Sunday, 21 December 2014

Highway to Hell

Chuck has got us writing the last Flash Fiction this year as a random song title.  Now, we don't have to go to the theme of the song, just use the song title; and he's given us 3,000 word limit to write to.  Mine is AC/DC's 'Highway to Hell'... well, because it's been stuck in my head for the last few days.

My life started out like anyone else’s. 

I was born into a loving family and brought up properly to respect my elders, to care for my Mum and Dad and be carefree as a kid.  I learned my lessons at school, went to Karate lessons on the weekends and rode my bike around the BMX tracks at dusk before I heard Dad’s whistle on the wind for us to come home.
Mum was the best cook.  She could make just about anything she could put her hand to from food to clothes to most anything around the house.  Dad built her a craft room the size of the living room and she practically lived in it for around six months before Christmas.  

And we were never allowed in it.


Not even to borrow a pair of scissors.

We never questioned that rule and just accepted that she was working on Christmas presents or birthday presents and did as we were told.  So, Mum’s craft room was something we never went near, never told anyone about and when we showed our friends around the house, we kinda gave it a dismissive wave saying, ‘Oh, that’s Mum’s craft room; we’re not allowed in there… you know, it’s her cave of mystery.’ We’d giggle and snort and walk off.  Our friends never questioned that room either.
As the years passed, Mum’s hair began to grey little by little.  She started to look more tired, but she still had the energy of a person her age.  I noticed that the more she used her craft room, the older she appeared to become.  I’m not sure if Dad realised it or not.  So I asked him.
“Of course I notice.” He frowned, “She just won’t tell me what’s going on.”
“Dad, have you been inside her craft room since you built it?” I asked.
He looked to his hands, fiddled with his fingernails and then looked at me, “No.  She won’t allow me in either.” Looking over at the room, he shook his head, “I wonder what’s going on.”

Then, one day, I arrived home early from high school to find the door of the craft room ajar and wondered what had happened.  Mum normally kept that room locked up tight – even when we weren’t home.  The rest of the house had been locked up and this room had been built separate from the house.  I didn’t know what do to.  Dumping my school port on the floor near my bedroom, I walked out to the room and felt heat coming from behind the door.  I put my hand up to the gap and it felt like an oven inside there… and going against all the rules I had obey all this time, I pulled the door open more and stepped inside.
This place was the most organised mess I’d ever seen.  There were boxes of material stacked along one wall in order of colour, drawer up drawer of beads sitting along a counter by the window.  Hooked on a long piece of dowel were hoops of ribbon in all widths and colours you could ever possibly imagine.  I saw two sewing machines, two overlockers and in one area of the place were two easels and a collection of paints, brushes and canvas’ as well with smocks all over the place hanging up on hooks ready for use.  But the place was hot… it was like an oven.  By the time I had looked around, I had begun to sweat badly, but hadn’t noticed that the door had swung shut behind me until I heard a loud CLICK sound and I turned, looking at it dumbly.
Without even touching it, I knew that doorknob was hot, by the way it turned a molten orange kinda colour and began to drip onto the floor. 
“Mum!” I called out but my throat was caught, dry and hoarse, “Where are you?”
A very deep chuckle answered me, “Your mother isn’t here, Drew.  But be a good boy and step forwards, let me see my legacy.” Turning to my right I saw an unremarkable man standing next to the counter, “Come here Drew… I must see you for myself.” A grin pulled at his face and his eyes looked like … mine.
“No.” I cringed, “Who are you?  And where is my mother?”
“You are my son… and your mother is a whore.” He snickered, “She made a deal boy, and came here personally to collect her soul today.” He looked me up and down, “But meeting you… that was just an accident, a good one.”
“I don’t care who you think you are…”
“Think?” he stepped forward, “I know I who am.  But have you seen your Daddy look at you lately?  He can’t fully just look at you, can he?”
“What kind of deal did she make?”
He sighed, cocking his head to one side, “She wanted another child, oh so badly she made a deal with the Devil… and guess who I am?” he tapped out a little dance on the spot with that grin on his face, “And I graciously let her… but there was a catch.”
“Isn’t there always?”
“That catch was that the child was mine.”
I felt a sudden hatred for this man so strong I wanted to kill him, “Where is my mother?”
He gave me a mocking smile, “Dead.  Once I take a soul, you die because a human cannot exist without a soul.”
Feeling behind me, I found a pair of large metal scissors – the type that cut material, that are very sharp, that are expensive.  I grabbed them quickly and lunged toward him screaming!  Shoving him to the floor, I felt my hatred explode out of me as I plunged the scissors into him…
… but they hit nothing but the floor!
Scrambling to my feet, I looked around.
Where’d he go?
Turning, I heard the door open, and Dad was standing there, “Son? Drew, you okay?” he spotted the scissors sticking up out of the carpet of the floor and noticed me coated in sweat, “What happened?”
“He took her.” I groaned.
“Your mother?”
I nodded, “She made a deal with the Devil.”
Dad just stood there, not knowing what to do, not until I yanked the scissors out of the carpet, “So you attacked him?”
Dumping them onto the counter, I muttered, “He told me he was my father.  Exactly what did you expect me to do?”
He shrugged.
“You know, you’re acting very… calm about this.”
He ran a hand over his stubbled face as his voice caught in his throat, “Yeah, I know.  It’s because I’ve always known that you’re not mine.  There were just little things about you that gave it away that you didn’t belong to me… and today, we have to save your mother from the place she been sent to.”
“Dad that might take years.”
He looked at me, then look to his hands.  The Devil was right:  my father couldn’t look at me.
“Dad, we don’t know where He put her.”
“Yes we do.” He nodded looking at me finally, “The Devil put her on his throne… but your mother isn’t a Queen.”
“She’s the whore.” I whispered.

It took weeks to find out what we needed to about how to get into Hell without the Devil finding out.  And really there was no real way to do it.  The only way to do anything about getting into that place was to make a deal with a demon… and even then, with my bloodlines, they’d tell their boss who – when you think on it – was the Devil.

Crap really, right?

Yeah… right.

So, there we were – Dad and I – sitting at the dinner table eating pizza after the other kids had gone to bed, working on our search for Mum, when I had the best idea.  Well, okay, not the best, but it was something that would work.
“How about I tell Him I’d go with him.”
Dad turned on me, “Are you nuts?”
“Hear me through.” I touched his arm, “He wants me anyway.  So I go and find out where she is and bring her back through… um…” I search the papers, “Purgatory.”
He looked at the research, “And which Reaper is going to wait for you there?”
“We’ll find a way back.”
“Or not.” A voice said behind us.
We turned to find my sister, Tiffany, standing there in her pajamas, “I’ll summon you back.”
She walked to the table, quickly read over our plan and sat down, “I’ve been practicing witchcraft for over a year, I can do it.”
“But your initiation…”
“Bah… it’s all flowers and floating pencils.”
“You have to have one.” Dad said, “You can’t do this without being…”
“I’ll talk to my High Priestess and see what I can do.” She smiled, “I want Mum back as well, but like all Hell I’m letting you piss off downstairs without a way back.”

Tiffany came home the next afternoon in a crappy mood, “She won’t let me.”
“You’re not ready?” I asked.
“Not according to her.”
“Sis, I’m not letting you if your High Priestess isn’t letting you.” I said, “But I appreciate the idea of it.”
“Okay.” She said, “But at least let me prepare the pathway for you to enter the place… so you might be able to return the same way.”
“Sounds like a plan.” I grinned.

The cemetery was dark the night we did the ceremony for me to enter Hell.  I wasn’t looking forward to it and neither was Dad… but it was our only way to get our mother home.  The disgusting part was that we had to exhume her grave.  It took around an hour to dig her casket up and open it.  Then, I had to get into the box with the body… this was the freaking shitty part!
The casket was closed – but not nailed shut – and then the ceremony was begun.  Dad spoke the Latin to perfection and then Tiffany prepared the pathway back through the casket for me to come home – and what a way to come home!

I heard the thin layer of dirt being tossed over the lid and then heard them performing the rituals.  Minutes later, I pushed the lid open and found I was in a boiling hot cell of a place.  Heat rays wavered off the floor and all around me.

I was in Hell.

Climbing out of the casket, I stepped onto the roasting ground and stood, and began to walk to the road where the Devil stood waiting for me.
“I knew you just couldn’t resist me.” He smiled.
“I’m here for my mother.”
“The whore?” he laughed, “Very well, you can have her.” He turned and walked across the road, towards a door I hadn’t noticed.  It opened and let us through into a hallway where there were cells upon cells of lost souls of people who had lost their way and were stuck here in Hell for a variety of reasons.
I was here to get my mother out of here and back to Earth where she belonged.
We approached the end of the hallway and the door opened to a room where I found my mother chained to a bed in the middle of a large cell.  She was almost naked and had demons taking advantage of her – one by one – and she just laid back against the grey pillows with a distant expression on her face, in her eyes.
“Mother?” I said stepping toward her.
She turned toward me and her eyes lit up, “Oh… another one…”
“No… I’m your son.”
She turned her face from me whispering, “I have no son… none at all.”
Tears stung my eyes as I turned around, leaning on the door frame ready to be sick.  I had come all this way to find my mother, only to find her chained up and treated like this.
“It must be a shock…”
“Fuck off… you knew she’d do this.” I snapped.
He took a deep breath, “Well, yes, Drew I did.  So, why did you come?  Why did you come alone?”
I turned and looked at him, “Because it’s me you want.  And you would not have stopped me.”
I glanced at my Mother once more before approaching the bed, grabbing her shoulders and looking into her eyes and realising immediately, that we had definitely lost her.  Her eyes were nothing but lost pools of nothing – they were empty of life, of soul, of anything to say she used to be a human.  I whispered in her ear, “Mum, it’s me, Drew, your son.  You have a family.  Tiffany missed you.  Dad misses you… little Bradley misses his Mummy… please come home to Earth.” I started to cry, “Or at the very least, ask God to save you.”
Her head snapped around as her voice shrieked, “I have no family!  Never did!” she shoved me away, “Leave me alone, Drew!  For the love of all that’s God’s creatures, Drew go away!” she pulled and yanked at the chains as she tried to scratch at me and I turned away toward the door.
It opened and I stepped back out into the hallway…

…walked down past the other cells…

…out onto the side of the highway…

I crossed it toward the place I was before, found the casket and climbed back into it… dreading the fact I had to close the lid on my own.

I now despised small spaces.

Pushing the lid open, I sat up to find Dad was squatting by the casket to help me up, “Shit Drew… you were gone for a good five hours.  It’s almost dawn.”
“We lost her.” I said, “She’s…”
“…here.” Tiffany said looking over the top of grave site with a torch.
With Dad helping me up, we looked over the top of the grave to find my Mum was standing next to the grave, “Holy crap on toast.” Dad mumbled, “Let’s clean this place up and get the hell outa here.”
“Please, let’s not use that word anymore.” Mum said.
“Which one?” I asked clambering out of the grave.
“Hell.” She said holding me close, “You pulled me out of that place, and I was on the highway to Hell… the true Hell.  He had more plans for me than just what you saw, Drew.”
“What kind of plans?” Tiffany asked.
“Well, he’s let me go.” Mum said, “We’re safe from Him… for now.”

When we arrived home, Dad and Mum sat in the kitchen talking.  I listened at my bedroom door with my light out to their conversation:
“Sweetheart, what did you mean by: for now?” he asked.
“Do we have to…”
“Yes, we do.” He said.
“He let me go.  But Drew is the Son of the Devil.  When he is old enough, he will be ordered to walk the Highway to Hell by his true father – and nothing we do will save him from his true destiny in life.”
“What destiny is that?”
I heard Mum start to cry, “We’ll be able to say that our son is the Devil.”

Saturday, 13 December 2014

God's Own Keeper

I was there from the moment of the Big Bang to the present day; perched right on the Big Guy’s shoulder, whispering in his ear of what should go where, who was good and bad and… which place should go where.
Yep, even when this tiny little speck in the universe was nothing but a revolving, molten rock of crap; I was there watching on with him. 

And he was so fucking proud of this thing… this third rock from the Sun… this Paradise – he aptly named it.  This Earth.
There has been others he has tried to make perfect – and they have been absolute failures.  You imperfect Humans are finding them dotted all over the place – all too hot, or too cold – lost in their own piece of Hell, revolving around a sun. 
One is too big and too close to its sun.  Another is too far away from its sun and too small – so is too cold.  However, I gotta say, the Big Boy got this here little place right!

But I didn’t expect you Humans to be such assholes once you got your greedy little hands on it. 


Excuse me?  You’ve got a nerve calling me such names… I’m just telling you the truth.  After all, you need it.
Your creator of all things great gave you a home and you’ve done your best to destroy not only it, but yourselves.

Do you have any idea who you’re talking to?  No?  Okay… we were created as protectors – warriors – to watch over your sorry asses, and we have lived amongst you for centuries on your planet without your knowledge and yet, some of you seem to think we either don’t exist, or you’re so big on us existing, you have us all wrong completely.

Besides, we are God’s Keepers really… we protect him from you, and that’s the reality of it all.  You’re nothing but grabby little parasites and you Humans don’t have any idea how to back off and leave him alone.  Yes, yes, I know he’s the Almighty Creator, but really, do you have to step past us, and lavish all the praise on him?

It’s not jealousy… no it’s not.

Really, I don’t think it is…

He’s been so busy with so many things lately that I don’t think he can see just one of you; well not today.  Well, not ever really.  Why do you ask?  Oh of course, you have just one question (which normally turns into more than that).  I’m sorry but you just can’t see him.  No, I insist you can’t… because … because… well dammit he’s not here!
He left us… he’s gone!
Heaven’s empty and I’m his Keeper and I don’t even know where he is… you happy now?  I don’t know where God is and he left because of you.

Hey, look, I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t lay the blame on you.
It’s not your fault.  I don’t know whose fault it is; really I don’t.  But he just got tired of looking over a place he had given to you all out of the goodness of his heart for you to care for… and just look at what you’ve done to it!







You know, I could just smite you all and start again… yes, you heard me, an Apocalypse would do you all wonders.  No, not a zombie or vampire or any other damned mythical crap thing you’ve made up in your tiny little minds, I mean I real Apocalypse, one none of you would ever survive!
After all this is all just an experiment.

The third – or was it the fourth – place God has tried out to make it work for him.

And just look at you all… still thinking within the confines of your tiny little minds; instead of taking hold of what He gave you – intuition, your mind power, your ‘gut feeling’.  Yes all of that is damned well real you know – not just crap you seemed to think is made up.

Some of you have some real power under your belts… some scary as shit power.  But none of you use it.  You’re scared little children who have no clue exactly how much power he’d bestowed upon you.  And when you do figure out that you have some power within you, what do you do?  You become some greedy puss-sucking pond scum, with your hand out, all ready and wanting more and more…

…more power and more money.

I ought to…

Oh, Sir, you’re back. 

I.. yes, things are completely under control.  I’ve just been answering some of your prayers of your people while you’ve been out.
Pardon?  Oh… they’re not scared, they’re in awe of you.  Hehee… complete awe…

…aren’t you, Humans?
Why are they terrified?  Um… well,  I think it’s because I might have been a little impatient with them.  I’m sorry, Sir.  It most certainly will not happen again – honest.
But Sir, please… I know I did this before… but that was over two millennia ago.  These Humans now don’t know that – not until you mentioned it.
I beg of you, take mercy on me… I am your Keeper… please, Sir.  Where are you going to send me, if not Earth?

Michael?  What are you doing here? 

Saturday, 6 December 2014

Krampus All The Way...

I don’t believe in Santa Claus anymore.
Really I don’t… and you won’t either once you’ve read what I’ve told you about who visited us on Christmas Eve last year!

Okay, I wanted to see who left those presents around the house, and the candy in my stockings… stupid really.  After all I’m sixteen years old… and I shouldn’t believe in Santa Claus; but for my little brother, Steve, I do, because I have to take him to the mall Santa each year.  Steve is seven and loves going.

So, I do believe for the fantasy of it all.

But last year, I stayed up with him to see Santa come to our house, just to spy on him. 

But the Big Guy in the Red Suit wasn’t exactly who I encountered when I hear the sound on the roof that night.  And he didn’t come down the chimney – he came through the window.  Yeah, he broke into our house.
I remember keeping very still under our blanket on the lounge watching this very tall, dark person enter my home, letting in the chill of the night outside.  He walked straight past the treats – ignoring them – and to the tree where he just looked at it with disgust and snorted at how pretty it was.
“Propaganda!” his deep voice muttered.
This was not the Santa Claus I was hoping to see… and I didn’t attempt to wake Steve from his slumber.
He had a sack with him, which he opened and pulled out large lumps of coal and dumped them into our stockings lining the mantle.  Then, he turned, bumped the tree – where an ornament fell off onto the hearth, smashed and he promptly stood on it – then went to the plate of food left out.  This was when he turned to me after playing with the biscuits and carrots and dipping his blackened fingers into the purity of the milk, “What?  No booze?”
It hadn’t even crossed my mind he knew I was awake, “Um… no.” I glanced at the milk and it had turned an unhealthy colour of grey as he pulled his fingers out of it, “Who are you?”
Standing up to his full height, where his horns nearly touched the ceiling, he looked down his long crooked nose at me, “I am Krampus… haven’t you heard of me?”
“Of course not… my goodie-two-shoes cousin has taken up the spotlight for so long, nobody takes notice of me anymore.” He said dumping his black sack on the carpet with a loud thud and pulling his darkened cloak around himself.
“You can’t be that bad.” I foolishly said.
Snapping a glare at me, he extended a long-taloned handed to me, “Can’t I?”
I huddled closer to Steve who murmured in his sleep, “I can’t leave my brother alone.”
“Bring him with.”
“No.  He’s too young.”
“Krampus, that you?” a voice asked behind the tall, dark man.  He turned and we were both greeted with a bright red suit of the Man himself:  Santa Claus, “What are you doing to this young person?”
He looked him up and down, “You’re so… commercialised.”
Gently putting down his large, red sack, the man stroked his long white beard, “Well, you could have gone into business with me… but you didn’t.”
“Business?” I asked.
Santa looked at me, “Why yes… being Santa Claus is a business, didn’t you know?”
I didn’t want to hear it, but I think I knew all along it was something of a fraud, but, well, you know what it’s like:  you enjoy something so much you don’t want to hear the truth because believing the lie is easier to do.
“But don’t worry, Amanda.” Santa said, “I know you’ve been good to Steve there.”
“How do you know all about everything about us?”
“I don’t.” he said, “Krampus does.  He’s my cousin, and so he does the digging around and I hear all the good and bad things from him… basically it’s all hearsay.”
“So, we’ve all been good?”
Krampus smiled darkly, “Or bad… it doesn’t matter.  You all get what you want at Christmas anyway no matter what you’ve done in a year… Santa’s just a soft touch.”
“I wouldn’t say that.” The big jolly man said, “But I do give everything you ever want to you because you have been good – or so you say – and if you haven’t, and you’ve lied, well, Krampus could easily just lie and tell me something else.”
I frowned, “But I don’t understand, you said Krampus could have joined the family business… isn’t he doing just that by handing on the ‘Naught & Nice’ List to you?”
“No… he could help me deliver gifts around the world and live with me at the North Pole.” Santa said, “But he’s not like that.”
“I don’t like being paid off for being the good guy.” Krampus said, “Besides, I don’t fit down a chimney all that well.”
Santa rolled his eyes, “Do you think I do?” he patted his large belly, “It’s all magic you big idiot.” He turned and opened the sack and began to pull out the gifts, placing them under the tree.  Santa then noticed the shattered ornament and fixed with a sweep of his hand.  Standing up, he walked over to the table where the milk and food was and picked up the glass of milk.  It had turned from grey to white again… I wondered if my eyes had deceived me until Krampus stood by watching him.
“Santa no!”  I called out, but it was too late, the big man had downed the glass of white liquid.
He turned after putting down the glass, stopped and looked up at Krampus, “What did you do to that milk?”
The horned man shrugged as a smirked grew on his face, “Nothing.”
“He dipped his fingers in it.” I said.
“No… he didn’t, did he?” Santa whispered disbelievingly, “Not now… not when the world needs me the most.” The most horrible thing occurred!  Santa transformed into a creature I didn’t know.  His red suit turned dark, his bright red had vanished and horns grew from his head as his jolly round belly disappeared too.  He was no longer a short little man with sparkling eyes and a long, white beard… no, he looked very much like… Oh no!
He looked like the man standing next to me:  Krampus.
Santa looked at himself, “Krampus, what have you done?”
The evil man stood there, smiling, “What the world needs is the truth, Santa…a taste of who you really are.”
I looked at the man next to me, “And who is that?”

Krampus cast a long, knowing look in my direction, “Santa always looked like this before the magic was given to him to look like the one you know.  So, behold the new Santa Claus.”

Saturday, 29 November 2014

The Race

From the time the doors opened, it was a frenzied, crazy rush through the store.   My feet almost didn’t touched the shining lino as the crush of people shoved from behind like cattle to grab, grab, grab at the best deals…

Yes, it’s a love/hate relationship we have with Black Friday… and it means so much to many and so little to others.

And yet, I go and put myself through this torture each year just to find a bargain… to fight over that one item I might want, need, adore… relish!

But really, do I need all this shit?

Not really…

It’s just the competition of it all, the race, the feeling of knowing I might get something somebody wants and – nah-nah-nah! – I have it, and you don’t!  Hahahaa!!!

It’s the feeling of being the bully in the schoolyard after all the years of being picked on, and finally being able to push, shove and climb and conquer the crowds of this insane day to find what you want and rip it off the shelf and say it’s yours!

Yes I’m being a bitch about this, and yes, it makes me feel good to do this too… but it’s Black Friday.
It’s an insane day of shopping.

Some people go to begin their Christmas Shopping… some go to ‘browse’… Me?  I go just for the competition of seeing what I can get into my trolley and how far I can take it.

Well, I did until the violence broke out…
It started out with a run of the mill hair-pulling, nail-scratching girl fight… not bad to stand by and watch.  That was until a gun was pulled and …


It was deafening.

Everyone dropped to the floor and left the two standing, but I dropped faster than everyone else.

How did a gun get through the doors?  I'm not sure, but that was the least of my problems...

The next thing I knew, I had people fussing over me.
I couldn’t move.
Now, the race wasn’t for me to do my Christmas shopping…
…no… this was a much different race.

Black Friday had turned into a race to save my life.

Saturday, 22 November 2014


He turned from the busy city streets, as his sensitive hearing picked up a woman’s cry above everything else.

Yes, somebody needed his assistance yet again…
Turning, somebody was using the phone booth – damn!

Racing in through the door of nearest cafĂ©, he found the restrooms at the back, dodged past a customer and into the stall. 
Nobody saw him whip past in his kinky purple costume with his cape flapping out the back as he zipped out into the street, his purple go-go boots barely touching the ground!

His mission was clear! 

He had  to find that poor woman in need!

Her cries were coming closer.  

She wasn’t far away as he honed on in her place in an apartment building, the breeze making his high-cut bodysuit feel as though it wasn’t there at all… it felt good!  It made his hard, sexy body harder in more than one place.  More than that, he was ready for what she most probably needed – him!
And as he found her place, he saw her distress – almost felt it in his loins.  He knew she had been dumped, and needed somebody!

She needed anybody… to be with.

That anybody was him, and he knew it!

He landed gently just outside her balcony doors and watched in on her before clearing his throat quietly.
She turned, staring.  Her hair was a mess, looking like lovely as every woman he had saved from heartbreak, “Oh, my… it’s you.”
“I heard your cries of distress, and thought…” he started.
“Well, come in.” she sniffed and tried to straighten herself up, taming her hair and attempted to stop crying – and failing.
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not.” She shook her head, “He never showed up at the altar.”
“I’ll save you…” his thumb brushed across her cheek removing a tear which had begun to roll down the well-worn path of many others, “I will make you forget him.”
“I don’t know.”
He leaned down and kissed her softly on the fingers of her left hand where her engagement ring used to be, “Trust me.” His eyes never left hers as his soft, deep voice reached her ears, “I’ll be good to you.”
It all happened in a blur of skin, sex and the quick removal of that purple kinky costume he wore as they staggered across the room onto her bed. 
Her skin tingled – feeling as though it sizzled – every time he touched her…

…kissed her…

…worshiped her…

…totally enjoyed her… He made sure she was pleasured in every which way and wanted more and more from him as the night wore on, the moon travelled across the evening sky and the two of them didn’t leave the bed as they worshiped each other.

With her Lying in his arms he heard the door unlock in the next room and opened his eyes.  It was sunrise.  From the smell of it, the fiancĂ© had returned to either try to make amends or to pick up his shit.
“Do you want me to stay or leave?” he whispered.
She rolled over, “Best if you leave.”
“Okay.” He held her gaze for a few moments, kissed her softly, longingly, then, faster than her eyes could follow, dressed and flew out into the dawning day.
As he did, he heard yet another cry for help from further afield.  Sighing, he realised his work will never be done.

Finishing up the last few brush strokes on the fourth large canvas, Mark stepped back from his piece in his studio and looked at it.  This was a first… a comic strip of sorts… it covered four large pieces and it looked a bit like a sexy, kinky Superman who helped women who needed him.
“Jolly good.” He laughed at the weirdness in his work, then looked at his coffee cup and decided it was time for another cuppa.  Frida, his lovely little Staffy-cross wandered through the door of the studio, looking at him, “Hey, Frida, come here.” He wiped his hands on his pants as the dog walked in and sat on his feet for a pat, contented and happy, “These are just fun aren’t they?”

He sat outside later that night after dinner, thinking over his work he’d done that day.  How funny that comic strip painting had come to him – how easily it had come to him.  He started to laugh at an idea he was having… if it was turned into a comic strip of sorts… a purple-clad, sexy Superman who saved women who were in dire need of rebound sex?  He burst out laughing!  Now that’d be hilarious!

But would it take off…

In more ways than one?

Saturday, 15 November 2014

Child's Play

I love it when Chuck gets us to use stock photos... I picked out #10... from this list of photos.

Missy was beautiful!

He couldn’t take his eyes off her as she sat with her pretty little pink dress on with Mr Ted at the table having the regular afternoon tea party with Gloria.  Missy’s hair was always tied in two little piggy-tails and her blue eyes were always fresh and clear.
Josh was never allowed to go to tea parties with her and Mr Ted and Gloria; that was their thing alone.  

He had to watch.

But watching had become something of a turn-on for Josh.

He was on the shelf with Mr Potato Head, Esta the Penguin and a couple of Barbie Dolls (who were always fussing about what their hair looked like and trying to flirt with him – damned gold-diggers!).  He told them the same thing every time: ‘eat something!  You’re too skinny!’
Yes, he loved his women with a bit of meat on them… not enormous, but not skeletons like the Barbie Dolls with massive breasts they can’t see over.
Josh looked back over at her again – his girl – and she found she was looking over her shoulder at him.
Her hair bounced in a slight breeze from the fan and Gloria’s back had been turned for a moment for her to wink at him before the child turned back and corrected Missy’s posture and poured her more tea and sat down for the next hour.

Darkness fell and Gloria went to bed, snuggling with Mr Ted under the covers.  Now was the time the toys all socialised with each other in lowered voices.
But not Josh and Missy.
He wanted to wait until morning – until Gloria went to school – to chat Missy up.  He wanted to approach her properly.

The door slamming downstairs shocked Josh awake.  He looked around to find Gloria’s bed made, her pink ‘My Little Pony’ school bag gone … and so was Missy!
As he shuffled off the shelf and raced across the room, climbing up onto her bed by the window, he saw her mother outside scolding the young girl, “I think you’re too old to take Missy to school, Gloria.  It’s time you went there without a toy in your hands.”
“Okay, Mommy.” She sighed, close to tears.
“Sweetheart, Missy will be here at home when you get back.” Her mother soothed taking the dolly from her, smoothing the hair from its face, “Now get in the car.”
Soon enough, Gloria’s Mother returned and placed Missy on Gloria’s bed, in front of her pillow and left her room, closing the door.  The room erupted into life!  Mr Ted climbed out from under the bed, from where Gloria had thrown him, the Barbie Dolls strutted to their box of clothes and started tutting about how crappy their wardrobe was and Josh just sat near Missy as he watched her in her pink dress smiling… knowing he could get her dress off at some point today; but when?
“Hi Josh.” Missy turned and looked at him.
“Hi yourself, beautiful.” He shuffled closer to her on the bed, touching his hand on hers, “You look so pretty today.”
“Oh… this old thing.” She picked at the hem of the dress, “It’s okay I guess.”
“I really like you.”
“I know.” She nodded.
“So… what are we going to do about it?” his eyes met hers and he realised she had the same coloured eyes as his – blue.
“I know a private corner Gloria doesn’t look at anymore.”
“Oh… do show me.” He smiled.
“Follow me!” she climbed off the bed, took his hand and led him across the room to the wardrobe.  In the far corner was a clean spot where Gloria’s shoes where supposed to live, but she didn’t put them there.  Closing the door, after themselves, she pulled the dress off herself and walked to the corner, “Let’s have some fun, sexy.”
“Oh my…” he whispered as he pulled off his cowboy boots and hat and plastic holster and the two laid down on the floor of the wardrobe and enjoyed the forbidden love in the dark.

Over the next few weeks, every day Gloria went to school, Missy and Josh went hiding away in their wardrobe.  Mr Ted often kept a look out for Gloria to come home… and tapped on the door when he heard the car and her voice outside the window; signalling them to get dress and act ‘normal’.
One day, Mr Ted was attacked by Gloria’s brother’s new pet puppy… and ripped apart.  So, he wasn’t keeping guard.  While Gloria’s mother was stitching Mr Ted back up downstairs and applying him with new stuffing, Josh and Missy went about their regular fun in the wardrobe.  This time, they had asked another toy to take Mr Ted’s place.  But this toy didn’t think anything about taking a few minute’s break from watching out for the day… and they forgot to come back to remind the two about Gloria’s return from school.
The bedroom door opened and Gloria’s school bag was dumped near the door of the wardrobe.  Josh and Missy had tried out a new position in their passions.  She was sitting down, he was standing up… she was about to engulf his manhood when the wardrobe door opened!

Josh and Missy turned as the light shone in on them!

Both of them were naked!

How embarrassing!

“Missy!” Gloria shrieked, “Where are your clothes!  And what are you doing with Josh the Cowboy?”

Friday, 7 November 2014

A Fishy Kinda Love

Chuck asked us for a 3-sentence story... and so, here's mine!

Short'n'sweet - well - kinda!

It was love at first sight!

Her scales gleamed in the light as she turned the corner of the castle and the food drifted down from above – yes, she was an absolute beauty of a goldfish to behold and he couldn’t wait to swim over to be by her side.

It was love at first sight!

Friday, 24 October 2014

The Colony

Halloween is here - next week actually - and Chuck has asked us to write a cool little flash fiction about a disease!  Okay... no probs, I guess I can have fun with this one - just like the last one! 


I had no idea who the guy was at the party.  Actually I don’t think he was invited, but he was walking around there in a hospital gown shaking everyone’s hand – anyone’s hand – who arrived at the door.  He greeted them as though he knew every single one of us his whole life.
Everyone gave him strange looks, thin smiles and wondered who the hell he was before walking off into the crowd looking for friends, a drink and something to eat. 

The music pounded.

The night went on.

My party was the best Halloween Costume Party on the block.  And the police didn’t even show up because it was over before midnight… as stipulated on the invites.

I didn’t even see that weird guy leave; so didn’t get a chance to ask who he was.  But I did ask my friends and none of them knew him either.

But it was only a week later, when I was listening to my most recent purchased audio-book that the tips of my fingers started to look like they were blistering.  Frowning, I picked the skin off thinking it was just the change in season; that my body was shedding like it normally does.

But it didn’t stop at just my fingertips.

My nails started to flake.

I went to the doctor with cotton gloves on – terrified of touching anyone or letting anyone see my hands – and he even put on gloves to look at them.
“Jessie, I don’t know what to tell you.” He said, “Where have you been lately?”
“I held a really cool Halloween Party last week, but since then, I’ve done my normal stuff.”
“Well… I’ve been to work, gone shopping, minded my neighbour’s kids, helped the old lady next door with her gardening… and you know I do volunteer work at the soup kitchen.” I smiled, “I’ve pulled out of that since I’ve developed this.”
“Good, I want you to see a dermatologist.” He pulled out his referral pad and began scribbling on it, “He’s a good one.”
“Okay.” I nodded thinking how much money it was going to cost me to have these peelings looked at.
He smiled, “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine, he bulk bills.”

A few days passed and I noticed there were a few little things going wrong…
…like I lost the fingernails on my little fingers.

I don’t remember where I lost them, I looked at my hands one afternoon, and they were just… gone!

I was horrified and felt very naked without those cute little nails… but I still made my appointment with the dermatologist.

But on the morning of the appointment, I looked in the mirror and found skin was flaking at my hairline!

I cancelled the appointment and called an ambulance.

The people in the vans and hazmat suits were really off-putting, but I guess they had to dress that way.  I didn’t want to touch them, and they told me not to do or say anything as they escorted me from my home, strung tape all around the doors and windows and posted guards around my property.
Then, they asked me how long ago I noticed my skin blistering.
I told them.
They wrote it down.
They asked me how many people I’d been in contact with.  When I told them I had been in public for over a week and a half they stopped writing…
“What do you mean you’ve been in public?”
“Well, it’s itchy and kinda burns a bit… and my skin won’t stop flaking.” I said.
“Miss, we have to take you to the colony where the last one escaped.”
“Escaped?” I asked, “He didn’t happen to get out around Halloween did he?”
“Yes, why?” the man asked.
“He attended my party.”
“How many people were at your party?” he asked.
“Over thirty people.” I replied, “And he shook hands with every single one of us.  So, what do I have?”
He groaned, “You have the same thing he died from.  He gave you Leprosy.”

Friday, 17 October 2014

Dear Participant

Thank you for taking part in this experiment for the search of the human soul; and for selling it free of charge to us.  For years you have been giving yourself away without even knowing it by sitting in front of your computer screen, staring at your phone and anything with a touch-sensitive screen – it’s our way of making sure you’re ours completely.

And you see, the internet itself has been a trap from the moment you connected it up to your home through your phone line. 






Facebook has been the perfect attraction for everyone online – even the people who say they don’t have an account have clicked on a photo from this application and we have been able to track them anywhere on this little blue marble where you all live.

Yes… the human soul is worth so much, and yet you all love to sell it, hock it and just give it away for the simplest of things.  Why, I heard some people want to sell theirs for sex with some bitch they know nothing about…

But really, we’re here about you.
Yes, you, as you sit in your chair with your coffee by your side… the mobile nearby…

…you’ve just rubbed the back of your neck, turned around.

You’ll never find me…

Yes… look out the window into the darkness of the night… I’m not out there either.

Aah, yes… your eyes wander to the humming tower by your side… I’ve been watching your every move, as you mindlessly tap away on plastic keys, click that mound of plastic you call a mouse (and it doesn’t look anything like it)… and

… you …


…your soul…

Not to the devil… no… you sold your soul to the internet…

We're not exactly evil, but we have turned you all into soulless, droids who believe everything we tell you to.... right?

Thank you

ever so much for your