#ThursThreads Week 63 : Any Questions?

His stark naked body rested on the warehouse floor, his blood no longer in it. His blood was slowly seeping into the concrete. It would leave a bitch of a stain to remove. She’d probably stabbed him thirty times. The knife stuck out of his body where it had been sunk between his legs. That would have hurt, except he was probably already dead.

She sat on the warehouse floor, maybe ten feet away, not a stitch on. Her knees tucked up to her chin. Dried tears all over her face. She sat there, rocking back and forth, mumbling, “He wouldn’t stop. I asked him to stop. I said no. I did. He wouldn’t stop.” What was obviously his blood was all over her.

There was no doubt she’d killed him.

Next to her was a manilla envelope with beg red letters on the outside that said, “Any Questions?”

The envelope was full of pictures of him, pushing her around, touching her, stripping her. Of him pushing her up against crates, shelves, the wall, even the floor. And doing anything he wanted.

I took off my coat, put it around her shoulders, and made sure she heard me. “He got what he deserved.” Then I called for a lady doc to come help her, knowing the legal system in the country would soon make her life hell, and some lawyer rich.

Life sure can be a bitch sometimes, can’t it?

245 Words
@LurchMunster


I wrote this for Siobhan Muir‘s #ThursThreads, Week 63. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #ThursThreads. They are good reading.

#VisDare 12 : Waiting

Alice led me to a building across the courtyard. Inside was a long hall that led to an altar of some kind. To each side of the hall were wooden chairs. A female was sitting in one of them. Alice‘s voice echoed in my mind, “I’m sorry we kept you waiting, Cynthia. He got distracted by the rain.”

A new voice in my head responded, “It’s OK. I haven’t been waiting long.” The seated female stood, “How much does he know?”

“I told him this is Phoenix. The snails and birds said hello to him.”

“Anything else?”

“No.” She paused. “Cynthia. He…” She looked at me, then at the floor. I swear she blushed. “He thinks I’m pretty.”

Cynthia looked at me. “So he does.” She nodded to Alice. “Yes, Alice. You may explain.”

Alice smiled, took my hand, and lead me toward the altar.

150 Words
@LurchMunster


This piece is the ninth piece in a continuing story I’m working through for Angela Goff’s Visual Dare. Please read the other entries in this week’s Visual Dare challenge.

#55WordChallenge : The Fence, Part 8

The dead guardians all had guns, some drawn, some not. I set my rifle and two pistols on the floor.  The stone table changed. Ghostly figures appeared behind it, looking at a woman laying on it. She wore only stockings and lingerie. She looked at me, smiled, and spoke, “Hello, Flint.”

She knew my name.


This is the 8th part of the serial story I’m working on for Lisa McCourt Hollar‘s weekly #55WordChallenge flash fiction challenge. Please, go read all the other entries in the challenge this week. It’s flat amazing what gifted writers can say in just 55 words.

#MondayMixer : The Engagement Ring

The restaurant sat at the end of a small peninsula that extended into the river. It was styled like an old riverboat, and even had a functioning paddle wheel at the back. That’s where we met, lawyers and all.

The lawyers made sure we signed all the appropriate paperwork making our divorce legal, and final. We’d been in love once. But we’d both changed. Our tastes, lives, likes, and loves had taken divergent paths. Divorce was the natural, appropriate ending to our relationship.

Before we went our separate ways, she loosened the drawstring on her reticule and pulled out the engagement ring I’d given her. “I won’t be needing this.”

“It’s yours to keep. I bought it for you.”

She smiled. “It would only remind me of you.”

The ring rests in my desk’s top right drawer, but I never think of her.

150 Words
@LurchMunster


I wrote this little ditty for Jeffery Hollar‘s weekly Monday Mixer flash fiction challenge. Please, go read all the other entries in this week’s challenge. They are all well crafted.

And yes, the Inlinkz list was closed when I posted this tonight…

#5SF : Paradise

We was all at the table in Sammy’s Bar, having our Friday night fun. Two steamin’ hot ladies walked in, you know the kind I mean, stacked, lots of cleavage, tiny little skirts you couldn’t help but see under. I saw ‘em, and poked Eddie in the ribs, “Man, what I wouldn’t give for a chance to play around with that paradise.”  And wouldn’t ya know it, that idiot Eddie reaches in his pocket and hands me a pair of dice, “You can play with this pair all night.” I’d a bitch slapped ‘im, but I was laughing too hard.


Here’s my weekly attempt at Lillie McFerrin‘s flash fiction challenge, Five Sentence Fiction. This week, the prompt is Paradise.

Please, go read all the other entries to this week’s Five Sentence Fiction. It’s amazing what creative people can do with just five sentences.

#VisDare 11: Whorl

“You can talk to snails?” I asked.

“Yes. And so can you,” Alice smiled.

“What else is different here?”

She laughed. “You are.”

I heard birds singing overhead. She took my hand, “Close your eyes, I want to show you something.”

I closed my eyes, and heard her in my mind again, “What do you see?”

“A field, with a fence, and some trees. And a building of some kind,” I thought to myself, knowing she heard me. “But they’re strange. Like I’m seeing all directions at once.” The sky surrounded the land. There were even mountains in the distance. Everything was whorled around the center of the image.

“It’s what the birds see,” Alice gently squeezed my hand. “They see differently than us.”

I opened my eyes, “You called this place Phoenix.” She nodded her head. “What is it, really? And who are you, really?”

149 Words
@LurchMunster


This piece is the eighth in a continuing story I’m working through for Angela Goff’s Visual Dare. Please read the other entries in this week’s Visual Dare challenge.

#ThursThreads Week 62 : Not That He Knew It

I watched him pace back and forth across the far side of the deck, standing as far away from everyone as he could. He kept looking cross the deck at all of us, like he was watching us. Like we were some kind of science experiment, and he was recording his observations, and would try to make sense out of them later.

Becky nudged me, and asked, so quietly it was almost a whisper, “Is he OK?”

“Does he look OK to you?”

She shook her head. “He needs help, doesn’t he?”

“Yes. He probably does.”

Richard noticed us talking. “He’s scary, ain’t he? The way he stays off to one side, and just watches? It’s like something’s wrong with him. And I can’t tell what it is. And that’s just damn creepy.”

“Do you think he knows?” Becky asked. Her eyes told me she wanted me to answer yes.

“He’s gotta know. How can he not know?” I sighed. “I mean, look at him. The way he’s been getting stranger the last couple of months. He’s gotta know something’s wrong.”

Richard chimed back in, “I tried to tell him. They’re gonna fire him. Or something like that. Get him out of the workplace. Tried to tell him he’s becoming too disturbing and disruptive at work. And they get rid of people when that happens.” He shook his head. “So, yeah. He knows.”

Greg injected himself into the conversation. “No. He doesn’t. He’s not going to see Monday coming.” He tried to smile. “They’re gonna send him home on Monday. Tell him to apply for medical leave. And he’s not gonna know why.”

“How can you say that? How can he not know?” Becky was always concerned for him, for some reason we could never figure out. “The way he behaves. The way people act around him. The way we avoid him. How people like Richard talk to him, and flat-out tell him what’s going on, and what’s going to happen. How can he not know?” She took a deep breath. We all did. We needed it. “Hell, I’ve even talked to him. Told him he needed help.”

Greg just grimaced. “He talked to me, Friday.” He nodded at Richard. “Said you talked with him. And he had no idea what you were trying to say. Something about people who don’t behave appropriately being removed from work. But he didn’t understand why you were telling him that.” Greg just sat there, closed his eyes, and shook his head. “Yeah, we know he’s screwed up. And we know they’re sending him out on Monday. And he’ll get angry. And who knows how it’ll end.”

“It’s not going to be a problem, is it? Sending him home? He’ll go. No one will get hurt?”

Greg shrugged. “How can anyone tell? Can you tell? I can’t tell what he’s going to do.” He took another deep breath. “They’re sending him home Monday Morning. First thing. They’ll call him in, talk to him, send him home on leave without pay. Tell him to talk with his doctor about getting put on medical leave. It’s going to happen. Not that he knows it.”

Becky always chewed on her thumbs when she was nervous, or stressed. She did then. Put a thumb right up to her mouth, and left tooth prints on it. “How can he not know?”

We found out, three months later, that he hadn’t known. He hadn’t seen it coming at all. That he felt betrayed by all of us. And, we found out too, he’d been diagnosed with an Autism Spectrum Disorder. And never even knew he’d been acting in ways that were disturbing and disruptive to all of us. Not that he knew it. He didn’t. He just knew we all felt he was a problem. One we’d had to get rid of.

And his diagnosis with an ASD was the last nail in the coffin of his time at work. We all knew that the day we learned about it. Not that he knew it. But he’d learn. Like he’d learned his behavior was unacceptable. He’d learn. People like us don’t work with people like him.

None of us ever spoke to him again.

It was just better that way.

I’ll never forget that night, even after I’m dead.

755 Totally Disqualified Words
@LurchMunster


I wrote this for Siobhan Muir‘s #ThursThreads, Week 62. It’s somewhat over the 250 word limit, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #ThursThreads. They are good reading.