No Rest For The Wicked

Tag: short-story

  • Rule #1

    Rule #1

    Jared: part 2

    Know with whom you fucketh.

    Our follow up coffee talk didn’t happen immediately. Sensing that it would be a  point of no return, I was reluctant to schedule it at first. When I was younger, I would do things just for the scandal and to have something to write about. Now, in my older age and with higher stakes, I don’t make a move without a personally compelling reason. So many weeks had gone by marked with awkward verbal exchanges and unanswered texts that I became convinced I had made the whole thing up. 

    Except I didn’t.

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  • I Have A Story For Everywhere You’ve Been

    I Have A Story For Everywhere You’ve Been

    I shot this photo in 2009 but I didn’t get it until just now.

    It’s an Arizona Cardinal.

    I’ve been all over the great American Southwest, to towns that time passed by.

    Speeding down the mother road, a smoke in one hand and snacks littering the floor. Camera gear in the back of the car and hippie deodorant stinking since the day before.

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  • The Car

    The Car

    An old man sat in his car.

    His feet hurt and there was no one around.

    He used to be my downstairs neighbor but he had shady roommates and things had clearly taken a turn for the worse.

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  • Zero Fucks Given: The End of Brangelina

    Zero Fucks Given: The End of Brangelina

    Facebook has a major case of the poo-butt.  Everyone is heartbroken over the demise of Brangelina. 

    It’s the end of an era, like when the dinosaurs died out and you could no longer buy cars with 8-track players in the dash.

    I wonder if they can return all those children? Probably not, but maybe if they still have the receipts.  I mean, it couldn’t hurt to ask. Right?

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  • Watching The Flowers Sway

    Watching The Flowers Sway

    Prologue: The following is not fiction but it didn’t happen to me. Rather, it is the result of my one and only successful attempt at communicating with the dead. I believe this account to be true and accurate. As always, names have been changed but, in this case, it’s to protect the privacy of the innocent.

    Watching The Flowers Sway

    I was watching the flowers sway, staring at the sky through a screen of yellow petals. Clouds float by and birds soundlessly peck seeds from the round center of the flower faces. Butterflies alight on my hands. I don’t feel them but their wings are luminous. There is no time here. The jingle of keys breaks the silence.

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  • Missing: The King Of Porn

    Missing: The King Of Porn

    I have an obsession and it’s growing like a tumor. It all started with one little thought: I wonder whatever became of the self proclaimed King Of Porn, Samuel Crimson? Upon consulting the Googles I learned that he directed forty films in seven years and then vanished from the Earth four years ago. When I say vanished, that’s what I mean, not dead; there would be news stories of his demise but vanished and no one seems to care. Well now, if there’s a finger guaranteed to fondle my obsession trigger it’s not being able to find out something I want to know. What started as an innocent question is rapidly becoming a compulsive preoccupation. Like digging for lost keys in that duffel bag of a purse I carry around, I will turn this world upside down and shake it until I find what I’m looking for.

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