Grip of Terror

At least there was no giant dog this time!
Photo credit: Mr Nice Sai @ flickr

On a night not unlike any other, dark dread and a cold need drove two complete strangers on a single path to destiny. One pushed on through the darkness in doubt and agitated fear, while the other lurked there in quiescent determination. Though neither formed the word in their minds, it was death that drove them toward each other, as surely as love lures young couples in spring.

It was 2:11 a.m. A young barmaid watched in dismay as the

The Prescription

Click the pic for the original challenge. Written for Ermilia’s Picture It & Write.

“You’ve got to help me, Doc! I can’t take this pain anymore! There’s got to be something you can do.”

Dr. Wexler rubbed his chin thoughtfully before sterilizing the stethoscope and returning it to the top drawer of a cabinet painted antiseptic-white. “There’s no doubt about it, Joseph,” he mused with his back still turned, “This is a professional first for me. Physically, I can’t find

Waterfall

Click the pic for the original challenge. Written for Ermilia’s Picture It & Write.

There was a time (and it almost never really matters, when such things occur, what time that truly was) when the rains poured incessantly from the sky. They poured and they poured, and it seemed there would be no end. There were many who cried that God had lied when he said he would never again destroy the world by flood. And indeed, the rains came and the floods followed closely behind them.

In this time, there was a man of great faith. We will call him Noah, since of course we know that was not likely his real name. Noah saw the rains fall, and when he saw the flood waters

Froot Loops for Breakfast

Click the pic for the original challenge. Written for Ermilia’s Picture It & Write.

Dear Sarah,

Sometimes I think life is a big bowl of Froot Loops. You could just be a happy baby giggling in the middle of it like a big fun bath. Jessi says rainbows are unicorn farts. I figure if unicorns fart rainbows, they probably poop Froot Loops, so you’d just be a happy baby giggling in a big bowl of unicorn poop.

Oops, I have to go.

Demons and Angels

Image from Craig’s List. Not quite the truck I dreamed but close… a little darker green and no chrome stripe.

The roar of the engine was something unholy. It wasn’t particularly loud; it just caught my attention, as if it had reached inside me and was trying to snatch a part of my soul. I was drawn to the sound even before it seemed like anything was wrong. A pickup truck raced toward the intersection and time stood suddenly still. Its driver had no intention of stopping.

It was the sort of truck you expected the owner cared

Combination Block

Click the pic for the original challenge. Written for Ermilia’s Picture It & Write.

My sixth grade hall locker haunts me in my nightmares. Of course, there’s a story behind that, and of course, it really has nothing to do with the locker itself.

The stress of middle school began long before the first day. Selecting teachers based on rumors; creating my first class schedule; choosing elective courses; new school; uniforms for PE; and so forth… I had less anxiety over sex. Of course all this is thrust upon you with your volatile teenage psyche washed up on the beach by a tsunami of hormones, and pecked there by the hungry gulls of pubescent insecurity.

I was such a wreck, I remember very little about that day, but I do remember the miserable discovery of desks you couldn’t put things in. By the time I’d arrived in home room, which was

Dead Like Me

Click the pic for the original challenge. Written for Ermilia’s Picture It & Write.

Why am I telling you this? I don’t know. Maybe it’s something you’ll find interesting. No one alive really understands what it’s like to be dead, right? I’ve been dead since 1984, though you wouldn’t know it to look at me. That would make me one of the older ghosts on Earth, except there’s really no such thing as ghosts. Most of us quit hanging around once we get a clue, but I wanted to be a writer so I couldn’t very well leave, could I? Anyway, I’m kind of an expert now.

November 11, 1984 is really an arbitrary date. It’s not when I died, I have no idea when that happened. I call it my birthday but it’s just a date I picked because I like it. After you’re dead, that’s the most important kind of date. It’s the day where everything that matters starts mattering. It’s the day you’re talking about when you say, “If I had it to do over…” but