him, ya know? Stupid fuck went and hanged himself anyway. I guess Dodds didn’t get that we was just messin’ around.
Friday, October 15, 2010
This was originally the prologue to the book I'm writing. I decided, instead, to use it later in the book as a flashback. Or, perhaps, I won't use it all. The book is still evolving. It is edited for the blog and won't likely be recognizable in the book, but I thought I'd put it out there and get some feedback.
* * *
“Run and hide,” Mama said, whenever he got this angry. So Erica crouched in the corner behind her mother’s tattered, second-hand dresses, pressed her hands against her tiny ears to silence the yelling. She knew he’d punish her if he found her.
It wasn’t unusual to hear them shout, but it was different this time. He was in a rage like she had never seen before. His deep voice, slurred with alcohol, shouted threats while Mama pleaded for him to leave.
Erica pressed her thin frame further into the corner, hugged her legs to her chest and rocked. She heard him throw things around the room and shout bad words. Something shattered—perhaps a glass—followed by a high scream. Then nothing but silence.
She held her breath and waited. There was quiet movement in the room—someone was moving things, straightening up. She knew it was Mama making a useless attempt at making their home seem normal. Erica crept from the corner to help.
The closet door squeaked as it eased open. He turned, his red-rimmed eyes wide in surprise. An enormous hulking man, he towered over her, a faded plaid shirt stretched over his belly. She wrinkled her nose at the stink of beer and stale cigarettes. A low growl vibrated in his throat as he lumbered over.
Erica’s eyes darted around the room in desperate search of Mama. At the edge of the bed, she caught the faded fabric of a familiar dress and followed the trail of flowered material until she saw Mama’s face.
A pool of blood stained the matted carpet around Mama’s hair. She met Erica’s stare and blinked, the effort clouding her eyes with pain. A crimson bubble formed at her mouth as she spoke. It was the last thing Erica remembered from that night.
“Run and hide,” Mama said.