Dark & Twisty
This is a collection of short fiction, tales that are often dark and twisty but not without a glimmer of light and a shred of hope to illuminate the shaded path of the reader and cast alike.
Posted March 29, 2012:
An orgy of flesh lay at his feet.
A cannibal butchers delight.
Rot and ruin slain by hammer and knife.
Moan and groan. Shuffle and stagger.
Soulless husks hungry for food.
The dead no longer tell tales.
Where hundreds stood thousands will come.
Flooding the beach ahead of the tide.
Posted March 20, 2012:
Dozens of times a day he’d check his reflection to make sure his face was still in place. Long lectures were the worst. After a couple of hours he would sneak out, hurry to the nearest toilet and press his face against the mirror. If he went too long without checking he was still there he started to feel transparent and detached from his body.
They only way he could describe it was to compare himself to a store-bought sandwich. Seeing his reflection was like picking up a ham and cheese, fresh and ready to go. After a while he’d feel the bread start to dry out, shrivel up and hunker down away from the packaging. He would fold into himself, shrinking back from his skin and the real world.
Posted March 18, 2012:
A wild-eyed man in a suit collided with me, almost knocked me over. I grasped a street lamp and grunted as my wounds howled their pain. The man barely noticed me, he bounced away and hurried on. He clutched a large stuffed teddy bear to his chest. It had lost an ear and I realised someone had unsuccessfully tried to take it from him.
Why would anyone want to rob a man of his stuffed toy bear?
Posted March 14, 2012:
What was wrong with him?
He searched the meagre crowds on the platform for answers. Chicken faces and yellow echoes clipped at the guitar riff shadows. Green lights spewed mint sauce across the floor. The tracks sliced tangy lemon sorbet through his mind like brain freeze from too much ice cream.
Posted March 3, 2012:
Carlton felt his rage subside. He felt numb like jumping into a boiling hot shower after rolling in freezing snow. His gaze shifted from his cards to the other people in the room. The woman in the black waistcoat watched him. She was supposed to do something. But what? The man in the white shirt and tie by the door…who was he? The sweating woman twitched and shuddered. Her cards dropped from her fingers. He knew her…didn’t he? Something about flesh, sweating and bathed in weak light…wrapped around him…laughing, moaning… He hated her. He loved her. When Carlton spoke he sounded like a pig snuffling through garbage.
Posted February 21, 2012
On the outcrop Nathan wondered how things would have turned out had they trooped off to Ibiza again. Perhaps some of his friends would still be alive. Although considering the last few days he didn’t see how that was possible. The wilds had turned out to be a a shit storm of nightmares and pain. Friends had become enemies and camp fire laughter had turned to fighting, running and screaming.
Posted February 14, 2012
“Any more holloring like that and the neighbours’ll think we’re up to hanky panky in here.”
George crossed the living room, cup of tea in one hand, walking stick in the other. He paused beside his wife to brush a hand against her cheek before easing into his arm-chair.
“Hanky panky indeed.” Irene rolled her eyes and smiled. “I hope the neighbours don’t think that kind of thing goes on here.”
George gave his wife a quick wink. “Good job we keep it quiet then isn’t it?”
Posted February 3, 2012
Back. Thought I heard something on the roof. Ha. Old habits. Brb. Technology bred a generation of abbreviation addicts. Who did I think I was saying be right back to? Habits are hard to scrape off. Just thought of another reason why I’m writing this. I want someone to find it one day. Yeah, wishful thinking I know, but perhaps way in the future someone will read this.
Posted January 25, 2012
I had been so lost in my thoughts I hadn’t noticed the old man leaning on the other side of the wall. Next to him was a small battered blue cool box. On the front the tip of a faded Coca-Cola sticker whipped in the breeze. His clothing was green, brown and shabby, perfect camouflage for blending in with the surroundings. With a skinny finger he nudged back his cap and fixed me with a questioning look.
Posted January 19, 2012
“There are others? You’ve seen other survivors?”
“A few. Lots at the start. Not many these days. They mostly stay hidden.”
“Shouldn’t we try to find them?”
“Sorry. Have I missed something? I thought we were supposed to help each other.”
“No one helped me. Or my wife.”
Posted January 10, 2012
When Rose saw the crimson fire of the sunrise she knew she was blessed. She wanted to speak for the others, she knew some were inclined to believe her, but as for the rest there was little hope. She recognised how their deep streaks of cynicism had scared their souls. They wouldn’t be saved. Only believers had that chance.
Posted October 18, 2011
Too weak to leave my apartment I curled up on my sofa. I tried to sleep but my eye lids hurt my eye balls when they shut. Even blinking hurt. It had to be a fever. I wasn’t going crazy. I wasn’t going to a mental hospital to dribble and rock back and forth. I would stay put, dose up on pills and be right as fucking rain the next morning. Maybe it was just stress. That seemed to fit. Sort of.
Posted October 7, 2011
Beyond Black Rook Mountains there lies a road that stretches for a hundred miles from the dark Croon Forest to the sparkling blue waters of Lake Rafe. Those who remember the times before the Sundering will tell you the road was built by a million slaves. They will tell you how the Grunge whipped and beat their slaves to death, such was their fury and desire for the road to be finished. They needed the road to bring their war machine to the borders of Haven, the only remaining free city. The Grunge were a savage race. Twisted and evil they brought darkness to a world that now wants to forget.
Posted October 15, 2011
Nate leant against the sink like a giraffe taking five from parading in front of the crowds at the zoo. He had his hands in his pockets and a cigarette hung from the corner of his mouth. He reminded me of a Gary Larson cartoon.
Posted September 27, 2011
Rest your light weary traveller. Far you have come along the troublesome path of life. A life filled with rich experiences, of which I hope were a blend of joy and sadness. I am here to usher you into a new place, different yet so very similar to that which you know and love. Before we shift through the veil of grey to the wonder beyond, a moment I beg, for reflection on a life gratefully taken and wisely spent.
Posted September 19, 2011
On the last day of the month Alice leaves the warmth of her bed in their cabin and walks through the field to the jetty. An early morning sun caresses ice touched grass, the cold dew numbs her feet. The hem of her night gown is sodden as she reaches the jetty but Alice doesn’t notice.
Posted September 18, 2011
I didn’t notice Rhema peel away her garments at first. Her robes seemed to blend with the red walls until all I could see was a mass of swirling red material. Oshema drifted across the room, her pale skin bold and stark against the blood-red mist that clouded my vision. I remember laughing at one point when I realised the priestess was naked. I gazed at her and tried to apologise for staring but what came out of my mouth was gibberish.
Posted September 13, 2011
“You lying fuck. You said this was a safe neighbourhood.”
I risked a quick glance through the shattered windows of a looted car we had hid behind. A Peacekeeper Drone hovered in the centre of the dark quiet street. It cast a blue light into the depths of an alley opposite us, scanning for curfew breakers, Sharks and anyone infected with the plague.
“Keep your head down and you be jus fine,” Linford said. I was starting to distrust my guide. “Jim, my friend, don’t look so worried. Drone be gone in a short while. Then we be on our way. No problem.”
Posted September 6, 2011
Everyone except Elrondas stared at the stone column in amazement. Elrondas gazed up at the hole in the glass roof, barely able to contain his anger. When the ring landed on the floor in two neat halves, Elrondas continued to gape at the hole.
Gimlit glanced around at those summoned to the meeting. “Um, sorry about that,” he said, his gruff voice masked his sincerity.
“You broke my roof,” said Elrondas.
Posted August 23, 2011
“Come on, Ben, any port in a storm.”
Ben watched his best friend, Owen, rummage around in the box as he kept watch. “Cut to the chase, Owen, turf it all out it out so we can make a break for it.”
“I’m going as fast as I can. Don’t get your panties in a wad,” Owen said. He pushed aside a rug and tossed a bag of clothes out onto the street.
“Take it from me, my panties are not in a wad,” said Ben. “Get rid of that junk and lets beat it. Time waits for no man.”
Posted July 19, 2011
Greg Mason was not known for keeping his opinions to himself. He’d stopped counting the number of friends lost because he spoke his mind. His therapist explained how he needed to let his inner voice police his tongue. He must try to filter out what was necessary from the garbage swilling around his brain. Greg tried for exactly two hours until his neighbour politely asked him how his day was. Greg’s response was yet another reason why the other residents didn’t like him. Thanks for the advice, doc, how ’bout you filter this!
Posted July 11, 2011
We should have listened to them. It’s not really our fault. We were curious. They could have told us what was in there and how dangerous it was. If they’d said a family of bears live there we’d have stayed well away, but no, they just yelled at us. You know what I find strange? Why would they bring us all the way into the middle of nowhere, to a place they knew was bad, and expect us not to find out about it?
Posted July 4, 2011
Do you still smoke, Jester? I quit when my daughter was born. The very day she came out kicking and screaming in fact. I still keep a pack with me though. Suppose you think that’s a bit nutty don’t you? No? It’s about choice you see. If I keep that pack of smokes in my pocket I can choose not to spark one up. But not having them with me means I don’t have a choice and that makes me sad. I’m sad a lot these days.
Posted June 13, 2011
I get reely hungry on the back step. last week it got to nite time and i was hungry. when i went in side for a samwidge mum shouted at me. she was lieing on the sofa with the wizard. it was hard to see her becos the house was foggy with blue smoke. it was very smelly in side. the wizard called me a brat. mum said i had to wait for the wizard to go home. i wasnt to be in side when she had her speshul time.
Posted June 6, 2011
It took less than 30 minutes to leave the home I would never see again. Our quiet street was chaos. Neighbours were packing up and leaving, people were screaming and crying. Mr Franklin tried to persuade us to join his family. My dad said no, we had to pick up my sister from college. Something in the way they solemnly saluted each other made me realise they were more than just neighbours. It made my mom cry.
Posted May 31, 2011
“They don’t got squat,” Clara said. She didn’t like the neighbours much. “Morons and inbred swine, the lot of ‘em. Ain’t none of ‘em got the sense God gave ‘em.”
Cliff put a finger to his lips. “Clara!” he hissed. “There’ll be hell to pay if they hear you talkin’ like that.”
Posted May 24, 2011
Molly stamped over to Preston and stood in front of him. “The pram is for baby Jess and we all take turns with the mattress. We agreed. If you don’t stop shouting I’ll bloody your nose.”
Preston gaped at his sister. “No foolies?”