Reader Alert – Adult content
They rush us up the hill to safety like a herd of Caribou moving past the basketball courts. Sirens whoop in all directions. Black smoke pours out the windows—oxygen is key—she is really going now. Gilbert smiles. Gilbert is deranged. His brother killed eight people at the Lilly Street Mall.
The blackboard is probably bulged out like a pregnant gorilla. Erasers like cakes of ash. Sadly, Mr. Ny in his wheelchair is nowhere in sight. I shake my head; the wolves get the slow ones…
Gilbert drops me a red-rimmed wink. He coughs from smoke inhalation. A lot of the kids are coughing and wiping at tears, flicking them in the fresh air.
Gil’s okay with not being dance partners at school. I only hang with him after classes. He’s kind of a pariah, plus I’m one of those popular kids. I’ve lettered in all four sports. Everyone freaked when I quit football. Let them scramble their brains. It’s about as stupid as boxing.
“Look at that motherfucker, burn!” says a pimply stick freshman that always sits at the school shooter’s table. He’s a wannabe—nothing like Gil’s brother. That nutcase Lloyd Hennick was a bona fide killer. I guess we are too, now.
A few kids are laughing. A scream shuts everyone up. There is a WUMP and a Flash in the Shop Building, where the rejects build crooked stash boxes. The roof is rising. Probably those barrels of shellac. Goodbye bird houses. Good to know ya Mr. Klopenhenger. You nail pounding… I look over the herd. Oh, there’s that red-faced bastard… Shit.
The fat EMS guy’s knees are in the grass, his ass gyrating, pumping someone’s chest—they are all stretched out. “Clear!” Zuump! The body flops, “Clear!” Zuump! Flops. Is that our English teacher Mrs. Keenly (The Gram Dictator)? She looks small and dirty from the hill. Like how Wile E. Coyote looked after he dynamited himself. Yep, it’s her because her big leather satchel full of fat red Fs on homework is still hooked to her shoulder.
My blazing white Nike High Tops have black soot on the toes. “Fuck me,” I whisper, frowning sitting in the grass, rubbing a circle of spit on the white leather—smearing it into a demon’s face. I have been seeing the signs for a while now. Sometimes when I’m plowing down the road in my shit beat Camry, I’ll glance at the trip odometer and watch a third six turn up. Like a dead eye. Rolling Yahtzee dice with my little sis, I’ll scatter three sixes, every other time. Scratching lotto tickets…You guessed it, trip sixes. I’m not one of those, blame the Devil types, but a case could be…
My lighter feels like an unholy heart pounding in my pocket. It has grown in magnitude. There is a different colored Bic lighter for each fire we set. I’m going for the assorted lifesavers look. I’m already in that strange souvenir phase without even knowing how I got there. My collection needs a green and a yellow, but they must be earned. I bought a wooden stash box off a greasy face pothead named Curl, who no doubt made it in Shop. He burned a smiling rat into it and it smells like sticky ganja. It’s pretty cool for storing my holy Bic lighters like pieces of the cross. I’ll eventually move onto a Zippo stamped with Mickey Mouse or Blatz Beer. Sometimes I lay my lighters out, “Flicking the Bics.” Orange, purple, and red so far… Then my dick’s out.
The fat EMS guy and his stooge slide Mrs Keenly’s crispy corpse, the satchel and all, into a shiny black body bag. I think I glimpsed some burnt tit. They carry her quickly through the grass like they are in a sack race. The coroner’s white hearse with bubble lights flashing blue-blue-blue is inching up to the curb. Cold as an ice cream truck.
Fires are my nut. They get me off. The first one was a little dump on Duck Lake called “Beach Eats.” Stupid ass name. I tore up a Penthouse magazine. The flames licked a big pink pussy, its hairy mouth gawped at me in the flames sizzling and blackened and greedily latched into a trash bag full of ketchup stained paper hamburger boats, napkins, plastic melting forks but the soggy onion rings smothered it. A couple of pikers… Gilbert tossed on a banana box and it flared up. We piled more boxes and chairs like a hobo’s tower to God. I squirted Wesson oil all over the place like a feral cat and it caught! Fire jumping to the ceiling—we ran.
I laid in my bed striking the orange Bic, ogling the bluish yellow flame like a caveman that has discovered fire, bathed in the red song of fire sirens.
The next fire was a classic. I torched the funny pages with a purple Bic and watched Archie’s face bubble and turn black. He’s not all that easy going. A flame leaped out of his soul across the straw. The barn shot flames sixty feet high and caught the woods on fire. It scared me. I saw something in the flames, like the Devil. The actual fire breathing living Devil. His flaming horns were so high they were outlined in the icy orb of the moon. I can’t get it out of my mind. I want to see him again. Gilbert said, “Damn why can’t I see him?” The Devil is everything to Gilbert. He’s one of those stringy black haired goth bastards you see in every hallway in every school and you know the son of a bitch is writing a manifesto.
I’ve learned the obsession to set fires is like masturbation. There is no control. It will build up and happen. And when it does, I might be so full of reckless jizz that someone might catch me, going to town, in the supermarket parking lot or stroking it outside the ladies’ restroom, except with my lust they will catch me with a gallon of HIGH-TEST skulking and dizzy in the fumes. I might want to burn myself, too. I think that’s what the Devil wants, to join him hand in hand in the flames. Someday, not yet, too much to do…
I have always known I’m different. I don’t look different. I’m the cute boy the girls hate each other over, but I’m cold, and I don’t know how to cry. When people get hurt. I laugh. Gilbert laughs too. I can laugh and talk about awful things with Gilbert. He’s always talking about his brother Lloyd. How Lloyd showed him the left-hand path. Guess I can be real with Gil and he doesn’t judge me because even though he’s kind of homely and throws a baseball like a chimpanzee. He’s a lot like me. We like to think we are the Loeb and Leopold of arson—now murder. Except we don’t suck each other’s cocks, at least not yet.
Gilbert breaks the rule and wanders over to me. We don’t look like the types to hang. The lanky shaggy freak and me, Scotty shortstop. No one notices, every time there is a scream the herd stops its hair twisting and grazing on the little ones, and the fire mesmerizes them again. We’ve done something here. Something big.
I finger the red lighter in my pocket, and I feel like God. All the windows flash napalm orange!
The firefighters run out like it’s the last bell, and I guess it is for our school. It all comes rushing down like someone kicked its legs out. Mrs. Keenly “The Gram Dictator” will never explain the proper use of who or whom again. I can just hear that creaky old voice saying, “You rear children and you raise rabbits.”
The feeling of triumph has a burnt aftertaste. I can almost smell Mr. Ny like overcooked pork. I hope Mr. Ny, our Geometry teacher, is in heaven with brand new legs solving one of his impossible proofs. Drawing on a celestial blackboard, as big as the universe, like a kid’s finger sketching out the big dipper. Postulating the timeless question… Is there a God?
Gilbert studies the flames, “I see. I see him!”
“Who? Mr. Ny?”
“Nah man, the Devil.”
“Oh, yeah…” I say twisting my hair. “He’s always there now.”
Image: Red demon surrounded by flames from pixabay.com
literally stories 
Definitely a challenging read, but one with such a strong narrator’s voice. So many devastating lines, perhaps this one being the most shocking: ‘I’ve learned the obsession to set fires is like masturbation.’ Overall, a thought-provoking, difficult but important piece of writing because this kind of thing is, incredibly sadly, often real.
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Thanks Paul for your excellent comments!
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Christopher
Truthful and harsh. Some will shy away from this because snowflakes melt near fire. That’s the way it goes. Never back down. Keep writing what you see to see it. (That made better sense in my skull.)
To quote Leonard Cohen “I have seen the future, brother, it is murder.”
Leila
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Hi Leila
Thanks for the support!
Your line makes perfect sense to me. It’s so true to write what you see, to put words to it, so you can see what it really is in print. Memories are like that, too.
“I have seen the future, brother, it is murder.” (L.C.) That is a devastating line.
Christopher
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Hi Christopher
You are welcome. Tremendous response here!
Leila
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I think this definitely earned the reader alert but a bit of grit in writing is brave and honest especially when it is so well done. Good stuff – dd
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Thanks Diane! I appreciate your fine comments!
Christopher
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Hi Christopher,
I tip my hat to you taking this on. I applaud writers who say as is no matter what!!
We need more brave writers who are willing to see what they do and write accordingly, no matter how unsettling!!
Brilliant!!!
All the very best my fine friend.
Hugh
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Hi Hugh
I appreciate your comments!
I wasn’t sure if LS would want this with all the “Bad stuff ” going on, lol. Glad you did. Thank you!
Christopher
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A disturbing read but packed with some powerful imagery.
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Thanks Steven for your comments! Glad the images were strong. That’s great to hear!
PS This might be a duplicate comment. The last time it went under Dale’s comments.
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Ananias
This is what the USA gets when it turns its back on all values except for money, comfort, and mindless distraction. Meanwhile the predatory billionaires with the reptilian eyes are elevated to the status of “geniuses” and world leaders. I want to know how many good souls lauded Elon as a visionary until he started peering into their own bank accounts with his predatory grin. THEN they get outraged. And yet, it was them who handed him his power in the first place. One wonders what they thought was going to happen under these circumstances.
Sometimes you get what’s coming to you, no matter who you are. I can add that all these reptilian and predatory billionaires are not happy. Being happy takes deep levels of REAL humanity when you’re a human. In order to become a billionaire (at least in almost all cases), you need to check your humanity at the door ONE THOUSAND PERCENT. So these folks aren’t happy. The truth is, THEY ARE TO BE PITIED, because they are blind.
When millions upon millions of children are offered no meaning except fire and the firearm, and video games which celebrate fire and firearms, it’s a surefire thing that some of them are going to go to fire and firearms in their search for meaning. We, as animal creatures, need to be nurtured in the right way, or we will do it ourselves, the wrong way. If these millions upon millions of children were handed a better chance at something else, few of them would take the firearms their parents gave them and head off for the local school to make a name for themselves.
In the song that Leila quoted, Leonard Cohen also said this:
“Take the only tree that’s left and stuff it up the hole that is your culture.”
Cohen wrote those words over 30 years ago and since then things have only gotten FAR, far, far worse. Like a Leonard Cohen song, your stories stare the horrible truth in the face without flinching. Many folks may not understand what kind of COURAGE it takes to write the kind of stories you write. For your information, and you can know this very deeply, Ernest Hemingway DOES understand.
Dale
PS
I have more to say on this story soon!
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Hi Dale
Your comments are a true take-down of the so-called “One Percent.” They have forgotten God. Wealth is their God, which can’t be taken to the next world, “not one cubit.”
This is very insightful! How the human animal responds to money. Capitalism operates under democracy, but how good is it? How good is any system of government? When the capitalists only seek to build, thus destroy the natural world. GREED.
Bobby Kennedy once ruminated about all of these products being made. Indicating in a subtext that this industrious system is peril.
I want to go back to riding horses, but still have the Internet. And I guess Amazon too, lol. Totally hypocritical. But that’s what it is living under hypocrisy and having it smeared into your genes. The truth is the only cure.
I agree when kids see violent death portrayed in several different modes and menus, daily, for years… They are going to “git them some.”
Sickening about Musk and his “Predatory grin.” Looking into bank accounts. Great image, though! I can see that and it’s not pretty.
Thanks for your comments!
Christopher
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Hi Christopher
To answer your question, my comments on Kafka’s “In the Penal Colony” are under Hugh’s Saturday post, more toward the end I think. No hurry but I think you’ll find ’em amusing when ya can.
I also sent in a second set of comments on “In the Flames” yesterday, I actually wrote and sent them in a lot earlier than they got posted for some reason. Just want/ed to make sure you saw/see these as well, more important than the Kafka comments.
Ever since I discussed you as a painter in words, my mind has been stuck on that idea/image, and I think it fits quite nicely with your work.
The visual nature of “In the Flames” starts with the title, continues with the first sentence (up the hill herd of caribou basketball courts, etc) and it continues through the tale right into the very last lines.
This story is filled with concrete details of other kinds as well, like smells and sounds and tactile sensations. Those leap out at the reader just as much as the visual details; but perhaps it’s the visual ones that carry the heaviest load, in a good sense.
Looking forward to hearing your thoughts on yourself as a painter in words when ya get a chance!
Dale
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Hi Dale
Thanks for your comments! Excellent as always.
It would be great to be a painter of words. That would be a fine goal to strive for. I bought into the old “Show not tell,” advice.
I think it was Chekhov who started this, but it probably goes back to antiquity—“nothing new under the sun.”
Chekhov said, “Don’t tell me the moon is shining: Show me the glint off broken pieces of glass.” That’s right up there with Hemingway’s short sentences.
I strive for the concrete details–glad you noticed them. Glad they resonated! I loved how you pointed out tactile sensations, that’s great to hear–all of this is. Thank you!
It’s easy to forget the reader and how you want the reader to be engaged. I do a little lyptus test… I sniff my stories–if they don’t stink like rotten eggs, or I don’t catch the scent of magnolias… If I don’t hear any groaning or car horns, only the clack of the keyboard. There might be a problem, Houston. lol
SK is a very visual writer. I’m always impressed by his images. Kurt Vonnegut showed bombings or an earthquake with vibrations in soft egg yolk on a plate. Brilliant.
I think some of my strength does relate to painting with words. Sometimes it might look like finger painting lol other times though it can be sharp. Those are the times that get me into that “Buzz.” It’s a beautiful thing to create an image with words, even if it’s a horror.
Christopher
PS Now I’m going to look up your comments on “In the Penal Colony. It sounded really cool in German.
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Hi Dale
I read your piece on Kafka’s “Machine.” It makes me want to read that story again!
The way you described it makes it sound even more sinister than I remembered. And with a resounding sense of prophecy, too.
Saluting your superiors on the hour every hour… Then that needle inscribing your sin into your skin. Bawonkers! Kafka was the man!
I like the way you described ‘The Machine” as a sort of Jaws for these authoritarian governments. Sad how the beast got Kafka’s sisters and Freud’s family. And as we know its hunger never ceases.
“The Machine” is coming to an abandoned strip mall near you,” Great line!
Christopher
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Christopher
One of the best painters-in-words I know of is none other than Vincent Van Gogh himself, especially in his letters to his brother.
Hemingway studied Van Gogh’s paintings very closely, in both Chicago and Paris. “Big Two-Hearted River,” one of his best stories, is nothing if not a painting in words. Hemingway also had a particular fondness for Cezanne, maybe more than for Van Gogh even.
All three of the above also would have understood your rotten eggs and magnolias images, A. because they were bipolar. B. because they understood the Yin and Yang of life very well. Learning to write or paint well is like learning to LIVE well, IF you’re telling the truth while doing it, which brings us back to Hemingway. I learned a lot from his obsession with “telling the truth,” which he stated and re-stated over and over.
And your stories tell the truth.
The AMBIGUITY of your characters is one huge aspect of that. Even a murderous arsonist can sometimes have positive qualities or maybe seem like he could almost be redeemed. That’s the kind of truth Chekhov, Kafka, Freud, Dostoevsky, in his CRIME AND PUNISHMENT, all understood. Raskolnikov murders two old women with an axe in CRIME AND PUNISHMENT only to be redeemed in the end after a long vacation in Siberia.
Like to hear what you have to say about AMBIGUITY in your characters. This is a facet of your writing that very much makes it so realistic and convincing, I do believe.
Dale
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Dale
Wow that really is something about Van Gogh being able to write like he painted! So vibrant!
I’ll have to read “Big Two-Hearted River.” I’ve read Indian Camp,” and some of his Nick stories, which are very good. And “The Snows of Kilimanjaro.” I could use some EH reading time. I like the idea of telling the truth in writing.
Ambiguity in my characters is a tough question. I would say it’s not planned. But there is an idea of creating sympathy somewhere in the story. (Another lyptus test.) Even for the worst of them. After-all they were created somehow, not just by their own evil, but by a society and its government. And in the Bible it says, we have an enemy.
It’s a kind of second guessing of their choices. This dual nature, that all humans possess and can be recognized in an instant. An indecision about who they are.
it comes from my own sense of discordance. Things that can’t be fixed. Like a mental illness or alcoholism. Finding humor in the horror. Some of them kill people because they want to, and for no other reason (so they think). Then they find it’s not so great. And they know that they are forever doomed by the mark of Cain. Even the killer might be pitied for things that cannot ever be undone–greeted by the whirlwind and outer darkness. I feel sorry for anyone who goes to hell.
The Ying and Yang is a fine example. The people I write about are sinners and they might do horrible things when they’re drunk or they might do things that people want to do. Like they might actually mow someone down in a road rage incident, not just feel like it. Moments of insanity are good things to write about.
I like these examples you gave. Like CRIME AND PUNISHMENT. Dostoevsky making such a vile ax murdering character redeemable is a titanic feat in writing and sounds Biblical in it’s magnitude.
When I used to be pretty much a reader–which was OK and great. I never considered the craft of story writing.
This was a really good question that required some thought. I literally had to sleep on it.
Thanks
Christopher
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Christopher
Thanks for sleeping on it and giving such a great answer to my question!
You are a deep and complex thinker in the middle of a world that vastly prefers simple thoughts shared with the herd, easy distractions also shared with the herd, and comforting lies instead of hard and difficult truths. It’s a rough road for the deep thinker in the Land of the Timid, Comfy, Overfed Ones with Blinders On.
Love what you said about the ambiguity and complexity of your characters not necessarily being planned on, but there is an innate impulse to create sympathy for your characters.
The dual nature of all humans: you nailed it there once again. Even those who deny the dark side within themselves have a dark side, and probably those who deny the dark side within themselves have an even darker side than the few who are able and willing to admit and stare down the darkness. This is one thing the great Russians like Chekhov and Dostoevsky were so profound at understanding and putting out there. This is also one of the key, foundational teachings (truths) of REAL (not perverted) Christianity. The dark side, which we all possess, is called Sin (even though not everything dark about us is sinful).
The mark of Cain nails it. Cain was exiled, but he was also protected by God from now on. There’s the sympathy.
Moments of insanity being good things to write about is a great way to highlight the nature of short story writing itself. There has to be a great inciting single incident for a great story (even if that incident is internal). Characters in the margins of things or at their extremities are inherently fascinating for good readers because of the very fact that they’re in the margins or at their wits’ end for one reason or another or all of the above.
Too many people these days, it seems to me, suddenly want to be writers, and start writing before they’ve even bothered to master THE ART OF READING itself first. The better writers, in the past and from now until Kingdom Come, are always going to be THE ONES WHO HAVE DONE THEIR HOMEWORK FIRST. The homework has nothing to do with anything else except observing the world at large, living your own life, and reading, reading, reading, and then when you’re done with that more reading, and then more reading still. Reading everything and all different kinds of things is best, with a FOCUS on things that are the best in their field whatever that field may be, whether it’s science fiction, detective fiction, literary fiction, literary poetry, etc.
Every genre has its writers who are the best, classics in their field. In science fiction Philip K. Dick would be one titanically great example (even though he often churned out a lot of poorly written stuff as well). In detective fiction, Dashiell Hammet and Raymond Chandler immediately spring to mind as two of the best in their field. For literary fiction, as examples, William Faulkner’s “The Bear” (from Go Down, Moses) or Willa Cather’s best novels. For literary poetry in America, William Carlos Williams, Wallace Stevens, Robert Frost. Etc etc etc…
Your characters are extremely complex and ambiguous, and you’ve got a great way of SHOWING that complexity, in the context of highly focused, penetrating drama! Awesome!
Light and Dark and the eternal struggle between good and evil! These are ancient themes that are just as new today as the latest headlines, and you WRESTLE with these themes in non-dogmatic ways that are both enlightening and fascinating!
Dale
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Dale
Your comments are always a shot in the arm! If that means great and enlightening–that’s what I mean. Thank you!
I hope these other writers take the time to thoroughly read your well versed and strong comments. Their loss if they don’t…
This is great… “It’s a rough road for the deep thinker in the Land of the Timid, Comfy, Overfed Ones with Blinders On.” That has a nice “Dylan,” ring to it and it’s so true!
Reminds me of… “The land of plenty…” I once heard a foreman say this in a Door factory. I kind of liked it…
Yes reading has to be the foundation for the new writer. And such a fun task! If it’s a task at all. My father, who said he didn’t like me, was a great reader. John D. McDonald was his guy. And others. He even liked SK. And quoted “The Raven.” He was an old tough Korean Air Force Vet.
Most of the detective stories I have read have been by Stephen King. He has that going too–besides his horror and suspense. J D M was his guy too. Steve never said he didn’t like me, lol.
Phillip K. Dick’s “The Second Variety” was great and inspired the movie “Screamers.” I think your right about PKD. His stories are fantastic!
Iv’e tried to write science fiction, but I don’t have the technical sense I guess to do it. Drunks, drug addicts and general assholes are my thing–I think.
I like W. Faulkner’s work–what Iv’e read. But unfortunately I can’t remember any names of the short stories. I saw the movie “The Reivers” with Steve McQueen. I’m going to read “The Bear.”
Thanks for the high praise of my characters. I’m glad they come across in the right way. I find it difficult when first writing a story to define a character. They’re so empty and it takes a while to get to know them. Like meeting an aloof stranger at a party.
Thanks again. Looking forward to your essay this weekend! Sure it will be great!
Christopher.
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Christopher
Stay tuned this Sunday for an exploration of life on the edge with the classic blues master John Lee Hooker (and yours truly).
(A companion piece to my essay on Howlin’ Wolf.)
THANKS!
Dale
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Dale
Cool! I’ll “Check it” out! Like Mellencamp.
Christopher
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Ananias
Greetings.
I’ve always been fascinated by the plot of Dostoevsky’s BROTHERS KARAMAZOV. Dear old dad, who’s done lots of creepy things including hitting on his son’s girlfriend, ends up dead. And one of the four brothers is responsible for this. Except it turns out that maybe all of them are (whether they know it or not). Great book! A writer said about Dostoevsky that he had “the milk of lovingkindness” in his work and in his soul. At the same time, he understood murder very, very well, especially after living with a bunch of murderers in Siberia for four years. And Dostoevsky’s own cruel father was murdered by his own serfs. They poured his own vodka down his throat until he suffocated to death. Not saying I condone such behavior, but those Russians have always known how to even the score! Rasputin himself is nothing if not a character straight out of Dostoevsky.
Can’t remember if I mentioned this before, but I saw Mellencamp live not too long ago. In September of ’24, here in Illinois along with Dylan and Willie Nelson on the Outlaws Tour. All three of them did a great job, rocked out really hard considering what old farts they all are! If I can still kick it like that at their age (if I make it) I’ll die a happy man! I realized that the less you cling to life the longer you probably live in most cases. It’s like the TAO says, “Let it go and it will come to you.”
I’ve been rereading and studying the book of ACTS in the last few days. Those early Christians really had it going on!
I love it when Peter says to the paralyzed beggar, “I have no gold or silver, but what I do have, I give you. Get up and walk!” And the man gets up and walks. (The symbolism may be more true than the reality, which is to say, as true as it gets.)
Later,
Dale
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Thanks Steven for your comments! Glad the images were strong. That’s great to hear!
Christopher
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Powerful, disturbing, unflinching… and very good. Reminds me a bit of We Need to Talk About Kevin. Scary and sad to know some minds really work like this.
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Thanks for your excellent comments! Glad you liked it!
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Christopher
I also want to talk about this story in artistic terms. In terms of art itself, this tale is highly successful. I would say, at the level of Dennis Johnson. The way the point of view is handled is masterful. The sentences are brilliant. They give just the right amount of info in just the right way at just the right time. You’ve really mastered your favorite literary genre, the short story.
One thing that’s so cool is how original and strong the voices in your pieces always are. The sharp, hard, muscular, often sardonic sentences, phrases, word choices really hit their marks every time – no false notes ever! (I like mixed metaphors, lol).
The repeating characters in this tale are also intriguing. It shows how you’re building an entire world of fiction, one tale at a time, just like Chekhov did.
And like I said before, in many ways, for me, your tales are far more scary than most S. King stuff because of the REALITY in and behind and through your stories. America is a land of horrors in very many ways and your stories do not flinch from that, instead they bring the truth out from behind the curtain and put it on stage.
And yet the humor, the tone, and the positivity behind the madness is also there. There’s something redeeming, very redeeming, in even the most brutal Raymond Carver, Anton Chekhov, or Dennis Johnson tale. Your stories are the same way. It’s very exciting to be an early reader for these pieces. Your stories are gonna go a long way.
The details in your pieces are always picture-perfect, too.
It’s like you paint word pictures, and are a painter – in words. A very vivid painter in words.
This particular story-painting reminds me of some of Francisco Goya’s brutal, beautiful works.
Great writing at every level!
Dale
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Hey Dale
Wow I somehow missed this comment. Sorry about that!
Thank you very much!
To be compared with my hero Denis J. is great! And humbling.
I try to write about these horrors. They have left an indelible mark! I think once I learned about “The arrow that flies at noon.” It’s always been in the air and hits on the 6-o’clock news every night.
I don’t think everyone likes my stories, but I’m glad you do and the LS editors. They seem like a fearless talented group–you as well–for sure.
Those writers you mentioned are truly great, and they all write about the horrors–yes indeed. Chekhov’s “Ward 6” stands out. “Two Men” by DJ has a very rough ending. “Furious Seasons” by Carver is beautiful, stark, and dangerous. SK has sent me into some dark places. “The Gunslinger.” All of those books are hard to beat. “The Raft” is a truly great short story, and his novella written under Richard Bachman, “The Long Walk” might be my all time favorite of his.
Goya, yes, he does seem like the painter of horrors, so well done. A master.
Thanks again for your comments!
Christopher.
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Thanks for your excellent comments! Glad you liked it!
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Nature of nurture? I couldn’t tell, but the narrator seems like a bad seed. No idea about the minds of arsonists or murderers, but the story is believable.
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Thanks for your comments!
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Beavis and Butthead would like this one. They’d be chuckling all the way. So would some of the people I used to work with at the hospital for the criminally insane. mwahahahaha! It’s nihilism 101. That’ll teach Mrs. Keenly for being the “gram dictator.” Some sparky images here, with the arson porno, that was clever. I like the last crispy paragraph about Mr. Ny the math and science guy, when the protagonist imagines he gets his legs back.
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Thanks for your comments!
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Reality is often gritty and ugly. I like that you did not pull back on this, how could you? There is nothing pretty about arson. I like that there are no excuses offered either, the perpetrators are wicked malcontents not neglected victims of circumstance. Well done.
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Yes I agree, reality is a rough beast. Thanks for your insightful and kind comments!
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