physics-defying-off-kiltered-stack-of-books building

My aunt lived in a weird building. Weird building, like books incorrectly stacked. Books stacked off centred that should fall over but doesn’t because of … physics. Physics lied to you in that building. I don’t like it when physics lies. It shouldn’t lie to you because physics is physics. It’s how the world works. Should work. Does work. Is working. 

So I threw up. Standing on the sidewalk, looking up at books-scacked-off-centered-physics-defying building. Looking up, then looking down and heaving. 

I didn’t like it.

When I finished, I stood up straight and tried to convince myself that the building wasn’t going to fall over onto me. Or worse. A little more breathing and I’ll be fine. Just a bit more. That’s it. Maybe 15 minutes more. Breathing for 15 minutes.

“Can we go already?” A voice interrupts me. I look over. And up slightly. Because my sister is taller than me, even when she is not wearing her ridicous high heels. I see the building out of the corner of my eye. And try not to retch again. Try not to throw up. Because I do not like the taste.

But I’m looking down again. And emptying my already empty stomach. And emptying my previous stomach.

“God, you are embarrassing. You and your fucking disease.” I overhear my sister say. Over my vomiting. Loudly, her talking that is. Loud enough that you could walk by us and still hear what she was saying over the noisy traffic without straining. But perhaps not loud enough to snap you from the revery that is my aunt’s physics-defying-off-kiltered-stack-of-books building.

“It’s not a disease-“ I start to tell her, still bent over, in case my stomach decides to rebel again.

“I don’t give a shit. I just want to go in and find out what auntie left for me, if anything.” She cuts me off. I could hear her rolling her eyes. Rolling them so much that she might sprain those muscles that keep it in place.

idea from: http://redd.it/1m9m2d

costume

"That's a pretty good costume you got there." The voice in his ear crackled through the tiny ear piece.

"Well, I can't have anyone recognizing me." He grumbled back angrily. "Our terms, remember?"

"Of course, I remember Mr. Dyer. It was in fact, I that came up with such terms." The voice chuckled. "Or do you need me to remind you."

"No, I don't need another reminder."

"If you save the city from the vermin that rule the city, I'll give you your pretty, picture-perfect family back."

"Unharmed?"

"Unharmed." The voice confirmed. "I am a man of my word."

"Sure." Mr. Dyer answered, trying not to sound sarcastic and failing.

"You did see the paper headlines this morning, right?"

Mr. Robbie Dyer chewed the inside of his lip. He had indeed seen it. It was hard not to. It was everywhere. "Gun Lord empire brought down overnight." Well, only one of the Gun Lords had been brought down. Kane Chesterson. And Mr. Dyer had been the one that brought down the Gun Lord down the night before. And now he had to bring own the rest of the Gun Lords in the city. Before an outright fight began to get Kane's territory and such.

"How the fuck did you find out about my powers?" He asked through gritted teeth.

"Language, Mr. Dyer. You don't want Mrs. Dyer to become upset and do something that would make me kill her in front of your children, do you? That could be years of psychological damage that could take years to undo."

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(untitled)

It came while Annie was asleep. It crawled up her bedpost and scampered across her pillow. It twitched and  then rotated around as if looking around. Which was an odd thing for this creature, as it had no eyes. Nor did it have any antennas of any form

How it was able to sense Annie's mouth is a mystery. This creature has never been discovered by the scientific community And the chances for its discovery are very very slim.

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This is messed up

The world as we know it ceased to exist at 8:34. Or at least that's what it appeared to be. There doesn't seem to be anyone here that will tell me. Anyone friendly, that is. Because there does seem to be people, shooting at me every once in a while. couldn't tell you why, on account of waking up with no memory of what happened.

 All I remember is my childhood. The last thing I remember is my 8th birthday. Then I woke up. In the hospital. With a wristband around my wrist. Ray Parks. Admitted Sept. 4, 2014.

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this blog isn't dead. It's coming back. I swear.

Instinct

That morning, there was something in the air that told him not to go. Normally he followed his instincts. So, normally, he wouldn't have gone. Instincts were everything in his line of work. Everything. It was the only way you qualified for what he did. Because if you didn't qualify, you'd be dead and gone. No one would ever find you. They were good at making people disappear. All those Missing Peoples cases that you hear about on tv? Most of them didn't qualify. David qualified. And David learned even before he got the job, that instincts were everything. He had even purposfully skipped his "interview" because his instinct told him not to go. That very day, the very hour he was supposed to be sitting down and talking to the boss man, the building exploded. He read about it on the feeds, 2 minutes after it happened. Bloggers and news sites alike, all buzzing about how 8 city blocks suddenly became a crater.

But something that morning told him not to go. But David ignored it.

Cut Me Up Inside

"I can't see you anymore." She was standing in my doorway, dressed in a pair of yoga pants and a leather jacket. 

"What are you talking about?" I asked, after clearing away the lump in my throat.

"I can't see you anymore. You keep hurting me." She looked to her left as she spoke these words. I stick my head out of the door to try and see what she's looking at. Nothing. She starts to turn away. I reach out and grab her by the wrist and pull her back towards me.

"What's that's supposed to mean?" I ask. She's close enough to kiss. Her other hand comes up slowly and as she pulls away, I see that she's already activated her ability. Small sparks of electricity jump around between her fingers.

"Let go." She says, dangerously low. I don't need to know what she will do if I don't. I ignore that anyways, knowing the consequences.

"Seriously, what is that supposed to mean? 'You keep hurting me.' We both know that you can do more damage to me than I can to you." I continue, keeping my volume as low as her warning was.

Alleyway and "Sara"

"Sara" watched the man that was half a block in front of her. Of course Sara wasn't her real name, it was just the name her client knew. She popped her gum. The man up ahead paused and looked around him. He looked around the dark alley way before continuing. When he started walking, Sara started walking. There was after all, no point in hiding herself. None at all. The client had made it very clear.

Rain Delays

The rain was coming down so hard, that Madison thought she was going to drown. Or freeze to death. She pulled her arms tighter around her chest, trying to stay warm. Not that it helped any. She closed her eyes and looked up in to the sky, silently asking it to stop the rain. It didn't listen to her. The rain continued to drive right into her bones, like millions of needles. She lowered her looked down again and rubbed her stinging eyes with one hand. The only good thing about her situation was the fact that she never wore make up. She couldn't afford it. As lightening flashed across the sky, Madison began to laugh bitterly.

Author's Note: this post was inspired by Rain Delays by Crash Parrellel.

Soul Sucker

Have you ever seen a demon? No? What about a vampire? No? I bet you've never heard about this sort of supernatural creatures as well. I mean in credible newspapers and the like. Movies and books and podcasts don't count. I'm talking about real life. Like how in real life, if I were to punch you in the face it would hurt alot. You'd probably die. Die painfully. But if you were reading one of those Choose Your Own Adventure books and "you" got punched, it wouldn't hurt, would it? Unless you walked in front of a speeding bus with failing brakes while reading that line. Then it would hurt.

Well, I have. I've seen more than I care or want to count. Demons and vampires and everything else in between. Yes, that's right, they really do exist in real life. Although their characteristics are fictional. Like the fact that vampires burn in the daylight. They don't. There's one walking by right now. He looks so human, doesn't he? What? You want me to kill him right here? Yea, that will go down well the the authorities. No, I'm not going to be killing him here.

What, you want to know why I'm telling you this? Because I think this time I might actually die. So, I'm telling you this for shits and giggles. Even though I'll get in so much trouble. That and, if there will be a successor to what I do, I guess you'll have a step up from hearing me ramble. It'll be like pseudo-experience.

How will I die? Soul sucker, for lack of a better name.

Grandpa Killer

Tyce and Owen were sitting on his front porch, reading the paper.

"Did you hear about this Grandpa Killer fellow?" Tyce asked him, not looking up from the paper. Owen was doing the crossword puzzle. He had be seething since he had turned on the tv and saw the TV anchorman dub him the Grandpa Killer.

"No." Owen answered, trying to sound like he wasn't really paying attention.

"You know that serial killer that's been killing people in town lately?" Tyce put down the paper. Owen sighed inwardly. He was hoping that Tyce would just leave it be. But he should have known that Tyce wouldn't leave this alone. Owen put his paper down on the table between them. "The Journal has a name for him now- the Grandpa Killer." Owen felt a muscle in his jaw twinge.

"It makes him sound like a puppy rather than a wolf." Owen said. It was odd to talk about himself like that.

"Owen, I think you're batting for the wrong team." And Owen knew he would say that, considering how Tyce had been on the forensics team since he got out of high school. "A 90 year old should not be out killing people. He should have enough maturity and smarts to know that he will get caught. The bad guys always lose, Owen, always lose." Owen didn't say anything. 90 year old!! He was not 90. He was 83! 83! no where close to 90! And he didn't look like he was 90, at least he didn't think so. "But the media probably shouldn't dub the guy names; he might take offense to it and start kill the media personalities." Tyce picked up his paper and began to read again.

Killing media personalities. That was a good idea.

Author's Note: This post is brought to you by Mur Lafferty's News from Poughkeepsie, specifically from this post. NfP is Mur's attempt at doing a daily project, where she shares ideas that you can take from her, as long as you give her credit. Oh hey! It sounds like this blog! In the Podoshere, Mur hosts I Should Be Writing 2.0 and co-hosts Geek Fu Morning Show with Jason Adams (of Random Signal). She has also written and podcasted the following stories: the Heaven Series, Playing for Keeps, and The Takeover. You can subscribe to those feeds individually, or just go to and subscribe to her meta feed.

note #2: sorry if this sounds all disconnected. I was watching the results show of So You Think You Can Dance.

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Labyrinth Riddle Twist

I have a friend that professionally runs ultras. Ultras are ultra marathons, for those of you not savy enough to know. Meaning that they are races that have a longer distance than your run of the mill marathons. If you think it's crazy to run several hours in an urban environment, then try running for serveral days, in the some of the world's most extreme environments (ie the desert). Add to that the 60 or so pounds you have to carry around with you (food, water, tent ect.). People that run ultras are insanely passionate about running. That said I hate running. Absolutely hate it. But I have been running for days, mind you, no pack of food and stuff, but still for days. Something had been chasing me around this maze for days on end. So you could imagine how happy I was when I read the first line of the note that was tacked to a tree stump.

"Congrats. You've made it to the end." I wanted to scream and jump around, but my feet were so shredded and my head was spinning so badly that I thought I was going to black out and whack my head on the stump. I continued to read.

"One final test before you can leave though. There are two guards. One of them will always lie to you X times before telling you one truth. The other will always tell you the truth Y times before telling you a lie. And you have anywhere between 10-30 minutes before one of the gets piss off at you for asking tricky questions and stabs you."

I look up to see the exit guarded by two guys with mohawks and multiple piercings. They both hold long serrated blades.

Oh, frak.

Author's Note: Rob likes to run ultras, if you wanted to know more about a person that runs ultra marathons.

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Countdown and Chances

"Please God, make me a stone." He mumbled as he followed the women and her kid. He glanced at his watch. 1500h. He watched the two in front of him. He was 95.6% sure that they were heading in.

"Where are we going?" The little girl turned to her mom.

"Mommy needs to get some money out." The women told the little girl, patting her on her hair.

Correction- 100% chance of them entering a bank.

"How much are you going to take out?" The two had reached the doors or the bank.

"Just a little bit of money." Her mom replied. She was holding the door open for him.

"Thank you." He slid through the opening without touching the door. He followed the two into the line. The little girl looked back at him.

"I like your hat, Mister." She gave him a grin. She was missing a tooth.

"Thank you, Miss." He tipped his hat at her. He glanced at his watch again. 1503h. 15 seconds left. He looked back at the little girl. 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3- "Please God, make me a stone." He whispered again. T plus 1 second.

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Whispered Night

"Kill!" A voice hissed in my ear. It wasn't human, the voice. It wasn't human. I squeezed my eyes shut. I clapped my hands over my ear.

"Go away!" I whispered. I was so scared. But mommy and daddy didn't understand it, so I stopped calling out to them. It felt like I was losing control. Something was creeping into me.

"Kill!" The same voice again. I whimpered. The voice chuckled. It sounded like 2 really really bad people talking at the same time. Saying the same words.

"Go away. Leave me alone." I was crying. Then suddenly I felt very cold on the inside.

"Don't worry, Leanne. It will be over soon." The voice was in my head now. I screamed. I tried to scream. But nothing came out. My body got out of bed and went downstairs. "Leanne, your parents deserve to die. Your daddy for taking your mommy away from me, and your mommy from leaving my side. Some promises you don't break no matter what. And because she broke the promise, I'll break you."

My hands pulled a chair over to the counter. It made my body climb up on it. My hand grabbed the largest knife.

"Upstairs we go." The voice sang in my head. "Die, daddy, die. Die, mommy, die."

Author's Note: Do you think I need therapy?

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Sister

I stared at the girl before me. Her face, which was blackened by dirt was now streaked with tears. I could see her pale skin in the tear steaks. She was shaking all over. It was from withdrawal. I looked away from her, disgusted.

"Please, I just need more money. It'll be the last one I ever buy." She grabbed my arm. I pushed her off me.

"I don't know you." I told her, rubbing the spot on my arm where she had grabbed me.

"Please, Morgan." Her voice was muffled by her hands. I could tell she was crying more.

"I said, I don't know you."

"But I'm your sister." She continued to beg. I look at her long and hard.

"I don't have a sister. Now fuck off before I call the police." I slammed the door in her face.

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