It gets worse,
Before better,
Unravels,
Before you can attempt,
To sow it back again. Continue reading
Category Archives: Writing
Flash Fiction: Alcohol/Nicotine/Caffeine
“We are not real living beings, you know,” Caffeine said, then jerked his head to the side, looking at the door to the room.
“Yeah—but it doesn’t much matter. It’s nice being as we are, at least,” Alcohol said, and sat down on his chair. He stared up at the other two and smiled goofily.
“It matters a little bit,” Nicotine said, parting back his ginger hair. “I, for one, like to be flesh.”
“Oh, well…so do I, but that does not mean that we are.” Caffeine’s words came out rushed and flowing—like he had rehearsed it, but not well, and was trying to get them out as fast as possible before he forgot.
Alcohol laughed. “I did not get that at all.” Continue reading
Flash Fiction: Anticlimax
“So, you’re not going to press the button?”
Jim shrugged. “Nope.”
Cathy pursed her lips. She opened her mouth to say something and then did not. She looked at the red button on the table. They’d woken up to it being there in their kitchen.
“But,” Cathy began, “I feel as though we are supposed to do something with it.”
Jim considered the button again, rubbing his chin. He reached out to touch it, finger by finger, then he pulled away. He too felt the odd presence of someone, or perhaps many people, frowning. Continue reading
Flash Fiction: Mood Swings
Ever since James tried to quit using the patch, he’s been having mood swings. I noticed, everyone notices—but we were too polite to point it out to him, and for that, we are probably not nice people. Despite us doing it to be nice, ostensibly.
But you can tell, you can really tell. He’ll walk into our classrooms, and he’ll look all, you know, happy and stuff—has on his yellow mask. Big cheery face with a smile and wide eyes and a sharp chin. But, then, and oh is it fast, he’ll see something else, some minor thing upsets him, and the red mask whips out of his pouch, my God. Continue reading
Poem: Move But Don’t
Flash Fiction: School Is Hell
The teachers’ stoic moment shattered with but one word.
“Teenagers.”
Mrs. Jasmine, known for her blue spectacles, dropped her mug to the ground and stared at the door.
“No,” she whispered. Continue reading
Microfiction: Medusa’s Lament
“It would be nice to take it all back, don’t you think?” she mused at the stone figure of a woman in a slip-on dress. “I mean—I didn’t quite mean for it to go so far.”
She swiveled her head toward a man with his face in a perpetual scream.
“And, you, I really did not mean for you to die. I was trying to be careful.” Continue reading
Flash Fiction: Poison Air
I can’t handle the smell.
“Would you please put that thing out?” I asked.
“Wish I could,” he responded, taking another puff of his cigarette. The noxious white fumes floated around in the room and had nowhere to go. I coughed, and my lungs burned.
“You can,” I said. I held out an overused ashtray. “You just stop.”
“That’s not how addiction works,” he said, and softly shook his head. “I figured with how much coffee you suck down you’d get that.” Continue reading
Disturbing Me
To tell you the truth, I never meant to be a horror writer. Everyone knew me as the sci-fi guy; that’s where I began. But, somewhere, along the way, this became the artistic avenue I connected to the most.
I say, whenever possible, “I am a horror writer.” Because I want that to stick. I want people to get what that means, even if I am not sure, myself, what I mean.
I’ve talked, at length, about my want for and to create dark stories. I do not fully understand my proclivity, but I know it has affected me. At some point, after I’d spent a good deal of time trying to come up with horror concepts, and studying other instances of it, it became clinical. Continue reading
Flash Ficton: Some Humble Advice
That was the seventh cigarette in the last ten minutes. Yung counted. Something in him was humming, just watching Howard go through them. Yung worried somewhat—but he knew so many people that smoked, and, for some baffling reason, most of them seemed perfectly fine so far.
“Look,” Howard said, tapping away some ash, “I was just the same.”
“Yeah?” Yung asked, tilting his head. “You dealt with this too?” Continue reading
Microfiction: Wobbly
Along the rim, they walked, and Charles became worried about his stability. His feet were not working well, and not landing well, and not going in the exact way he would have wanted them to do so.
Sasha walked alongside him and did not seem to notice his little stutters of motion. She simply handed him another drink, something she brought with her, and he took a sip of it. It wasn’t alcohol; it tasted like water. Continue reading
Odd Stuff I’ve Said
I’m guessing some would recommend I don’t write about this, but, well, you all know I’m eccentric as it is—so, fuck it. Writers already have the stigma of being a weird bunch, but you’ve heard, likely, all the usual shenanigans—so, I’m doing you one better.
Not just researching murder methods, talking to people who they make up, or being totally willing to do dangerous/stupid things for the sake of a story: nah, I’ve got a set of much more unique quirks.
And it involves words and language. Continue reading
Poem: Takes Long
It takes long.
Longer than it seems,
To achieve those dreams.
Plant the seeds instead,
Of expecting the future. Continue reading
Microfiction: Evil D.J.
On the beat and the beer, they danced. Women and men, high on their own hormones and the feeling of youth, kept bouncing and singing.
The D.J. spun a new beat and then pulled the microphone toward him.
“Everyone put their hands up!” Continue reading
Flash Fiction: Fever
“Now honey, please don’t stay up late.” Margaret patted her son on the shoulder and gave him a little smile. “You need to take care of yourself, okay? That’s not a small fever, so don’t push it.”
“Okay, mom. I just want to finish up this round.” Billy clicked on the screen, making game cards move. The resulting graphics assured him that his latest move was a good one.
“Okay. I just want you to feel better.”
“Don’t worry—I will,” Billy said. Continue reading
Coolerbs Writes 