I still remember writing about Bloody, the six-eyed heart when I was in 2nd grade. I still have notebooks full of stories waiting to be finished and imaginary friends from my childhood that want a place among the pages of a novel.
It couldn’t end this way. Water lapped against the side of the overturned canoe. It was the only sound in the otherwise still lake. Henry dragged himself up onto the boat and attempted to rock it upright to no avail. Again he rocked the boat, clutching the little black book close to his chest. The pages were already waterlogged and the words were an illegible smear. A shout ripped from Henry’s throat as he hefted himself onto the top of the boat, but the momentum sent him over the other side and back down into the depths.
I Blame it on The Butter
BLAME IT ON THE BUTTER! No, I'm not talking about the excuse for why your cholesterol is through the roof. I'm talking about the reason your hair is flourishing, the reason your beard will be connecting, the reason your edges are laid.
Bits of Coin
Dead people are always forgiving. Wind howled through the abandoned cemetery, breaking the silence that normally settled amongst the moss covered stones and crypts. Benjamin Mayfair made his way through the graves overgrown with grass to the plot of freshly turned dirt in the back of the cemetery. Word of Jeremiah Hawthorne’s death had reached his ears earlier in the week, giving him time to make his plans.
There are memes all over the internet that true grill masters wear a specific type of shoe. It’s a black or brown leather sandal that crisscrosses across the foot. I don’t own a pair, but anyone that has had my BBQ knows that I am a pitmaster in my own right. Even though I don’t don a special pair of shoes, I always perch a hat atop my head. I place a hat firmly on my head like I’m Ash Ketchem preparing for battle. It’s my signature style, but also my way of remembering and connecting with the woman that taught me everything I knew.
Pancakes in Purgatory
Room 24 was hell. At least it felt like it because of the broken air conditioner. It was the worst possible time for the unit to break considering the 100-degree temperature outside and the nonexistent breeze. Nevertheless, it chugged away emitting an obnoxious clanging every ten minutes. Ten minutes had passed since the last time the air conditioner had attempted to sputter to life. This time when the loose bolts rattled together the resulting clang awoke the occupant of the bed in Room 24, Brooke.
The Mildew Man
I have never wanted to work with or have children. There was always something about the invincible way they lead their lives that filled me with fear. I have never longed for the warm fuzzy feeling that parents get while watching their children grow up. Ironic now that I’m in this situation. If you asked me how I ended up as a babysitter for the little boy that lives next door my answer would change depending on how many drinks I had. Sober me would probably tell you that I have been a cynic for too long and wanted to give the whole kid thing a test run. Drunk and even tipsy me would tell you the truth. I want to make a pass at the kid’s mom.
Growing up in a small town in the Bible Belt of the south isn’t the easiest thing to do. Especially when you’re questioning your sexuality but too afraid to speak up. You feel trapped. It’s not easy when your grandfather is the pastor of the local church and every Sunday you lead the teen class and tell them about how much God loves everyone, only to have your grandfather preaching about “Adam and Eve not Adam and Steve” every Sunday. You can’t think about the way your heart sped up and your palms got sweaty when the blonde girl at the skating rink helped you to your feet when you fell. You can’t think about the way you notice the delicate curve of female lips and wonder what it would be like to kiss a girl.
I turned my attention from the crowds to my brother. Just like all the others his eyes were awash with excitement as he too in the stands and crowds of dancers. He plucked two sticks of some grilled meat from a vendor with a smile and handed one over to me. I bit into it hesitantly, shocked by how flavorful the first bite was. I devoured it quickly, which brought laughter spilling from my brother’s lips. Being dead was not what I had expected or theorized. Everyone seemed so happy, unhindered by the reality that they all were dead. The anger that I felt earlier when I tried to hold onto those shreds of darkness and my worldly life flared through my body again. I gripped hard on the stick I was still holding in my hand, snapping it in half. Nobody seemed to notice or if they did they were just as unbothered by my anger as their current predicament. Even Shaun walked ahead of me, his step light as he led me out of the festival area and down a much quieter side street.