Category: Stories and Other Writing

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Entry 43.1.22 – 10/18/2013

 

 

You are crying again. Damn it. Damn her. Carol.

Today you were called into Carol’s office right after lunch. You hate being in there, looking at her fake smile on her fake, makeup coated face. An amateurish painting of her lost youth. Carol, reeking of her fake smelling crap perfume. Carol, sitting on her fake leather chair behind her fake cherry wood desk. That smile, framed by her fake, chemically curled, chemically bleached hair. That face sporting her very real smugness about the fake power she wields over an office she pretends to understand. Carol.

“Do you know why I called you in here today?”, she asked with that smile.

You didn’t know for sure but you knew it was probably for something that wasn’t your fault. You’d get blamed. You’d get another office reprimand. You’d be put on notice.

“Your performance has not been meeting the expectations of your position or the standards of this office”, she said with that smile, as if she even knew what the standards were.

See? All your fault of course. You tried to reason with her. It was like talking with a toddler. Talking with a Neanderthal. The hunting has been bad so the tribe must be cursed. A sacrifice to the fake gods was needed. Guess who was being sacrificed. (more…)

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Entry 43.1.12 – 10/08/2013

 

 

Why not you? Why not?

I will tell you why. Nothing ever allowed to come to fruition. You never can start anything. With other people that is.

Today at the laundromat though, you said hello to someone. To a woman. Of course she said hello first. That’s a given. This is you we’re talking about. But you responded. You responded. And quite well I might add. At least you think so.

“Hello”, she said, which startled you. So out of the ordinary. There she was, a woman about your age, a hippie for sure. Striped tights, the maroon corduroy skirt, olive drab surplus shirt, and hair that smelled of incense. It was like she was wearing a uniform. We are a long way from San Francisco, both in time and space, but here she was and so friendly. They are an open bunch those hippies. Backward and juvenile, yes, but open.

“Hello”, you said.

“I think your machine just finished”, she said.

“Oh, thank you. I should take them out I suppose” you said.

She smiled and nodded. Can you believe it? A conversation with no awkwardness. Not on your part or hers.

You are used to the recoil, Gerald. They never think you can see it so they don’t think they are being rude but you see it. You see a lot. You are more perceptive then most people think. (more…)

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Today is a big day. I’ve been sitting on this short story for a long time now and I’ve decided to serialize it here for your reading enjoyment. The length of installments will vary and this first episode will be the longest. Bear with me. The story falls squarely in the horror genre. It is written for an adult audience so language and themes may be too strong depending on your personal disposition.

With that,  I give you episode one of Crisp New Pages.

Darren could feel the cold sting of rain splashing his skin where his jeans had come up past his socks. Half his husky body stuck out from under the tall cedar fence separating his home from his neighbor’s. The other half was dusty and dry underneath the shed that used to be his castle. The shed that he and his best friend Kenny had commandeered after old Mrs. Kraft moved in with her son and left the property abandoned. Kenny, who was a much smaller twelve year old than Darren, had already shimmied under the fence and up through the boys’ secret entrance, aka, a loose floorboard.

“I’m stuck”, said Darren as he felt the wet grass starting to soak the thighs of his pants. His frustrated grunts sent dry soil into clouds around his face. “Come give me a pull.”

Kenny stuck his small, ferret-like head out through the secret entrance and smiled at Darren in a way that made fun with out the need for words.

“Shut up and help me.”

“I didn’t say anything. Chill. You’re so jumpy”, said Kenny as he dropped though the hole and pulled at both Darren’s arms.

He slid loose and was relieved to be free but the feeling quickly faded. His gut told him this was a terrible idea. Mr. Heinz, the new resident of the house, had gone into a rage when he caught them in the shed the last time. In Kenny’s mind however, the boys had a rightful claim to the building. He said something about squatters’ rights though Darren had no idea what that meant. He thought it might have been better to move on to a new game but they were best friends and he couldn’t let Kenny do this on his own. (more…)