"Only $100 bucks"
Kayak Killer orgin story
Sister called and said, "I'm excited to go kayaking this Saturday, finally found a kayak, only $100 bucks, I'm picking it up tonight from a guy who is moving and trying to sell everything..." She continued on rambling. I just wanted to sleep and was not excited to go kayaking.
Saturday came and nothing. No call, no answer, no visit. Later when the cops showed up, they revealed she was murdered a couple of days ago up on Pecos St. They found nothing.
"Nothing?" I cried.
"They did find something in her pocket, but it was only $100 bucks."
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More stories from Sandra Blandon and writers in Fiction and other communities.
Longing for Another Hike
It starts with my chest.. deep in my chest.. The heavy pressure around every inch of my body is making me feel like I can't breathe.. if I take a breath I might sink, I might fade, I might drown. So I'll hold my breath for now, until I feel the air lift my bones and the warmth against my skin. I need the warmth on my skin. The breeze on the back of my neck relieving the sweat caused by my low ponytail. I need to get out of this routine. Routine. Routine. Life is more than just working for someone who pays us but does not VALUE us. I forget about my body and my mind's well being because I get so lost in this robot like structure we call the work week. It is draining us, causing stress and making us question, "is there more to life than this?" We have responsibilities, we cannot simply get up and leave. But what we can do is go on a hike. We can get up early before the sun rises go to unfamiliar territory. Allow the strength in your legs to get you to the top of the mountain. Allow your chest to work through your heavy breathing. Allow your skin to sweat and glisten. Allow your eyes to take in the scenery. The sun and the sky , whether it's blue or grey, will always accompany you to your destination. So many possibilities awaits for you. A misty waterfall crashing into the slippery rocks below or a skyline view of the city that looks perfectly placed, waiting to be discovered by you. Once discovered, take a moment. Release the tension in your jaw. Take a deep breathe through your nose and close your eyes. Allow your mind to grasp the concept of stillness and gratitude. Thank your body for getting you here. The warmth on your skin and the breeze on the back of your neck, reminding you that you are alive.
By Sandra Blandonabout a year ago in Poets
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Death is a black hole. Think about it. A black hole is the corpse of a star, something once warm and bright, now come to the end of its life cycle. But some will argue that the cycle of life does not end with death. That death is merely another path we must walk once our bodies expire and our souls ascend. In that moment, when the fuel in the star’s chemical tank hits empty and the shiny matte coat explodes into supernova, the mass left behind – the corpse – becomes a black hole. We understand that, around such a vast cadaver, dimensions work a little differently in death to the way we’re used to in life. For example, light cannot escape the pull of a black hole when it hits the point of no return. That’s where it gets its colour. Space itself is contorted by a black hole. That’s where it gets its funny shape. Even time. Time slows right down the closer you get to it. The closer you get to a black hole. The closer you get to death.
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Comments (2)
This gave me goosebumps. I hope you submitted this into the micro-fiction challenge!
Chilling!