No Rest For The Wicked

Tag: writing

  • 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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  • Face To Face With The Doctor

    Face To Face With The Doctor

    Jared: part 1

    I met a boy. I knew him for a while actually, but we didn’t know each other at all.

    We were in a professional organization. He was there and I was there but his name had too many vowels and I never learned it. 

    He is a military combat veteran turned doctor of mind fuckery and headmaster of a rehab school for young wizards. Injured in the call of duty and recipient of a purple heart, he runs his business like if a swarm of army ants were an entrepreneur. Handsome and fit, he looks fine on the outside but looks can be deceiving.

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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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