I held eyeball to eyeball contact...
And said my piece.
“If you EVER park YOUR CAR outside of MY HOUSE again, you won't know what the HELL has HIT you.”
My forefinger stabbed forward repeatedly, emphasising my righteous indignation as I took the moral high ground.
“You BIG DUMB SCHMUCK! don't think I'm scared of YOU mate, I might be half your size, but I could take your lights out ANY day of the week, NO problem!
I am SICK to DEATH of having to park MY car at the other end of the STREET, just because YOU can't be ARSED to reverse YOUR piece of SCRAP back to where it SHOULD be parked., you LAZY, BONE idle, BALD-headed, POT-bellied, HUMPTY-backed, DOG-breathed, WRINKLE-faced, MAGGOT-todgered, BALL-LESS, SNIPE-nosed, KNOCK-kneed piece of CRUD.
If YOU parked YOUR rustbucket where it SHOULD be parked, I would be able to park MY car where IT should be parked, WOULDN'T I? But NO!, THAT would be too SIMPLE...WOULDN'T IT? Too EASY! Too much like using a bit of common bleedin' SENSE!.. WOULDN'T IT? NO! Because YOU have to act like the INCON-bleedin'-SIDERATE, BOULDER-bellied TOSSER that you ARE... I'VE got three buses and a TRAIN to catch before I get to MY car on a MORNING!
It would be really NICE if just for ONCE in my life I didn't need to YOMP across half the ESTATE to get to MY front DOOR When I get home from work! I mean, JEEZ! It would be nearly as quick to WALK home WOULDN'T it?
Are you GETTING all this? Is it sinking through your THICK-boned SKULL into that PATHETIC, LENTIL-sized, THREE-celled BRAIN of yours?
Now get your UGLY-mugged ARSE down them STEPS mister VERNON JARVIS, get into that clapped out, rattling box of SHRAPNEL that you call a CAR, and SHIFT IT!!!!”
There was a gentle knock on the front door...
I walked into the hallway and opened the door to find Vernon Jarvis from next door on the doorstep
“ Oh, hi mate” He said. “I've brought that DVD back that I borrowed last night. Thanks bud, much appreciated. Oh drat! I've parked the car a bit too far forward again haven't I? Must be the second time this month, sorry mate, I'll nip down and move it back a couple of feet.”
“No, don't bother Vern” I told him, smiling. “It's no problem at all mate, I'm only encroaching onto next door's kerb a foot or so, and anyway, Frank doesn't mind, he doesn't even own a car.”
“See ya later mate.” I said, still smiling.
I closed the door gently, and walked back into the lounge, when I passed the mirror I couldn't quite look myself in the eye this time.
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Thursday, 23 June 2011
Friday, 17 June 2011
For my own safety
I've had many labels stuck on me in the time I've been in here, insane, paranoid, delusional, schizophrenic, liar, to name but a few. I think liar was the one that hurt the most.
Not for one single moment did any of these so-called experts consider that maybe, just maybe, I was telling the truth.
For my own safety, their words not mine, I was detained under the mental health act, and brought to this 'hospital'.
Eventually I had grown to like my room, the fabric covering the walls and floor was tough and yet soft at the same time.
“For your own safety.” They had told me, as they ushered me inside.
And yes, it was safe, for now. Eventually things on the outside would get so bad there would be no-one left in control here, and I would have to leave and take my chances, but for now it was safe.
And here I was, in the interview room once more...
The man in black looked across the table at me, his face expressionless, but the glint of concern in his eyes betrayed his inner thoughts.
“People are disappearing.” He said.
“Yes, I know.”
“A lot of people, thousands each day.”
“Yes, I know.”
He shifted slightly in his chair, his body language betraying him further.
“Do you know where they are being taken to?”
“No, but I know where they end up.”
The man in black straightened in his chair, then leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, he stared at me intently.
“Where?” He asked me.
“The same place as your breakfast, and your Sunday roast, and your Saturday night beer and pizza.”
“What?”
“Where do all meals end up? Down the sewer, they end up down the sewer.”
“You could have helped to prevent a lot of this you know.”
“When I tried to tell people that these creatures were living amongst us, when I tried to warn people about this, when I tried to convince people to defend themselves against this, I was brought here, for my own safety. No-one wanted to listen to what I had to say.”
“Well, we're ready to listen now.”
I sighed, stood up, and walked slowly towards the door. “It's too late.” I told him over my shoulder. To the guard I said “I'd like to go back to my room now please, for my own safety”
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Not for one single moment did any of these so-called experts consider that maybe, just maybe, I was telling the truth.
For my own safety, their words not mine, I was detained under the mental health act, and brought to this 'hospital'.
Eventually I had grown to like my room, the fabric covering the walls and floor was tough and yet soft at the same time.
“For your own safety.” They had told me, as they ushered me inside.
And yes, it was safe, for now. Eventually things on the outside would get so bad there would be no-one left in control here, and I would have to leave and take my chances, but for now it was safe.
And here I was, in the interview room once more...
The man in black looked across the table at me, his face expressionless, but the glint of concern in his eyes betrayed his inner thoughts.
“People are disappearing.” He said.
“Yes, I know.”
“A lot of people, thousands each day.”
“Yes, I know.”
He shifted slightly in his chair, his body language betraying him further.
“Do you know where they are being taken to?”
“No, but I know where they end up.”
The man in black straightened in his chair, then leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, he stared at me intently.
“Where?” He asked me.
“The same place as your breakfast, and your Sunday roast, and your Saturday night beer and pizza.”
“What?”
“Where do all meals end up? Down the sewer, they end up down the sewer.”
“You could have helped to prevent a lot of this you know.”
“When I tried to tell people that these creatures were living amongst us, when I tried to warn people about this, when I tried to convince people to defend themselves against this, I was brought here, for my own safety. No-one wanted to listen to what I had to say.”
“Well, we're ready to listen now.”
I sighed, stood up, and walked slowly towards the door. “It's too late.” I told him over my shoulder. To the guard I said “I'd like to go back to my room now please, for my own safety”
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Friday, 10 June 2011
Tapeworms
“He's still movin'”
We stood a few feet away from Geoff's body, the slug from my .45 had drilled a hole through his forehead, probably gone straight through and into the ground too.
“He's dead.” I told him, matter of factly. “Now pour the petrol an' burn him before the damn thing comes out.”
“He ain't dead,” Said Paul, his voice rising in panic. “Look... LOOK... He's still movin'!”
Geoff's stomach was twitching slightly, small movements, tiny squiggles under the skin.
As we watched, the movements began to increase in intensity, and to slowly edge upwards towards his chest.
I put two more slugs into him, both directly into the twitchy bit, the body danced slightly with the impacts but the movements continued upwards, the ribcage started to thrum, as though a silent jackhammer was being used on the inside.
Paul stared, bulge-eyed with fear and horror.
“Paul... PAUL... Use the goddam petrol, for crissakes will ya?”
He just stood, rooted, useless in his terror.
I made a start to grab the fuel can from his hand when a slight crackling sound came from Geoff's mouth...
I felt the freezing tendrils of paralysing terror crawl up my spine, I turned my head in Geoff's direction...
Geoff's throat was a writhing distended lump. A translucent, ghastly pale, inch-thick head appeared from his mouth, small antenna flickered around as if tasting the air...
Paul snapped, he started screaming... he just stood... and stared... and screamed...
I watched with absolute horror as more of the creature slithered out, like a ghostly segmented viper. The eyeless head turned in Paul's direction, attracted by the sweet sound of his screams...
The hellish creature slowly drew itself back, away from us, then, almost faster than the eye could follow, whiplashed its body through the air, I spun around just in time to see the last few inches of it slither rapidly into Paul's open mouth.
I backed off several yards whilst Paul was gagging and coughing, eventually he seemed to recover, and straightened up, his eyes glazed with something that wasn't there a few moments ago.
We stood and looked at each other, both of us knowing what I would have to do.
Me and Paul had known each other since we were kids, best buddies all the way, it was hard to believe it would end like this.
I walked forward raising the gun, tears blurring my vision as I pressed the barrel to his forehead...
“Do it!” he said, his voice calm, steady.
“Goodbye my friend.” I said, then squeezed the trigger.
Paul's body flew back, landing spread-eagled in the dust, almost immediately the writhing began beneath the skin on his stomach. His unwanted house-guest already packing to leave, these creatures needed live flesh to feed off.
I grabbed the fuel can, flipping the top open and began to pour, liberally dousing his head, filling his mouth until it overflowed, then along the length of his body. Salt water dripping from my cheeks and mixing with the petrol.
I stood back a few paces, struck the match and threw it onto Paul just as his throat started to bloat...
Within seconds the head appeared from the flame-filled mouth...
The creature thrashed around as it tried to escape the flames, writhing, burning, screeching... dying.
As I watched while the worm slumped, and blackened, I pondered my next move.
This had certainly turned out to be some day, I had just wasted two more members of a rapidly dwindling population.
Could we actually win this war? Or even survive it?
Well, whatever happened, I would go down fighting.
A short distance away the road forked left and right, which way to go?
I was unlikely to find good news whichever direction I chose. Good news was extremely hard to come by these days.
The goddam worms were everywhere, every town and city were infested with them.
Decision time...
I fished a coin from my pocket...
And flipped...
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
We stood a few feet away from Geoff's body, the slug from my .45 had drilled a hole through his forehead, probably gone straight through and into the ground too.
“He's dead.” I told him, matter of factly. “Now pour the petrol an' burn him before the damn thing comes out.”
“He ain't dead,” Said Paul, his voice rising in panic. “Look... LOOK... He's still movin'!”
Geoff's stomach was twitching slightly, small movements, tiny squiggles under the skin.
As we watched, the movements began to increase in intensity, and to slowly edge upwards towards his chest.
I put two more slugs into him, both directly into the twitchy bit, the body danced slightly with the impacts but the movements continued upwards, the ribcage started to thrum, as though a silent jackhammer was being used on the inside.
Paul stared, bulge-eyed with fear and horror.
“Paul... PAUL... Use the goddam petrol, for crissakes will ya?”
He just stood, rooted, useless in his terror.
I made a start to grab the fuel can from his hand when a slight crackling sound came from Geoff's mouth...
I felt the freezing tendrils of paralysing terror crawl up my spine, I turned my head in Geoff's direction...
Geoff's throat was a writhing distended lump. A translucent, ghastly pale, inch-thick head appeared from his mouth, small antenna flickered around as if tasting the air...
Paul snapped, he started screaming... he just stood... and stared... and screamed...
I watched with absolute horror as more of the creature slithered out, like a ghostly segmented viper. The eyeless head turned in Paul's direction, attracted by the sweet sound of his screams...
The hellish creature slowly drew itself back, away from us, then, almost faster than the eye could follow, whiplashed its body through the air, I spun around just in time to see the last few inches of it slither rapidly into Paul's open mouth.
I backed off several yards whilst Paul was gagging and coughing, eventually he seemed to recover, and straightened up, his eyes glazed with something that wasn't there a few moments ago.
We stood and looked at each other, both of us knowing what I would have to do.
Me and Paul had known each other since we were kids, best buddies all the way, it was hard to believe it would end like this.
I walked forward raising the gun, tears blurring my vision as I pressed the barrel to his forehead...
“Do it!” he said, his voice calm, steady.
“Goodbye my friend.” I said, then squeezed the trigger.
Paul's body flew back, landing spread-eagled in the dust, almost immediately the writhing began beneath the skin on his stomach. His unwanted house-guest already packing to leave, these creatures needed live flesh to feed off.
I grabbed the fuel can, flipping the top open and began to pour, liberally dousing his head, filling his mouth until it overflowed, then along the length of his body. Salt water dripping from my cheeks and mixing with the petrol.
I stood back a few paces, struck the match and threw it onto Paul just as his throat started to bloat...
Within seconds the head appeared from the flame-filled mouth...
The creature thrashed around as it tried to escape the flames, writhing, burning, screeching... dying.
As I watched while the worm slumped, and blackened, I pondered my next move.
This had certainly turned out to be some day, I had just wasted two more members of a rapidly dwindling population.
Could we actually win this war? Or even survive it?
Well, whatever happened, I would go down fighting.
A short distance away the road forked left and right, which way to go?
I was unlikely to find good news whichever direction I chose. Good news was extremely hard to come by these days.
The goddam worms were everywhere, every town and city were infested with them.
Decision time...
I fished a coin from my pocket...
And flipped...
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Friday, 3 June 2011
Skitter
I quietly closed the cellar door and walked down the steps, it is in here somewhere... Hiding...
As I walked to the centre of the cellar, I thought I saw a small movement in the shadows...
Then...
“TINK”... The light went out...plunging me into a wall of black...
Fear surged to the surface, I held myself together just below the panic threshold...
Then I heard it...the sound of sharp claws scrabbling on the stone floor...
Skitter
I couldn't move, my whole body was frozen with terror...
Skitter
I couldn't speak, my throat constricted ...
Skitter skitter
I could barely breathe as the panic threatened to engulf me...
Skitter skitter
Sightless in the pitch black...
Skitter skitter skitter
Heart pounding... mouth dry... eyes straining futilely...
Skitter SKITTER skitter
It's getting closer... bolder...
Skitter skitter SKITTER skitter skitter
Playing with me...
Skitter skitter SKITTER SKITTER skitter skitter
There was a barely audible creak as the cellar door swung slowly open...
Skitter skitter SKITTER SKITTER SKITTER skitter skitter
blinding light in my eyes...
Skitter skitter
The voice, a welcome lifeline in this ocean of skittering nothingness...
“John? I told ya not to come down inta the cellar without a torch... didn't I tell ya that? Ya know how unreliable the lighting is down here. An' what with your darkness phobia an' all... Now, did ya get the hamster back inta his cage yet?
“No, I ain't caught him yet, but I can hear the little blighter runnin' around.”
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
As I walked to the centre of the cellar, I thought I saw a small movement in the shadows...
Then...
“TINK”... The light went out...plunging me into a wall of black...
Fear surged to the surface, I held myself together just below the panic threshold...
Then I heard it...the sound of sharp claws scrabbling on the stone floor...
Skitter
I couldn't move, my whole body was frozen with terror...
Skitter
I couldn't speak, my throat constricted ...
Skitter skitter
I could barely breathe as the panic threatened to engulf me...
Skitter skitter
Sightless in the pitch black...
Skitter skitter skitter
Heart pounding... mouth dry... eyes straining futilely...
Skitter SKITTER skitter
It's getting closer... bolder...
Skitter skitter SKITTER skitter skitter
Playing with me...
Skitter skitter SKITTER SKITTER skitter skitter
There was a barely audible creak as the cellar door swung slowly open...
Skitter skitter SKITTER SKITTER SKITTER skitter skitter
blinding light in my eyes...
Skitter skitter
The voice, a welcome lifeline in this ocean of skittering nothingness...
“John? I told ya not to come down inta the cellar without a torch... didn't I tell ya that? Ya know how unreliable the lighting is down here. An' what with your darkness phobia an' all... Now, did ya get the hamster back inta his cage yet?
“No, I ain't caught him yet, but I can hear the little blighter runnin' around.”
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Friday, 27 May 2011
Cops and robbers (Part 2)
Anyone wishing to read the first part of this story can find it here:-
Cops and robbers (Part 1)
* * * * * * * * * *
Aaah, this truly was the life he deserved, a beautiful sprawling house with its own private beach, speed boat tied up at the private jetty, an endless string of caribbean babes to help him pass the time, and a neverending supply of fine rum and sunshine...
Yes, this was definitely the life for him.
Ex Detective Inspector Bennett eased himself more comfortably into the sun-lounger, and took a long, slow drink from his iced cocktail, a gentle breeze touched his sun-bronzed face, he smiled to himself, he was smiling a lot lately, especially when he recalled the events from a few short months ago...
It seemed like a lifetime ago, another life, another world.
Everyone was so surprised when he suddenly decided to retire from the police force, he claimed exhaustion and stress, most people put it down to his failure to crack the jewellery robbery case, this was the first time in all his years on the force that he had failed, and the strain showed.
As well as being an excellent cop, Bennett was also an excellent actor too, his drawn, haggard appearance was self-induced, night after night he took a minimum amount of sleep, which had a cumulative effect on his appearance, a lined look, bags under the eyes, pale sunken cheeks, all of which reinforced the belief of those who knew him that he was suffering inside.
Many of his colleagues were secretly relieved when he retired, he had lost his edge, it was for the best really.
Inside, Bennett was laughing like a drain, his plan was coming nicely together, a few weeks after retiring, he retrieved the diamonds from beneath his floorboards, then, wearing a cunning disguise, paid a visit to Fat Freddy...
He walked out of Freddy's establishment with just shy of three quarters of a million pounds in his possession.
Second phase...
No-one was surprised to find Bennett's abandoned clothes on the beach, a note in his wallet saying goodbye to all that he held dear, last night's storm tide along the English Channel would have washed a body miles out to sea...
Bennett smiled again as he returned his thoughts to the present. Yes, this was definitely the life.
After several hours of sunbathing, hunger finally began to gnaw at him, tummy growling he eased himself off the sun-lounger and ambled up towards the house, as he approached the building he cast an appraising eye over it, he had the property on monthly lease from one of the local big boys, the beach and speed boat all part of the package.
The sprawling single-storey was a beauty, red-tiled roof, white walls gleaming in the sun, the large picture window, the open door..... OPEN DOOR??
Bennett froze, he had definitely closed the door when he came out, no-one left their doors open here, there were too many little furry things living in these parts that would chew everything inside.
He looked slowly around, there were faint marks in the sand, a barely visible swirling line led from the doorway and off towards the treeline, someone had used a branch to wipe out their footprints.
Bennett slowly crept to the door, if anyone was still inside they would shortly be very, very sorry they had come here.
He peeked around the doorframe... nothing!
He listened for a few moments... nothing!
He silently entered the house, his body ready to spring to violence...
The first thing to catch his eye when he got to the lounge was the seascape picture lying on the floor, from there his gaze travelled upwards to the wall safe, whose door was also hanging open...
Bennett walked to the safe and looked inside... Empty!
All of his money, all of it, gone!!
Panicking, he thrust a hand inside the safe, not quite believing what he was seeing, maybe his hands would find what his eyes could not...
Right at the back of the safe his fingers touched a scrap of paper, Bennett pulled it out and stared at it unbelievingly...
There was something very familiar about this bit of paper, obviously torn from a notebook.
On the paper, in his own handwriting, were the words THANK YOU. And next to this was a cartoon drawing of a grinning Bugs Bunny.
At the bottom of the page was a clumsily drawn picture of a fist with the middle finger sticking up,
And the words CATCH ME IF YOU CAN... signed... YOURS TRULY.
- - - - - - - - - -
Cops and robbers (Part 1)
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Cops and robbers (Part 1)
* * * * * * * * * *
Aaah, this truly was the life he deserved, a beautiful sprawling house with its own private beach, speed boat tied up at the private jetty, an endless string of caribbean babes to help him pass the time, and a neverending supply of fine rum and sunshine...
Yes, this was definitely the life for him.
Ex Detective Inspector Bennett eased himself more comfortably into the sun-lounger, and took a long, slow drink from his iced cocktail, a gentle breeze touched his sun-bronzed face, he smiled to himself, he was smiling a lot lately, especially when he recalled the events from a few short months ago...
It seemed like a lifetime ago, another life, another world.
Everyone was so surprised when he suddenly decided to retire from the police force, he claimed exhaustion and stress, most people put it down to his failure to crack the jewellery robbery case, this was the first time in all his years on the force that he had failed, and the strain showed.
As well as being an excellent cop, Bennett was also an excellent actor too, his drawn, haggard appearance was self-induced, night after night he took a minimum amount of sleep, which had a cumulative effect on his appearance, a lined look, bags under the eyes, pale sunken cheeks, all of which reinforced the belief of those who knew him that he was suffering inside.
Many of his colleagues were secretly relieved when he retired, he had lost his edge, it was for the best really.
Inside, Bennett was laughing like a drain, his plan was coming nicely together, a few weeks after retiring, he retrieved the diamonds from beneath his floorboards, then, wearing a cunning disguise, paid a visit to Fat Freddy...
He walked out of Freddy's establishment with just shy of three quarters of a million pounds in his possession.
Second phase...
No-one was surprised to find Bennett's abandoned clothes on the beach, a note in his wallet saying goodbye to all that he held dear, last night's storm tide along the English Channel would have washed a body miles out to sea...
Bennett smiled again as he returned his thoughts to the present. Yes, this was definitely the life.
After several hours of sunbathing, hunger finally began to gnaw at him, tummy growling he eased himself off the sun-lounger and ambled up towards the house, as he approached the building he cast an appraising eye over it, he had the property on monthly lease from one of the local big boys, the beach and speed boat all part of the package.
The sprawling single-storey was a beauty, red-tiled roof, white walls gleaming in the sun, the large picture window, the open door..... OPEN DOOR??
Bennett froze, he had definitely closed the door when he came out, no-one left their doors open here, there were too many little furry things living in these parts that would chew everything inside.
He looked slowly around, there were faint marks in the sand, a barely visible swirling line led from the doorway and off towards the treeline, someone had used a branch to wipe out their footprints.
Bennett slowly crept to the door, if anyone was still inside they would shortly be very, very sorry they had come here.
He peeked around the doorframe... nothing!
He listened for a few moments... nothing!
He silently entered the house, his body ready to spring to violence...
The first thing to catch his eye when he got to the lounge was the seascape picture lying on the floor, from there his gaze travelled upwards to the wall safe, whose door was also hanging open...
Bennett walked to the safe and looked inside... Empty!
All of his money, all of it, gone!!
Panicking, he thrust a hand inside the safe, not quite believing what he was seeing, maybe his hands would find what his eyes could not...
Right at the back of the safe his fingers touched a scrap of paper, Bennett pulled it out and stared at it unbelievingly...
There was something very familiar about this bit of paper, obviously torn from a notebook.
On the paper, in his own handwriting, were the words THANK YOU. And next to this was a cartoon drawing of a grinning Bugs Bunny.
At the bottom of the page was a clumsily drawn picture of a fist with the middle finger sticking up,
And the words CATCH ME IF YOU CAN... signed... YOURS TRULY.
- - - - - - - - - -
Cops and robbers (Part 1)
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Thursday, 19 May 2011
Cops and robbers (Part 1)
I was pretty sure that I was going to go down for this one, even though at this point they didn't have a single shred of evidence to fit me to the crime, and I would usually give myself a ninety nine percent chance of walking out of here had anyone else been on the case, just my rotten luck, I had the misfortune to be looking over the interview room table at Bugs.
Detective Inspector Bennett, aka Bugs, was a good cop, a very shrewd cop, his powers of deduction were legendary. Many a crim' had sat smugly in this room, giving him the runaround, only to be tripped up by something that they HADN'T said.
Bugs' thought processes were almost psychic, it was like watching an episode of Columbo.
There was no guesswork when he was on the case, he KNEW if you were guilty or not.
For him, then, it was just a case of using his extremely clever questioning technique to dig out the proof.
All the while we talked he was writing in his notebook, not writing notes, to be re-examined later, as he would like you to think. No, he was doodling, drawing to be more precise.
If you could sneak a look at his book, like 'Johnny The Dip' had once managed to, he would be sketching miniature cartoon characters, namely pictures of a grinning Bugs Bunny.
Of course this soon became common knowledge courtesy of Johnny, and the nickname was born.
No-one ever called D.I. Bennett Bugs to his face, not any more anyway.
The few people who had dared to had earned themselves a good slapping. He was a right hard nut he was, athletic, tough, his hobbies included rock climbing, pot-holing, sky diving, and he held a second dan black belt in karate too. Definitely not a man with whom you would want to bump heads with!
As I sat there I cast my mind back to earlier in the evening...
I had done the jewellers, a piece of cake it was too. After coming back outside I had cut straight across the old cobbled yard that ran alongside of it, and dropped the shoulder bag down the old dry well, I would recover it later when the heat was off.
It was pretty much laid on that I would get hauled in, every time a job like this was pulled I was in the top five names.
Just my luck! As I was coming out of the other side of the yard a police car cruised past.
Spinning on my heel I turned back into the yard, unzipped my flies, and pretended to be taking a leak. The boys in blue must have had a slow shift, they arrested me for possible indecent exposure.
Give me a break will you? There was no-one else around to look at the bloody thing apart from me.
Well, at least the ice was safe, and they'd have to release me after I'd spent several hours giving them nothing.
I would recover the loot in a few days, nice and quiet like.
Whilst I was in custody, news of the robbery came in. That was when it all went up a notch, and Bugs got onto my case. I would have been picked up for questioning on this one anyway, and there I was, all conveniently sitting in a cell, just ripe for the plucking.
“So!” Said Bugs. His tone soft, relaxed, “what were you doing in the yard?”
“You know what I was doing.” I replied, very casual. “I was taking a leak. Yeah I know, a bit naughty, but I got caught short on my way home from the Dog and Duck. I had a few pints in there, and when the cold hit me outside, well...”
Bugs scribbled in his notebook for a while.
He looked up from his doodling, and slowly looked me up and down, from my scalp, right down to the soles of my Italian leather shoes, and back again. His deadpan expression gave nothing away, but I felt like a laser had just burned its way up and down me.
“With anyone I might know?” He asked me.
“Johnny Preston, and Stumpy.”
I hadn't seen either of these two in more than a week, but they would spin Bugs a line for me.
More scribbling.
“Put him back in the cell, I'm going to have a word with Stumpy and 'The Dip'”
He glanced at the clock on the wall, ten past one.
“Those two fine upstanding citizens'll most likely be in the Sugar Cane club at this time of night.”
About an hour later, I was sat in the cell, idly examining the moss stains on my nice shoes, I must've scuffed them against the well wall when I threw the bag down there. I'll give 'em a good polishing tomorrow, can't stand having dirty shoes. I mean, you can tell a lot about a man by the state of his footwear can't you?
The door clanked, then swung open to reveal Bugs filling the door frame.
“Out” He said “Looks like you're in the clear.”
“What about the bollocksy indecent exposure charge?”
“I can't be arsed with the paperwork. Now off you toddle before I change my mind.”
I hit the street feeling like a million dollars. I could hardly believe my luck! I had fronted it!
I don't know what steered Bugs away from me, maybe something Johnny or Stumpy had said to him, but lady luck was definitely smiling my way. This tale will go down in history, once I've got the lovely untraceable cash for the goodies.
Bugs had me, and for once in his exemplary career he had screwed up. Ha!
Maybe his legendary intuition was finally beginning to fade!
I wasn't waiting for later to get the sparklers, as far as I was concerned the heat was already off. I would go for them now, collecting a torch from home on my way past. There was still three or four hours of darkness left, and I intended to grab the stuff, visit Fat Freddy the fence, and get myself home with the cash whilst the luck was still with me.
Half an hour later I was winching the bucket down the well. I slithered down the rope, holding the torch in my mouth, before long I felt my feet touch the soft earth at the bottom of the well. The torch beam fell across the bag... lovely jubbly!
Five minutes later I was walking down the road on my way to Fat Freddy's, when a familiar figure came lurching drunkenly towards me.
“Hey Stumpy, you're in a right state, you are. Thanks for helping me out with Bugs earlier on. There'll be a drink in it for you later.”
Stumpy looked at me as though I was talking gibberish. “Wha' the fug're ya talkin' 'bout?” he slurred, muttered something under his breath, then lurched drunkenly on his way.
Fat Freddy was very pleased to see me.
“OK, lets see the gear.”
I took one of the velvet envelopes from the bag, and emptied it out onto the table. Smiling broadly at Freddy.
“Feast your eyes on them stones Freddy.”
“Is this some kind of a joke?” Said Freddy.
His two minders eased their shoulders from the wall and ambled over to stand behind me at the table.
I looked down at the stones, that's exactly what I was looking at, stones!
Well, gravel to be more precise.
“What the...?”
I felt like I had just been slapped.
One by one I emptied the small black velvet bags onto the table...
And for each one I emptied, the pile of gravel grew bigger...
A few minutes later I was sitting on the pavement outside Freddy's, after unceremoniously being thrown down his staircase by the two very nice minders.
My shoulder bag followed me down, hitting me in the back of the head.
I picked up the bag, and started walking, still numb with disbelief...
I idly slid my hand inside the bag, half expecting that this was some kind of dream, and the diamonds were really still in there.
I didn't find any diamonds, but my hand brushed a scrap of paper...
I pulled it out and held it up under the glare of a street lamp...
It was a page torn from a notebook...
The note said simply. THANK YOU
I couldn't recognise the handwriting...
But I sure as hell recognised the grinning cartoon character drawn next to it!
- - - - - - - - - -
Continued in :-
Cops and robbers (Part 2)
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Detective Inspector Bennett, aka Bugs, was a good cop, a very shrewd cop, his powers of deduction were legendary. Many a crim' had sat smugly in this room, giving him the runaround, only to be tripped up by something that they HADN'T said.
Bugs' thought processes were almost psychic, it was like watching an episode of Columbo.
There was no guesswork when he was on the case, he KNEW if you were guilty or not.
For him, then, it was just a case of using his extremely clever questioning technique to dig out the proof.
All the while we talked he was writing in his notebook, not writing notes, to be re-examined later, as he would like you to think. No, he was doodling, drawing to be more precise.
If you could sneak a look at his book, like 'Johnny The Dip' had once managed to, he would be sketching miniature cartoon characters, namely pictures of a grinning Bugs Bunny.
Of course this soon became common knowledge courtesy of Johnny, and the nickname was born.
No-one ever called D.I. Bennett Bugs to his face, not any more anyway.
The few people who had dared to had earned themselves a good slapping. He was a right hard nut he was, athletic, tough, his hobbies included rock climbing, pot-holing, sky diving, and he held a second dan black belt in karate too. Definitely not a man with whom you would want to bump heads with!
As I sat there I cast my mind back to earlier in the evening...
I had done the jewellers, a piece of cake it was too. After coming back outside I had cut straight across the old cobbled yard that ran alongside of it, and dropped the shoulder bag down the old dry well, I would recover it later when the heat was off.
It was pretty much laid on that I would get hauled in, every time a job like this was pulled I was in the top five names.
Just my luck! As I was coming out of the other side of the yard a police car cruised past.
Spinning on my heel I turned back into the yard, unzipped my flies, and pretended to be taking a leak. The boys in blue must have had a slow shift, they arrested me for possible indecent exposure.
Give me a break will you? There was no-one else around to look at the bloody thing apart from me.
Well, at least the ice was safe, and they'd have to release me after I'd spent several hours giving them nothing.
I would recover the loot in a few days, nice and quiet like.
Whilst I was in custody, news of the robbery came in. That was when it all went up a notch, and Bugs got onto my case. I would have been picked up for questioning on this one anyway, and there I was, all conveniently sitting in a cell, just ripe for the plucking.
“So!” Said Bugs. His tone soft, relaxed, “what were you doing in the yard?”
“You know what I was doing.” I replied, very casual. “I was taking a leak. Yeah I know, a bit naughty, but I got caught short on my way home from the Dog and Duck. I had a few pints in there, and when the cold hit me outside, well...”
Bugs scribbled in his notebook for a while.
He looked up from his doodling, and slowly looked me up and down, from my scalp, right down to the soles of my Italian leather shoes, and back again. His deadpan expression gave nothing away, but I felt like a laser had just burned its way up and down me.
“With anyone I might know?” He asked me.
“Johnny Preston, and Stumpy.”
I hadn't seen either of these two in more than a week, but they would spin Bugs a line for me.
More scribbling.
“Put him back in the cell, I'm going to have a word with Stumpy and 'The Dip'”
He glanced at the clock on the wall, ten past one.
“Those two fine upstanding citizens'll most likely be in the Sugar Cane club at this time of night.”
About an hour later, I was sat in the cell, idly examining the moss stains on my nice shoes, I must've scuffed them against the well wall when I threw the bag down there. I'll give 'em a good polishing tomorrow, can't stand having dirty shoes. I mean, you can tell a lot about a man by the state of his footwear can't you?
The door clanked, then swung open to reveal Bugs filling the door frame.
“Out” He said “Looks like you're in the clear.”
“What about the bollocksy indecent exposure charge?”
“I can't be arsed with the paperwork. Now off you toddle before I change my mind.”
I hit the street feeling like a million dollars. I could hardly believe my luck! I had fronted it!
I don't know what steered Bugs away from me, maybe something Johnny or Stumpy had said to him, but lady luck was definitely smiling my way. This tale will go down in history, once I've got the lovely untraceable cash for the goodies.
Bugs had me, and for once in his exemplary career he had screwed up. Ha!
Maybe his legendary intuition was finally beginning to fade!
I wasn't waiting for later to get the sparklers, as far as I was concerned the heat was already off. I would go for them now, collecting a torch from home on my way past. There was still three or four hours of darkness left, and I intended to grab the stuff, visit Fat Freddy the fence, and get myself home with the cash whilst the luck was still with me.
Half an hour later I was winching the bucket down the well. I slithered down the rope, holding the torch in my mouth, before long I felt my feet touch the soft earth at the bottom of the well. The torch beam fell across the bag... lovely jubbly!
Five minutes later I was walking down the road on my way to Fat Freddy's, when a familiar figure came lurching drunkenly towards me.
“Hey Stumpy, you're in a right state, you are. Thanks for helping me out with Bugs earlier on. There'll be a drink in it for you later.”
Stumpy looked at me as though I was talking gibberish. “Wha' the fug're ya talkin' 'bout?” he slurred, muttered something under his breath, then lurched drunkenly on his way.
Fat Freddy was very pleased to see me.
“OK, lets see the gear.”
I took one of the velvet envelopes from the bag, and emptied it out onto the table. Smiling broadly at Freddy.
“Feast your eyes on them stones Freddy.”
“Is this some kind of a joke?” Said Freddy.
His two minders eased their shoulders from the wall and ambled over to stand behind me at the table.
I looked down at the stones, that's exactly what I was looking at, stones!
Well, gravel to be more precise.
“What the...?”
I felt like I had just been slapped.
One by one I emptied the small black velvet bags onto the table...
And for each one I emptied, the pile of gravel grew bigger...
A few minutes later I was sitting on the pavement outside Freddy's, after unceremoniously being thrown down his staircase by the two very nice minders.
My shoulder bag followed me down, hitting me in the back of the head.
I picked up the bag, and started walking, still numb with disbelief...
I idly slid my hand inside the bag, half expecting that this was some kind of dream, and the diamonds were really still in there.
I didn't find any diamonds, but my hand brushed a scrap of paper...
I pulled it out and held it up under the glare of a street lamp...
It was a page torn from a notebook...
The note said simply. THANK YOU
I couldn't recognise the handwriting...
But I sure as hell recognised the grinning cartoon character drawn next to it!
- - - - - - - - - -
Continued in :-
Cops and robbers (Part 2)
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Friday, 13 May 2011
Guilty party
She did it!
There was absolutely no doubt in my mind. Oh yes, she killed him all right, little miss 'butter wouldn't melt' was as guilty as hell.
I had digested all the evidence, collated all the facts, dismissed all the red herrings, and seen through all the lies, and as far as I was concerned they could handcuff her, drag her off, and throw away the key.
I was born to do this, I had the logical type of mind that could cut through the bullshit and aim straight at the truth, oh yes, and the truth was exactly what I was looking at.
She had lied through her teeth. Oh, very convincingly, I'll give her that much.
You wouldn't think it would you? Upper middle-class sloane ranger type , cucumber sandwiches on the lawn, and show jumping trials every weekend, jeez, give me a break will you.
Oh ,how the lads at the station had laughed when I failed the exams for the CID. What a thoroughly good jape, eh?
“What? Old Griggsy? A detective? God help us.... har har har “
Cretins!
I can still hear the Superintendent's condescending voice.
“You must realise constable Griggs, that not everyone is cut out to be a detective, and you lads on the beat are the first line of defence in the endless fight against the criminals and lowlife that are trying to undermine the integrity of our society. You are a very large, and very important cog in the policing machine. So, chin up, chin up lad, eh? ”
Supercilious plummy-voiced twat!
Old Griggsy? Doesn't make the grade, eh? Hasn't got the smarts?
Well, I'd managed to work this one out without any help, hadn't I?
Oh yes, there were suspects a-plenty, the place was overflowing with them, they were under every stone, and behind every tree, but one by one I had eliminated them all.
All apart from her that is.
Means, motive, and opportunity. The three main building blocks to solving any crime.
Picking out the truth from the lies and the half-truths.
Who stands to gain? And who stands to lose?
The father in law, and brother in law, didn't arrive until after it was all over, the time of their breakdown on the M6 was well documented, and logged by the recovery company that they called out.
Out of the equation.
Martin and Rebecca had been a bit more cavalier with the truth, turning up just minutes before the first squad car arrived.
They swore they had been at the village fair all afternoon, a lie, oh yeah, they'd been at the village all right, shacked up in a hotel room.
They were both in deep trouble with their parents, but still eliminated from my list.
Most of the guests had been down in the lower garden when the shot was heard, and were discounted as not having the opportunity almost from the outset.
Aunt Julia had held my attention for a while, her bygone love affair with the victim was common knowledge, and the resultant bad feelings and acid conversations between them after it all went sour had been the source of much gossip.
Now revenge hungered for by a woman scorned, is a powerful motive, but at the time of the murder she was draped over the toilet pan noisily vomiting up the effects of far too many glasses of wine at the afternoon meal, whilst Georgina and Tobias listened in disgust outside the bathroom door, waiting impatiently to escort her to bed so they could return to the party.
Another three names crossed out.
Several family members stood to gain financially, or should that be ' hoped ' to gain financially?
For he had been rich. Very rich.
And god knows, some of them certainly seemed to have had ulterior motives too, for he wasn't exactly what you would call popular.
But one after another were dismissed as possible trigger pullers, mostly due to their lack of opportunity.
But SHE had had the opportunity, hadn't she?
There was a twelve minute gap in her presence accountability wasn't there?
According to her story she had been in the greenhouse, about to water the seedlings when she heard the shot, but no-one saw her either going to, or coming from, the direction of the greenhouse, did they?
No! She was just suddenly running into the house along with everyone else.
How bloody convenient!
No, my little miss murderous, I think you fired the gun, dropped it on the carpet, then ran out of the back servant's entrance, stripping off the surgical gloves and throwing them onto the open fire on the way past.
You then ran around the west side of the house, hidden from view by the shrubbery, and joined the crowd of guests flooding in the front entrance on their way to investigate the gunfire.
Oh yes, very clever, but not clever enough miss smarty pants.
“Oh yeah, Griggsy. A good plod Griggsy is, salt of the earth is Griggsy, but a detective? Nah!”
This coming from D.S. Bannister, who was a dead ringer for one of the 'fat sweaty cops' from 'The Fast Show'. Bleedin' slob, what the hell did he know?
Well, I knew this much, I had a lot more going for me than any of them gave me credit for.
Well, this was it....... The moment of truth.
I felt smug, and confident knowing that my superior intellect, and well honed powers of deduction were about to be proven.
I picked up the book, leafed through to the final chapter, and began to read....
I had only read a few paragraphs when the realisation sank home....
I was wrong!
I continued reading with a steadily sinking heart, as the final chapter laid out in meticulous detail exactly how the BUTLER had done it.
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Thursday, 5 May 2011
The betrayal. (Guest post from Louise)
Following a request from ABSOLUTELY*KATE, that talented lady who resides AT THE BIJOU, my daughter LOUISE has agreed to guest post on The Twisted Quill this week.
I always enjoy my daughters writing, and I hope that you do too.
Steve Green.
* * * * *
I was delighted to be offered a guest spot on Dad's blog, and flattered that it had been requested. I'm normally a novel writer, even my short stories tend to run to a few thousand words, but I do have this little piece. It was written for an activity as part of my course work. We were given the basics (the figure, the man on the church steps and the baby crying) and had to construct a story from them. It didn't take long for my mind to turn these elements into something disturbing. I loved writing this piece, and I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.
Thank you for reading.
Louise.
THE BETRAYAL
In the quiet dawn of Midsummer's day, even the bells of the village church are silent. Tendrils of steam rise from the damp grass, and from the coat of the man laid on the church steps. A tweed cap covers his face, and his white hair has been neatly combed. At his feet, a single red rose.
A figure strides past the church wall before the silence is cracked by a baby crying. The figure pauses, listens with its head cocked a little to the side, fat fingers fluttering at its pale, thin lips. At the swollen tongue that slips out and licks at the corners of its mouth; tasting salt and the bitter copper of blood. The creature salivates, hunger blossoms in its belly and lower, a different kind of desire gnaws. Breathing heavily, it slips between the graves and approaches The Place.
The corpse on the steps is pitiful. An old man desiccated by age and cancer. His hands, clasped neatly together and holding a rosary, are little more than skin over bone. His body is as rigid as a fallen branch. Not so much laid on the steps as resting against them. The creature plucks the hat from the corpse and brings it to its nose. It inhales deeply, sucking up the aromas of sweat; of hair wax and of sickly death. Then flings it away, watches with amusement as it spins into the distance beyond the graveyard.
The face beneath is yellowish and taut with rigor. The creature grimaces. The meat will be tough, stringy. Barely worth cutting at all. It reaches out a hand to open the eyes, to gaze upon the sweetest of the delicacies offered. Dissatisfaction turns to anger. It is not rigor mortis that has stiffened this deceased, but a failure to thaw. The sacrifice is not fresh. The agreement has not been kept.
Once again the silence is broken by the infant's distress. The creature grins.
©2011 Louise Craven
Any comments or feedback would be very much appreciated.
Thank you.
Louise.
I always enjoy my daughters writing, and I hope that you do too.
Steve Green.
* * * * *
I was delighted to be offered a guest spot on Dad's blog, and flattered that it had been requested. I'm normally a novel writer, even my short stories tend to run to a few thousand words, but I do have this little piece. It was written for an activity as part of my course work. We were given the basics (the figure, the man on the church steps and the baby crying) and had to construct a story from them. It didn't take long for my mind to turn these elements into something disturbing. I loved writing this piece, and I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.
Thank you for reading.
Louise.
THE BETRAYAL
In the quiet dawn of Midsummer's day, even the bells of the village church are silent. Tendrils of steam rise from the damp grass, and from the coat of the man laid on the church steps. A tweed cap covers his face, and his white hair has been neatly combed. At his feet, a single red rose.
A figure strides past the church wall before the silence is cracked by a baby crying. The figure pauses, listens with its head cocked a little to the side, fat fingers fluttering at its pale, thin lips. At the swollen tongue that slips out and licks at the corners of its mouth; tasting salt and the bitter copper of blood. The creature salivates, hunger blossoms in its belly and lower, a different kind of desire gnaws. Breathing heavily, it slips between the graves and approaches The Place.
The corpse on the steps is pitiful. An old man desiccated by age and cancer. His hands, clasped neatly together and holding a rosary, are little more than skin over bone. His body is as rigid as a fallen branch. Not so much laid on the steps as resting against them. The creature plucks the hat from the corpse and brings it to its nose. It inhales deeply, sucking up the aromas of sweat; of hair wax and of sickly death. Then flings it away, watches with amusement as it spins into the distance beyond the graveyard.
The face beneath is yellowish and taut with rigor. The creature grimaces. The meat will be tough, stringy. Barely worth cutting at all. It reaches out a hand to open the eyes, to gaze upon the sweetest of the delicacies offered. Dissatisfaction turns to anger. It is not rigor mortis that has stiffened this deceased, but a failure to thaw. The sacrifice is not fresh. The agreement has not been kept.
Once again the silence is broken by the infant's distress. The creature grins.
©2011 Louise Craven
Any comments or feedback would be very much appreciated.
Thank you.
Louise.
Friday, 29 April 2011
Zalvation
AUTHORS NOTE:-
April is zombie month on The Twisted Quill, ZALVATION is the fifth and final of the five April zombie #fridayflashes. Thank you all for reading, and for all the very kind comments and positive feedback.
* * * * *
They had been working for months now, trying to find a cure, or some way to halt the virus, to stop the infected from infecting the healthy, even the tiniest bite or scratch was a death sentence, or a living-death sentence to be more precise.
They had an endless supply of specimens to experiment on, everything was tested over and over again, hope soared as each new serum was injected into a subject, only to be dashed as it proved just as fruitless as the last.
Until vaccine 420J...
Within hours of 420J being administered, the zombie, subject number 307, showed signs of improvement, its skin took on a healthier look, its eyes began to shine, to reflect light, the aggression dwindled...
Several other subjects were injected, all with the same astonishing results, there were indications that not only were the zombies improving, they were actually becoming alive again.
Three days later, 307, looking almost human again, was placed in a cage with a freshly caught subject, a snarling rotting hungry grey, subject 352, the scientists watched with disbelief as 352 completely ignored 307, even when 307 bit its arm. Oddly, once 307 had bitten 352, he then showed no further interest in him.
A few hours later 352 began to take on a healthier look...
352 was allowed to bite several subjects himself, each of which showed signs of improvement shortly after. Once again the pattern repeated itself, the zombies showed no acknowledgement of 352's presence, and 352 showed no further interest in the zombies once he had bitten them.
Over the next few weeks countless experiments were conducted, all with positive results, by this time 307 was eating regular food, he could open doors and perform other simple tasks, and seemed to have a grasp of basic logic, he was improving more each day, the team believed his grunts would eventually turn into speech, and that he would begin to interact on a deeper level.
Strangely, once the current batch of 420J ran out, none of the subsequent batches of the serum seemed to work, despite countless attempts using the exact same formula, but although puzzling to the scientists, it was not really that important, they had a self-perpetuating weapon against the zombie hordes, the new virus would spread, just as the old one had, only this time curing instead of killing.
A junior lab technician, who had recently recovered from the miseries of a common cold, did wonder if his bout of sneezing whilst preparing that particular batch of the 420J serum had any bearing on the results, but dismissed the idea as being ridiculous.
On the eleventh of June the subjects were released into the city...
Now, all mankind had to do was stay safe, and wait...
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
* * * * *
NEXT WEEK'S GUEST SPOT
Next week I shall be handing the pages of The Twisted Quill over to my daughter.
LOUISE normally writes much longer projects, but following a request from the talented ABSOLUTELY*KATE who resides AT THE BIJOU, she has agreed to post a #flashfiction-length story on here. I hope you enjoy her work.
Thank you for reading.
Steve Green.
April is zombie month on The Twisted Quill, ZALVATION is the fifth and final of the five April zombie #fridayflashes. Thank you all for reading, and for all the very kind comments and positive feedback.
* * * * *
They had been working for months now, trying to find a cure, or some way to halt the virus, to stop the infected from infecting the healthy, even the tiniest bite or scratch was a death sentence, or a living-death sentence to be more precise.
They had an endless supply of specimens to experiment on, everything was tested over and over again, hope soared as each new serum was injected into a subject, only to be dashed as it proved just as fruitless as the last.
Until vaccine 420J...
Within hours of 420J being administered, the zombie, subject number 307, showed signs of improvement, its skin took on a healthier look, its eyes began to shine, to reflect light, the aggression dwindled...
Several other subjects were injected, all with the same astonishing results, there were indications that not only were the zombies improving, they were actually becoming alive again.
Three days later, 307, looking almost human again, was placed in a cage with a freshly caught subject, a snarling rotting hungry grey, subject 352, the scientists watched with disbelief as 352 completely ignored 307, even when 307 bit its arm. Oddly, once 307 had bitten 352, he then showed no further interest in him.
A few hours later 352 began to take on a healthier look...
352 was allowed to bite several subjects himself, each of which showed signs of improvement shortly after. Once again the pattern repeated itself, the zombies showed no acknowledgement of 352's presence, and 352 showed no further interest in the zombies once he had bitten them.
Over the next few weeks countless experiments were conducted, all with positive results, by this time 307 was eating regular food, he could open doors and perform other simple tasks, and seemed to have a grasp of basic logic, he was improving more each day, the team believed his grunts would eventually turn into speech, and that he would begin to interact on a deeper level.
Strangely, once the current batch of 420J ran out, none of the subsequent batches of the serum seemed to work, despite countless attempts using the exact same formula, but although puzzling to the scientists, it was not really that important, they had a self-perpetuating weapon against the zombie hordes, the new virus would spread, just as the old one had, only this time curing instead of killing.
A junior lab technician, who had recently recovered from the miseries of a common cold, did wonder if his bout of sneezing whilst preparing that particular batch of the 420J serum had any bearing on the results, but dismissed the idea as being ridiculous.
On the eleventh of June the subjects were released into the city...
Now, all mankind had to do was stay safe, and wait...
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
* * * * *
NEXT WEEK'S GUEST SPOT
Next week I shall be handing the pages of The Twisted Quill over to my daughter.
LOUISE normally writes much longer projects, but following a request from the talented ABSOLUTELY*KATE who resides AT THE BIJOU, she has agreed to post a #flashfiction-length story on here. I hope you enjoy her work.
Thank you for reading.
Steve Green.
Friday, 22 April 2011
Zweetmeat
AUTHORS NOTE:-
April is zombie month on The Twisted Quill, ZWEETMEAT is the fourth of the five April zombie #Fridayflashes.
* * * * *
Donnie Sheldon had been shambling along for several hours now, he had no sense of the fact he was moving, just the same as he had no recollection of being attacked, infected, dying, awakening.
Anyone observing Donnie's route would probably come to the conclusion that he had a definite destination in mind, Donnie would neither agree nor disagree to this, as his mind no longer functioned on any kind of conscious level.
He paid no attention to the screams and sounds of slaughter, the scenes of panic, mangled cars, and even more mangled bodies, the rapid tattoo of fleeing footsteps, the occasional gunshot rising above the lesser noises.
At the intersection he turned left, shuffling past several fellow undead biting huge mouthfuls of flesh from a still living, still struggling, screeching young woman, and although on some basic instinct he felt the lure of the feast, and his being burned with a ravenous hunger, he ignored it and carried on walking.
Trudging along, glass from shattered store fronts crunched beneath his shoes, the fragments shining like rubies in the mixture of coagulating blood, bits of flesh, and body fluids.
Turning right at the next intersection he was narrowly missed by a speeding car, rocking dangerously from side to side as the driver fought to control both the vehicle, and the snarling, snapping passenger beside him.
Two blocks later, Donnie walked through the shattered doorway of an expensive-looking restaurant, the place was wrecked, broken furniture, china, silverware, and glassware littered the floor.
His attention was attracted to a tangle of writhing limbs, and the sounds of a violent struggle coming from the far corner of the room.
Donnie mindlessly plodded across to the melee, kneeling, he joined the other diners in their wriggling meal of what used to be the haughty Maitre'D of the very exclusive place.
Of course, Donnie had no memory of his long walk to get here, or took any relish in his meal.
Bibby's was the swankiest restaurant in town, and eating there had long been one of Donnie's desires, but he could never afford it when he was alive.
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
April is zombie month on The Twisted Quill, ZWEETMEAT is the fourth of the five April zombie #Fridayflashes.
* * * * *
Donnie Sheldon had been shambling along for several hours now, he had no sense of the fact he was moving, just the same as he had no recollection of being attacked, infected, dying, awakening.
Anyone observing Donnie's route would probably come to the conclusion that he had a definite destination in mind, Donnie would neither agree nor disagree to this, as his mind no longer functioned on any kind of conscious level.
He paid no attention to the screams and sounds of slaughter, the scenes of panic, mangled cars, and even more mangled bodies, the rapid tattoo of fleeing footsteps, the occasional gunshot rising above the lesser noises.
At the intersection he turned left, shuffling past several fellow undead biting huge mouthfuls of flesh from a still living, still struggling, screeching young woman, and although on some basic instinct he felt the lure of the feast, and his being burned with a ravenous hunger, he ignored it and carried on walking.
Trudging along, glass from shattered store fronts crunched beneath his shoes, the fragments shining like rubies in the mixture of coagulating blood, bits of flesh, and body fluids.
Turning right at the next intersection he was narrowly missed by a speeding car, rocking dangerously from side to side as the driver fought to control both the vehicle, and the snarling, snapping passenger beside him.
Two blocks later, Donnie walked through the shattered doorway of an expensive-looking restaurant, the place was wrecked, broken furniture, china, silverware, and glassware littered the floor.
His attention was attracted to a tangle of writhing limbs, and the sounds of a violent struggle coming from the far corner of the room.
Donnie mindlessly plodded across to the melee, kneeling, he joined the other diners in their wriggling meal of what used to be the haughty Maitre'D of the very exclusive place.
Of course, Donnie had no memory of his long walk to get here, or took any relish in his meal.
Bibby's was the swankiest restaurant in town, and eating there had long been one of Donnie's desires, but he could never afford it when he was alive.
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)