An excerpt of a new short story I am writing.
It was a chance meeting on the street, an inescapable occurrence in the city. We’d last spoke only days ago, one of our marathon phone chats, but you looked at me as if we’d never met —newly acquainted friendly strangers.
He’d said it was a special day, but I couldn’t place the date.
A Wednesday, a number, in the month of October?
No, just wasn’t ringing any bells.
I’d said this outloud, by accident really, and that was it from him.
He left quite early.
As previously posted on Twitter:
A Salvadorian Ecuadorian
was once a valedictorian.
Never a very good Victorian,
he often made speeches about wanting a Delorean.
*
Finally a rhyme,
at a precisely good time.
What a wonder it is,
should be in show biz,
next time you see me,
I’ll be playing in Capri.
*
Really must stop
before these rhymes start to rot.
I have to say first
it’s been fun to converse.
But I really must go now,
taking a final deep bow now.
I remember once, long ago, I saw a face at the window.
It was a bright crisp day, and the sun was shinning in great big streams through the glass. I was watching, entranced, as the light played across the carpet.
All at once, however, the light disappeared. Blinking at the loss of warmth and form I’d been admiring I stared up at the window in offence.
The glare I was wearing turned to horror as I processed what I was seeing;
Bigfoot stood out there, looking in on me, a great gaudy fedora perched on his head with a large orange feather sticking out of its top.
The secret of seeing rightly.
Yes.
Excerpt from my short story ‘Vinyl’
The dirt ground morphed into black and white linoleum as he opened the door. A bell clanged above his head sounding sick and dried up; just like the landscape.
From the outside the diner had looked dried up too, but inside it was full of colour and life. A waitress was flitting around in a red apron and a smile while the patrons, truckers mostly, eyed her with a harmless hunger; her antics a welcome break from the desert that stretched away from the road in all directions.
And so it happened, on the dreary day, when he found himself asleep on bench, the cold bite of the wind hiting him down to the marrow, that a frosty specktor lay over his soul.
Even in death his ex-wife chased him away from his bed with the memory of cold feet brushing against his own.
Full Time Crazy and Part Time Fangirl
Sometimes a Vulture and One Time a Helicopter
Never One Way – Always Another
Life as a Bipolar Maniacal Mastermind:
Day 1: Raced out of bed so fast this morning; I woke up next week.
Day 2 [or next week?]: Found out that if you don’t sleep for 10 days, is has only actually been 3 hours in the future.
Day 3 [or next week plus 10 days minus 3 hours]: Hiding in dark closets, making buzzing sounds with wax paper, is what your life’s become.
Day x [lost count a few seconds ago]: The dark closet has fallen away and now you’re left floating in piles of dollar bills and pills.