Dennis Humphreys
Stories (96/0)
Dr. Brumble's Magic Show
by: Dennis R. Humphreys (the DreamWriter) Sometimes out here in high country, you might see two wagons spreading dust over the countryside as they traveled from town to town. There was a rhyme and reason generally, for the path they took. They followed the pathways among smaller towns that didn't see what the folks in larger towns saw, as far as entertainment was concerned. A few towns were more lucrative than others, where people parted with their money a bit easier. They were the targets for the show.
By Dennis Humphreysabout a month ago in Criminal
Show and Tell
by: D.R. Humphreys (the DreamWriter) I sat in the outer waiting area to meet with Mark Goldfob, Executive Producer of a number of movies and television shows over his past twenty-one-year history. His company advertised for concepts for a pilot that hopefully would become a new comedy series. He was hoping by listing an open invitation something different might come to light. As an aspiring script writer, I saw it as my chance. At least the initial e-mails of mine were answered, and I was invited to explain my ideas in more detail..
By Dennis Humphreys3 months ago in Humor
The Ghost of a Flea
by: D.R. Humphreys (the DreamWriter) I've never found any advantages to being a hypochondriac. Some have told me, when you're a severe one like I am, the advantage is the tendency to stay away from people, so you never get your heart broken. I'm not sure if these people really believe that or if they think they're giving me some kind of justification for the way I live, which is also slightly agoraphobic... well, more than slightly. I work solely out of my apartment. I order my food on line and have it delivered. I do everything in that six hundred square foot place. I look out the window longingly wanting, unsuccessfully, to be normal. I catch glimpses of people walking by, at the end of the alley, that I can see if I really push my face against the window hard, and look out of my right eye, as it almost touches the glass. Otherwise, if I look straight ahead, I see the brick wall of the building on the other side of the alley. I get my heart broken at least once a week. Being couped up in an apartment all the time you have a tendency to watch a lot of television, or at least have it on for background noise. At one time or another, you begin watching soap operas. Then you develop relationships with the actors in them. I have developed romantic fantasies with some of the actors, so I become victimized by their transgressions.
By Dennis Humphreys3 months ago in Art
Out of Place
by: D.R. Humphreys (theDreamWriter) It was mid-morning by the time they dropped the paratroopers at their destination. Nineteen other Douglas C-47's delivered the same cargo to engage the enemy below, in the active field. The copilot and pilot watched, as one parachute after another, disappeared out the door to their designated spot. Twenty-eight men jumped from each of twenty planes, totaling five hundred sixty men, floating to the ground with most to their deaths. They were under intense fire from the enemy and several other planes were hit. Plumes of dark smoke filled the air as explosions sounded around them in a maddening exhibit that could only be described as hell.
By Dennis Humphreys4 months ago in Fiction
An Unreasonable Visitation
by: D.R. Humphreys (the DreamWriter) Thousands lay dead on a field, slippery with blood. Two remained walking... Private Gish and the Simian Cyborg that accompanied him in battle. Strangely, the sensors from the alien ship did not detect Gish. The cyborg was undetectable because it wasn't human and only partially flesh. Both soldiers fell to their stomachs, behind a pile of bodies, covered with scarab beetles, to watch the ship. Barely visible, in the dark, it's interior lights silhouetted the alien warriors, marching down the descending ramp to the ground. Gish's time was limited and perhaps the cyborg. It was time to pray.
By Dennis Humphreys5 months ago in Fiction
