They Know Who You Are

This is a sort of sequel to a story I wrote called “In Your Eyes”. It probably won’t make much sense unless you read that one first.



I never in a million years thought I’d be holding my father’s head in his last moments. The world works in mysterious ways. That seems to be true these days.

On the morning my father died I awoke with a need to be pretty. I wanted to go out and flaunt myself, cause sometimes you have to make other people jealous of the things you have just to keep yourself sane.

I dolled myself up and took a trip to the local mall. It was there that I found him. The one I’d lust for a day. The one that by the end of the night would kill my father and, himself lay dead on my apartment floor.

I first saw him as I stood in line for a coffee. I saw him looking my way, though who wasn’t. There was something different about this guy. There was a gleam, a hunger, a wanting in his glassy blue eyes. They drew me in. Made me forget I was in line for refreshment.

When I finally looked away it was my turn to order. I requested a frosty vanilla beverage, paid, received my order and looked out in the crowd for that mysterious stranger. He was no longer where my eyes could find him. I put him in the back of my mind and began my venture of spending more money than I had.

After three hours of driving myself closer to bankruptcy I decided to call it quits and journey home. I took an elevator down to the parking level, exited, and saw him. He was leaning against a support column smoking a cigarette. I’d never seen cancer look so sexy.


I had seen her long before she noticed me as she was standing in line for coffee. I followed her from the apartment knowing that this was going to be my next meal. I could smell the other inside her. It was strange at first and I didn’t understand fully until I stealthily brushed by her outside of the Macy’s.

It was after this that she saw me and I knew I had her or him or it or whatever I should call…her? I’ll explain this. Her blood contained the scent of two hormones. The male and the female, and not like everyone else, they were stronger, unnaturally stronger, as if there were two separate beings inside her. As I watched her waiting for her coffee it all came clear to me…she is transgender with still a lot of male hormone. This didn’t scare me away, for who am I to judge? I would be shunned much worse than her if my true identity were to become public. If anything it peaked my interest, yes, I knew that sex would most likely come into play, though if you want to look at it that way you’d have to ask yourself which of us is the more perverse? The one having sex with a former male or the one having sex with the undead?


I made my way to my vehicle. The heels of my new pumps clacking loudly on the concrete. My shyness began to overwhelm me so I stopped and removed my heels and continued my trek barefoot. I know, why get all dolled up if you’re too scared to approach an interesting character? It’s just all part of my girlish charm.

I reached my car, pressed the unlock button on my keychain and threw my bags into the backseat. It was then I heard him. He was standing behind me. The smell of his cigarette wafting into my nostrils.

I took a deep breath and said, “ You aren’t going to rape me are you?”

He made a noise that was kind of a laugh and a grunt, then said, “Why would I do that?”

I turn to look at him, “I’ll clue you in on a little secret…don’t say anything that could make a girl question her looks, especially if you want to be friends.”

He takes a drag of his cigarette and looks at me with those haunting eyes. A smile creeps into his lips.

“Is that all you want? Friendship?” he asks.

“Hey, we just met. I’m still not convinced a crime isn’t going to committed.”

“Never hurt a fly,” he says.

“What’s on your mind?”

“Could use a little nourishment. You?”

“I’m famished.”

“There’s nothing around here,” referencing the parking lot.

“I’m sure we could find somewhere.”

We gathered ourselves into my car and began the adventure that’d end in death.


We decided on a diner two blocks from the mall. I wanted somewhere crowded and loud and light on the wallet. He was fine with whatever I chose. I ordered a hot pastrami sandwich on rye bread with a sweet tea. He ordered a chicken caesar salad for which he only ate the chicken out of.

“Not as hungry as you thought?” I asked.

“I don’t want to spoil my dinner.”

He was creepy and mysterious. I was loving every minute of it.

“I can’t believe they banned smoking in restaurants,” he said.

“The shit they pull.”

“Tell me about it.”

There wasn’t much conversation during the whole meal and I attribute much of the silence to my shyness. I think his creepiness also played a significant part as well. The majority of the time I was lost in his eyes, Trying hard to read the story they were trying to tell. I got lost in them, just as I had begun to at the mall.

“Your eyes are amazing.”

“They tell all there is about me. They withhold my deepest secret.”

“You have a secret do you? This secret wouldn’t involve young beautiful women and lonely roads and sharp knives?”

“Nothing like that. Just secrets like anyone else has. We all have things we keep to ourselves. Afraid of what would happen if the world were to find out.”

“I guess, though it doesn’t have to be so dramatic.”

“I know you have a secret.”


“I can sense it. I can smell it.”

“Are you saying you have powers? Like a psychic? Wait, I know, you’re a werewolf from the moors of England. Like that movie.”

“Could be.”

“I doubt that. I was just fucking with you. Werewolves are just campfire tales.”

“You never know, lucky its not a full moon tonight.”

“I guess I am.”

We talked for another hour. The time came for us to pay the bill and leave. We had that awkwardness outside of the diner of what to do next. All I could think about was stripping off our clothes and fucking all night. It was hypnotic eyes and my horniness that made me forget I had made plans for that evening.


My secret didn’t surprise him, which surprised me, though I should’ve known it wouldn’t because of our conversation at lunch. We were on the couch kissing and touching. It was when he reached between my legs my true self was exposed.

“Does it frighten you?”

“I told you, I already knew.”


“I could smell another inside you. What I saw on the outside didn’t match.”

We kissed again which led to sex which led to the both of us falling asleep on the couch. We were awoken by a knock on the door. I then remembered that my father was stopping by for a late supper.


“Who is it?”

“My father. I totally forgot.”

“What should I do?”

“Go into the bathroom and get dressed, I’ll try to sneak you out.”

“You do know you are a grown up, we don’t have to sneak around like children.”

“This just saves a lot explaining that I really want to avoid.”

He ran to the bathroom as I threw on my clothes and answered the door. My father entered and I was pushed violently to the floor by the man I had just coupled with. He was grabbing at my father and ripping and tearing at his neck with a violent ferocity. He used his finger to dig into my father’s throat, trying, for what is seemed to be removing head from body.

I ran from the carnage. Searching the apartment for anything I could use as a weapon. In a hall closet I found a red aluminum baseball bat. With it in tow I ran back into the living room to find our attacker had successfully my father’s head from his body. He was now slamming against the corner of my kitchen counter trying to crack it open like a coconut. While he was occupied I snuck behind raising the bat and dropping it forcefully against the back of his skull. He fell to the floor, looking up at me with his haunting eyes.

“What are you?”

‘I’m everything you have to look forward to.”

“Don’t speak in riddles.”

“Your simple nature would we refer to us as zombies.”

“Zombies?” I ask impatiently.

“It’s as real as anything you know. You have hell to look forward to.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I was inside you. My DNA is mixing with yours. I am your future.”

I had listened to enough so I hit him again and again, crushing his skull with my little red bat. When I finished I picked up my father’s head and placed it near his body. I laid beside him and fell to sleep.

In time what he said became reality. I became one of his kind. I became a monster. I’d never been happier.


Swamp Kittens Hide in the Rectangular Flora of a Forgotten Island

A: If I could speak to you in riddles, know that I would because there is nothing more warming to my heart than confusing the ones I love.

B: It’s like there’s an aura around you. A blackness that fades in and out. Not shadowy, no, more glowing, yet dark.

C: The cause and effect of happiness is that right around the corner there is going to be something to rip you apart. Both feelings are temporary, yet one’s effect causes more damage upon your soul.

A: We know it happens yet do nothing to stop it’s…it’s…

C: Contradiction of presence.

B: The aura has changed from a dark to a blue. The shade of a hazy winter morning.

C: Auspicious precognition.

A: A merriment that no one holds dear for waiting for the outcomes we know will strike a fear into a civil man.

C: Application of distance to a forgone conclusion.

B: It changes color with the light of your smile. Your lips seem to call to it. The more disagreeable you seem the darker your spirit.

C: A time once past when everything was something and records were a tale of pretentiousness to the belief that everyone has a story to tell and there are ears to accept it.

A: We fear the outcomes that could lead us not to search any longer.

C: A fear held short by our nomadic insightfulness.

B: What were you thinking there? You changed from a blue to an orange, an orange that brought about summer in the eyes of virginal youth.

A: Love neither here nor there.

C: Of another plane in time that won’t work in this alignment of the cosmos.

A: A love to make dreamers forget to sleep.

B: This love brings about a green of renewal on a scorched landscape.

C: Product of a time stolen.

A: Happiness for once and for all.

B: A lush flora.

C: Complacency in a fiction you once believed.

A: The effect of it’s cause; heartbreak.

B: The blackness returns.

C: It starts anew.


A: Why is it so easy for women to just let relationships go?

B: They are heartless creatures, my friend.

A: Is that really what you think?

B: I think maybe that each month a little piece of their compassion slips out with the rest of that junk.

A: So why do you date?

B: I don’t. To put it plainly I fuck around.

A: That’s not what I want.

B: Do whatever is good for you. I choose not to extend a relationship over a week’s time. Here’s the truth they don’t want you to know. No matter the person, you are going to grow tired of each other eventually. Then you are stuck in that position where you have to make it work. That’s not something I look forward to.

A: That just cannot be true.

B: Like I said, do whatever you want to do. Just don’t come crying to me every time you get your heart broken.

A: There has to be that one person out there for each of us.

B: And if you meet that person, good on you. I’m just not going to put forth the effort.

A; Why am I even friends with you?

B: Because you are a sad sack that thinks love will fix all your problems.

A: …

I Just Met You, I Know This is Crazy, Have a Seat, Talk to Me Maybe

A: I’m sorry…do I know you?

B: Ugh, why does everyone think that they know someone?

A: Didn’t mean to offend you, you just look very familiar.

B: You are right. We had sex at the gay bar, gay bar…

A: What?

B: No, we didn’t do that.

A: Are you mentally stable?

B: What kind of question is that?

A: Right now? A pretty logical one.

B: I really don’t know. Have a seat.

A: I think I should be going.

B: You started this.

A: I’m sure you have things to do. Besides, you moved your head to the right a little and from this light I can tell that you are correct, I don’t know you. Have a good day.

B: Why not sit and kill a couple of minutes?

A: Why?

B: You are kind of cute.

A: I have a boyfriend.

B: Who said anything about boyfriends? I just thought it’d be nice to have a chat with an attractive woman. Who says I’m trying to get in your pants.

A: Just the usual expectation.

B: Very confident of yourself.

A: I’m not going to sit here to be verbally abused.

B: Confidence is a good thing. It kept you suspicious of me until I made you feel at ease.

A: Wouldn’t say I feel at ease. Just curious where this is going.

B: Doesn’t have to go anywhere. We can have a glorious chat. Stand up. Go our separate ways. Only have the memory of this as a reminder that it happened. That one day you had one of those what if moments and took it.

A: So what do you want to talk about?

B: How’s your mother these days?

A: You don’t know…she’s fine. Little neurotic but at sixty-two who isn’t.

B: Spend enough time in one body and you have those moments of neuroses.

A: You’ve been in more than one body?

B: No.

A: If you want me to talk to you you have to speak like a human being.

B: How am I speaking?

A: Like someone you saw his family butchered as a child.

B: That’s a very bizarre statement.

A: Just keeping with the times.

B: Not that this has anything to do with how my development into the adult that I am now but, as a child I did see a dead body.

A: Really, like “Stand by Me”.

B: Not at all. I lived in apartments and the man that lived downstairs from me took a trip into the woods that held ground behind us. Took a gun and shot himself. I saw a gathering, thought maybe it was an ice cream social. I was wrong.

A: What did you do?

B: What could I do? Just accepted it and moved on. Didn’t really know the guy so I couldn’t sympathize, I mean yeah, sucked he did that. When the next day came about I just lived my life as if he were still downstairs.

A: So you are the friend of a friend of a friend that knows someone that heard about a boy that saw a dead body.

B: You have it backwards. I’d be the boy that saw the dead body that told someone who told the friend of a friend of your friend.

A: Right. Nothing like that ever happened to me. Had a friend that said she saw an angel.

B: Wings and all.

A: Actually no. Just an old lady on an electric scooter at a grocery store.

B: Like angels do.

A: Exactly. Said she knew it was an angel because she looked away for a second and when she turned back the lady was gone.

B: Could’ve been a ghost.

A: Or an old lady on an electric scooter who forgot she needed her goiter medication and scooted off to get it.

B: Or…it could’ve been an angel.

A: You believe that?

B: Never know. Can’t be proven one way or the other unless you can find the old lady.

A: Probably dead and gone by now.

B: Or, saving souls and picking up a bag of frozen peas all in one stop.

A: Do angels save souls?

B: I thought faith saved your soul. It’s all kind of confusing. I know there is a lot of water involved.

A: I nearly drowned when I got baptized.

B: As a baby?

A: No, found God as a teenager. Thought it would change my life. Put me on the straight and narrow.

B: Did it?

A: It felt good to have the illusion of being loved. But when it really came down to it, when I needed Him most He was never there.

B: Maybe you almost drowning at your baptism was a sign you were going down the wrong path. I put a lot of faith in things happen for a reason.

A: Do you think that things happening are a plan from a spectral being?

B: I think that the decisions that we make lead us to the life we are supposed to live. I don’t believe there are coincidences. Say I didn’t look to the left when you were walking towards me. You can say that all you want because no matter what I would have. Why? Because this is happening. I wouldn’t be explaining why this wouldn’t be happening if it wasn’t happening and since it has happened there is no way to make it un-happen? I was supposed to look to the left and you were supposed to ask me if you knew me because that is what we were supposed to do. Just like if you build a time machine to go back in time to save your wife from dying, you can’t because if she doesn’t die you never build the time machine. It’s what you were supposed to do so you can’t change anything that led up to it.

B: You are saying that we were destined to meet.

A: Not saying that at all. I’m saying that we met because we were supposed to. I don’t know why we met or what this is even all about. Could just be a chance encounter to have a conversation with another person. Happens all the time.

A: You are leaving out the one part you are scared to say.

B: I’m not scared to say anything. I’m not going to try and say that we were destined to meet because you are my soul mate or such. Just met you. Don’t know you. One thing I do know is that you have a boyfriend.

A: What if I didn’t?

B: What if the the moon was a pimple on a witches teat? We could what if all night.

A: What if I am your soul mate?

B: What if my anus turns into a microwave?

A: You can’t know for sure.

B: If we did where would the mysteries of life lie? Here’s the thing. I’ve spent too much of my life assuming. I’m trying to live my life day by day and just seeing where it takes me. If I meet someone and fall in love them then I will let it take its course to see if that one is my soul mate. I don’t believe you can know a soul mate from a chance encounter. You have to experience each other first. In all spectrums.

A: Mentally.

B: Sexually. The usual roundabouts.

A: I do believe the saying that if you stop looking for something that is when you will find it.

B: I’m going to stop you here because it seems like you are trying to sell me on the fact that we could be soul mates.

A: I’m doing no such thing. I’m just asking questions to further inquire about your beliefs. Just using us as an example because we are sitting right here. Would you prefer it if I made up…hold up, didn’t you just tell me you are trying to stop assuming things and here you go assuming that I want to pressure you into the asinine belief that we could be soul mates. That’s only punishing yourself. Because you are wrong. Now you feel shitty.

B: Not really.

A: What time is it?

B: Half past something I assume.

A: Really?

B: I don’t know.

A: Well, I have to go pick up my mother from the salon. What do you want to do here?

B: Let’s do this. You want to test our soul mate compatibility. Let’s do nothing. We’ll leave it to the whomever in the cosmos makes these decisions. We see each other again. It could very well be that there’s something here.

A: That sounds good.

B: I guess this is goodbye, maybe.

A: I guess so.

Bored to Tears

A: Productivity was ceased for the day.

B: Copious amounts of electricity were administered to the corpse.

A: There seemed to be a resurrection of life. It was a misconstrued perception.

B: Two of the men were put at ease once the removal process had sally forthed.

A: I assume that the man’s children will miss him come Christmas time.

B: No presents under the tree this year.

A: An irregularity for such a wanton family.

B: His wife being a harlot.

A: Loose lips…

B: Raised many a sailors eyebrow.

A: When she passes her genitalia will receive a twenty one gun salute.

B: Boosted the boys spirits. Participated in winning a war or two.

A: I’ll be working for the ghost until I’m dead.

B: It’s a statistical fact that brotherhood only amounts to five percent of male on male friendships.

A: I don’t see myself acquiring the happiness that we are promised through the glorification of outright blasphametic portrayals of men and women that smile too much.

B: I’ve seen too many cavities to fully respect sugar.

A: You never fully love a mythical creature until it becomes a foreshadowing of unbeknownst promiscuity.

B: How many times have I looked at photographs of blades of grass?

A: I once rode an effeminate donkey towards the beginning of its life.

B: I never portrayed myself as one who accepted the carnal notion of a man’s comb.

A: It appears as though lunch time has ceased.

B: Until tomorrow.

Devil May Care (Part 1)

When the call came in, I did not expect there to be so much brutality. My best inkling to the nature of the crime was a chemical reaction gone wrong, a monkey attacking its punishing captor for years of tests and torment. However, neither of those guesses were even close to the truth.

The smell of death was rich in the air. The coppery, pungent scent of blood captured my nostrils for a night of romance as I entered the laboratory. Placing my newly bought tie over my nose and mouth I ventured further and the smell stung even through the expensive cloth.

After climbing two flights of stairs I reach room 324, open the door leading into the lab and immediately gag (not just from the smell but from the gruesome sight laid before me) as I step through. There are officers already crowding the room, moving back and forth collecting evidence, trying not to lose their lunch. I see my partner, Detective Richard Ames, at the other end of the room talking to a man in a white lab coat; I approach cautiously.

I see you made it,” Richard says. “It’s a fucking mess in here.”

I don’t know how you can be in here without some type of breathing apparatus.” He has his oral and nasal passages open to the repugnance that fills the room. Me on the other hand, I am sticking to the tie over my mouth not caring if anyone has trouble understanding my muffled speech.

I guess, as strange as it seems, that I’ve gotten used to the wretched smell.”

So what happened here?”

Follow me.”

He takes me to a secluded room leaving the man in the lab coat to await further instruction. Richard closes the door and turns to me.

You might want to sit for this, there was some fucked up shit going on in this lab. Some of it I’m not even sure I can explain to you and truly believe it myself.”

Nobody’s saying you have to believe it, just tell me what the hell went on here.”

Richard sits at the same table that I have found a home at, takes a deep breath and begins to speak.

There was a survivor. He was one of the lab technicians; we have him in custody at the station. Him being alive is one but not the main reason that it is hard for me to believe what happened right through that door, and I wouldn’t believe a word of it if it wasn’t for the video I was shown. It’s gruesome shit, horror movie type.”

Can we cut it with the cliché cop beating around the bush shtick and get to point? Just please, tell me what killed those people out there,” I say growing impatient with every passing moment.

A five year old child.”

I sit trying to digest what he said. That’s not right; it was more as if I was waiting for the punch line.

A five year old child did this? You’re sure.”

I believe what my eyes tell me; there are papers galore, files documenting everyday the child was locked in his cage.”

Richard takes a deep breath, stands, and moves to the corner of the room.

From what I gather there were two of them, a Dr. Ansom Carter and Dr. Elizabeth Hart, they interviewed and interviewed pregnant women from around the city trying to find one that would give up her child immediately after birth and then forget she had ever had it. They paid the woman an exorbitant amount of money, an eighteen year old named Jessica Albom who was more than willing to be rid of her seed.”

What were they going to do with a child?”

In their report it says that they were trying to prove that God does not exist. That by taking a child who had never been told the word of God, which had never been told of religion, of the church, that if there was a God he would know of Him even if never being told. Am I making sense?”

Not really.”

You need to talk with Dr. Carter, he was the only survivor, and he’d be able to explain it to you a hell of a lot better than I would ever be able to.”

Once inside the station I immediately head towards my office. I sit, trying to prepare myself for the conversation I am about to have. I open a drawer and pull a half-smoked cigar that I have been working on for about a week. I light it and take a big drag, filling the room with its pungent aroma. I take two more puffs, stub it out and pop a mint into my mouth. I exit my office and head down the hallway that leads to the interrogation room. There is an armed guard standing outside the door. I greet him with a nod; he returns it and opens the door. I see Dr. Carter sitting at the table; he is holding a cigarette in his hand with his head pointed down towards the floor. If he notices me, he doesn’t show it. I enter the room, closing the door with a slam; he remains looking at the linoleum.

Hello Doctor Carter, my name is Aaron Hollows; I’m a detective working on the murders at your laboratory. I just have a few questions for you.”

I’ve already been poked and prodded.”

Not by me.”

I have a seat across from him at the table. He looks up at me; his eyes are dark red. A smile crosses his hesitant face; he speaks:

It’s funny; you can go your whole life, in my case thirty six years, and never pick one of these up. In the past two days I have smoked ten cartons, that’s what, two thousand cigarettes? The thing is; I don’t feel any better. I was always told that smoking was a great stress reliever. You ask your friends why they started smoking, they always answer, ‘To relieve stress’. So after two thousand of the little fuckers; why the fuck am I stressed out?”

Maybe because you brutally butchered two of your colleagues,” I say to him.

It’s easy for you to say that because you have no point of reference. You have no fucking clue what happened.”

I have a clue; but I don’t believe a word of it.”

That’s what is great with the way of life we have. You can believe whatever you like. Whatever it is, as long as it’s true to you than that’s the way it shall be. However, say those beliefs were proven false. Everything you’ve lived your life by has been a fabrication. Where do you go from there? You want to believe that I caused the carnage that you stumbled upon; you have every right to do so. But what’s going to happen when what you believe is taken from you? You’ll be left with a book of blank pages and a room full of empty stares. What I’m going to tell you, what you’re going to see, and every word of it is true, there’s film and logs of every action that took place in that lab. You’re going to walk away from this not knowing the next step to make. Be it in your daily life or in this case…”

You really think you disproved the existence of God?”

Oh no, God most definitely exists. He just doesn’t give a shit about us.”

Is that so?”

That’s so.”

And what led to that conclusion?”

The fact that God in no way, shape, or form showed himself to that child. He doesn’t care whether we live or die. We are his little playthings. He probably enjoyed watching that child grow up with no knowledge of who He is. He was probably watching in anticipation, waiting to see what would happen next, I just hope He’s happy with the results of his little game.”

Which would be…?”

Think about it, you’re a smart man as far as I can tell, if the soul is never introduced to good then what is left?”


Exactly. Evil presented itself to that child. It was all he knew for five years. When he was two years old I asked about his dreams, for instance what he dreamt the night before, he replied and I quote, “Your head on a stick.”


Diabolical Scheming of Penile Dislocation

-There’s not an intellectual bone in my body. That’s what he told me. The son of a bitch.

-You could just smite him. (Pause) In the penis.

-You’ve got problems.

-No, I just don’t take shit from insecure men.

-Oh, no, you cause mayhem upon their genitalia.

-Can’t reason with them, dislocate a testicle.

-Yeah, because that solves everything.

-Who is talking about solving anything? Kick him in the balls. Feel better. You don’t. You go home crying about blah blah blah he don’t like me and shit. Think about you. Get some joy out of life.

-Wow, that is horrible advice.

-To each their own…I guess.

The Meteoric Rise of a Broken Heart

I thought to myself what if I just leave. Just leave and not tell anybody and maybe hope they’d forget about me and I could move on with my life not having to think about those mistakes that led me to this point. It didn’t work of course. Everyone has a phone these days. A way to find you or try to find you. As soon as I was one day into my self exile my phone began to blow up with calls and texts wondering where I was, am I okay, friends telling me it’s not the end of the world that things will get better. It just takes time they say. Well, maybe I don’t want time. Maybe I wanted the life I had laid out for me and when that gets stolen from you it doesn’t matter about time or healing. You are in too shitty of a place to comprehend those meanderings. I ignored all pleas for my voice to be heard. To be told of my whereabouts. It didn’t matter right now. I had to do something for myself. What better than to spend two weeks in a house full of strangers and try to write that great novel I had always planned. A writer’s retreat. Made me laugh when I first thought about it. As soon as I began my drive there it felt like the best idea I have ever had.

As I pulled into the driveway of the two story house in which I would spend my next two weeks I felt a sort of relief. The source of all my problems was hundreds of miles away. I was at this strange house where I would have to spend many nights far from everyone I knew. For the first time in three months I didn’t feel tense. The elephant that sat on my chest seemed to shrink in size or maybe become a cheetah. I was alone and it didn’t feel so bad. At the end of the driveway was a gravel square lined with railroad ties that I assumed was for parking; for which I did. Gathered everything that I packed and headed towards the front door which was open so I stepped inside and met Mary. An older lady of about sixty that looked just like a lady who would run a writer’s retreat would look like. Small, gray hair, and oddly stunning green eyes. Had that southern hospitality that which was strange for her being in the north.

“Hello, ” I said as Mary came walking towards me. “I’m Adam. Think I’m the first to arrive.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that. I’m Mary. I’ll be your host and light housekeeper for the next fourteen days. Though just because I say housekeeper doesn’t mean I’m going to go behind you and pick up your dirty undies off the floor. Treat this as you would your own home. I’ll be making breakfast every morning at seven. Lunch and dinner are up to you and the other guests. Now, grab your stuff and I’ll show you to your room,” she continued to talk as she led me. ” You will be sharing the room with one maybe two others just depends on the luck of the draw. They will be co-ed so be respectful. No smoking inside. If you feel that you have to do it there is a gazeebo out back that is away from the house you can feel free to use. Here is your room. There is much more to cover but I will go over that when the rest of the guests arrive. So, stay close by.”

“I will. Thanks.” I walked into the room and Mary made her way back downstairs. I walked to the first bed that I saw and fell on to it. Closed my eyes and let sleep overtake me.


No matter how many miles I put between me and the life I was trying to escape if just for a little while, there was no putting distance between my subconscious and what had happened. As I slept I had a dream. I dreamt about a girl with blue eyes. Eyes you could get lost in if you weren’t careful. Eyes that embarked all the clichés that could be told. She was the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen. In this dream she stood beside me. I felt movement down at my side. I slowly cocked my head down to see what it was. She was taking my hand in hers. Lacing her fingers through mine. I looked at her. A smile that expelled happiness shone back at me. I felt her hand tighten in mine. It all felt so right. A perfect fit. We stood there for what seemed like forever. Looking at each other her lips opened and the three words that ruined my life whispered out; I love you. Her hand then slipped from mine and she began to move away, as if she were being pulled with an invisible rope while wearing roller skates. A sort of floating away while never trying to reach out for me to stop it. As if what were happening was okay. Then she was gone. I stood in that place and watched myself step out of myself. Leaving only a shell of the man I had become. I awoke crying. Something that had never happened to me before. Something that I never even knew was possible.


As I laid in bed staring at the ceiling wondering why I had to take that insidious nap, I heard voices coming from elsewhere in the house. I sat up and made my way downstairs to find six people gathered around Mary. They were holding mugs filled with some sort of hot liquid.

“There’s our early bird,” Mary said. “Thought you might have skipped town. Everyone is here. Go to the kitchen, grab yourself a coffee or tea, whatever suits your fancy. We will move to the living room and begin orientation.”

I did as she said and made my way to the kitchen. Picked up a blue mug, filled it with piping hot brown liquid; added sugar and milk. I turned to join the others in the living room to find a twenty-something blonde standing behind me.

“Refill,” she said lifting her cup in a cutesy way.

“Go right ahead.”

“I’m Kristy.”


“Ready to write your ass off?”

“Don’t know. Been blocked for a while. Figured a change of scenery might help.”

“Can’t hurt.”

“What about you?”

“My mother paid for this. Got it as a present for my twenty-seventh birthday. Told me I need to meet new people. Get my work out there for all to see. I just went along and now I’m here. Drinking coffee.”

I was about to speak when Mary poked her head in. “We will have a meet and great after the orientation. Now come join us. We have a lot to go over.”

Kristy and I looked at each other and smiled like we were children caught disobeying a parent. I grabbed my coffee and walked to the living room for an orientation that lasted over an hour and bored us to tears. It was practically the same speech that I got when I arrived just stretched to last way longer than need be. When Mary had finally finished she excused herself and left us to our own devices.

“Sometimes I wonder why I do these things,” said a male of about thirty. “This is my third time. Never accomplished anything. Most I wrote was a ten page short story that I ended up tossing for being pretentious bullshit,” he looked at the rest of us and replied to our questioning expressions. “So why do I still do it? We’ll say the friendly atmosphere. Or the fact it gets me away from the wife and kids for two weeks out of the year.”

“Thanks for that inspirational speech,” said Kristy. “Really giving me the boost of confidence that I may actually get something done.”

“It’s not my problem if you don’t reach the goals you set for yourself. I’m here for myself. Not to babysit a writer with low self confidence.”

“So you’re going to be it then?” said a brown haired lady of about fifty years old. “Always an asshole in the group. Glad you showed yourself right from the bat.”

The “asshole”, who turned out to be a failed high school English teacher named Peter, made a grunt and left the room.

The fifty year old lady spoke. “I’m Celeste. Nice to meet you all.”



Then there was Andy, an eighteen year old who was trying to write the next great science fiction novel. Said it would be in the vein of Robert Heinlein with a little Stephen King thrown in just for kicks. The last was Forrest. A male of about seventy who just told us his name then excused himself to bed. Andy followed saying he needed to get an early start. Which left Celeste, Kristy and I.

“So what do you write, Adam?”

“Short fiction mostly. No specific genre. Had a few stories published in magazines but nothing big. You?”

“Poetry. Wrote a lot as a teen. Mostly angry why won’t that boy talk to me bullshit. Never submitted anything. Never had that urge.”

“Some writers go their whole lives without the intention of ever sharing their work. There’s no law that says you have to share what you write. I mainly write cookbooks which there’s no point in writing if you don’t send them out to the public. But I have also written a multitude of short stories and poetry that I’d never share with the public. They were written for myself. A way to remember those times that passed that meant a lot to me. The loves lost. That one man that broke my heart and I never recovered. Personal things that only matter to me,” said Celeste.

“You should talk to my mom. She believes I should share everything.”

“She’s just looking out for your best interests. As a mother I know where she’s coming from.”

I sat in silence, not sure if I should ask what came out of my mouth.

“The guy that broke your heart, how’d you cope?”

“You just have to. You take your time and you deal. People will tell you that it takes time and you will get over it but you never do. If the love was real you feel it forever and there are those days, years down the road there will be that one little thing that will send all those memories coursing through your brain. You will love again. The sad thing is, it may never live up to that love you had. But that is life, as they say. Any specific reason you ask?”

“Just asking.”

“Apparently we have a big day tomorrow, so I’m going to hit the sack. Goodnight guys,” Kristy said as she stood and headed towards her room.

“Guess we should do the same,” said Celeste.

I climbed the stairs and entered my room to find Peter asleep in the bed I took my nap in. I gathered my stuff from around his sleeping quarters and set myself up in the empty bed across the room. Climbed in and closed my eyes.


That night I had another dream. I was sitting at the bottom of a pool. My eyes closed and the clear blue water surrounding me. A splash erupted behind me. The one responsible moved towards me as if in slow motion. The figure swam down from above me. Reached out with both hands caressing my face. I opened my eyes and saw that it was my love. The girl with the blue eyes. She moved her lips close to the top of my head and kissed me above my left eye. My eyes closed and the dream ended.


I woke the next morning to find Andy and Peter in my room playing chess. I stood, not saying anything to them and entered the bathroom to relieve myself and brush my teeth. Back in the room I sat on the edge of my bed and watched the game in progress.

“Was that a legal move?” asked Peter.

“Not sure. Not really hundred percent on the rules. Heard a while ago that playing chess will open the mind to other possibilities. Just a thing I do before I write.”

“Have you actually noticed a difference?”

“Not really. But if you don’t play how will you ever know?”

“Seems like a procrastination tactic to me.”

“We all have our quirks.”

Andy turns to me. “How’d you sleep?”

“Same as always.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“Could go either way. Leaning more towards bad.”

“You going to do any writing today?”

“Haven’t thought about it. If I can get my mind right, then maybe.”

“Want to play the winner?”

“I’ll have to pass. Chess was never my thing. Halfway through I get frustrated and stop giving a shit.”

“I can see that.”

“Think I’ll go for a walk. Clear my head.”

As I walked out of the bedroom door Peter called out to me, ” You missed breakfast.” I ignored him and continued down the stairs and out the back door. I walked past the gazebo that was designated for smokers and find it empty. I walked through the backyard and stumbled upon a clearing that led into the a wooded area and followed it in. About ten minutes in I heard the stomping of footsteps as if someone were running. They were coming closer and soon I saw Kristy running slowly towards me. She slowed to a walk and followed beside me.

” Morning Adam. You missed breakfast.”

“So I heard.”

“It was really good. Waffles, eggs.”

“The usual.”


We walk in silence for a while.

“What was that about last night with Celeste?”

“What do you mean?”

“Asking about the guy that broke her heart.”

“Just asking a question.”

“You sure? Seemed more than that.”

“You’ve never had your heart broken?”

“Well sure. But nothing as serious as what you two were getting at. I’ve fallen in love, it didn’t work. I got over it. Nothing that I’ll be thinking about years from now.”

“Just consider yourself lucky.”

“Oh, I wish I had someone that gave a fuck. I wish there had been someone that loved me unconditionally. I would trade all the relationships I’ve had just for that one. I wish I had someone that years from now I would look back and just be like, fuck that was good. What ever happened to that?”

“When you get that, and you will, don’t let it go. It may happen once maybe twice. But just don’t let it go. If there’s anything you take from what I say, let it be this. Don’t ever just play along with the guy. If you aren’t feeling what he feels let him know. Don’t play with his heart. Don’t string him along because you are scared. Because you don’t want to upset him. Trust me. It will be better for the both of you if you just tell him the truth before it gets out of hand.”

“What happened?”

“I’m not ready to talk about it. Hell, my friends keep calling wanting to know where I am and if I’m okay. I can’t bring myself to tell them how I really feel. I’m sure as hell not ready to tell someone I don’t even know.”

“Is that why you really came here? To get away from her?”


“I have to admit. Women are fucked up sometimes.”

“That’s not an excuse.”

“I think there are just things that screw us up. Lead us to make decisions that aren’t the best.”

“How is that fair?”

“It’s not about fair. It’s just life. Shit happens. Sometimes things don’t work out like we want.”

“Then why say it is want you want? Only to turn around out of the blue and say fuck it, I want something else?”

“It’s just life. People are fucked. You have to put a lot of faith that what someone is telling you is the truth. That’s what love is, right? Wholeheartedly putting your faith in that person. Trusting that they will be there for you through thick and thin. Love isn’t about if they can fuck good or how good they look on your arm. If you can’t put all your faith in that person you should never tell them you love them. You are just asking for the shit to hit the fan.”

We walk a few more feet in silence.

“I can see what you are doing. I told you I don’t want to talk about it. You’ve already gotten more out of me than even my best friends.”

“I don’t have an agenda. Just trying to help someone that looks on the verge of doing something he’ll regret.”

“It’s too late for that.”

A Misrepresentation of Mouth to Mouth Resuscitation

-He was ecstatic about his new hair dryer.

-That seems odd.


-Just never heard of a man being overly excited about a hair dryer.

-He has some thing about his hair.

-Still seems odd.

-Then why don’t you ask him, jeez. I thought it was interesting. Guess not.

-Odd can be interesting. This just doesn’t happen to be.

-What do you want from me?

-Never said I wanted anything. You came here. Started some pretty lame gossip. Now we are just sitting. Staring at whatever the hell is going on over there.

-How old is that guy?

-Has to be well over forty.

-She can’t be over twenty.

-Maybe they share a love Butterfingers.

-The candy bar?


-They are making out like there is no tomorrow.

-For him…maybe not. Time is definitely not on his side.

-Poor girl.

-She is living her life. Give her credit for dreaming.

-Dreaming of what? Taking care of a geriatric when she’s only forty. Many a year ahead. Full life to live and she has to change diapers on a grown man.

-You never know. He could grow to be a strong boy. Takes care of himself till the day he dies. I’m sure she’ll keep his body working, you know, sexually.

-Yeah, I got that. Now I’m picturing it. Thanks a lot.

-I think he just cupped her boob.

-I am leaving.


-Don’t need to see young on old sexual perversities.

-It’s natural.

-What’s going on there is not natural.

-You are only saying that because it is going on right in front of you. If they were in a bedroom closed off from prying eyes you wouldn’t think twice about it.

-Exactly. That’s why I’m leaving. I don’t want to see it. Hell, I don’t want to see two beautiful people kissing and groping. Much less someone who could be my father sticking his tongue in and all over some girl my age. You can stay and get your kicks but, I’m out.

-Don’t leave. Let’s just move. There’s a bench over there far away from this.


-See, only the clear night sky to fill your eyes.



-Moving. That was noble of you.

-It’s not like I wanted to stare at them.

-Just say welcome.


-When I was little I would stare at the sky and wonder who changed all the little lights. I asked my dad if I could do that when I grew up.

-That’s silly.

-I was like five or six. You have big dreams at that age, no matter how silly.

-I wanted to be a chef. I would make all types of food with clay and putty and pretend I was on a cooking show.

-See. Now how do you feel about that?

-You couldn’t pay me. Too much work.

-Look at that…

-The old guy left.


-The old guy. He left but the girl is still there.

-What’s she doing?

-Just sitting there. It’s weird.

-How could it get any weirder.

-She’s not moving.

-You have to recover sometimes.

-It’s not like that. Like a death stillness.

-How would you know?

-You just know.

-Oh, you do huh? Go check.

-No thanks.

-Why not?

-Say Gramps did kill her. He could be lurking in the shadows waiting for someone to investigate.

-If he were going to do anything to us he’d do it. It’s dark as shit and nobody else is around.

-It’s the principle of the matter. If he is a killer he has his ritual. They all do.

-You’ve seen too many movies.

-Movies have nothing to do with it. I’m just using my brain.

-There’s a first time for everything.

-You’re so smart you go check. She’s dead. I’m sure. Hasn’t moved this entire time.

-Fine. You see anything creeping behind me just, you know, warn me.

-What do you see?

-You are right. She’s dead. Looks strange.

-What do you mean strange?

-She looks dry.


-She’s all wrinkly. Mummy like.

-What was that guy doing? Maybe sucked the life out of her.

-That can’t happen.

-Why not?

-This is real life.


-It’s like something out of those shitty books you read.

-Stephen King is not shitty.

-Keep telling yourself that. I heard if you repeat it over and over it will come true one day.

-Screw you.



-Her nose just fell off. It’s all dusty.

-He sucked the life out of her. I think I’m going to shit myself.

-That’d be a perfect addition to this night.

-I think we should go.

-What’s wrong?

-Swear I just saw something.


-Behind you. To the left of you. Kind of all around you.

-What should I do?

-I think we’re fu…





Out Phrom Under the Sanktitty of Fourgottin Wurds (Part 1)


October 2, 2004 was the day it happened. I was eating a sausage, a pickle, two types of cheese; swiss and…crap what was it….


“Don’t even do that, don’t you make an appearance yet. I have to build up the suspense, get the audience worked up for you.”

(Everyone has a me so you are trying to be mysterious about something that the audience already knows about. That’s poor storytelling. Besides you were about to tell everyone about me…screw it…I’m his soul. I can talk. So, there. Ruined your surprise. But wait, they already knew this because their soul can talk. Book over.)

“You’re an asshole.”


“Actually. Just let me tell my story the way I want to tell my story. Not everyone’s story is the same. Yes, they have annoying voices inside them, but, we’re kind of special.”

(The night rang out in a thunder clap that could’ve awoken the Gods. Luis sat with his thumb in his rear as he did every night waiting like a crow in a corn field for just the right moment to strike at life and make it meaningful. The light emitting from the computer screen turned his pale face a mirage of pleasant colors making it the one time in his life that you would not be disgusted in giving it a glance…)

“Harty har…lets make fun of me why don’t you.”

(Better beginning than you had.)

“Screw this…I’m starting over and without you butting in. Now…start chapter two.”

(That’s not how this works.)

“Don’t make me…


The night rang out in a thunder clap that could’ve awoken the Gods.



(Stooping to plagiarism?)

“You never published that.”

(Try again. I swear, if you do it right I won’t butt in.)


(Would I lie?)


(Well I’m not this time.)



I remember being a child and my mother trying to explain to me what a soul is. I was confused, thought she was a little crazy and tried to figure out why the woman that gave birth to me was playing this kooky trick on me. I remember asking:

“Mom you love me right?”

“Of course I love you.”

“Then why are you lying to me?”

“I’m not lying my darling Luis.”

“You just told me someone lives inside me and I don’t feel anyone living inside me so you have to be lying cause you are not telling the truth but you told me that not telling the truth is called lying so were you lying then as well?”

“Sweetie, it’s not like that.”

“That’s what you said.”

And it went on like this for a really long time. I have to thank my mother sometime for being so patient with my six year old self. I would’ve choked him/me/whatever. She just sat there with that heavenly smile. Knowing one day I would have all my answers. I got them. Fifteen years later.

October 2, 2004 I was eating lunch with a girl I had been seeing pretty regularly. Just eating, talking, looking at each other in that goofy way young love does.

“…the girl gets raped by a tree,” she says.

“That kind of thing happens when you summon demons.”

“Don’t you find it grotesque? I mean who comes up with that kind of shit anyway?”

“It’s a horror movie. Grotesque is its nature. What do expect from a movie titled “The Evil Dead”? Gummy bears rising from graves and smothering you in rubbery, sticky hugs?”

“I expect stupid people running around getting killed. Not raped by trees.”

“You think that’s bad, how about “Steel Magnolias”? Julia Roberts dies. Leaves her children motherless. The guy from “Picket Fences” has to raise his children all alone. On a daily basis he has to explain to them that their mother is never coming back. That they are stuck with him and his burly mustache. Fast forward a few years. Dad’s a drunk, lost his job. Can’t recover from the loss of his one true love. His bratty children run amuck screwing the slutty forty year old neighbor who lures teen boys with her fake boobs and nude sunbathing. All have served jail time and can’t get a decent job for their criminal records. They become homeless maybe addicted to whatever drug they can get their hands on by offering sexual favors to those willing. They die horrible deaths from drugs, disease, whatever. Now you tell me what’s more grotesque…one tree rape or years of human suffering all because Julia Roberts couldn’t get her insulin right or something like that.”

“You are ridiculous.”

“You are not the first to say that.”

“But you’re cute so, you take the good with the bad.”

I sat back in my chair and smiled. She smiled back.

(She’s cute.)

“Are you alright?” she asks referring to my instantaneous freak out from hearing a voice in my head.

(Dude, chill. You’re freaking her out.)

“Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“There is someone talking to me. Said you were cute.”

(You just blew this. Great job. That’s not a look of confusion on her face. That’s horror. I think she’s going to run.)

“I didn’t hear that. Everything okay over there?”

At that moment she gave me the same look I was probably giving her. I looked around the food court of the mall we were sitting in. Confusion everywhere. A woman screamed and dropped her new purchases not thinking twice about them. This was the day our souls came to life. The day no one’s life would ever be the same.