Rastus the T-Rex

       

         “Cat’s....Oh Brother!..... I own a cat and it scratches me all the time! Mom said cat’s don’t like
to have theirs tails pulled, but how was I 'spose to know that? Dogs? Well, my Dad says they're Man’s Best Friend.....We 'usta own two dogs an' a rat, now we jus' have two. Sometimes dogs, well they eat your cheese sticks.....sneaky rascals! Even sometimes they knock you over when you is playin’ outside, an’ you skin up your knees real bad! Gosh darn it, sometimes it hurts so bad you jus’ can’t help but cry!!! My mos’ favorite pet that I own is Rastus, he’s my pet T-Rex.”

           "I found Rastus one day when I was runnin’ all over hell’s half acre; he was hiddin’ behin’ a tree. Well, I ain’t scared of nothin’! You wanna’ know what I did? I walked straight up that dinosaur with my hands on my hips and I hollered ‘“Hey! Hey you dinosaur! I ain’t scared of you!”’ And I kicked him, jus' to show that ‘ol lizard I wasn’t scared of nothin’!” Then I got to thinkin’ and I turn' 'round an' ran home faster ’n a one-legged man in a butt-kickin’ competition.”

          “When I got home my Mom was waitin’ for me on the porch and she didn’ look none too pleased. ''Toccoa Eustace Gaines, where on God’s green earth have you been Son?! I have been worried sick! Get your butt in the house!'”  I’s tried to explain how I found a dinosaur hiddin’ behin’ a tree, but she jus’ wudin't havin’ any of it! So I jus’ figured it wern’t goin' to be no problem if I snuck out later an’ drug that ‘ol lizard home.

  Avery paced anxiously in front of the The Wormhole Coffee Shop taking many deep breaths; an unsuccessful attempt to calm her nerves. Exactly how the entire race of mankind had been able to survive this exact moment was a mystery to Avery. In fact it took every ounce of her considerable willpower not to collapse right there on the sidewalk. 

  Absently running her index finger across her right wrist, Avery peeked at the silver numbers tattooed there; 20m 06s then 20m 05s. It was as irritating as it was reassuring. Impulsively reaching for the door handle; not allowing herself anymore time to dwell on what was about to happen, she entered the shop. 

  Thankfully the place was rather deserted. 1980's movie posters plastered the walls-The Princess Bride, Top Gun, Ghostbusters, Goonies, Uncle Buck, The Blues Brothers, Romancing the Stone. Lunch boxes and all sorts of Star Wars paraphernalia; it was a collectors wet dream. The pièce de résistance was a silver DeLorean displayed on a track at the back of the shop. 

  Not wanting to appear rude, Avery decided to order a large black coffee and blueberry muffin; although she felt too nauseated to eat anything. At 10m 03s she sat at a bank of tables furthest from the door,nervously pulverizing the muffin she hadn't really wanted. 

  Fate was a funny thing; if Avery went by her Mother's definition of the word, fate chose what you were going to wear that day, who you fortuitously bumped into, whether you went left or you went right, fate dictated every choice. 

  Avery on the other hand did not subscribe to this form of thinking. Out of spite or pure stubbornness she challenged fate everyday; she did the opposite of what was expected of her, always.....except for today. 

  5m 08s and Avery's tattoo began to change from silver to crimson, her arm felt raw and burned as if it was on fire. She thought she might pass out from the excruciating pain. The tempo of her heart picked up, rapidly racing, ready to burst from her chest. A thick red drop landed on the table and then another one, instinctively she held her hand to her nose trying to stop the bleeding. Panicking, Avery's eyes swiveled around the shop; her dilemma was going unnoticed by the few patrons and Barista. 

  Her mother told her that she should be excited, everything in her life had led up to this moment. While her mother had readily admitted that there might be minimal pain and discomfort involved,she glossed over one important fact: You might die of a broken heart.

Kingdom of the Undying

  What had been utterly real and solid was no longer tangible; reality was not what it seemed to be, nor was it otherwise. The terror and abject horror would not subside; a harsh realization that nightmares were substantial. There was no doubt that monsters were all too real and heroes did not exist.

  

   
       
        
   

YOUR ELF ON THE SHELF IS STEALING FROM YOU

   Unadulterated criminal intent gazed back at me from flat calculating baby blue eyes. Cherubic features did nothing to diminish the “Agent of Satan” impression this entity gave off; piercing red suit and pointed hat only added to the malicious vibe. The accursed doll came into my possession several years back as a Christmas gag, a pair of lumpy knitted socks or Q-Tips would have been better.

                

   “Neato! You got one of those Elf on a Shelf things,” cried my roommate as he saw the harbinger of hell peep out of the tissue wrappings as I entered the apartment.

                

   “Yeah,” I replied nonchalantly, roughly throwing the doll on the kitchen table and going to the fridge for a beer “Those holiday parties are a rip off. Why can’t they give you something useful like a European vacation or a flat screen TV?”

                

   “Are you going to name it?” inquired my roommate amused.

                

   “Hmmmm,” I said sitting down at the table picking up the doll and inspecting it, holding it up to the light “I christen you……Randall.”

                

   A sinister sounding giggle emanated from the elf.

                

   “What the hell man!” cried my roommate, shoving his chair away from the table; at the same time I flung the elf across the room. It hit the wall with a soft thud.

                

   We sat in silence for a few stunned minutes, then mustering our courage we walked over to where the elf lay. I nudged it with my foot, it didn't move.

                

   “It must have a voice box inside,” whispered my roommate nervously.

                

   “Probably somebody’s version of a bad joke,” I agreed. “Just to be on the safe side though,” I said reaching for a dirty sock nearby. Grabbing the elf quickly, I shoved it inside the soiled sock. Marching to my bedroom; I hurled the sock and doll combo into the utmost recesses of my closet, then slammed the door shut.

                

   That appeared to resolve the problem……for the next few days at least. 

Writing Prompt Link: http://www.writersdigest.com/prompts/your-elf-on-the-shelf-is-stealing-from-you 

Twitter Stalker

      The footsteps behind me were hurried, growing louder as they advanced on my retreating back. In blind terror, I picked up my pace in an attempt to outrun whoever or whatever was following me. As I dodged around the corner my cellphone buzzed, I had a new tweet.  “Don’t run from me,” said the anonymous tweeter.  Far from slowing my pace, I took off like Usain Bolt in a 100-meater dash.

                

   Immediately ahead of me was a mammoth ivy bush, which I gracelessly threw myself into in an attempt to ditch my stalker. Squatting down, cellphone in hand, I waited. Extremely impressed with myself, I thought “Ha ha ha! Fuck nuts won’t find me in here!” Just as that thought crossed my mind, my phone buzzed again. “I know where you are,” said the anonymous tweeter.

                

  “Psshhh, there is no way this creeper can know where I am. He’s just trying to lure me out into the open and that’s just not going to happen,” I believed confidently. My phone buzzed again “This is a fun game,” said the tweet “I love hide and go seek!”

                

  “Find another hobby, you sick bastard,” I tweeted back angrily.

                

  Minutes later my phone buzzed again “You should feel honored. I only play with the ones I like….. before I kill them,” tweeted anonymous.

                

  The ivy bush rustled slighting in the late evening breeze. Inexplicably the hair on the back of my neck stood up. Inches from my left ear, a soft velvet voice whispered “Boo.” 

Twitter Stalker Writing Prompt Link: http://www.writersdigest.com/prompts/twitter-stalker 

Letter to My Future Self

Dear Kaye,

                

  Remember when you were a kid and you waited every heartbeat for a certain toy. A toy that you thought at that exact moment was going to make your life great. If you got what you wanted then you knew you would not want for anything else. So you saved all your pennies, dimes and quarters from helping your Grandma in the garden and slowly they began to add up. It felt like an eternity, however all too soon you were ready to go to the bank and cash in your pirates hoard.  

               

  With crisp bills in your hand, you marched sure footed and proud down the toy aisle. With a giddy sense of excitement, you plucked the toy of your dreams off the shelf. Nervously you waited in line at the checkout scared that you might not have enough even you though you counted your money several times just to be sure.

                

  On the car ride home you opened the box and….the sense of excitement at having what you always wanted was not nearly as great at you thought that it would be.

                The Journey is far greater than the outcome.

P.S. It is snowing here. You will be ok.   

Mercy Brown Part 2: The Funeral

    Cold ethereal light filled the small parish church to the rafters, spilling from its windows. Two morose figures clad in customary black occupied the front pew. A middle aged gentleman, whose brown hair had begun to turn prematurely grey; standing next to him a younger carbon version of himself.

“Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon them. May the souls of the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen,” intoned Rev. Amos Cabot from his perch at the pulpit, his voice ringing out through the almost empty church.

A modest pine wood coffin was positioned in front of the alter; inside rested the body of a young woman. Dressed in a white lace gown, her deep brown hair arranged over her shoulders had been combed until it shown. A cross had been tucked neatly between her clasped hands. A ray of light flashed across her face, for the briefest moment her eyelashes seemed to flutter.

“Surely fate could not be this cruel; to take away the only daughter he had left,” thought Dr. Brown distraughtly. First the disease had taken his wife, then his eldest daughter Mary and now Mercy. It was torture to watch on helplessly as the disease devoured his loved ones. As eyes sunk deeper into their skulls and flesh sank around them. Watching him as he paced around the room, knowledge of their imminent fate sealed in their gaze. For each, death had come swiftly, stalking in the night.

Once the liturgy had been recited, two pallbearers strode forth from the back of the church. Placing the pine lid over the coffin, they drove in nails securing it in place. With each nail Dr. Brown visibly winced as if they were driving the nails straight into his heart. Then the pallbearers lifted the coffin; slowly escorting it down the aisle of the church accompanied by My Soul There is a Country on the organ.

Outside in the bitterly cold air a simple horse and cart waited; stomping hooves, steam billowing from the horses nostrils. The pallbearers lifted the coffin onto the platform of the cart. “Walk on,” said one of the men in a deep voice, flicking the horse with a crop. Dr. Brown and his son followed behind as the cart made its way to the stone crypt at the end of the graveyard. This was where Mercy’s body would rest until the thaw and she could then be interred in the ground with her mother and sister.