Drawing with Words

So I may have missed posting a story last Friday. Ok, no maybe about it. I got lazy and din't write the darn thing. So here it is now. 

That's My Jam

By Linton Bowers

So you want to know how I ended up chained to this chair?

It started earlier today. I was sitting in my conveyance, one of those on-a-budget automated hunks of plastic and aluminum, jamming out to my favorite radio station. The song ended then the D.J. announced a new premier song. This did not sit well with me. New songs are hit and miss, usually a lot more miss these days.

The first few notes of the music were magical. I felt like my soul was getting a sensual massage. Until the words started that is.

The band, one I enjoyed immensely, sounded great. The problem was the words themselves. They matched a song I had written years ago. To the best of my knowledge the song I wrote had never seen the light of day, but there it was.

A small part of me was excited to hear the way it was artfully produced. It was exactly what I heard in my head as I wrote it.

"Car," I said out loud, " change course to Devon's house."

"Course correction acknowledged," the pleasant female voice of my ride responded. "Warning, this will make your timely arrival at your place of employment impossible."

"I'm aware, continue with the new destination."

"Destination confirmed."

The vehicle slid out of its lane and onto a new street. I called Devon as the trip progressed.

"Devon, did you hear the new song on the radio this morning?"

"Oh yeah, man. That shit was righteous! I gotta gets me a copy," Devon said.

"Its my song," I replied tersely.

"I know, man, its my new jam too."

"No, dude, I mean I wrote the damn song!"

"Wow! You're gunna be rich, like Oprah Winfrey the third rich."

"No I'm not, at least not yet. I didn't sell the song, someone stole it."

"Oh no! That's bogus, dude. What are you gunna do about it?"

"What are we going to do?" I asked.

"I don't follow."

"I'll be at your place in five. Fire up the engine. I need to find out what the heck is going on."

Seven minutes later Devon and I stood in front of the engine.

"Dude, like... Dude! I don't know about this, I mean, you know what happened last time. We barely made it out of there. My ass still hurts when I sit down too hard, dude."

"I'm will to take the chance that you may never be able to sit on your ass again, man," I said.

"I hear that, dude. Wait... What?"

"Shut it and fire it up, Devon."

"Its on, we just have to get in. You sure, dude?" Devon rubbed his rear as he asked. I could tell from the far off look in his eyes he was reliving an unpleasant adventure we survived.

"Yeah, get in," I replied.

The engine consisted of two pods barely big enough for a grown person to curl up in tethered to a black box the size of a rubix cube. I have no clue as to where Devon got it and he ain't talking. What I do know is that getting into the main pod and concentrating on what I need to know will transport us both to the answer. And that it doesn't work unless there are two people.

I waited for Devon to crawl in and his hatch to close before getting in the other pod. Had to make sure he didn't chicken out. The hatch of the master pod closed, sealing me into darkness.

I focused my thoughts onto the song, letting it play in my mind once more, feeling it wash over me. I remember the sheets of paper stuck in a shoebox in my closet. The words I wrote that match exactly to the song we heard on the radio.

The engine doesn't take long. A few seconds after the hatch closed the pod is filled with blinding light, then the hatch slid open.

My body ached from the transition. I uncurled myself and spilled out of the pod. The blasted thing managed to make a few seconds of discomfort feel like ages. I stood and stretched my back. Devon was doing the same.

"Where are we, dude?" Devon asked.

"Looks like some sort of warehouse," I replied.

"Wonder why it took us here," Devon said.

"That is what I would like to know,"  came a deep voice from behind us.

I spun and froze. More guys than I cared to count stood in a loose semi-circle with wicked looking black weapons leveled at us.

"Dude! Are those P727 Night Hawks?" Devon asked as he took a step forward.

The man closest to Devon shot propes from a module mounted on the underside of his barrel. Before the muffled thud of the shot could clear Devon did the dance of the tazed. He crumpled to the dirty cement floor and moaned.

"Yes it is," the guy said.

I raised my hands above my head.

This takes us back to where you found me chained to a chair. Our assailants lead me to the room with said chair and secured me to it. They tied up Devon and dropped him on the floor next to me.

Hours passed with no one coming to visit. I think it was hours anyway. Hard to tell when your sitting in one spot with nothing to do and unable to check the time. I was just beginning to doze off when the door unlocked with a loud click.

A man in slacks, a white shirt, and a lab coat entered. He stopped a few feet from me and sized up Devon and myself.

"Why have you come?" He asked.

"I'm the one asking the questions here," I said in a low bark.

"Is that so?" One of his neatly trimmed eyebrows rose. "I can always come back in four or five days when you're thirsty and hungry to ask again?"

"You stole my song!"

"What?"

I could see confusion written on his face.

"It was on the radio this morning. I wrote it three years ago and some how you stole it. I want what's mine!"

"Ah, I see now." He tapped his ear twice then spoke again as he turned his back to me. "Scan local proximity for nanoworm signal then send me all relevant data."

"Huh?" I said.

He ignored me.

"Ah yes. Now I see. Tell you what," he said as he faced me. "Since you are of no use to me I'll leave you with a final thought before you die. When you vacationed in Cancun you drank something with ice. That was your downfall. You were infected with my nanoworms. Little devices that transmit to me every creative thought you have. In your case I have only received one transmission from you. Since you have not had a creative thought since then you are no longer useful to me. Good day."

He turned and walked out of the room. The lock snapped back into place. Naturally we would have to sit in the most boring room in the world before dying.

"Damn, dude, that was harsh."

"Devon! You're alive!"

"No doubt, dude. Guess what." He said as he sat up.

"What?"

"Those dweebs forgot to check me and take the engine remote."

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"It means were getting out of here, dude."

Yesterday, I put the call out for ideas. I thought it would be fun to let my friends on BookLikes choose the topic of my first Flash Fiction Friday post. People responded awesomely. You’ll find their ideas at the bottom of this post. If I didn’t use your suggestions, no worries. There’s always next Friday.

Oh, and some of your suggestions are sprinkled throughout. I know there was one suggestion with four parts, so I had to chop it up to make it work.

Enjoy.

VEGLAND

by Edward Lorn

My name’s Tiger and I find things for people.

I’ve lived a strange life. When I was fifteen, a two-hundred-pound ape carcass crashed through the roof of my suburban home. Dad was pissed. Mom was indifferent.

The next week, my mother ran off with a robot cult because Christianity didn’t rotate her gears anymore. These cultists are the people who got the amusement park in town closed down because of how the animatronics were being treated.

I suppose that’s why I picked the career I did. Meaning, not much shocks me. So when Charlene called up asking me to find her flesh-eating corn cob, I didn’t hesitate to say yes.

This ain’t some dime-store pulp paperback. I ain’t going to bore you with how this dame walked in and begged me to take her case, because it didn’t happen like that.

Charlene called me, told me her story, and asked if I’d find her corn. I agreed.

Money’s money unless it’s funny.

As with most cases, I wound up at the local library. Librarian’s name is Gregor. He’s a cool cat, if a little weird. He likes to tell how he lost his virginity, you know, if you’re old enough to hear such a thing. It involves a goat, so you gotta have a strong stomach, too.

You’ve been to a library before. I ain’t going to tell you what it looks like.

I was back in the stacks, researching fleshing-eating starches, when I heard a rather manly scream followed by the low tick and hum of machinery. I tucked my research materials under my arm and made for the checkout desk.

Gregor was dead. He had a goat hanging half-in and half-out of his backside. I guess what comes around goes around.

I wasn’t shocked.

(Remember the ape that fell through my roof?)

I called the local PD and let them deal with it.

I don’t know why, but death makes me hungry. Seeing Gregor, all half-fulla goat like he was, gave me a hankering for Greek. I headed across town to Athena’s.

There ain’t much of shit I can eat these days, allergies being what they are. Athena’s is run by a beefy broad named Paula who knows what I can eat and fixes me up nicely whenever I drop by.

I laid my research materials on the bar as Paula slid a plate of lamb and cucumber in front of me.

You’ve seen a beefy broad with humungous boobs before. I ain’t gonna tell you what Paula looks like.

“Ut’s dat?” she asked, and scratched under one heavy breast.

“New case.”

“Cannibal veg?”

“Technically, no. Flesh eating veg. Cannibal would mean they eat other veg.”

“Ah.”

I ate in silence while Paula flipped through a scrapbook. She’d acquired amnesia after falling off a ladder the year before. She’d been reaching for a tub of yogurt in the cooler when she slipped, fell, and bashed her head on a shelf. The scrapbook was her way of remembering the past. I didn’t have the heart to tell her all the photos were stock, so, whenever she asked, I lied: “Sure, that looks like you.”

I read through my materials. Flesh-eating veg were a product of genetic experiments first conducted by Dr. Ralph King. Dr. King also went on to be leader of a cult. The same cult that owned the closed down amusement park in town. They’d won it in a court battle over animatronics’ rights.

VegLand was all the rage in the 1980s. Ride the Cucumber Coaster! Twirl on the Cauliflower Carts! Terrorize yourself on the Tobacco Train, sponsored by Marlboro.

Hey, money’s money unless it’s funny.

It was full dark by the time I parked in the weedy lot and got out.

Flashlight in hand, I squeezed through the rusty gate.

You’ve seen pictures of rundown carnivals at night. I ain’t going to tell you what VegLand looked like.

I found my mother on the carousel. She was spread-eagle atop one of the horses, pleasuring herself with a corn cob. At least that was what I thought was happening.

Truth of the matter was, Mom was dead. Had been for at least an hour. The corn cob had eaten most of her lady bits. The way her stomach was caved in, I’m guessing it had snacked on half her insides, too.

“Lovely, ain’t it?” Dr. King asked from the shadows. “My creation devouring my follower. Poetic, don’t you think.”

I’m a private dick, not a cop. The only weapon I own was limp in my shorts.

“I suppose this is where I monologue,” said Dr. King. “My robot cult was responsible for shooting down that plane full of apes when you were a kid. Your mother, of course, knew this. Seeing our cause as righteous, she joined.”

“Hold on, space cadet. What’s any of this have to do with anamatronics’ rights?”

“Those monkeys would have put our fellow animatronics out of jobs. They wanted to turn VegLand into a zoo! Even after we killed a great percentage of the animals on that plane, they still meant to buy more!”

“Why’d Gregor have to die?”

“I lost my library book. Didn’t want to pay the fine.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Fine. What about the corn? Why are you stealing your own invention?”

“Nobody stole anything, Tiger. Charlene works for us.”

You’ve seen a twist before. I ain’t going to tell you why this was one.

“Tell me, Tiger… are you allergic to corn, too?”

I am, but he didn’t need to know that.

Dr. King chuckled as he produced a small device and began pressing buttons. The fleshing-eating corn cob stopping eating my mother, flopped down from the horse, and came at me, end-over-end.

I punted it. Hard.

Dr. King got a mouthful.

His head snapped back as the cob first devoured his tongue and then worked its way down his throat.

You’ve seen a corny ending before. I ain’t going to tell you why this is one.

Suggestions used:

Brainycat’s Occaisonal Reviews

MC has severe food allergies, but has to travel and can’t find anything to eat amidst a huge selection of unknown foods. CHECK

Soze Says

And then it turns out some of the food might actually be eyeing the MC as something for it to eat!CHECK

Musings/Träumereien/Devaneios

A library, a lost book, a scream, and a lie. CHECK

Paul Read or Dead

Lorn writes Porn with a devilish twist in an abandoned theme park. Half-CHECK

Grimlock. Stronger, faster, studlier.

Robot cult. Because the book I read that had it had all this hardcore Christianity in it so I couldn’t get past that part, and I still want to see what a robot cult looks like. CHECK

It’s a Mad Mad World

Someone in the book has amnesia… CHECK

Gregor Xane

An ape carcass falls from the sky and through the roof of a suburban home. CHECK

Andreya’s Asylum

Gregor’s first time, when baah-ad things happen to good animals. CHECK

Char’s Horror Corner

My suggestion is Corn porn! CHECK

Here is the first of many flash fiction stories to be posted on Fridays.

NOT Jake

By Linton Bowers

Jake placed his hand against the push bar and stopped. Opening that door and going in would erase all he’d worked for these long hard months . The tip of a glass and one small sip would send him back to day zero.

"What are you doing, Jay?" Jake asked himself.

Jake stepped away from the door.

"Am I really going to do this?"

Deep in the dark corners of his mind dwelled something that used to be a part of Jake. He was at one time whole. A normal man going about life doing normal things. Then those damned terrorist dicks decided to crash some planes.

Jake was among the first in his town to sign his life over to good ol' Uncle Sam. He became a hard-assed, ground-pounding, stone-cold Marine. Like so many others, he was changed by the things he witnessed. What came home wasn't what left.

The darkness he runs from answered his questions.

Would you like to get a good night's sleep?

"Passing out in my own piss and puke is not sleep," Jake replied.

It's better than crying like a bitch til the sun comes up.

How could he respond to that? The truth, as painful as it might be, is still the truth.

"I've come too far. Worked too hard."

And for what? To spend all your time reliving what you did? When is someone going to come up with a thirteenth step to make all the nightmares go away, Jake? When are you going to catch a break from me?

"It's a process, it takes time. One small baby step at a time."

That's a load of horseshit and you know it. How many times did your dick get hard when you put a 5.56 into some dude's brain housing group? How many times did you almost cum in your tight whites while you watched the pink mist drift away in the breeze? Huh? There is no fixing you, Jake. You're too far gone, man. The kid you used to be fractured and fell to pieces on the hot desert sands. We need a break, Jake. We need to forget for just a little while. Please, Jake.

Jake fell to his knees. The pain of the collision with the unwavering pavement a minor inconvenience compared to agony he felt inside.

"I don't know how much longer I can take this shit," Jake whimpered.

Then get the fuck up and go inside. The respite we need is just inside that door and it comes in any flavor we want. Come on, man, we need this and you know it!

Jake let out a sob. He was done fighting, tired of it. He climbed back up to his feet, the sins of the past pressed down on him. He went to the door, placed his hand against the push bar and paused.

Don't puss out on us now, Jake.

Jake pushed the door open and went inside.

The bar was dark.

Brutal begining.

This is not turning out to be one of King's greatest works, but I am enjoying it. What I find really amazing is how well King has kept track of all the different characters in this book. I would love to get my hands on the first draft to see if he did as well before edits and rewrites.

I've got free mobis to give away of Cruelty episode 1 by Edward Lord (and yes I have his permission). Send me a message if you would like a copy.

We have an opportunity to let the FCC know what we think about Net Neutrality. This is important and we all need to weight in. Here is a link to the FCC comments page where we can leave them a message. Please do so. The alternative is letting companies like Comcast and Verizon dictate what we get to see and do on the web.

http://www.fcc.gov/comments

J

January

Aloha from Hell

Ocean at the End of the Lane

Specter: A Zoe Martinique Investigation

Double Dead

Jack and Jill

February 5

Hero

Night Film

March 7

The Devil Said Bang

The Shinning

Doctor Sleep

Spellwright

April 11

Two Steps from Hell

Emperor's Edge

Born of Hatred

Dark Currents

Deadly Games

With Silent Screams

Story Engineering

It Came From Hell and Smashed the Angels

May  19

Fat Vampire

Words of Radiance

June 21

Fat Vampire 2

Fat Vampire 3

Fat Vampire 4

Fat Vampire 5

Fat Vampire 6

Phantasm

July 

Skin Walker A Dresden Files Novel

Blackbirds

Brain Eater Jones

Shadow Ops:Breach Zone

The Goblin Market

I'm working on a new short story, and I figured I'd try out this whole killing-your-readers thing. So, if you would like to die in my upcoming story, leave your name in the comment section below. I am in need of four corpses. If more than four people leave their names, I'll use the overflow, but you may not perish. 

I look forward to killing you. ;)

E.

Terry Mixon of the Dead Robots' Society shared this today, and I thought I'd pass it along as well. If you plan on writing for a living, I suggest you take heed. I built my career on these words.

Neil Gaiman’s 8 Good Writing Practices

If you like short short stories, you'll really like this collection. Short shorts are exceedingly hard to write, and Mr. Lorn seems to have a real knack for them.

This book has 22 stories crammed into 145 pages!

Lorn is primarily thought of as a horror writer, but the bulk of the stories to be found here are more quirky and bizarre, not so much out-and-out horror. There are some straight up horror pieces near the end (including the three bonus stories), but I enjoyed the somewhat lighter, funkier pieces more.

My favorites include:

"A Purchase of Titanic Proportions"*

"What the Dark Brings"

"He's Got Issues"*

"That Thing about a Picture and a Thousand Words"

"Machinations"

"He Who Laughs Last"

"The Attraction"

"Sissy"

"Holes"

"Come to Jesus Meeting"

Well, it seems I've listed nearly half the stories as favorites. That should tell you something.







*Great story

ASININE QUESTION TIME! #1

Why can't human albinos have pink eyes? I feel like our species was cheated on that one.

Is it just me, or should an author have the reading order for their series on their website?

January

Aloha from Hell

Ocean at the End of the Lane

Specter: A Zoe Martinique Investigation

Double Dead

Jack and Jill

February 5

Hero

Night Film

March 7

The Devil Said Bang

The Shinning

Doctor Sleep

Spellwright

April 11

Two Steps from Hell

Emperor's Edge

Born of Hatred

Dark Currents

Deadly Games

With Silent Screams

Story Engineering

It Came From Hell and Smashed the Angels

May  19

Fat Vampire

Words of Radiance

Phantasm

Blackbirds

Brain Eater Jones

Shadow Ops:Breach Zone

The Goblin Market

I am enjoying this book a lot more than I thought I would and much more than I did Way of Kings.