A beer for Joe

Me an' Joe've been neighbours for over fifty years now. We watched each others families grow an' leave home to start their own. Through the years we spent some good amount of time enjoyin' each other's company, yup, we sure did. We helped each other through the grievin' when our good ladies passed on. I can't remember a time when we weren't there for each other. I guess it would be right to say we loved each other in a way.

Up until the argument, that is.

We ain't spoke a word to each other in nigh on seven years now, I can't even remember what the argument was over no more.

And here we are, two stupid stubborn old fools ignorin' each other over the fence.

Today I was gonna change all that.

Joe was sittin' on his stoop rockin' in his chair when I called from the gate.

“Joe?... D'ya mind if I come in?”

“Nope.”

Well, at least it was a start, I got an answer. I walked the length of the path and settled my old bones into the rocker next to his.

“How ya doin?” I asked him, hopin' to melt the ice a little further.

He just carried on rockin', starin' straight ahead, his mouth a straight line. Just lettin' me know he wasn't gonna be no pushover. I had made the first move, it was up to me to apologise.

“I brung some beers.” I said. “Would ya like one?”

“Nope.”

I pulled a bottle from the pack, twisted the cap off and took a slug.

“Hmmm, that hit the spot.” I wiped the froth from my mouth in an exaggerated movement. “Good beer, are ya sure ya don't want one?”

“Yup.”

“Beautiful day.” I ventured.

“Look Sam, if ya came roun' here to apologise, then say your piece.”

“Now look here....” I nearly rose like a baited trout, all fired up an' ready to shout my indignation, but managed to catch myself as I remembered what I came for.

“I didn't come to offer no apology, but ya can have one anyways... Joe, I truly am sorry for whatever it was that I done, or said. And I truly am sorry for all the years when we weren't friends no more.”

“Apology accepted. I guess I'll be havin' that beer now.”

I passed Joe a bottle over, he took it, his hand shakin' a little as he twisted the cap. Joe took a long slug then mopped the sweat from his brow with his shirt cuff.

“Yup, sure is a beautiful day.” He said. “If ya didn't come to apologise, an' don't get me wrong, I'm glad that ya did, what did bring ya roun' here?”

“I came to say goodbye.”

The words hung in the air, like dust after a shell-burst.

Joe rocked in his chair a while.

“Ya goin' somewhere?”

“I guess ya could say that, I have the C.”

Joe continued starin' straight ahead, still rockin'. When he finally spoke his voice didn't sound quite as strong.

“How long?”

“Hard to say exactly, maybe a few weeks, but more likely a few days.”

Joe took another long pull from his bottle, then wiped the sweat from his brow again. He tried, he really did try not to let me see as he caught the tear from the corner of his eye along the way.

Continued in:- A beer for Joe (Part 2)


©2011 Stephen. J. Green.

She loves me, she loves me not.

He loved Halloween, one of his most favourite times of the year. A time of mysticism, of imagination, and possibly of... romance?

His expression alternated from one of pleasure to displeasure and back again as the fantasies scrolled through his mind. Like a switch flicking back and forth.

Pluck... She loves me... He let it fall to the floor, thoughts of heated lovemaking filled his mind.

Pluck... She loves me not... He let it fall, bitter argumentative words echoed in his head.

Pluck... She loves me... Warm kisses before he left for work each morning.

Pluck... She loves me not... Whispering to her friends, and laughing behind her hand.

Pluck... She loves me... A beautiful romantic candlelit meal.

Pluck... She loves me not... Withering looks when he ventured an opinion.

Pluck... She loves me... Holding hands on the back row at the cinema.

Pluck... She loves me not... Not taking his side in an argument.

Pluck... She loves me... Arm in arm strolls along a golden beach.

Pluck... She loves me not... Sarcastic comments about his manhood.

Pluck... She loves me... Running her fingers playfully through his hair.

Pluck... She loves me not... Lying about the price of those shoes.

Pluck... She loves me... Letting him have the last Rolo in the tube.

Pluck... She loves me not... Talking through his favourite movie.

Pluck... She loves me... Foregoing her TV soaps so he could watch the football match.

Pluck... She loves me not... Ridiculing his model car collection.


She'd had a full set of top teeth. Now, he knows that she doesn't have a full bottom set because he can see some gaps in there.

He flexed his aching fingers a few times causing the pliers to clickety-click-click.

He glanced down at the sixteen red and white lumps on the floor, then turned back to face her...

“Okay lady, let's find out shall we?”

Pluck....She loves me.....


©2011 Stephen. J. Green.

Hi everyone, and thank you for reading. This one was grisly even by my own standards, but I thought I would try to top the gross-ometer reading that I got LAST Halloween.

If anyone who missed that one is up for another grisle-fest, you can find it here:- Pumpkinhead


Happy Halloween everyone. Bwuhahahahahahah... BwuhahahaHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

Where spiders dare

Four fingers...

The view was magnificent from this angle. The river at the base of the cliff a meandering cotton thread sewn through the lush foliage.

Three fingers...

The passing eagle eyed me curiously, possibly wondering if this strange interloper was a threat to its nearby children.

Two fingers...

Yes, “V” for victory, or “V” for screw you. I have lived my life without fear, without limits, without a voice telling me what I couldn't do.

One finger...

The middle... the strongest, held for much longer than I expected. As it weakened and lost its hold on the tiny ledge the thought in my mind as I fell was the probable headlines...

“Casey Burbridge the world famous freestyle rock climber, known by many as The Human Spider, dies in 2,000 ft fall....”


©2011 Stephen. J. Green.

Zigourney. (A Zombie's tale Part 3)

Hi everyone, this is the third, and final instalment of “A Zombie's tale.” Anyone wishing to catch up on the earlier instalments can find them here:-

A Zombie's tale. (Part 1)
Zurvivor. (A Zombie's tale Part 2)

Thank you for reading.
Steve Green.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Zigourney. (A Zombie's tale Part 3)

Seventeen days later...

I went through what had come to be my morning ritual, removing the bullet from the revolver, I cleaned it, carefully replaced it, then ran the chamber across the palm of my hand setting it spinning. I closed my eyes, and when the chamber finally stopped turning I drew the hammer back with my thumb, placed the barrel in my mouth, and squeezed the trigger...

CLICK !

I guess fate doesn't want me to die today.

As I placed the revolver back onto the packing crate there came a thud from the door at the top of the stairs...

“Ah Jeez... ” It had been eleven days since there'd been any noises at the door, and I was trying to pluck up the courage to take a look outside. Courage was in short supply down here, my time in the dungeon had done something to me, taken something from me, maybe I would never find the courage to leave.

THUD!

My shredded nerves got the better of me. I screamed obscenities at the stairwell, too far gone to care any more.

THUD... THUD... THUD... THUD... THUD... THUD...THUD... THUD... THUD...

Panic started setting in, would this nightmare never end? Something snapped inside me, yes... yes.. the nightmare would end, it would end right now. I grabbed the gun and raced up the stairs...

Somewhere deep inside my terror-stricken brain I realized there were other noises mixed in with the thuds, smaller noises, muffled, almost drowned out by the banging...

I reached the door and pressed my ear against the wood, listening carefully...

THUD... THUD... THUD... “Hey, hey, is someone down there?” THUD... THUD... THUD...

A voice, a human voice, almost lost on its journey through the heavy door.

THUD... THUD...THUD... “Hey... open the door... ” THUD... THUD... THUD...

I almost wept with relief, taking a firm hold of the heavy bolt I slid it aside, the door slowly opened towards me...

Framed in the doorway was a young woman, probably in her twenties, she was filthy, streaked with blood and grime, her clothes ripped and scuffed, held loosely in her hand, and caked with dried blood and globs of gristle was the biggest, meanest-looking cleaver I have ever seen.

“Hi,” she said, a wide grin spreading across her face, “do you err... have anything to eat down there? I'm starving.”

* * * * *

Over the next hour or so, and between mouthfuls of tinned fish and fruit, she told me how she had survived the slaughter. How she had grabbed a bag of supplies, and made it up to one of the tower rooms. The zombies, unable to climb the ladder had eventually wandered off in pursuit of another resident who had stumbled past the doorway.

Several days later the sound of a heavy engine caused her to look from the window. Some of the survivors were making a run for it. One of the castle's tourist coaches was idling in the yard and several survivors were feverishly unblocking the main gate, whilst others fought bravely to keep the zombies at bay.

The gate unblocked and opened, the ones still left alive boarded the coach, which then drove off through the gate, accelerating all the time, and in a shower of splintering bones and spraying body fluids punched its way through the horde of living dead in the castle's outer grounds. The mass of inhumanity followed the fleeing vehicle, joined by the ones that had chased the residents from the castle's interior.

She had watched with horror as the coach ran off the road and into a tree about half a mile from the castle. Soon the area was a mass of writhing creatures trying to climb over each other to get at the meal now available to them.

Eventually, the feast over, the zombies had walked off in the direction of the city ruins, perhaps drawn by the sounds of moans from other living dead.

A few days later, her food gone, she had been forced to leave her hideout and scavenge the castle for supplies. Wandering through the body-strewn rooms and corridors she had encountered only a few of the living dead, usually trapped behind closed doors, she had then taken great delight in introducing them to her razor-sharp friend, which just now lay on the floor close beside her.

* * * * *

“I have a plan,” She said, “We'll re-seal the gate, then work our way through the castle room by room, drag all the bodies outside and burn them. We can survive here for years, I don't know if there is anyone else left alive or not, but I'm for staying put.”

I looked at this draggle-haired, dirt-encrusted, gore-splattered, post-apocalyptic angel before me...

She was awesome... Beautiful...

“It sounds like a good plan.” I said, my voice quivering slightly. “I don't know if names mean anything any more, but for what it's worth, my name's Adam.”

“Pleased to meet you Adam.” She smiled, that broad confident grin that had greeted me when I had opened the door.

“My name is Zigourney, yeah... I know... it was my dad's idea, I think he was a bit of a closet chav, but I prefer to go by my middle name, which was also my mother's name, it's Evelyn, in the old world my friends just used to call me Eve.”


©2011 Stephen. J. Green.

- - - - - - - - - -

A Zombie's tale. (Part 1)
Zurvivor. (A Zombie's tale Part 2)

Alley fight

As I approached them the sultry-looking guy in the centre of the group gave an almost imperceptible flick of his head, a signal to the other four, who detached themselves from the alley wall and slowly positioned themselves around me until I was surrounded.

They kept their distance for now, waiting for the word to attack.
Each of them tall and well-muscled, their arms hanging loose, hands relaxed by their sides, smiles of supreme confidence on their faces as they eagerly anticipated what was to come.

I glanced across at their boss, as our eyes locked his mouth twisted into a sneer of contempt.
With a click of his tongue and another twitch of his head the others started closing in.

Taking two rapid steps towards the one directly in front of me, I deflected the punch aimed at my face, grabbing the wrist and pulling at the same time, dragging him forward even faster, off balance now. Twisting my body, I planted my elbow solidly into his temple, then pushed hard as he fell, throwing him at the feet of the one to my right, tripping him, slowing him down.

The first guy hit the floor hard, he didn't get back up.

I spun round, fast, my right leg lashing out, sweeping the one on the left off his feet, continuing the spin I circled the leg into the air, and brought it down savagely onto his head as it hit the ground.

Less than than a minute gone... Two down.

Both of the others took on a more cautious stance now, I backed up a few paces, giving myself more space away from the bodies on the ground, and at the same time putting the other two within my line of sight.

The one slightly to my left aimed a very hard front kick at my solar plexus.
Too slow amigo...

Grabbing the outstretched foot I continued it along its momentum arc, and pushed it higher into the air, then planted a solid kick straight into his groin. Stepping forward a pace I thrust a strong palm strike into his chin, and pushed the foot back at the same time.

He staggered backwards, hit the alley wall hard, slumped to the ground, and stayed there.

I heard the unmistakable sound of a switch-blade opening as I turned to face the last man standing.

He closed in slowly...

Holding the knife at arms length in front of him...

I stayed where I was, waiting, let him come to me...

I readied myself, hands held loose and relaxed at chest height...

He came in fast, Rapidly feinted left, then right, then left again...

As he thrust the blade forward I brushed it to my right, then went straight into his knee with the heel of my shoe, as he started going down I grabbed him, twisted him round then threw my arm around his neck from behind, holding him in a vice-like headlock, and squeezed....

His struggles soon weakened and in less than a minute I let him slump to the alley floor.

I turned to face the boss.

He gave me a wide, confident smile as he pulled the .45 from inside his jacket.

He stepped away from the wall as he raised the gun.

I made a dash towards him, I was still several feet short when the gun bucked in his hand.

“CUT!.... CUT!...

How many times do I have to TELL you? Wait until he GRABS the gun before you pull the trigger, JEEZ, we're gonna have just ONE more go at this, if you screw it up again you're off the set, I don't give a rat's ass HOW big a star you are, you're HISTORY, GOT it?”

As we all returned to our start positions I went through the routine in my head once more, the “Star” leant back against the wall, the brooding good lucks that had been his passport to stardom now seemed a trifle too sulky for a twenty four year old to be sporting.

The electronic clapper-board bore the legend, 'Alley fight scene Take 57'.

“Okay, from the top, LIGHTS... CAMERA... ACTION...”


©2011 Stephen. J. Green.

The best thing I can do

“It really is scary... y'know... the way things are goin'?” He said, his voice rising slightly on the last word, more a question than a statement.

I looked across the table at Tom, it was seven thirty in the morning, the first coffee of the day had barely started buzzing my brain, I had to be at work in an hour, I didn't want to listen about the world's problems.

“I'm not scared.” I said to him, “I have too much crap on my own plate to think about, unpaid bills crap, work crap, busted car crap, ex-wife crap, and oh yeah, more unpaid bills crap.”

“But just look at the situation,” He persisted, “most of Europe is paralysed with riots, unemployment is the highest it's ever been, there's massive military build-up on the India-Pakistan border, there was a facebook leak that Israel have gone to red alert, the new Iranian government has thrown out the UN inspectors, the Chinese and American economies are both on the brink of bankruptcy. I think we're heading towards total global meltdown.”

I propped my elbows on the table, let my face fall into my hands and let loose a long heartfelt sigh, after a few seconds I stood and walked out of the back door and up to the shed, opened the door and started pulling things out.

Tom walked up and stood beside me, a bemused look on his face. “What're you doin'?” He said.

“Given the circumstances,” I replied, “I'm doing the best thing I can do.”

“What's that? Getting the spade to start diggin' a shelter?”

I found the item I was looking for. “ No,” I said, dragging the rod out. “I'm going fishing.”


©2011 Stephen. J. Green.


Author's note:-
Hi everyone, I'm going away for a couple of days, yup, you guessed it, I'm going fishing, so I'll be catching up with the reading and commenting sometime on Sunday. Have a great weekend, and thank you for reading.

Steve Green.

Beartrap

The shock had set in now, and was doing a good job of numbing the pain, the first thoughts in his mind when the teeth snapped onto his ankle weren't of pain or fear, but to roundly curse his own stupid clumsiness for stepping into his own beartrap.

If he could get the damn thing off, or pull the stake from the ground he'd be able to make it back to the house and use the phone. No go. No amount of pushing or pulling achieved either, he just didn't have the strength left.

For several nights the creature had visited his farm, tearing his stock to pieces, he hadn't managed to spot the cursed thing yet, but there was no mistaking the snarling bark that echoed around the nearby woods throughout the dark hours.

At first he thought it must be a cougar or wolf, but the tracks had told the story of a beast that walked on two legs not four, and no animal he had ever known would tear the animals limb from limb like that.

He tore a ribbon of cloth from his shirt and fashioned a tourniquet tightly around his leg a few inches above the steel, then considered his next move.

His rifle was propped against a nearby tree trunk, so close and yet unreachable, rendering it useless as either a means of defence or signal.

Shouting and screaming had brought no-one, his farm was far from anywhere, and people coming this way were few and far between.

He was still there when the sun went down, as the daylight began to fade, and dusk started to creep over the woods he heard it.....

The first snarl came from a long way off, probably from partway up the mountainside, he listened in abject terror as the sound echoed around the hills.

The second time he heard it he was pretty sure it came from the foothills at the base of the mountain, panic started setting in....

He eyed the strip of white skin between the steel and cloth....

The snarl came again, louder... closer...

All reasoning lost now, he pulled the large, razor-sharp hunting knife from its sheath and began hacking feverishly at his leg....


©2011 Stephen. J. Green.

Zurvivor (A Zombie's tale Part 2)

Author's note :-
Hi everyone, this week is my first anniversary of posting on #fridayflash, a year in which I have had so much enjoyment being part of the #fridayflash community. The reading, writing, posting and receiving comments, and of course the banter. Thank you to everyone for visiting, and taking the time to check out my stories over the past year.

My debut story on #fridayflash was posted on 17th of September 2010, and was entitled “A Zombie's tale” And so to mark the milestone I decided to write “Zurvivor (A Zombie's tale Part 2)"

Anyone wishing to read the first part of the story can find it here :-

A Zombie's tale. (Part 1)

Thank you for reading.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Zurvivor. (A Zombie's tale Part 2)

I didn't feel any guilt at deciding to save my own skin, I mean, no-one else was going to do it for me were they?

I had done my share of the fighting, pretty much a losing battle from the start. We never really got on top of the situation. Always retreating, room by room, corridor by corridor, our numbers dwindling as the enemies' grew.

When it first started we were taken by surprise, many of the castle's residents had been partying the night before, and by the time they had half-awoken in their hangover fug it had already been too late for them, and so even before any sort of defence could be initiated the zombies' numbers had already risen rapidly, as they continued to do so over the first few hours.

Six days later... and what small groups of humans were left were holed up in various rooms scattered around the castle, barricaded in, mostly with very little food or water, very little if any ammunition left, very little hope left too for that matter.

The zombie horde shambling around the corridors, or battering at the barricades must number well over three hundred by now. Pretty much a grim situation.

Four of us had fought our retreat down a stone stairway, pushed backwards by the sheer weight of numbers. By the time I reached the heavy door at the bottom I was the only one left, the only one that could be classed as human anyway.

I slammed the door shut behind me and slid the thick steel bolt into place, then continued down another flight of steps into what I discovered to be a sprawling dungeon converted into several storerooms.

It would seem fortune smiled on me this day, or smirked on me maybe, time would tell.

Investigating my surroundings I discovered crates of tinned meat and fish, bottled water and cola, dried fruit, cartons of crisps, enough to feed me for months.

Further investigation turned up a veritable treasure trove of useful items. Blankets, candles, cutlery, just about everything I would need to sit out a long siege. But unfortunately, no weapons or ammunition.

Bumps and thuds came from the top of the stairs, no worry, that door would hold.

I sat on a crate of tinned fruit, and reviewed the events of the past few days.

No-one knew for sure how the zombies had got into the castle, the walls were too high for them to scale, and the massive doors were still intact and braced.

I heard a rumour that the teenager and his parents who lived over at the east wing were the first victims, and that it had spread from there.

That kid was one weird piece of work, he had a way of looking at you, with a strange smile on his face, as though he knew something that you didn't, and he was smug enough to want to blurt it out but smart enough not to. I wouldn't even be surprised if he had let the virus in on purpose as some kind of psychotic joke.

The only thing I could do now was wait, eventually the zombies currently clawing at the dungeon door may die of starvation, although I didn't hold out much hope for that, or they may be distracted by other survivors, or wander off in search of easier prey.

There was only one way out of here, and that was back up the steps and through the door I came in. I was well supplied, and had nothing but time on my hands...

So I guess I'll just wait...

I removed the revolver from my waistband and checked the load, I was surprised to discover there was still one live round left...

I was wrong, there were two ways out of here.

- - - - - - - - - -

A Zombie's tale. (Part 1)
Zigourney. (A Zombie's tale Part 3)


©2011 Stephen. J. Green.

An unimaginable thing

My question is this...

If someone offered you an unlimited amount of money...

To do an unimaginable thing...

Would you do it?

When the question was asked of me I was unemployed, I was deeply in debt, I was living alone, I had no immediate family, I had no close friends, I owned very little in the way of material things. No-one cared for me, and in return, I cared for no-one.

What could possibly be asked of me that would hurt anyone or anything that I cared about?

So I accepted.

As I sit here sipping champagne on the foredeck of my yacht, with a warm mediterranean breeze gently tousling my hair, I cast my mind back over events of the last two years.
The exotic places I have visited, the exciting things I have done, the rich and famous people I have met, the sheer amount of money I have spent.

I look around at the luxurious trappings that surround me, at the beautiful vista, at the clear blue sunlit sky...

And once again, like a lightning strike, the guilt and shame punches into me...

The absolute horror of what I have done hits me again and again and again, like hammer blows.

The champagne leaves a bitter, sour taste on my tongue, the riches and possessions have brought no pleasure to my life, no happiness, no satisfaction.

All I have seen... all I have done... all seem a worthless waste.

The truth of the words “When you sup with the devil, use a long spoon.” Haunts my thoughts.

There has not been one single solitary day over those two years when I haven't wished that I could turn back the clock to the time before I said yes.


So, my question is this...

If someone offered you an unlimited amount of money...

To do an unimaginable thing...

Would you do it?


©2011 Stephen. J. Green.

Addictions

My drinking and other vices were becoming increasingly expensive, and my meagre unemployment benefit just didn't stretch to pay for them, so like any self-respecting person, I looked for a way to generate a second income to keep my pleasures supplied.

A career in burglary suited me right down to the ground. The hours were minimal, the pay was usually good, and there was no overheads and no nagging bosses on my case.

One afternoon I broke into what I thought would be an unoccupied premises, as I prowled from room to room I came across a partly open door, and could hear slight movements coming from within, I turned to sneak away but some kind of irresistible force seemed to grip me and draw me involuntarily to the doorway.

I took a peek inside and saw a semicircle of chairs, most of them occupied, by men and women of varying ages.

Seemingly from nowhere a hand gently grasped my arm and ushered me inside, the owner of the hand was a stunningly beautiful redhead, with the strangest brown eyes I have ever seen, I swear I could see flames dancing in them.

“Sit down, sit down, we'll be starting in just a few moments.”

Her voice was rich, and sweet-sounding, images of drizzling honey filled my thoughts.

I sat down nervously, hoping to sneak out after whatever was about to start, had started.

A minute or two later a fat, balding man, with a bright red nose stood up...

“My name is Tom, and I am an alcoholic........”

“Oh dung in a bucket, this is all I need.” I thought, and stood to leave.

“Please... sit down,” said the redhead, “you're among friends here.”

Images of sweet, sweet honey drizzled into my brain again.

“No...” I stammered, “I really don't belong here.”

The honey began to crystallize, to harden... to splinter and crack...

“Oh, I think you do.” She said, and her fiery stare burned into the depths of my soul. “NOW.... SIT.... DOWN.”

And that my friends, is the story of how I took the first step on the road to becoming teetotal.

How I got off the heroin, the cigarettes, and the solvent abuse?

Well, that's for another day.


©2011 Stephen. J. Green.