Tag: life

Editor Picks, Latest News, Short Fiction

Week 450: Halloween Memories and Horror Heroes

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The Caramel Apple Orchard

Although I will probably have another Saturday post closer to Halloween, it is on my mind now. And since all my other current ideas have the charm of razor bladed apples, I will go with the cheerier topic.

When I was growing up Halloween was mainly for kids, but over the years it has been taken over by The Failure to Launch Generation. I was one of those children who put next to no effort into a costume. I was goods oriented; people were giving out candy no matter how shoddy I looked. So I’d get one of those cheap witch masks (the kind that always got sweaty and smelled like a runny nose after about a half hour of wearing), don a dark blanket for a cape and carry a whisk broom, which inevitably went missing early. The sack was the important thing. And I took the biggest one I could find–usually a pillow case.

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All Stories, Editor Picks, General Fiction, Latest News, Short Fiction

WEEK 448- Bulking Up; Another Fine Week; Annoying TV Characters

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Andy

Now that it is officially autumn, Andy and Alfie the Feral Cats are bulking up for winter. Well, actually only Andy, because Alfie is already beefy as it is. He’s a rarity, a Feral Cat who has a double chin. Andy, however, changes his body type with the season. During the warm months he sheds his long coat and becomes lean and ripples with muscles. Come September he begins eating twice his normal amount and by the time November rolls around he looks like a fuzzy Tapir.

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Short Fiction

WEEK 444: Bug-Bird And Dreams

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DREAMING

Many writers are influenced by their dreams and nightmares–or at least that is the claim. I don’t dispute the possibility but if I had to lean on my dreams for material my stuff would be sparse and even stranger. A fine example of such happened just the other night when I experienced a dream I call “Bug-Bird.” My mind was in a white page and just ahead skulked Bug-Bird. Half Moth, half Pigeon and clad in a flasher’s raincoat and wearing a fedora, I could only see Bug-Bird from behind. But I spied antennae through holes in his hat, tail feathers and Pigeon feet. Bug-Bird staggered forward and I was gaining on him (only a guy would dare be Bug-Bird). I recall wanting to tap him on the shoulder and have a look at Bug-Bird but that is when I woke, with the words Bug-Bird, Bug-Bird, Bug-Bird chanting in my mind by what might be called a “sulfurous chorus” of demon voices. Hardly bestseller material there–and perhaps the only way Bug-Bird can get into print is through something like this.

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Short Fiction

442: The Leader of the Dirty Dozen Disciples; The August Heat Times Five; The Next Voice of Choice

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The Mysterious Ways of Lee Marvin

I was with friends, waiting to be seated at a restaurant, and I kept hearing “So and so party of such and such, your table is ready” over the speaker. Since I cannot keep my mouth shut, I joked “Christ, party of thirteen, your table is ready.” This earned me a sour look from a lady across the lobby, whom God must have endowed with keen hearing. She was wearing a crucifix large enough for a rapper or eighties’ era Madonna. I sighed, for it seems to me that God probably has a sense of humor, although many of the faithful do not.

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A Conversation About The Sixties by Hugh Cron (Adult Content)

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“I’m fed up watching the news. Seemingly, the queen’s still dead.”

“That’s six months now and they’re still harping on about it. I can’t remember the last time I bought a paper.”

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Music by Leila Allison

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I half-seriously considered boosting the copy of the Beatles’ “White Album” I gave my sister Tess on her tenth birthday in 1972. I didn’t care who made it; I didn’t care if it was a double album–seven bucks for a four-year-old record was bullshit. I figured I could easily outrun the young clerk who looked like the only person in The House of Values remotely fit and crazy enough to give chase. For if I did make the move, it would come to that. Getting away unnoticed with an album was impossible due to its shape; almost as dumb as trying to conceal a basketball under your sweater. But a little voice told me that it was bad luck to steal a birthday present if you have the money. So, I wound up buying the goddamn thing, but I hooked a Rocky Road bar at the register so I wouldn’t go away feeling like a complete chump

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All Stories, General Fiction, Short Fiction

Kick by Leila Allison

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Rehab, 1988

Using cardboard, duct tape and a lamp, Tess turned her closet into a camera obscura.

“This gag’s been around forever,” Tess explained to her “model”–a simple but sweet cocaine addict named Sabrina. “Remember, hold a straight face and don’t look at the light.”

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