The boy slipped from a hole in the remnants of a stone wall that marked one section of his grandfather’s farm, crawled behind a small tree, and stared down into the valley. At least a week before, shells from distant cannon and mortar had severed the wall in dozens of places, and a crater sat where the chicken house used to be. The pig pen, from the dead of winter, was a new abomination, with the small fence heaved asunder and unknown body parts strewn every which way.
I’ve been fairly happy since I re-animated Wendy. She wanted to leave me to get back to her bad boys after the first time I brought her back to life. I still believe that because she owed me her life, it was OK to conk her with my baseball bat for a second re-animation. Her first death was in an accident of her own making. It’s all turned out for the best, at least for me. I had to make some sacrifices to keep the relationship going, like getting those ugly tattoos and settling for sex once a week on Wednesdays, but if you could see me, you would know that it is the best deal I could make.
“Hi, I’m Stacey!”
Oh wow, hiya! It’s been ages since I had somebody cool to talk to in person. You’re cool, right? Yeah, ‘course you are. New to the whole ‘undead’ gig, I take it? Just last month? Yeah, I’ve got a couple of years on you but it’s really not that much. I remember all the changes, it’s super crazy. I guess your master has you covered on the basics and the mouldy old traditions… uh huh, they totally leave out the important stuff! No worries, I’ll fill you in. Oh, and you can call me Stace for short. Anyway, where was I?
People have asked just how it was that Sandra and me got together in the first place. I mean, it seems a bit unlikely, if you know what I mean. After all, there’s Sandra, small, educated, a right stunner that makes men choke on their beers at first sight, a snappy dresser that causes men’s eyes to wander rapidly southwards in the hope of even better stuff below, and a helpless looking nature which she uses to good effect when she wants somebody to do something for her. Not that she needs it, as she is quite capable of looking after herself whenever there is nobody else around.
Ry thought his heart was shattered beyond repair. Five weeks before he was leaving for college his girlfriend of fourteen months broke up with him to date some creep she met at an under ages show. Ry’s uncle, Lee was visiting from Meridian, Louisiana. Ry never understood why, but the family never went to visit him.
Just another Saturday! (Please look up that reference and watch!) Yep I said it last week, the number 102 is rubbish! I looked up some interesting facts and came up with this doozy:
102 is an even composite number composed of three prime numbers multiplied together. As in 2x3x17. Well there is a fact that you will never be able to gouge from your brain!!
Continue reading “Week 102 – St Andrew, Wine And Witch Free Chimnies”
We were all friends once. The three of us. Till she caught the two of us together. And when I mean to say together, I mean together not just in the biblical sense, which was true enough, but together as in in love. That was our big secret of course, and when Rose found out, understandably she wasn’t having any of it. I suspect she’d always known Tommy and I were jerking around together behind her back, which I don’t think she minded as Tom says she never was one for sex too much anyway and she probably figured us doing what we did took some of the pressure off her. Maybe. But the look she got when I finally had it out with her that day over at the park, on that little wooden bridge that crossed the little creek that more than half the year was dry, and I told her outright, and she pushed me off that bridge and said she’d see about that. That day, the creek wasn’t dry.
He limps home from the war with a lopsided gait. A cripple with a dark green uniform hanging on his gaunt frame. They stare at the colorful ribbons and shiny dangling medals on his chest as they avoid his vacant, hollow eyes hidden in bony valleys of dark flesh.
McLeary was a New York City legend.
He was from an era that was long ago. Hard-drinking newsman. He covered the celebrity beat. His favorite film was Sweet Smell of Success with Burt Lancaster and Tony Curtis.
McLeary had sold his soul for a glass of whiskey, Chanel #5 and a great pair of legs.
He had no regrets.
He knew the city and where the biggest names went to fuck each other when nobody was looking.
The distance between the house and the cliff isn’t long, nor is it short. The distance is the distance. Years ago flowers bloomed here in ever increasing numbers, filling the landscape. Their lithe youthful necks stretched upwards basking in the warmth of the sun’s rays. But no more. Time’s passage stole the flowers beauty and they began a slow, steady decline.
literally stories 