Tales of People Dying pts. 1-4 (Part 1: The Jailbird, Part 2: The Lover, Part 3: The Racist, Part 4: The Paranoid)


When Desmond Lewis was released from prison four days ago the first thing he did was go to a women’s clothing store and buy five dresses, a mini skirt, four pairs of pantyhose, and two blouses. He then proceeded to a men’s clothing store for pants, a business type button up shirt, and a stripped tie. He drove home smiling to himself for the party that he had planned when he arrived.
He pulled into his driveway. Stepped out of the car with his bags in tow, opened the front door and was shot in the face and died. The shooter bent down grabbed the dead man’s wallet and stashed the bills in his pocket. He next searched the bags, found nothing of interest, kicked the bloodied mess and exited the premises.

Escrone Harris had no idea that Martin Hamburg was a sharp shooter but he thought that just maybe if he ran fast enough that he could out run the bullets by pure will power alone. But sadly that was not the case. A bullet ripped through the calf muscle of his right leg and sent him barreling face first into the ground. Once there he tried to decide which hurt worse, the bullet in his leg or his nose being pushed to a right angle. The blood from his nose seeped into his mouth. It tasted a little like pennies and he decided right there that he wouldn’t die from having sex with a man he hardly knew. He saw no sense in that. If anyone was going to kill him he thought that at least it could be a family friend or someone he knew better.
He met Martin Hamburg in one of those thirty-second speed dating shindigs. He met the man and fell instantly in love. They had one date that in turn became an all night sex masquerade. It was while laying there the next morning that Martin asked Escrone if anyone had ever shot at him. Escrone took this as just one of those getting to know you questions so he said no. Martin smiled and told him that he’d love to shoot at him. Escrone made an innuendo that he had beat him to it. They smiled and kissed and made love once again before Martin stood buttoned his shirt, zipped his pants and walked out of the room. Escorne shouted some expletives about not just being a piece of ass when Martin entered the room, now holding a rifle. He points it at Escrone. Escrone asks what is going on. Martin says something about being a black widow, that he must kill those he fucks. Escrone tells him to stop joking, though not knowing what good it would be to say that to a man with a gun who looked very serious about shooting him. So he stood, followed Martin’s orders of putting on clothes and driving them both to a wooded area where then Escrone was shot and his nose was broken.
Escrone then stood holding a hand underneath his nose catching his blood. He hobbled to a tree and stood hoping that Martin had not seen. Unfortunately Escrone now heard the rustle of dried leaves and broken twigs from the passing of booted feet. Escrone was in a panic. He bent down to acquire the broken tree limb that had fallen to the ground, to fashion it as some type of weaponry when he was shot in the chest. It took him a minute and a half to die.

Bear Grubson hated blacks with a passion. He had no real reason for the hate but the fact that his daddy hated blacks and his daddy before him. So when his daughter came home with a black boyfriend, hand in hand, when he saw them kissing that night as the black boy left he vowed to kill him. In his sick little mind he could not let that boy infect his daughter. When she was told this she asked infected with what and he couldn’t give a logical answer. She told him that he was a stupid redneck who couldn’t think for himself and that if all he could do was live his life by what his daddy did then he was a sad little man. She told him that if all he could do all day was sit around hating someone for no good reason that someone should put him out of his misery. In turn he responded with the fact that he was quite happy with his life and that he tried to warn her when her little nigger rapes her. She walks away crying. He shows no emotion.
That night his daughter awakens and goes to the kitchen. She grabs a knife and ascends the staircase that leads to her fathers bedroom. She enters and he is sound asleep. Standing beside the bed she raises the knife and brings it down into her father’s throat, who dies after a few gurgled attempts at breath.

Christopher Coconutleaves was deathly afraid of everything. He lived his life in a state of constant fear. Always looking behind himself whilst walking down dark streets, believing that there were steps falling in tune with his steps and that if he turned at just the right moment he would see a psycho with a knife aimed at his heart.
It was because of his fears that on October 19, 1983 he died of his own precautions.  It was like any other day in this kooky man’s life. He went to work in the morning, came home for lunch with consisted of a bologna sandwich with mustard and potato chips with a tall glass of cola.
After lunch he traveled back to his job and sat for another four hours doing what he did best before he was sent home for the day and told, “Great Job!” He then would stop at a bookstore and peruse the true crime section. Reading the horrific malice that man could create upon man (he saw this as a way to prepare himself when the time came that a psychopath would purge their grotesqueries upon him).
After his bookstore adventure he would finally travel home. Entering his house he would then close the door, lock the multitude of locks and place a slab of oak that he made himself to fit directly under the doorknob and rested against a notch in the floor preventing anyone from pushing the door inwards. He would then check the locks on all windows (even though they were bolted shut). He then would check the remaining doors and work his way upstairs for a teeth brushing and urination, after which he would climb into his pajamas, make a dinner which usually consisted of a meat and two vegetables eat said dinner and make his way to the bedroom (for which he locked and placed another homemade oak slab under the doorknob) for some television and sleep.
It was on this night that he accidentally left the television on, which overheated and caught fire. The fire spread to the floor and curtains and filled the room with a lung seizing fog. It was this inability to breathe that finally woke him. He immediately jumped out of the bed and scrambled to the door. Not being able to see or breathe hindered his progress, though he finally did reach the door and unlocked the locks. It would be fruits of his invention that would be the bringer of bad news. As much as he struggled he could not get the oak slab out from under the doorknob. Until eventually he passed out and burned.


Tales of People Dying pt. 5: The Mistaken

Seeing that Michael was supposed to be home four hours ago there was only one conclusion that April could think of: the fucking bastard was cheating.

Just wait till he gets home she told herself. I’ll cut his cock right off, pin it to his shirt and make him wear it as a scarlet letter. Look everybody I fuck other people his cock would say.
April stood looking in the mirror wondering what this other person had that she didn’t. Still being twenty-five all her parts functioned in the ways that attracted. Standing there looking she started to pick at the small things that only she would notice by staring at herself.
She looked at the clock and thirty minutes had passed. Where is the shit? She asked herself. She goes into the kitchen, turns off the oven, removes the poultry dinner and heads upstairs to cry herself into a depressive sleep.

Michael’s eyes opened to smoke. Heat surrounded him along with a numbness in his legs. He tried to move but the task was futile for being tightly squeezed between what felt to him as a car seat and a steering wheel. Panic struck him and with it a need to be out of what he remembered as his car. Yes, he was driving and a bright light then the squealing of tire the smoke and the car careening towards a drainage ditch and the flipping of the car finally landing and everything going black. He touched his head and felt the stickiness of congealed blood then smelled the gas saw the flame and died in a fiery burst.

Tales of People Dying pt. 6: The Followed

He had been following me all night. With his wispy hair, handlebar moustache and one arm. I couldn’t really understand what he wanted from me, me being a modern chick and him looking like the bad guy from Dudley Do-Right (you know, the crazy guy that’s always tying helpless maidens to train tracks, maybe that was his plan with me, tie me to the tracks, skip away as he strokes his moustache and gives a generic maniacal laugh: in the end it was not).
I was with a couple of friends so I wasn’t incredibly worried that anything was going to actually happen to me. Weirdos usually wait until you are solitary and I made sure that someone was with me most of the time. Except when I stepped to the bar to order a new drink and the man was there and the closer I got to him the more features began to show themselves. A scar that stretched from his Adam’s Apple to his lower lip, a mole the size of a pea on his left eyebrow and eyes the shade of red for which no human had donned before.
I ordered my drink, a Wild Turkey straight. Sorry, I like my drinks hard and strong, just like my…
So the guy spoke after my drink order was taken. He had a raspy voice not unlike that of Ian McShane. He told me I was familiar to him that my hair brought a shimmer that he remembered in a dream that wasn’t a dream. That a whisper foretold of me and a chance encounter was imminent at best.
I gave him a chuckle and told him nice line but old dudes don’t ring my bell. So I said bye and turned to leave when he said my name and told me my father was a vampire and he was here to kill me then he injected something into my arm and everything went black.
I awoke in a room of nondescript whiteness. The man was in a chair across from me holding something sharp and dangerous. I tried to move though I was restricted by tape and rope.
The man stood and told me I was going to die and that explaining the reason would take too long and that if I came back I could find him and he’d then explain everything but this is the way it was supposed to be that I had to die to find my purpose and he plunged the knife into my throat of all places and I died ten minutes later.
It sucked beyond belief.

Tales of People Dying pt. 7: The Old Fuck

The alarm went off and I jumped out of bed…no that was a dream cause I’m old as fuck and can’t really move that well and that old feminist Janet Marko is sitting in my room with a bible and a bottle of Jack preaching about midgets that ride on the toilet and Armageddon. When able, I stand and slowly make my way to the cafeteria and listen to all the gibberish that the old fucks like myself are spatttering on about midgets riding toilets (that’s odd) and how Jesus will come one day to release us old fucks from the grasp of that squirmy fella the Devil. I sit and enjoy a cup of orange jello with fruit bits that will more than likely give me the gooey shits but I eat them anyway and forgive the future that will be bestowed upon me and my sensitive rectum. When I finished my jello I stood and went back to my room and like to have died when I saw that mean old feminist Janet Marko naked on my bed yelling about the midgets and how “They done been by this way and gon’ free us.” I excuse myself from her preachy premise and walk to the nearest lavatory for a date with the porcelain god. I enter and hear a bustle, one of the stall doors is cracked and a vocalizing permits from behind. “Who there?” I ask with little reply. So I step forward push the door inward and see two midgets perched on the toilet. They stare at me and smile. Then a pain stretches from my shoulder to my fingers and my heart stops. That goddamn Janet Marko was right all along.