Tag: short stories

“It’s just a FUCKING COLD WESLEY, A SIMPLE FUCKING COLD!”

“We can’t take that risk David. I can’t endanger my family because you can’t keep yours safe.”

“WHAT THE FUCK!” David hisses as his face twists with anger and he launches himself to his feet, thrusting his chest out proudly.

His smile disappears and is replaced by a frown, twitching nervously, and he sneers. “I AM NOT INSANE! I AM A CREATIVE GENIUS! SOMEONE LIKE YOU COULDN NEVER UNDERSTAND WHAT IT’S LIKE TO BE TRAPPED BY YOUR OWN MIND. YOU CAN’T EVEN COMPREHEND THE TRIALS AND TRIBULATIONS I’VE BEEN THROUGH!”

Gavin casts a glance across the room at the shell of his shattered asPhone and then back to the speaker.

“Will they ever stop?”

“Who Gavin?”

“Those things out there,” he asks as he looks up at the door.

“Eventually, when they cease to live.”

“You mean they won’t stop?”

“What did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t, and it doesn’t matter. What matters is that you know in the end regardless of all this, that you are going to be okay.”

“Sure, it’s easy to say, but it’s not your life that’s fallen apart around you, is it?”

“Honest mistakes are little oversights, this is theft. Now get the fuck out before I tear my way in and make more of a mess of you than you already are.”

“I-I-I’m not opening the door until you calm d-do-down,” Adrian stammers nervously as he clutches the steering wheel tightly.

Ever so gently he places his hand on the doorknob, then turns it and pulls. The world beyond his bedroom opens up before him, and he takes a step outside. He looks down the hall and stands silently still, listening for the sound he heard from inside a moment ago.

The city became the property of his estate, which had detailed instructions for all his assets to be kept in a trust until his son Michael, was fifty-six. Further to that clause, he also had additional steps to be followed if Michael passed away before he reached the required age.

“That thing has a name, and if you choose to ignore it again, I’ll show you what’s more important.” He says passionately, thrusting the gun towards David like a knife. “Simon is my SON. He is made from OUR deoxyribonucleic acid, and he is THE MOST IMPORTANT scientific advancement today!”

Why should I want anything?”

“Because you’re here, and you never come unless you want something. So just tell me and get it over with, as you can see, I’m in the middle of getting absolutely shit faced.” Floyd says as he grabs another beer from the table, sculling it….

She swallows as she nervously pulls a packet of cigarettes from her jacket, and places one in her mouth. As she lights it, she takes a deep breath in and then looks up to her brother’s menacing gaze. “Do you remember Clare?”

“You mean imaginary Clare?”

“So that’s a yes?”

He scoffs, “Aside from all these flimsy bits of information, you have nothing to really support your claims that Dion is the cause of the disease, correct?”

“Yes, b…” he doesn’t get to finish as Garrison holds up a hand.

“This conversation is over Patrick, go and continue your research!”

“You brought that upon yourself, you know that, don’t you?” He says through clenched teeth. The only answer he receives is her cries, so he slaps her again across the other cheek, harder this time. “Do you want another?” She shakes her head vigorously. “Good, now the question. Why lie?

Because no matter what I do, I keep getting the desire to go back out there for one last run,” he says as he looks out past their table, and into the world beyond, then turns back to Samba. “Don’t you wonder if you’ve still got all the old moves?”

“Sam The Man,” Officer Hedwig says, they both turn to him, then Simon turns to Fiona.

“Name ring a bell?”

“He was the Christian Construction worker, right?” She asks, as she turns back to Officer Hedwig.

“Yeah, he was a ritualistic poster. Every Thursday he’d send her a new post…”

She shoots up and slaps him across the face.

“OW! What the fuck was that for?” He yells.

“YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT MOVIE I’M TALKING ABOUT, DO YOU?” She yells as she scrambles to her feet.

“WHAT? Baby of course I know what movie you’re talking about,  Honest I do!”

“What I want to paint for you, in these final few words is a picture of a lost and confused young man, who had no one to turn to except himself. But unfortunately the man he was, was deeply scarred by the people around him, and was unable to help…”

He stands and sashays around her, taking another drag on his cigarette.

“What would you do to me?” He asks coyly.

“WHAT?” She sneers.

“What would you do to me, if you were free and had any opportunity?”

She stares at him like a cat stares down a foolish bird.

“Please Melvin, whatever she did to you, let us help you, don’t tur….” The explosion the revolver makes interrupts his train of thought, as does the bullet that lodges itself into his skull. He stares silently towards Melvin, as his mouth opens and closes like a goldfish in a bowl.

“Did it hurt?” She asks as she turns to him.

“It depends how you look at it, for him,” he says nodding towards his lifeless carcass that lies in front of them. “It hurt a whole lot. But when I say it, I’m talking about life. Death was the greatest…”

“If you want me to help get this psycho off your back, you’ve got to show me you can follow directions without fail. So as a precursor to all that, and as a general rule going forward, while the grown-ups are talking, you’re going to sit there and patiently wait.”