Zombies

In order to celebrate Halloween, I posted one of the viral statuses on facebook. It told my friends to respond with the item to their right as their weapon when attacked by zombies. This inspired me to write this little story for my own amusement. Please enjoy and comment!

I sigh aloud as I scoop more cookies onto the cookie sheet in front of me. I have been baking cookies all day, but with so many guests coming to the Eve of All Hallow's Eve party, I probably won't have enough to keep everyone satiated until the party ends at midnight. The air in the kitchen is heavy with the warmths cascading from the open oven and the heavenly mix of sugar and warm chocolate aromas that rise up from each sheet of cooling cookies. I have put the last batch in the oven when the doorbell begins to ring.

The living room fills up quickly with guests. I barely have time to transfer cookies to plates and potato chips to bowls before the last guest arrives with the zombie movie of the evening. Soon we are all enthralled by the images on the screen. During some gory scenes, I find myself reflexively looking away. It is this happy coincidence that makes me aware of a change in the air around me. Somehow the sweet scent of cookies is slowly being overpowered by some other odor.

I try to be subtle as I lean toward my friend Meriah who sits on my left. The smell isn't coming from her. In fact, she smells like cupcakes. I can't help but inhale again, more deeply. Meriah turns from the television to give me an odd look. I smile and try to look innocent as I lean away from her. After watching me suspiciously for a few more seconds, she returns her attention to the television.

I now lean to my right. Aunt Donna turns to look at me before I can take a good whiff of her. She silently offers me one of her cookies. I shake my head at her. She shrugs and nibbles on the proffered cookie as she looks back toward the television where the zombies have begun pulling the entrails out of one of their victims. She stops nibbling. I lean in for a quick sniff, reassuring myself that the smell is not her.

I am about to lean forward to inspect my next guest when I realize the odor seems to be seeping under the door. A thin mist has been slowly creeping across the floor as the movie progressed. I am the first to notice. I am also the first to notice the shadows ambling across the front porch. I make a quick survey of the room, expecting a few friends to be missing, but everyone is accounted for.

I stand up slowly, jumping over my friend Whitney who is comfortably sprawled across the floor. I realize that I have attracted more attention than I had hoped to during this maneuver, so I smile at my friends and wait for them to look back to the television before opening the door to peer outside. As soon as the door opens, a hoard of figures lurch toward me. Most of them have skin hanging loosely from emaciated flesh. I don't lean in for a better whiff. No doubt remains about the origin of the odor. Each of my uninvited guests has the sickening perfume of death seeping from their rotting pores.

I instinctively raise my hands to cover my face. This does nothing to dissipate the odor. It also does not cause the door to close. The zombies lurch toward the open door and the tempting array of appetizers that I call my friends. I half turn to see my friends arming themselves with whatever is handy. I step back from the door, trying to push it closed, but shock has caused me to stand still for far too long. The zombies have already begun pouring through it.

Meriah grabs the trash can next to the couch and throws it at the zombies. I duck in time to avoid being knocked out and retreat toward my friends. Many of them have already begun moving back toward the kitchen. I feel something warm splash my face as Donna tosses a full cup of steaming coffee toward the open door. It splashes against the face of an advancing zombie. The zombie gurgles a complaint and heads toward her, but Donna jumps onto the couch and over it before the zombie can shuffle close enough to get a good hold on her.

Meanwhile, Whitney has pulled open her purse and pulled out some Alpha Hydrox lotion. She squirts it wildly into the sightless eyes of the zombies as Momma Poling whacks the nearest zombie with a rolled up atlas. This one seems to be in an advanced state of decomposition so this results in the loss of an arm. Emboldened by her success, she wields this weapon proudly as she backs away from the advancing hoard.

Katie has been watching the zombies with a smile on her face for a few minutes. Perhaps, she is remembering a recent zombie walk or expecting some of our other friends to pop out from behind the other zombies to announce “Gotcha”. Whatever has kept her from being afraid is quickly dispelled when one of the zombies puts his hand on her.

“Ew. How did you get your hand so slimy?” She asks, pulling her hand away.

The zombie grunts as best he can with what is left of his vocal chords and reaches for her again. Her eyes widen with fear. She quickly grabs a coffee cup from the nearby table and slams it into the zombie's face. This causes one of his eyes to pop out of its socket. I feel my stomach lurch and see my revulsion mirrored in Katie's eyes as she steps away from the zombie.

Becky H is trying to fend off a particularly active zombie with a pillow when Becky S and her husband come to her rescue. Becky S still has the side mirror from her car in hand following an accident in the parking lot. She brings it down with as much force as she can on the zombie's head. The mirror disappears into its shattered skull. She shakes her hand as if to shake off any bits of zombie flesh that may have splashed onto her hand.  Devin attempts to assist his wife by producing a car air freshener shaped like a flip flop from his pocket. Her drops it on top of the downed zombie like a talisman of holding and grabs his wife's hand to pull her away to safety.

Becky H mumbles a thank you as she follows them toward the kitchen. Sandy reaches into her pocketbook in the hopes of finding something that may help us escape. She finds a picture of her son and pauses to look at it. I can see her pondering how this can be of help before she thinks better of it and follows the rest of us into the kitchen.

Everyone is gathered around my friend Jonathan. He is standing at the sink with an industrial size bottle of dish soap. With one last glance into the living room, I reassure myself that everyone  else has moved away from the zombie mob.

“Are you the last of the living?” Jonathan says dramatically.

I nod my head, unable to form words as the zombies draw closer and their stench clogs my nose.

“Good,” he says, stepping between me and the zombies and pushing me toward the back door.

“Go out that way. I didn't see any zombies out there,” he says as he begins to pour out the dish liquid onto the linoleum.

“Slick shoes!” I exclaim.

He barely takes time to nod before he directs my attention to the door again. I peer out the window in the door before throwing it open and leading my friends out into the back yard. We cluster together, looking around for any sign of more zombies. I notice that Holly still has the remote in her hand. She is nervously clicking the off button as everyone looks at me questioningly.

“What should we do?” Tami asks as her dog Scooby begins growling at the back door.

I look at the door, letting my breath out slowly as Jonathan comes out the door.

“I think that should keep them busy for a while,” he says with a smile.

“Yes, but what should we do?”

“Someone should go in and kill them,” Will says reasonably.

“Who? With what?” I frown at him.

“My wife could do it,” Will says.

“You're not sending me in there,” Michelle says, punching him softly on the arm.

“Don't worry. I know what to do,” Sara says quietly.

We all turn to look at her. She smiles and holds up a thin paperback book.

“I think I accidentally created them while I was reading this book. If I read this next chapter to them, it'll destroy them.”

“It's worth a try,” I say with a shrug.

Everyone else nods hopefully. Sara steps back into the kitchen. We can hear her reading slowly to the zombies for a while. Now and then, a grunt or moan interrupts her, but after five minutes, no more noises come out of the house. I look around to see if anyone else is willing to go scope out the situation for me. It doesn't take more than a glance to show me that the owner of the house is expected to risk her life by reentering the house. I stop on the threshold, taking a deep breath before peering inside.

Sara is down on her hands and knees on the floor with a bucket of water. The only sign of the zombies is a thin puddle of slime on top of the puddle of dish soap.

“What happened?” I almost don't hear my timid voice.

I am about to repeat my question, but Sara heard me.

“I came in and they were all sprawled out on the floor. They couldn't get up without sliding again, so they were moaning and a couple of them were attacking the others. I read the chapter to them and as I finished, they started to melt into this slime. I thought I should clean it up since it was my fault.”

“So they are gone?”

“Yes.”

“And the book?”

“I'll get rid of it, don't worry.”

I nod and go back out to tell the others.

On Top of the World?

Not my best work, but it was a Monday and I haven't felt too encouraged by commentary of late...

The sick brown snail inched his way to the top of the globe. Looking back, he saw the thin layer of slime slowly drying behind him. He smiled appreciatively at how it left a clear sign of his passage from Australia all the way up to the North Pole. He knew from what other snails had told him that he would not find Santa Snail there, but he would have the honor of declaring the words he most wished to say. The moment was upon him. He was almost there. One more slither forward and he would reach his goal.

“Top of the world! Top of the world!” He cried out joyously as his eyestalks waved back and forth.

He would have been as well served to cry this out in his head instead of at the top of his little snail voice. No one was around that could hear him. All the self-respecting snails and slugs were sleeping at this hour. Someone was watching him though. Had he taken even a moment to scan his surroundings with his overly excited eyes, he might have noticed his peril. A little boy had been watching the snail’s progress with a malicious grin for the past few minutes. Now he had decided would be the perfect time to test out the resilience of the little nuisance’s shell.

That’s why he flicked the little fellow from his perch right on top of the world. Of course, he wasn’t counting on his sister returning to her own room at the precise moment. He heard a movement behind him, blond curls falling into his eyes as he turned to face a little girl with equally blond curls who was glaring at him. Neither of the children actually saw the snail hit the ground as their eyes were locked in a silent battle, but the snail definitely felt it.

“Goodness! My shell!” he exclaimed as that very possession made a snapping sound against the hardwood floor.

“Sarah Jane, how nice to see you,” the little boy said, batting his eyes innocently at his little sister in the hopes that she hadn’t noticed what he had done.

“Jimmy, how could you? She’s my friend,” the little girl had noticed and was tapping her foot angrily as she glared up at her brother with her arms crossed and her lower lip poking out.

“You don’t even know it’s a girl,” the little boy said as he moves his foot closer to the snail.

“I have to agree with that first part, but I don’t like what you’re doing with your foot,” the snail said as he tried to right himself.

Of course, neither of the children heard him. They didn’t hear a peep. The girl responded anyway by pushing her brother away from the snail who released a tiny sigh of relief. As her brother looked down at her in surprise, Sarah Jane quickly scooped the snail up in her hand. She wrinkled her nose as she felt the sliminess of his leg as it touched her hand.

Jimmy laughed at this, “Well, I guess I’ll leave you to your disgusting little friend then.”

He was already out the door before she could respond. She turned her attention back to the creature trapped in her hand. He tried to curl into his shell as much as possible as her hot breath blew across him.

“Don’t worry. I’ll take you outside, so you can play in the garden. Jimmy never goes there.”

The snail only heard was a loud booming noise, so he didn’t know to thank her. Instead, he cowered inside her palm as she made her way down the stairs and out into the garden. He noticed the changes in his surroundings, being worried by the heat of the sun and comforted by the shade of the garden. When she set him down amongst the stone and mulch surrounding a rose bush, he waited a few moments before sliding tentatively toward the base of the bush. Sarah Jane was already distracted by a fuzzy, black cat who was lounging in the sun, so he had no need to worry. He had plenty of time to slither away and ponder whether it was really worth it to be on top of the world.

The Beginning and the End

This is a brand new piece. I alluded to it before when I mentioned that it wasn't quite perfect yet. I am still not sure it is perfect, but here it is.

I never quite understand the favors that my brother asks of me. He is completely capable of going to see his son’s teacher without my help, yet here I am. It sometimes occurs to me that he just asks these ridiculous things to see if I will play along. He shouldn’t need to test it. I usually do. That is why I am here now, looking at my old elementary school.

It hasn’t changed much despite the new wing they built a few years back. I look at the long brick building for a moment as I feel my pocket to make sure that I really placed my keys there. Reassured, I swing the door closed. It clicks closed as memories of my own childhood in these walls come back to me. I shake them away and take in my surroundings, reassuring myself that my brother hasn’t already pulled into the lot. I look back toward the road just as my brother’s familiar blue compact car pulls into view.

He turns on his blinker at the last possible second, pulling into the lot without slowing down much. He races the car toward me, slowing down at the last second to whip into the spot next to mine. I refuse to flinch even when the wake of his squealing brakes shoots up bits of gravel. I just fold my arms across my chest and watch him silently. He smiles as he steps out of the car, unfolding his long, slender frame carefully.

“Scared ya, didn’t I, sis?” The smile on his face couldn’t get any bigger.

“Not really. I am used to looking at that face.” I refuse to let my lips pull upward into a smile.

“Very funny,” he says as his smile fades a little.

“I know. I’m thinking of going on tour, but first I had to help you talk to a teacher. Still afraid of them?”

“No. I just thought this teacher would respond better to you.”

“Oh, is that all?” I smile at him affectionately as he starts walking away from me.

I gasp a little as I almost run to keep up. He got our father’s height while I got our mother’s less lofty stature and affection for chocolate cake and all things sweet. He turns around a couple of times to look at me but doesn’t even feign slowing down.

“Keep up, shortstuff.”

I just frown at him and pump my legs faster. Despite my efforts to catch up, he reaches the row of double doors before me and disappears into the gloomy interior. Expecting him to be waiting, I pick up the pace and throw open the door.

“Okay, I think…”

He is nowhere to be seen. I look down the length of the hallways stretching in either direction. He has disappeared. I turn from side to side, hoping to find some clue about which way he went. No psychic sense stirs within me. I turn left anyway.

As I begin walking down the hall, I hear a door opening behind me. I turn expecting to see my brother laughing at me for going the wrong way, but instead find myself facing a man with slightly curly, dark hair that hangs almost to his chin. His eyes seem to light up as they fall on me and a smile slowly crosses his face.

“Hello there,” his voice is soft and soothing.

“Hi,” I say tentatively.

“Not who you expected, I guess,” he says.

“No. Not really,” I admit.

He steps closer to me, “But I could probably help you out?”

He seems so eager that I can’t deny him, “Maybe? I am looking for my brother.”

“Oh, is he a teacher here, too?”

“No. He came to talk to a teacher about his son.”

“Oh, really? That could be me,” he smiles at me, “I’m Beau.”

He extends his hand to me. I put my hand in his and get the feeling that he already knows who I am. His hand doesn’t shake mine as much as it engulfs it. I feel my fingers disappearing into the warmth of his grasp.

“My name is Daisy.”

“Oh, really? Isn’t that interesting?”

“I guess,” I realize our hands are still clasped and slowly pull mine free.

“Your brother’s name is Luke?” He says, stepping closer and bumping his elbow gently against mine.

Suddenly, I realize what he finds so intriguing. I feel my eyes widen.

“You don’t happen to have cousins named Coy and Vance, do you?” I ask with a smile.

“I see you are up on your Dukes of Hazard trivia,” he says.

“I am. How about you?”

“If I didn’t have that meeting with your brother, I’d take you to the Boar’s Nest and we could talk it over,” he says, leaning closer to me.

A lock of his hair falls across his face. I realize that I can smell his shampoo. Unconsciously, I take a deeper breath. He leans back to look at my face as he flashes me a hopeful smile.

“Maybe I can have a raincheck?”

“Of course,” I can feel my cheeks taking on more color.

“It was nice meeting you,” he says as he turns to the door behind him and turns the handle.

As the door opens, the world seems to waver and shift. I feel my legs growing weak beneath me. I reach out for the wall. I stare at my hands in surprise. The fingers seem longer and more slender than they were a moment ago. The skin hangs loosely, wrinkled and spotted. Even the wall has changed from a bright yellow to beige speckled with flecks of gray and blue. I look to Beau for answers.

“What is happening?” I ask in a hoarse voice I barely recognize as my own.

“It’s okay, Daisy.”

His voice sounds as old as mine. I look up at him and see that his dark hair has turned gray. His eyes, however, remain the same. They are blue and beautiful and worried. He reaches out his arms to pull me close. At first, I try to pull away but as his arms wrap around me, they feel familiar. I feel reassured and protected with a single touch, so I allow him to keep holding me to him.

“It’s okay,” he says again.

He leans into me holding his lips close to my ear and whispering these same words over and over until I finally relax. I can feel the warmth of his body seeping into me. It makes me feel comforted and safe. I breathe his scent deep into my lungs. It is the same scent from that first meeting. I am not sure why this surprises me. It was only seconds ago that we met.

“Would you like to come inside?” He says this softly, breaking the flow of my confusion.

I nod my head, holding onto his arm as he pushes a few buttons above the door handle. We enter a small, cozy living room. I recognize the quilt draped across the loveseat as one of the first I ever made. I look at Beau questioningly. His response is a smile as he guides me to the loveseat. He gently kneels next to me and takes off my shoes before helping me lift my legs up onto the ottoman in front of it. Then he gently tucks the quilt around me. All of this is done in silence.

I am still amazed that I do not feel I should fight him. It still feels like this is meant to be. It is almost as if I remember so many nights like this. He steps back to look at me.

“Are you comfortable?”

“Yes,” I am surprised again by the rasp of my own voice.

“Good. Call out if you need me. I’ll be just in the other room,” he says, smiling down at me.

I smile back at him, but all I can do is nod. I can already feel my head sinking into the pillow he has gently tucked under my head. I listen calmly as he pads across the floor to the kitchen. That is when I realize that a phone has been quietly ringing. I hear his voice softly floating over me as my eyes close.

“Yes, Luke. I know… I think she is getting worse… Yeah, she barely remembers me… I can’t do that… I love her.”

This last sentence gets through to me. I hear my own voice responding to him though I barely realized I had meant to speak. My voice comes out loudly, meant to be heard.

“I love you, too.”

I am so surprised by the sound of my own voice that I jump a little. Something falls from the table next to the loveseat and crashes to the floor.

“I have to go, Luke. We’ll talk later.”

I hear the phone click into the cradle. Then Beau’s footsteps shuffle back toward me, faster than before. He sinks down on his knees next to me. I open my eyes. He is reaching toward me, but he stops as my eyelashes flutter. I reach out to take his hand and guide it to my face. I can feel his arm shaking.

“I don’t want to forget,” I say.

“I know, my love,” he says.

“But I am forgetting,” I say as my eyes begin to tingle.

“It’s okay. I’ll remember for both of us,” his voice comes softly through my confusion.

I can feel his lips touching mine. They move to my cheek, kissing away the tears. His arms are around me, cradling me close as the darkness comes and I sleep. I dream again of the day we met. It feels like it was moments ago, but even in my confusion, I know my mind has just deleted the years in between. So here I rest without the middle. I only have the beginning and the end. And through it all, I have this man who fate meant for me.

Send in the Clowns

So I realized I hadn't posted in a while and a Buzz Poets song reminded me how amusing this story from the old days was. Enjoy!

Looking down at the newspaper, I felt my smile melt. William had returned from his business trip and something was wrong. I read the ad again to make sure I had the right instructions:

Send in the clowns.

555-7171

I showered quickly and threw on the costume I kept for emergencies such as this. Then I dashed to my car, hoping that I would reach the plaza before one o’clock, which would be the time the cops showed up to witness the exchange. With only a couple near misses and lots of horns blaring in my wake, I made it with ten minutes and one hour to spare. That should be plenty of time before the cops began setting up.

I slipped my tiny car into a space, putting it in park reflexively before hopping out of my car. I listened happily to the slapping sound of my oversized shoes on the pavement as I made my way to the revolving door. I brushed my hands down my puffy pants, trying to flatten them out a little as I squeezed into the triangle of glass and pushed forward.

Almost as soon as I came out the other side, I felt something pulling at my pants. Afraid my legs and more were about to be revealed to the innocent public, I looked back in horror. The door was not, however, pulling my pants leg. Looking to my side, I saw that the tugging was the result of a little red-headed boy’s insistent desire for my attention. As I looked at him, he dropped his hand to the handle on a green backpack which he had laid on the floor.

“Some man asked me to give this to you, Bobo,” he said with a reassuring smile.

I returned his smile, taking the bag from him without hesitation. Bobo was William’s code name for me. I handed the little boy a dollar as I slung the bag casually over my shoulder. He walked away without a glance back in my direction. I was just as nonchalant as I slapped my way to the ladies’ room. I resisted the urge to look around as I pushed open the door.

Once inside the room, I looked around. I didn’t see any feet under the stalls, so I slipped into one of the stalls. I quickly switched props that included handkerchiefs knotted together, flowers, oversized coins, and other amusing tricks of the trade out of pockets inside my voluminous pants. This left plenty of room for the sealed bags that were nestled inside the backpack. I quickly moved my props into the backpack and placed the baggies into the harder to access pockets of my pants. I zipped the bag and stepped out into the restroom. The room was still empty. I glanced at my reflection in the mirror, took a deep breath, and stepped out into the foyer.

The action had begun. The foyer of this particular building was never this active. People walked around trying to look casual, but even the best actor wouldn’t make it believable. It doesn’t help that as soon as I step into view, all eyes turn to me. A few looked away quickly. Those were the people who belong here. The others were looking for me. They were also looking at me. These two facts came together to cause my heartbeat to increase. Despite this, I walked casually toward the door.

“Hey, clown, hold up,” the one man in uniform called out to me.

I stopped a little too abruptly and almost fell on face. I managed to recover with the help of my shoes. When I was sure my potential to cause slapstick humor had passed, I turned to him with a smile.

“Hello, Officer, how can I help you?” I said in my best clown voice.

The infectious smile spread from my face to his, “I just need to see what’s in your bag.”

“Do you? Hoping clown secrets will help cheer up the job?”

“Not exactly. Just open the bag.”

“I’ll do you one better, I’ll let you open it,” I handed the bag to him.

He looked at me suspiciously as he held the heavy bag in one hand. With the other, he opened the bag. The contents spilled out on the floor. Some landed with a clatter. Others, like the feathers and scarves, floated to the floor slowly. In fact, before they hit the floor, the bouncy balls had already created their expected chaos. Forgetting the need to be discreet, more than half the people I pinpointed as police instantly followed their need to do good by trying to catch the balls as they skitter about.

I calmly produced a butterfly net from nowhere and snagged the ones nearest me with ease, “Really can’t let these ones go. I will need them for the birthday party.”

“Where’d that net come from?” The policeman asks this as he grabbed me roughly.

He began patting me down. After ten minutes of pulling things out of my pockets, he finally gave up. I am pretty sure it was the dove that flew away after releasing a bird bomb on his hair that convinced him I was just what I appeared to be.

“Escort her out and make sure she has all her toys. I have to go clean this off,” he told a couple of the plainclothes officers.

He paused and turned back to me, “Thank you for your cooperation.”

“Of course, Officer,” my smile was more sincere than they could have imagined.

I shoved the last few bouncy balls into the bag and zipped it closed. The police officers were kind enough to allow me to put the backpack on my back before they each grabbed and elbow and escorted me out into the parking lot. I caught a glimpse of them looking at my car curiously before they nodded at each other, shrugged their shoulders and turned to go. I listened carefully as they walked away to see what they had to say. I was not disappointed. In fact, I found myself fighting back a self-satisfied smile.

“We should have known it wasn’t her.”

“Yeah. The captain should have known it wouldn’t be literal.”

“And whoever was supposed to show up probably left by now.”

“Well, we just have to wait until he decides that.”

Their voices faded away, so I opened the door and got into the car. I finally allowed myself to smile as I pulled out of view. I was still smiling when I got back to my house. William would be over in a few days to claim the temporary contents of my baggy clown pants. Until then, I’d just have to remember to wear my backup clown costume whenever parents wanted to send in the clowns.

Rats!?!?

This is more insanity from my past.

“There are rats in the soufflé again,” my sister said.

“Good. It give you power,” the leader of our coven replied as she scratched the wart at the tip of her long, pointy nose.

“Eww, that’s sick,” our newest member, Anna said with a tinge of green creeping into her face.

I just watched them all with disinterest as I ladled the egg mixture into small wooden bowls. Of the thirteen members of the coven, I was the oddball, but I supposedly had the most power. As each member came forward to get their food. I slyly slid a touch of salt onto each bowl. After all, we did need protection from ourselves.

We sat in a semicircle around the roaring fire, eating our rat soufflé. I could hear Anna complaining about the rats even though I had sat as far away from her as possible. I smiled to myself, anticipating her discovering the salamander I had slipped into hers from under a nearby rock. My patience was rewarded as she screamed in revulsion. She threw her bowl straight into the fire. We all watched it go up with a puff of oily smoke.

“You dare to disobey me,” our leader said, rising from the ground. “You must eat all of the pre-ceremony meal or be punished before a curse comes upon all of us. What punishment does she deserve?”

The leader turned to me for an answer. I paused for a moment, pondering the best torture. Suddenly my mind felt clear and I knew what would be perfect.

“The punishment for disobeying—the only punishment that will keep a curse from befalling us all is to tie her to the nearest tree and tickle her,” I said pointing to the broad bole of a nearby oak tree.

We grabbed her and tied her to the tree with licorice whips and tickled her until she begged for mercy. Thus ended our only game of “we’re all witches” and began the tickle fight heard round the block.

Snail Trails

This is one of the many assignments turned in for the aforementioned creative writing class. I changed a couple of things, but I think my teacher would have still written, "Read this to us" at the top. Of course, she may have spelled my name right this time. Read on!

“Something’s coming out of the sink. Help!”

“Be quiet, Erica, it’s just me,” I cautioned her as I slithered out onto the white porcelain.

“Oh, Bella, I forgot that you were going to drop by.”

“Yeah. That happens a lot. This reminds me of the time Silas Spider tried to wrap me in his web because I was wiggling up the wall at two in the morning,” I told her forgivingly as I wiggle my eye spots at her.

“Here! Try this!” She said, putting a small mound of sparkly blue goo in front of me.

“I told you before that you can’t make me eat toothpaste.”

“Fine, be a provincial creature and never try new things,” she was obviously proud of her new word.

“That’s a bit redun—,“ I began as I slithered closer to a blue bottle of VO5 naturals shampoo.

The shampoo beads that had slid down the oddly-shaped container reminded me vaguely of some white goo, called ice cream, that Erica had given me once. I made a note to ask for more of the sweet confection as my train of thought was interrupted. Erica had been brushing her hair for ten minutes. Though she was almost done, a loud banging had interrupted my sentence.

“Erica, you’ve been in there long enough,” an angry masculine voice resounded through the small, tiled room.

“Okay, okay,” she said, throwing items in their respective places before directing me back down the drain.

As she opened the door, a huge man with thinning hair, pushed past her as his eyes locked on my slimy, gray body. His pale eyes grew large, filling with malignant evil. A demonic grin consumed his fleshy face.

“Hello, little slug, it’s time to die,” he vociferated, grabbing a can of Barbasol shaving cream.

I barely made it to the drain before the canister crashed down. The sink shuddered and lost my hold on the pipe. When I landed with a squishy plop at the joint in the pipe, I found myself being pushed toward certain death by an onslaught of chilly, chlorinated water. Luckily, some misled plumber had installed a pipe that led to the great outdoors and thereby saved me from toxic emanations.

I lay down in the shade to recover and was soon joined by my friend Buster Bumblebee, who alighted on a bright, yellow dandelion nearby. He told me about his terrible day. I had to agree with him. After all, he almost lost his best friend. When I had recovered enough to do so, I went to my moist, warm house where I curled into myself for a much-needed sleep—the perfect end to a stressful day.

The Need to Be Alone

I wanted to post something a little more substantial as my first post, but the piece I am working on isn't quite perfect yet. In order to appease my excited readers, I am posting this piece of flash fiction. They are a quicker read and usually leave you to work out the rest of the details...

The blistering sun could beat upon her flesh for eternity and she would not feel it. Long hair flows down her back, catching the sunlight like dark syrup before reflecting it back toward the sun. Equally dark eyes gaze at the sky, trying to catch the clouds and bring them to life. She wants these lambs which graze on the blue horizon to leap down, make her not feel so terribly alone.

If they stepped down, would they bring her solace? Would the feel of their wool make the ache in her heart fade away? Would they just remind her more clearly of what she has lost? Tears streak her face but she wills them away, closing her dark eyes tight. It is now that her age is apparent. The genesis of wrinkles show she is pushing past forty into decay.

Her eyes open again, still pooled with tears that she will not let fall. Her thin, red lips quiver slightly until she bites the bottom lip harshly. Scanning the horizon leaves nothing to be seen, but an old station wagon parked on the shoulder of the highway in this deserted place.

Shuffling steps bring her to the door of the car, but the keys are not in her hand. The keys are behind her on the bluff where she dropped them. She knows this. She does not care. She stares into the car at an empty car seat. Her right hand instinctively reaches toward her abdomen, caressing the flatness of her stomach thoughtlessly.

The sound of a car approaching on the lonely stretch of highway does not break her stance. An artist could paint this scene without fear the model shall shift or move. She is immovable. The car pulls in behind the station wagon, spitting gravel from under its tires. Even this creates no change in the scene.

The door opens and closes swiftly, releasing a tall man who comes around the front of the car. His face is a reflection of hers with pain wrapped in every furrow. He steps toward her, but she does not turn to him.

"Amelia…"

The only word to escape his lips falls on deaf ears. He cannot see her through his tears, yet somehow he finds her and wraps her in his arms. The blistering sun still beats down, but the loneliness flees as her hand rises slowly from her stomach, seeks out his. As fingers entwine, she speaks softly, summing up all that now seems to pour into her heart.

"Not alone…never alone…"

Another Blog? For Real?

The idea behind this blog is to encourage me to write a higher quantity of interesting fiction. My other two blogs seem to lack interest. I assume, quite rightly, that this is because my life (or the part of it I choose to share) is not very interesting. I can accept this, but I can not accept defeat. After all, if I don't have something to fight for, what's the point in getting up to eat my oatmeal in the morning?

So here is the idea. If I haven't posted recently enough, you can tell me something you'd like to convince me to write about. If you want to hear what conclusion can come from a story starting with: "The sick brown snail slimed his way to the top of the...", just tell me. I will take it as a personal challenge and consider myself very amused. I am also considering setting this journal up so you can click on links to buy merchandise that google thinks might be of interest to my readers. Why? 1) Some days, I really want to know what artificial intelligence would make of my ramblings. 2) Every time someone clicks on one of my ads, they will be rewarding me for entertaining them. 3) Why not? Facebook keeps trying to send me to strip clubs in Philly, so it could be intriguing for all to observe. 4) One of my wives set up a blog of her own, and now she is my hero.