Survival and starvation breed insanity in the minds of the weak willed.
The weak don’t last long.
Here’s Alex.

—————————————————————————-

The voices scramble in my head. Fighting. Striking all the cords. Lighting sparking up my neurons. Causing pain. So on. And so on.

The scent of sulfur squeezes in under the crack of the door. Seductive. Alluring. It could all be over if I give in. A doorknob away.

Pitch black footsteps on the other side. Some drag. Others pace.

A scent which promotes a familiar taste. Iron. Strong. It lingers in this place.

Greed lead the curious cat to Death’s door. Whether or not I want to remain here anymore is no longer a choice I get to make. Best case scenario is to endure.

It’s been days and the daze is setting in. Not many ways this could end. I’ve already debated running outside. And I hate it, knowing I might die. But there’s no other way to…

He pulls the trigger to take his life. He lives a lifetime waiting to die.

———————————————-

Curious, the thought lingers in the back of his mind. “What will it feel like on the other side?” His tongue massages the steel barrel. Tastes of lead. “I’m over this end. Time for something new.”

Trigger pulled, he feels himself fall to the side at a pace so slow it might not even be happening. Fractions of seconds stretch to feel like hours. 100 million thoughts run through his mind as his eyes crawl the wall to the ceiling.

It seems that days go by watching the bulb on the ceiling dim down.

Lucy, the wife walks into view getting ever slower. Finally fully in sight, the terror trapped in her eyes is visible. Horror. Holding little Suzie, too young to know what’s going on.

Lucy paces her way up to a scream. She’s nearly no more than a silhouette. Swallowed by the dark the remaining specs of light blink away. The everlasting fade goes on for infinities. “Bye,” is his last thought as nothing is left behind.

And his eyes are fixed on a new spot of light left dancing off in the distance.

It’s a million miles away but getting bigger. Coming closer. Blinding it gets. And it overtakes the darkness leaving no trace. White floods the ambience. A perpetual ring in the ears. Muffled voices in an unfamiliar language.

Giant creatures like nothing seen before. Yet there is no recollection of seeing anything before this moment. There is no memory of this mysterious, confusing, terrifying place…

...this world began to form within the text. It wasn’t clear what I was looking at when I began, but as I continued the things written earlier became clearer. And I’d go and I’d make tiny adjustments to keep things consistent throughout the entire text. And these people within the universe I created developed personalities and lives. And as I continued to write they had families and friends. Loved..

...that many times over with things as casual as a hobbies or mere chance… It’s just a thing I’m doing. A goal needs to have a sense of accomplishment and purpose. Neither of which are characteristics I associate with quantity, less I be materialistic too, but I don’t own much and don’t plan to. What do you mean, exactly?

“I just mean it’s impressive!”

I’m not sure what it is that you think is impressive. I said I’d do a thing and now I’m doing it… Is it impressive I’m actually doing the thing I said I’d do? In which case, do you walk around in awe all day long as you go about your day encountering people who are actively doing the thing they said they’d do? I’m confused. Okay, okay, let’s take a step back because this isn’t making sense to me! Let’s start at square one: is the congratulations...

...holding from tearing apart and the necessity for oxygen forgotten, “What?” she asks. “How is this possible?” She’s in panic mode.

“You wanted someone to understand you. Who can understand you more than me, yourself?” he says and glances at the pen in his hand, then at the pen in hers.

She stares at the pen in his hand following him, and then at the pen in hers, and then back at his empty hand.

“I don’t understand what’s going on!” The confusion is nearly infuriating, but she’s shaking with the icy terror consuming her bones. Before long her body begins to dive into a shock, freezing and sending her into catatonic pause...

After learning the president has been lying to her for as long as she's known him, Team Leader Rachel Chambers sets out to learn the truth behind this secret facility her and her team have walked into, in this second part to Fighting The Crooks

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

As if a veil of lies was lifted from her, team leader Rachel Chambers is frozen. Stuck. Terrified at what her eyes can’t unsee.

Hidden from within the shadows with three of her squad mates they watch as The United States of America’s First Lady directs a heavily armed troop to prep children for slave labor.

This team, self-titled ‘The Patriots’, have been faced with the cold hard truth that their patriotism has been in the name of a corrupt government all along. Their willingness to serves blinded them from what’s been going on under their noses all along.

“What do we do, Cap?” Zack the medic asks for the second time.

“I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I need to think,” Chambers replies. “God! This is so fucked up!” She clenches her fists and jaw fighting back the urge to gun down every guard in the facility. But knowing she’d get killed in exchange is enough to hold her back. There is more than meets the eye going on in this facility and she needs to get to the bottom of it. She needs to get revenge on the corrupt president she’s served for seven years being lied to every step of the way.

Chambers’ thoughts are fogged while resisting the tunnel vision to act immediately. “Alexander,” She says.
”Yes, sir?” The stealth recon officer asks.
”Take charge. I can’t even focus,” Chambers tells him.
”Immediately, sir.” Alexander responds. For her entire fifteen year career leading the team she’s had Alexander Paviolla by her side as her right hand. Her better and calmer judgement. Her best friend. Greatest rival. Second in command. No soldier does Chambers trust more.
”Okay, team,” Alexander begins.” We have to get…

Fighting the Crooks is a Political Narrative of patriots doing what they must for their country to honor the president.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

“This is the moment of truth, guys. This is where we make our stand against this liberal tyranny we continue to see,” The team leader says. “They’re no different than Hitler’s Germany. They feel it’s right to take hostile action against us for having opposing views while asking us to tolerate each action they took similar during the ruling of their leader. We will no longer stand for this!”

She raises her fist to the outcry of the other four team members,“In honor of the President!”

For several weeks they’ve planned out invading this facility to free a hostage held by the President’s opposition. The liberals, angry they’ve not yet gotten their way have begun to take drastic measures in their attempt to manipulate political choices.

This team lead by Senior Officer Chambers dubbed themselves ‘The Patriots’ upon devising a plan to rescue the hostage, the president’s wife. Originally they brought the plans to the president directly, but worried for their lives he…

...repercussion of my poor choice. A death which could have been avoided easily had I just decided to lead my team out of the battlefield. But I didn’t because of a singular dramatic moment I had with a stranger where I promised him that before my men and I evacuate the battlefield I would come back and rescue him and his family, all whilst knowing how unrealistic it was to assume we’d bring them back just because.

It happened in the middle of a field. He told me, “All I want is to leave and give my family an opportunity.”

And without much thought to the matter, because it sounded...

...the door she stands from her wheel chair, a tire.
It fell asleep under her table of contents on page 23 of the manual drive mustang.
The horse drives it and crawls out of the cock pit...

...bought a sword a couple of weeks ago and I’ve been using Youtube to figure out how to use it so I can go hunt that dragon. Found a cheap shield on Ebay. It’ll be on the way in a couple of day. Also ordered an armor suit to have a few more defense points and...

...deep distorted voice says “It’ll leave if I do this!” While moving your jaw open and shut. Alone on your side it’s as though you first thought it and then said it. As if the demon only exists across the mirror. And everything on this end is voluntary. Thought out. Intentional. Choice.

“It’s in my head!” you say. “He only wants me to think it’s his doing!”

The demon lip syncs each word, hand moving your puppet jaw.

You think to pierce skin with the blade of the razor and the demon reaches back down to your arm and begins to press it into the skin. Vibrant burgundy blood gathers around the cut. Then wraps around the wrist and drips to...

...looks familiar when he gets out of the dumpster. He’d already been roaming unfamiliar streets when he found the building and jumped out the window avoiding ghouls.

“So, I’m lost…” he says, back on the street unable to tell which direction he came from. “Nothing new there.”

Luckily the coast was mostly clear with exception for two or three stragglers. Ghouls from the night before. Alex quickly disposed of them and took the opportunity to track and find painkillers ahead of time. An expired bottle of Tylenol. “Fun times await you, little ones.” He tells the bottle of Oxycontin as he shoves it in his backpack and continues his journey...

...The best bet was to leave the campus if people started to eat other people. Why stick around? But it was worse out here. More death. This thing that’s happening is happening everywhere.

In front of the Chunky Burger there’s too many of them. They’re ruthless. And Zack can’t talk himself into looking. He doesn’t want to see it keep happening. They’re tear innocent people apart and he can’t even try to help. Those things have taken down giant powerful men. Zack’s just a kid starting college. Undeveloped shoulders predict a child with this sickness easily takes him down. He’s paralyzed.

Behind him the screams get worse.

More people are dying.

More people are killing...

...explode from every direction. His back vibrates each time a bullet hits the brick wall he’s against.

Derrick was separated from his group in the middle of a supply run. The stricken force them to split up.

Trying to get back he came across these pure bloods eager to steal what he’s scavenged and do who knows what to him. It’s never good. And he needs to deliver the loot. Crucial medicines are in his bag. Medicines someone back at camp needs immediately.

Many times the monsters of this world aren’t the stricken but rather the pure bloods. The people who’ve managed to escape the plague of the stricken have only done so through aggressive brutality. The stricken are small potatoes to the thinking pure bloods. People who torture for what they want. Without a moral compass. They kill indiscriminately. They rape and steal whatever, whoever, whenever.

After the fall of the government the law dissolved. Survival of the fittest began but was overtaken by survival of the monstrous.

Derrick is cornered. Wedged into the gap in a brick wall. There’s nowhere left for him to run. His pistol is dry. Panicked, he...

...shrieking of screamer ghouls buries the whimpering of the grumblers. It hits Alex like nails on a chalkboard, amplified by the migraine. They’ve caught his scent. He opens one eye to assure his lead pipe is nearby. He’s kept the pipe since it first saved his life and remained the one reliable weapon he can use. He tried others, but they didn’t go too well. Like the time he tried to use an easier to wield kitchen knife, but was forced to get too close to a screamer and almost died.

The pipe is there, but fizzy. The migraine makes it hard for Alex’s eye to focus or gather the right amount of light. Things turn out to be fuzzy, nearly shapeless blobs that are too dim or too bright. He grabs it from the edge of the bed where he flung it. His grip tightens around the base of the pipe. “I could do this,” he tells himself.

Alex’s only chance for survival now lies in getting out of the building and away from the horde before they reach him or see him. They’ll inch closer tracking his scent. As long as they don’t lay eyes...

...stand closer together and merge into one observer. A living shadow obsessed with the nearest star. Dozens of ballet dancing fireflies twirl out of the woods. Spinning and dancing around this bigger deformed shadow.

Birds glide away into the sun. They become silhouettes themselves and vanish between the sky and ocean.

The shadow divides into two and face the emptied forest...

...in view, a small military unit and several civilians back up past the alley. Alex debates coming out and joining them, but before he could decide to do so they’re out of site on the other side of the alley. Following them is a horde of infectees. Hundreds deep. He figures keeping his silence is the safest bet. In all probability they’re going to die in a few short moments.

In the last two days Alexander has seen the infectees attract more of their kind. They travel in packs. The assumption is that the same situation is taking place. He devises a plan to creep away in the opposite direction of the horde. If done with good timing it might be clear enough to move unnoticed. To escape the area undetected. He’d be the ghost of the apocalypse...

...one of them just died. The symptoms are identical in the one I’m watching and she has just begun to seize. No words describe the horror I feel. This patient that isn’t even mine. Dr. Krapovski left me in charge while he tends to his recently deceased other patient. I’m alone.

The nursing staff scrambles into the room with a crash cart. A couple of deep breaths and I focus. Pull back onto the game. The balls on my court.

A nurse hands me levetiracetam and I sent it right through the patients IV. She rapidly calms to a full halt before her monitor flat lines.

The nurse preps the defibrillator. I apply both paddles. “CLEAR!” I say. The girl’s body jumps, chest...

...but he tries to relax. He can’t seem to stop kicking and flailing wildly.

As James struggles to hold himself up the rope swings left and right. Bounces up and down. Tightens as it twists and turns making it increasingly difficult to grip.

“How do I get out of this?” James tries to focus, “How do I pull myself up and over?” but he can barely keep it together. Images of family members and his children keep getting in the way. His mind wanders against his will. He rather keep it on solutions. Active and capable. But his rational mind believes it’s too late.

Struggling with which...

An entire story summed up in the last paragraph. Only five sentences.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Next time a fairy wakes you to go on an adventure into the demon realm, call me,” Adam says playing with the pendant he brought back. Still it glows with the energy of the demon now trapped inside.

“Eliza will love it,” Ralf says. “She wouldn’t have been able to escape without your help. That’s all she cares about.”

Flash Fiction written in under ten minutes as an exercise. Jack dives into the first person perspective of the last living moments of a kid trying to impress a girl having gone wrong.

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This isn’t how it was supposed to go. There is no way to turn back now and it’s all a waste. Hindsight is 20/20. We only realize our mistakes could have easily been avoided had we given them just a little more thought. But there is no turning back now. There’s no way to save the moment.
All of this for a girl. Who would have imagined the lights would be cut off this way? To prove a point. To show off. Faster than a speeding bullet, yet even the Flash knew when to take a breather. When to take an extra second to think.
Now that it’s going this way, I’m not even sure I get what I was trying to accomplish. How could any of this have played out well?
As if time slowed down, nearly to a halt, this moment goes on forever. I see a second by second breakdown of the last plays of the game and…

Rosemary is a brief comedy telling the story of a director of the same name during an award ceremony.

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Frozen in place Rosemary quivers as it dawns on her, the crowds gaze right through her. They've not yet recognized she's there. All her efforts in becoming a successful director gone to waste as no one knows it's the premiere of her film in the first place.

She isn't the most attractive of women. And this happens at each of her premieres. She goes unnoticed. But this time she's had it. Rosemary came ready to end the night with a bang.

"If they don't remember me now, then it doesn't matter," she whispers speaking to herself. A normal occurrence these days. Her delusive mind has gradually collapsed on itself and her obsessive need for this attention drives her motivations. She can't seem to cope with the fact that her films turn out to be each year's box office top seller yet she remains unknown to the world. "It's the first goddamn credit in…

Charlie, a young boy, faces his bedtime fears alone for the first time in this Flash Fiction narrative.

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It sounds like breathing, Charlie thinks. Scared, he pulls the blanket way over his head. Eyes wide open.

He notes that it’s quiet, too quiet. He’s is freaked out at the fact that he can’t hear the breathing anymore and thus can’t determine if the monster is still under the bed. The terror of what it could even be has him paralyzed.

Screaming for mom or dad is Charlie’s first impulse, but he’s more reasonable than that. If the monster is still in the room it might have not yet noticed Charlie which would change if he was too loud. He stays quiet and devises a plan B instead.

Reaching into memory, Charlie remembers any other time a monster found its way into his closet or under his bed dad destroys them by turning the light on. “That’s what I’ll have to do!” he hypes himself up searching for the courage to accept and accomplish the task at hand. Inactivity isn’t a long term solution.

“Turn the light on!” Charlie yells hopping right out of under the blanket and off the bed. The monsters roars giant and breaks from beneath the bed flipping it somewhere behind Charlie.

Charlie’s sprinting like an Olympic track athlete after gold. The monster hot on his tail closing in. They bob and weave around toys scattered across the floor. It suddenly clear why mom always said “pick your toys up!”

The monster begins to open its mouth when Charlie reaches the light switch. He flicks it on just as the monster reaches him and it vanishes from the universe.

Charlie turns to see an empty room. The universe corrected for the monsters actions and put the bed right back where it needed to be.

“I knew that would work!” Charlie assures himself. He felt like a big boy finally. Fighting the monsters without the help of dad.

Flash Fiction story of a lone soldier.

_________________________________________________________________

Collective battle cries, massive as they fall from the sky armed and ready.
Nair drops at hundreds of miles per hour. He watches fellow troops explode into misty clouds and disperse. He swears theirs spirits are visibly rising. “It won’t happen to me… It won’t happen to me,” he says closing his eyes as he nears the ground. Opens his eyes to the realization he’s drifted too far right and lost sight of his squad.

One after the other, millions at a time, troops land. The closer to the bottom the more hopeful Nair is he’ll survive, he won’t be vaporized.

He crashes in the middle of the street and is surrounded by unfamiliar soldiers.

Even down here troops are exploding into ghost like clouds. Nair feels a panic rise in him.

“Save as many as you can! Save as many as you can!” Squad leaders yell through their lung’s capacity.

This snaps Nair back to reality and he sprints into action. If one life is saved before getting vaporized his life was meaningful.

He hops over the giant craters in the grounds leading down to nowhere. Dodges the quicksand-like dirt.

All the loners are dying, but squads don’t seem to be harmed. “The weak are being picked off. I need to make it to the woods before It’s me!” he tells himself.

The heat on his arms begins to build up, but the woods are right ahead. He can make it. Sprint on.

Alongside thousands of other soldiers Nair makes a final reach for the woods but evaporates shy of the grass.

Swerving to dodge the pillars of ice as they fall. Giant, like street lamps raining down on the city. Like ants we scramble for cover wherever it might show. Tall buildings have to be the safest. The higher floors might shield the lower ones long enough to think, but we all had the same idea. Buildings are full and barricaded to stop more people from squeezing into already packed places.

Looking at the street you’d believe everyone was outside hoping to get hit.

Heaven’s carpet bombing rattles the ground into an earthquake. Cracks form on the street and gradually tears it apart from the inside.
I’m barely dodging this ice nightmare from second to second. Five whole blocks of repeated close calls lead my old mustang crashing through the glass double doors of the local corporate soap company. It’s just empty enough to hit no one as I end what once was a beautiful lobby.

Safe and alive, I’m unhappily welcomed to the building. Behind me, a swarm of people begin to flood in through the gap left…

Kate lays in the corner, syringe dug deep into the purple bruise she calls her vein. The vacant body is alive but its host is elsewhere. Her gaze travels through the walls off into infinity. Indistinguishable from the dead. She might as well be a zombie.

It wears and clarity arrives. Memories of the accident in which they all died. She once had a husband and children, but that’s in the past.

The syringe makes it all a lie. Nothing exists and neither does she.

I pray because I love lying to God and as humans we all love free things. On the off chance something happens, I’ll have already been in line for the profit.

Somehow this relates to when I was hanging out at a #MeToo roofie bar the other night and met this chick who’s date had been too boring and thus she joined the movement. Spent the night together. She already forgot who I am.

I told her she needs God in her life when I crossed paths with her in the Supermarket. “You’re a sinner, bitch!”

“So are you!” She says.

“Only God judges me, bitch!” I respond.

Later a pray God saves her because she is broken, but I’m fine so I just ask for a new car and weed money.

Sunday church, Sexy nuns save my soul. One in the confessional and amen.  

Half way to the bronze doorknob, letter in hand, Hue freezes up paranoid.

“But… What if…?” he doesn’t finish.

Clarisse just happens to open the door a second shy of Hue talking himself out of this.

His eyes are locked on hers. He’s sweating cannon balls. Hue’s horrified, mortified standing there reaching out with a letter he almost managed to never delivering.

Eyes wide. He looks like an idiot and he knows it, but he can’t fix his face or his body and remains frozen in place.

Finally she speaks. “Is… Is that for me?” she asks.

He doesn’t speak, instead, Hue reaches out further with the letter and Clarisse snatches it. The envelope stood no chance against her insatiable need-to-know.

“EEEK!” Clarisse claps and screams. Tightly wrapping her arms around Hue she whispers, “Yes… I’ll marry you!”

And Hue feels his veins become raceways for a relaxing adrenaline rush-hour of endorphins.

Flash forward ten years and they’re still together.  Got a boy of six and a girl of five and moved up North.

That’s the greatest tragedy that’s ever occurred in this little town.

Who thinks something like this would happen in such a quiet safe place?

Guy marries his sister and kidnaps two children before disappearing up North, never to be seen again. That’s pretty fucked up.

They stopped looking on the second day but the promos ran for months.

A Flash Fiction story using 80s Cliche Tropes:

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Cut to a car chase. Black glistening roads, rainclouds for twenty years. It hasn’t stopped once. Brightly lit sky blue neon street signs whiz by as Officer Alex “Rex” Thunder peruses the suspect from street to street dodging traffic.

Both street and sky sidewalks are densely packed with spectators in the latest Illumination Wear. Neon red and green clothing appear as light smudges when racing down the city streets at 450mph.

Screens on most buildings advertise products for sale. The new watch that’ll control your car. Self-warming jacket. But here and there you see the chase displayed on the side of news station buildings. They follow its development from hover cars above the tallest towers.

For five years Rex has followed the clues never expecting it to lead to this person, a close friend. Working alone on the case and fueled only by the hunger for revenge he finally found where this friend hid.

The suspect’s silhouette jumps from the car and darts into a nightclub, “Juicies” displayed in blinding red letters on the business’s face. He disappears behind the crowd of neatly lit people.

The dark cloud lingering over New Neo City forced fashion trends to lean towards bright clothing that lights up to compensate for the everlasting night. Designers frenzied over the possibility and dubbed the city The Dark Fashion Capital. Within ten years the city’s fashion had morphed into an entirely new beast in business and tourism and dragged in criminal...

Observations Report:

Planet: Sun 3
Density: Moderate
Magnetic Poles: Strong
Molten Core: Active
Tectonic Plates: Many
Seasons: 4
Weather: Variety

Fauna: Lush
Fauna Intellect: Pre-Conscious, 77% to meeting the ‘Intelligent Life’ Bar
Flora: Lush
Atmosphere: Dissipating

These biological creatures seem to coexist with machines of all type.
They’re viciously hostile to other biological life forms but seem nearly symbiotic with...

...overwhelms her and puts Stacy in a catatonic state of rapid contemplation.

Family wants to meet the newborn and Stacy’s agreed to fly to Arizona to introduce her lovely new daughter to them, but as the date of the flight approached the anxiety built up, the regret for agreeing settled in. Now, she must make a choice.

In Stacy’s mind a film replays the solution for the same problem the last time it came up, ten years ago. She drowned little baby Liz with the excuse that she got into the tub and filled it on her own. The police always sides with the mother...

An entire story packed into a single line of dialogue.

"Look, I know you've lost a lot to get this chalice. It's power will, in fact, return the planet to a healthy green living sphere, but if you don't cross the stream and return to your reality I'm afraid you'll be trapped on this end and never save your people. Farewell, friend!"

The brillo pad screeches muffled as it moves off the rough dry blood and scrapes against the tub. Stressed hands hurt from squeezing too long. She’s dressed in black plastic over the bedroom rug while I make things presentable.

Logs in the fire in one room. Off stove but turned knobs in another.

Engine preheated. Trunk slammed. Packed bags ride shotgun. Rubber peels off the driveway in a white cloud of smoke foreshadowing the intended black cloud.

...not even giving me the chance to explain why I am this way. It’s not fair for her to throw this all away because of claims that I’m crazy and have been for days. This makes me seem out of mind and out of place. I’m dismissed as though my words make no sense, its insolence and disrespectful since I think I’ve earned enough points to be listened to.

I just need her to hear me long enough to see my point and believe it. I’m not trying to deceive her, but she keeps trying to leave and I need her here to see the honesty inside...

He’s watching the keyboard with a truly profound visceral confusion consuming his right eyebrow twisted lower than the left. Frozen in time is all of him but his hands as they type away seemingly gibberish text. They’re communicating a message to the future. Telepathic text traversing time to relay the past. The busy hands write to this reader from a foreign land.

They tell of a writer struggling to find what to write. They beg for information from the future. “If you have the ability to time travel send back what we should be writing right now so we can write it.”

A tear in the space-time continuum blinds the writer and it fade to nothing leaving behind a singular sheet of paper which says “If you have the ability to time travel send back what we should be writing right now so we can write it.”

...of some wannabe thugs
Childhood lack of hugs led them to rise above hard working lives and join the drugs
They decided to get tough
We decided to fuck them up
And now we gonna get jump
But my little bro’s a black belt with anger problems who just got dumped and felt some type of way about it
I tell them they don’t want the sauce
This spaghetti is too much
They’re not ready
They go hard like raw noodles
Snap the crew in too, though
A spinning back kick stirs the dish
They moan and bitch
The cheesy smile on my face as my bro makes his rounds
The sound of their cries...

...against the restraining forces of gravity cripple. Inhaled gulps of salt are coughed and sneezed at once with half full lungs caught somewhere between an inhale and exhale, cup half empty.

The wobbly discombobulated mirage of the sun sort of shines through, but not really. More like its idea mirages by or superimposes itself over the...

...above the still waveless ocean. Migrating birds with thick feathery wings hunt the schools of fish scattering and jumping from the water. The sun’s fight to the top of the sky illuminates the bubbling ocean surface. It’s as if boiling as the fish attempt to escape whatever comes from below.

The waters bubble more intensely and the fish scatter opening way for the tip of a black pyramid gradually rising. It rises and rises and goes high enough to graze the clouds. At the very bottom of the black pyramid is a gap big enough to fit a person. Before it a path begins to emerge from the water, made of grey stone.

The morning skies become grey and cloudy as a lightning storm forms from a perfect day. Thunder roars and quakes the pyramid and the stone walkway. Pieces break from the walkway and sink to the bottom of the ocean...

The gentle stroke of the keys as grand as the piano they’re played on rang and danced along the walls of the theatre. Papa’s talent was the thief of breaths and master of awe. The pin drop silence of the theatre when he played was something to behold. A moment cherishable with the fondest of memories. A performance which radiated a warm velvet aura riddled with subliminal hypnosis.

It was the loveliest of experiences. It could have only turned out better had you been there with him, Mama.

-          From Jane

...drop to my chest. Crawling to the vantage point reduces the chances of getting spotted. It's more time to get the shot ready..

Grains of sand find their way to my skin as my uniform presses against the desert.

The sniper is on my back, Remington M21. I draw the gun, put it on the bipod and move to the edge of the hill.

Endless white flashes pop in and out of the darkness below. The silhouettes of guns held by bodiless arms are briefly visible after each trigger is pulled.

All this has to go ignored. I’m here to accomplish a mission. The sniper across the path has to be dealt with immediately. They’ve taken the life of several American soldiers and this has to come to an end.

From this vantage point I should be able to locate the shooter. The night vision scope is equipped.

Commence scan.

Down on the path the convoy is still halted. Surrounded by the enemy. The American soldiers are using their vehicles for cover. Hostile vehicles are...

The fast food stop shops around me, shrouded in shadow and darkness, hid the screeching runner. It saw me, but I couldn’t see it. A unique situation, I might add, because I didn’t know where it would come from. The mall’s design laid the food stop in such a way that the food court itself was in the center and the “restaurants” surrounded it.

As the scream faded back into silence, I came down to the height of the tables. Crept steadily to the food court. Here I had more tables to move around. More sun blocks overhead illuminating the place both helped and hurt me. I’d have a better chance of spotting the infectee before he attacked, but it would have an easier time tracking me, as well. Assuming it was alone I could try to sneak around it and stab it in the head before it knew what hit it.

Nothing happened. The scream completely died off into nothingness and nothing else happened. Without interruptions I was making my way between the tables. I pushed chairs out of the way and moved tables as needed to make my way through, making some noise but....

By Jack Thomas

In my attempts to develop four characters for a novel, I will begin to experiment with them here as occasional "Blogs". With all hopes I'll find a couple of subjects and scenarios I like and they'll transfer to the bigger story if I ever write it. This is part one of this experiment to develop characters Daniel, Scythe, Prodigy and Cross.

By Jack Thomas

During a conversation with my friend, Ellie,  I remember this hilarious joke I heard. I don't remember where I heard it, but I just had to share it. Ellie also had a joke to tell me, but I forgot and left.

Anyway, here is the story of the time I told her that joke.

By Jack Thomas

Now that our hero has gone deeper into the mall he will see more opportunity to find the first thing on the list, but he is also increasing his chances to come across infectees. He'll need to keeps his eyes peeled and his attention focused to avoid putting himself in a situation he can't get out of.

By Jack Thomas

After surviving the spread of an infectious plague a young man sets out to search the wasteland for Valentine's Day gifts for his girlfriend.

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After his adventures in Infected: The First Ten Days, a young man sets off to get his lovely girlfriend some gifts for her birthday. It just so happens to be that this is all taking place in the Post-Viral Outbreak world.

Follow this sarcastic romantic on his quest to get the gifts and exit the mall with his life in Part 1 of this episodic short story.

By Jack Thomas

Some of us struggle more than others in facing our demons.
Jack tells of how he faces his own.
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The Glass is foggy. House is half full. Can’t type ‘cause I’m a little groggy. Need it at night so I drool. Not sure whether lying or right. Caught in the pipe. Dream above the clouds. Asleep to escape the night. Bare and weak I see myself. Bleak, a life, hell, shrieks. Got health. Quite wealthy. Still can’t stand my fucking self
So I bury myself, before I die and just wait out the time. Fade out the lines
Color the pages. No one else can see. But, it is what it is. So it’ll be
Rainbows sparked in flames hope to erase the shame. No. They change only the same flow 

”Don’t fool yourself, foolish self. This hell is your prison cell.
Intoxicated, you ain’t well
This isn’t what you wanted is it?
You brought it. Miss it? Listen
You had it. Dissed it. Dip-ship
Put this outfit on. Cluck like a chicken ‘till you get whats going on
Take these feathers if they’re…

Narrative Driven Romance Poem on a Brief Encounter

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Across the counter. Soundless, so profound how she stares through my soul. Accompanying smile and green eyes locked lips with mine, frozen in time.

I stare back stuck still, unable to peel away. Frail to what her eyes are trying to say.

She just stares.

Frozen in time.

She just stares.

And I’m frozen in time.

She questions why she doesn’t open her mouth. A subtle unsure smile. Asks if she making the right choice in keeping her mouth shut, but she’ll never know. Eventually, she’ll move on and wonder what would have been had she given it a try, given in when the…

 Struggling seems pointless when ‘no’ doesn’t work. My wrists pinned over my head, “no, please, stop!”

He keeps going.

One of his knees pins one of my legs down. His body stands in the way of the other leg, heavy, sweaty, nasty.

And it hurts. It hurts so much. My voice screeches to scream but his hand is around my throat. I’m digging my nails into his arm hoping he lets go. He won’t.

I retreat into the back of my psyche. A moment playing with a Barbie when I was a young girl. Combing her hair gently and fair. Barbie the princess, the way every lady should be treated or whatever.

It’s over.

As if I wasn’t even there it appears as a foggy memory in the back of my mind.

He storms out of the room as if doing this was the punchline to a joke, the point sending an argument home.

There’s no way to know how to react right now.

We all know about the untested rape kits. Going to the police would be a waste. My family has been waiting for the smoking gun to tell me they were right about this asshole being an asshole all along. That’s a no go. No friends because work.

Well shit, who the fuck do I tell? Does it even matter? I suddenly realize I’m a piece of shit with no one to turn to. I’m sure I’m somehow responsible for that too.

I’ll pray god meant for this to happen in some way and go on with my day… I guess. What else can I do?

...screams, “STAND CLEAR!”

I wake up unable to move
Doctors covered in blood escorting family out of the room
“He’s back! He’s back!” The excited nurse began to assume
But I’d gone nowhere as far as I knew
“The pressure is dropping!” A doctor screams soon after all of the things go dark and the silence it brings goes far

“Don’t let me lose you.” I hear nearby
I open my eyes and I’m surprised and terrified
Barely holding my grip on the side of a tall cliff
If I fall off I’ll meet death
And I’m confused
But at least I’m not dying on the...

...red sparked dead shut
Rolled back because of head
Parked at the park’s shadows in the dark
Two wedding rings dropped in the coin tray and put away
Steamed windows rattle moans
Secrets whispers before going back home
“Let’s run away,” she says
As if it’s a game we’re playin’
Where we get to do and say anythin’
“Leave our marriages and children...

...shut up and stay. On your knees and don’t move, you don’t want to know what happens if you do. What’s in your pocket? A fucking knife? Trying to gamble with your life? Don’t have a wife or someone who cares if you don’t return tonight? Pathetic. Open your mouth and eat this. That’ll teach you a lesson. To walk around these streets with a weapon and threaten civilians. ‘Cause you don’t know no better”

“No. I know my rights and I refuse to do degrading shit to amuse you”
“Who the fuck you think you’re talking to?”
“I’m talking to you...

...crosses pavement
Generational debate
Bell rings with a pink basket
Into a mechanized can
On rubber radio signals
Awkward quiet
Stressful hearts race
Panic! Panic!
The can rolls away...

...become two three walled rooms
Catching fire, burning more so to the roof
Blown out windows, asphyxiation
Truth, last thought, atheist’s hesitation
Black cloud like spirit pivots out
Twisted grin, shouting laugh, eyes caved in
Twitching flesh...

...shit get real”
“We men, we don’t run!”
“We die right here!”

The young naïve white boy cop spots these kids
Hot headed and ready to knock someone out of their socks,
But he’s scared he’ll be called a racist bad cop,
And he turns the other cheek,
Refuses to do his job,

Those teens did what they planned to do that day,
But got spotted and followed to their homes,
To their moms,
Where ever they stayed...

...Slow this chit chat and shoot back!
Unless you want to be dead meats by a couple of deadbeats. ”

“White boy is right. Focus, man, fight back.” Tyrel says and squeezes the trigger
“Like that!”

Across the parking lot members of the opposing gang
Alongside the cops they were exchanging merchandise with
They’re closing in
Tyrel, Antwan and Jonathan retreat
They go from cover to cover
Car to car
Trying to make their way further
But the gunshots don’t stop
They formed a firing line
Thugs and cops
Afraid to be imprisoned for breaking the law.

Little crimes they’ve committed
Pastime they’ve never admitted
They go unforgiven
By those they’ve involved
Those unwilling...

...where to go to probe and let go.
If so, he’ll let flow drive slow and let know.
Although the cold wind blows through the car window.
Withering and lost, the cost of splintering losses.
Fickle the frail bearing of a hindering...