1. Ssssssshhh-tsssk!


    Every time she held her breath, silence. With each exhale, the invisible sound of her coming reckoning shuffled heavily closer on the other side of the door. It smelled of burnt cinnamon and nutmeg, and it brought on a metallic, acrid taste of blood in her mouth as she felt it draw closer, as if someone had taken the bare underbelly of the holiday season and eviscerated it with a branding iron.

    Suddenly feeling uncomfortably aware of the fact her hands were empty, her palms started sweating and her fingers groped around her person for something to hold, busy themselves with, take up as arms. She clutched at her hands and forearms as the taste grew stronger in her mouth. She felt her skin… its softness… its vulnerability. She felt her racing heartbeat, and the blood coursing through every one of her veins. She felt her breath fill her lungs, and the raw forces of life pulsing through her tense, anxious physical form. And for the first time in her life, she understood that she was a very large, tantalizing piece of meat, and her whole existence up to this point was pretty much akin to that of an overpriced swine on a fine diet of acorns, black walnuts and molasses.

    Today, she was du jour.

    Liked by 3 people

      1. Thanks. Ya, I couldn’t italicize ‘du jour’ so I just threw it in sans any other flourish to see if it may land as a “she’s-the-meal-of-the-day” sort of reference. Guess it didn’t land…


  2. “They call it cosplay,” Jim told her. She just grumbled under her breath. She hated it when her job made a joke of her and the scantily-clad women dressed as characters from anime, Star Wars, Game of Thrones and God-knows-what milled around. Lurking nearby were sweaty pale geeky boys who probably hadn’t left their mom’s basement in years.
    Heather found the whole thing insulting. Remembering the good old days on the job, when the office was electric. A room for of writers overflowing with ideas clamouring to make them work. And they did. The ideas came together like cream in coffee. Law & Order but in outer space. A time travel show that crossed a multiverse of possible worlds. You only had to come up with a fragment of an idea and the team would finish it and it would be a hit show. Now they were scouring a sci-fi con for inspiration. A perfect example of the bad ideas her time had been coming up with.

    Liked by 3 people

  3. She was cold as fuck and the world was going on and on about little trumpie dick, as she liked to call him, being dead. It had been a long two day trip in the most nominal car she’d ever had and that was why she was so cold. No heater, passenger side window completely missing and the skylight window was cracked. At least it wasn’t going to rain. No it would not rain, she was in Montana in the middle of the night, it was 12 degrees F and it had been snowing for the last six hours. She was cold.

    She was guessing about ten more hours on the road before hitting the relatively warm 30s of Seattle. Aww, here we go again more about the white house baboon. If she thought she could stay awake she would turn off the radio. No wifi, no bars, the radio or silence. But why are they so obsessed with him, guess what guys? He’s gone, dead, dead and deader.

    It was bizarre, she knew that. How could there have been no cameras, no security, even if he’s a tool we were all still pretending he was a president.

    As if his body had materialized from the spot it was strewn on, he lay there twisted and naked. It was the front lawn of the White House and there was a big black arrow right beside him pointing to Lincoln Park. One of the gangsta types in the crowd had claimed it was pointing to a bench where Snoop Dogg had sat smoking a blunt and saying Fuck Trump. That arrow might be the one thing that made sense about the scene.

    The Feds were going nuts. The president had been brutally murdered with no evidence of a struggle. For Pete’s sake, his hands were clean and the person who had murdered him and taken the time to extract his stomach through his anus. At first they had assumed it was done posthumously.

    They had posed the body in a twisted fashion. He had been found predominately on his right side with his left hand reaching to the right. His face was staring straight up to the sky and his mouth had been propped open with two sturdy twigs and of course there was a piece of his penis inside. His right hand was stretched back behind him, holding his bowels as if it was a rope. UMPH, she still didn’t care, it hadn’t happened in time. He had viewed the people of her country as nothing but consumers, fodder for the rich. As far as she was concerned, he had now “bought” his.

    No one understood the brutality of the scene. But she did, with that much brutality, they were never going to look for a woman.

    Liked by 2 people

    1. You immediately captured my attention with your opening sentence. Your words that follow it made me feel the chill. I liked this piece.


  4. A Lovesong from a ‘Gator to His Keeper

    I’ve got a secret, a secret I have to hide
    Oh no oh no
    It’s pretty simple so maybe I’ll confide
    Oh yeh oh yeh
    It’s when I’m hungry, so hungry I will tweet oh yeh oh yeh
    And here’s the secret- it’s really kinda sweet,
    Oh yeh oh yeh
    Oh Mr. Keeper, it’s you I wanna eat,
    oh yeh oh yeh
    And such a treat, I tell you
    No mystery No horror
    Oh yeh oh yeh
    Just fleshy humans, so tasty
    And so filling
    Oh yeh, oh yeh
    A happy ‘gator
    A tiny little killing.

    Liked by 3 people

  5. All he ever wanted was to consume her; all of her is all he wanted. Nothing more really. She had consumed all of his thoughts, as of late, and so, under the light of mischief, he plotted and schemed and felt utterly pleased with his new intention, his new delight.

    It was, at this time, that the plots and plans began to unravel, began to thin, even before they had been fully hatched. The plan, necessarily ends in the capture of Bina. Whether or not he is capable of letting the thought go, matters little at this point, nevertheless, his reality begins to dawn on him. Is he really capable of harming her bodily self in order to enjoy her entirely? But then, she’d be gone. Consumed. Essentially part of him but not fully herself either.

    The thoughts appealed to him greatly, but the thoughts regarding the thoughts haunted him even more intensively. No one is sure what happened first, and no matter what anyone “who knows” says, there is no way of knowing. Instead, simply hear the truth, and the truth is that Bina is nowhere to be found, and everything from his lifeless corpse lies cold on the floor of his own home, everything, that is, except his stomach.

    TK Camas

    p.s. if anyone has a suggestion for a word to replace “intensively” in the last paragraph, i’m all ears!

    Liked by 2 people

      1. i wasn’t thinking spiders, but that’s a really good idea. so, YES, spiders!

        p.s. you know, i JUST read yours, and it’s interesting that we both had some sort of “missing bowel” situation.


  6. Multicolored shards of the churches rows of stained glass windows glittered the floor and far ends of the rotting pews. I walked through the aisle of debri down the center of the pews; the parting of the sea. A beam of light shone through the gaping hole in the roof, illuminating the dew in the moss that covered all surfaces. A chill crept in through the exposed windows and crawled over the surface of my skin.

    It’s rumored in our small town that there were thirty six people here that night. The elders never speak of it. I’ve asked my grandmother about the odd gaps between folks standing together in our family photos and the blank lines in the old phone books and all she said was, “Those consumed by immortality will eventually meet their reckoning.”

    They come to me in my dreams. The people covered in tar. They are neither frightening nor welcoming; neither cold nor warm. I know it is them. I can feel it.

    My husband Mark is ashamed of me. This I also know. He doesn’t bring me around his friends anymore. We’ve barely spoken in three years. We continue to live out the monotonous motions of a marriage; after all, what else is there to do? Once every half year we have motionless, detached sex out of necessity, but mostly we do not speak. Especially not about my walks through the woods.

    Liked by 2 people

    1. ooooo! yay! yes! brava! encore! this is so good i already got lost in it. when’s the book come out? don’t listen to anyone’s opinion or suggestions, just WRITE THIS BOOK!

      Liked by 1 person

  7. It was a bare bones existence, pay check to pay check. She clutched her meager cash. It would be gone before the next paultry check came, and she wondered for the millionth time, how could she manage , with all the medical bills for her broken daughter. Trapped in this job, paid minimum wage, but also health insurance, which in turn covered the mounting bills, she knew it was killing her. It was time for desperate actions.

    She’d never done any thing illegal before, but knew she could, knew she was clever enough. After all she had read enough mysteries to know what worked. She’d have to be covert though. Dragging in tired to work would be a sure give away. Didn’t want people talking, wondering what she was up to. It was a desperate plan, but then so was she.

    Liked by 1 person

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