Tag: thriller

  • Hmmm?

    The day started as most usually do. We all woke groggily and apprehensive to the day but languidly took to throwing shirts on, laborious jean wrangling and messy short brushes to mops of hair that were too far gone to take the task. I, like the rest, tediously meandered around the clothes, knit picked through socks, even though there was a gleaming pair right at my feet, I let time hang like a tenuous thread of lacquered wax. This had become my new tendency, my new norm, the languid act of being. I made very little attempts to giving a damn. I’d of course make lunches, tidy up the house, get the kids ready, but all to get them out of my hair.

    I was more than sure that the Mrs knew. Of course she knew, she knew everything. At least that was the mannerisms and the behavior of the household, Mama knew all. But still the day started the same. Mom get into the makeup, me the husband scrounging up the rest of the household and getting everybody ready. I’d say it was a task but it was them that made it easy. The boys hurried and hustled to get ready, their little sis following suit so as not to be left behind made work all the easier and the tasks lighter for the load after they hauled to the car and left.

    The day was barren though and left the taste of iron in the mouth. Teeth gritting, mind spinning, and exhaustion that knew nothing but fatigue hampered the rest of the day, that was until I took to going outside. I had taken to the dogs, Fed them, made sure they had enough water for the rest of the day, and decided to treat myself. I loaded myself a bowl of fine weed and took to stoking the blaze until it ran dry. I loaded another one, call to a dog or two, I gave them some pats and a treat and took to lighting the second bowl and enjoying the day. Enjoying my morning as quiet and somber as it was. But then an inkling took to me, something hung on the inside of my aching brain that had me think something was a mess.

    I took to the back door and could have swore I saw a movement behind the glass.

    I burst open the back door and scuttled in going as quickly as I could through the kitchen into the living room swearing I saw something. But nay, there was nothing. I look to the front door and my gut sank, the front door was unlocked. Did I not lock it when I kissed the kids goodbye, signed I love you to my wife, did I not lock it? I could have swore I locked the door. But then I heard a creak and a movement inside my home. Silence took, my ears rang, my breathing slowed, and I swear I heard the shuffle of the feet. 

    Was today my demise? Was there somebody in the house? What’s the intention? Is there a scythe, is there a blade, is there a gun? Is there someone brooding in the darkness waiting?

  • Been Too Long

    I should be writing.

    I should be doing something productive but instead I sit here twiddling my fingers like an idiot monkey waiting to be shot into space.

    Simon Hããt thinks to himself spinning a pen in his fingers. The damn computer froze he thought. He tells himself the computer froze, fooled himself to believe it so and shot a message to his professor late. He didn’t mind the lack of urgency shining in what he typed. It was the fact. The computer froze and he’d deal with the paper tomorrow. He ignored the buzz from his phone, likely the professor answering with vehement retort and inquiry, and shoved a cigarette in between his lips and reached for the window.

    Simon Hããt liked his sticks of death, even splendored within the vapors in the night when the lights were low and the smoking mist whipped around his fingers and lapped at his tongue. There was something he enjoyed too much from this activity but Simon didn’t have much.

    It was work, work, work. School and more work. He was peckish with the drain school brought that work brought that was his chaos of life. He’d managed a positive GPA (a whopping 3.2), he didn’t bring anything but the bare minimum.

    With the window wide open Simon hauled himself out the second floor and stood stop the roof until he sat along the hanging ledge. He grabbed his lighter that was left in the drainage pipe. He wiped off the leaves, blew once or twice at the top and flicked. 

    The thought of school and the turmoil of finals was getting to him. He managed a good front but his time outside, alone, above the world, helped absolve these worries unlike that front, unlike the bullshit smile he showed the world. Taking the time to breathe in something of his own choice brought a kind of rebellious tone to life that couldn’t be taken away.

    He sat there and pulled in at the death stick occasionally trying and failing at a smoke ring until he was about done until he saw something moving below.

    There was someone hooded beneath the trees, standing there and Simon could see them looking up, watching him. He shood the figure away to no avail and started hissing at the dark figure. He begged for the figure to move and finally stopped. Simon decided to forget about it and go inside. He turned away but felt a creeping sliding halting chill come over him and heard the tree. He was climbing the tree!

    Simon burst through the window falling on his face and slammed the window shut, latched it and grabbed the curtains throwing them over the window as quickly as can be done. He can see something dark out the window but refused to look closer and instead took to the hallway until a thought came to Simon.

    What if his window was the only one shut? What if someone else in the dorm had their window open? What then? Simon stopped, held his breathe and crouched down…

  • Day Two Hundred & Five, July 23rd, 2024

    Hi-ho and hello.

    The White Dog

    Let me tell you a story.


    My buddy and I, we were coming back from Vegas, both a little inebriated, both very tired, very hungry, and needing a bed. But Russ was too fixated on getting back home, he wanted to be with his girl. Felt that going to Vegas betrayed her and he couldn’t do with that. So we found ourselves heading up route 66 and happened to be hitting New Mexico before, well before it came.

    The thing is, New Mexico has spirits, and the blood of many lost in the soil. I was well aware of this and crossed my fingers and toes; Russ, not so much. He was a type of ‘I need proof’ son of a b****.

    I knew better though and kept my foot on the pedal as often as I could. I didn’t look in my mirrors, but I did tell Russ to keep an eye out, in case the cops wanted to tag us. We drove on.

    Dusk was quickly approaching. Russ needed to piss, I was getting hungry and there was rumor Lottaburger was only miles up the road. I shouldn’t have, I know that now, but I digress, we stopped for a quick bite and filled up on gas. I drained myself after grubbing and told Russ he’d better do the same if he knew better. He didn’t, mind you.

    We jumped back in the truck and headed up Route 66. He couldn’t help himself though, Russ started crooning for his Mrs. Lamenting in his woes of his betrayal to her he started blaming my impulse as a toxic trait. I told him to shut up and keep an eye out, I was going 20 over already and wanted to get home too, knowing something was in the air.

    We continued driving, turned up the radio and enjoyed the winter chill in the air as we drove on.

    We talked of our ladies, of his guilt for Vegas, my hankering for another drink, and the wanting of a warm bed. We both moaned at the words bed and started laughing loudly when Russ went white like a sheet and stared straight out the front of the truck.

    I asked what had happened, he just shook his head and leaned forward meaning to crane his neck away from anything but the front of the truck. I had a eerie feeling that we were being watched.

    I refused to look at the mirrors, and kept my eyes straight following the example set by Russ.

    What is it? I asked. Shook his head, and maintained sealed lips. I began to scream at him to tell me what it is. And I s*** you’re not I swear I started seeing tears slow down his cheeks. I took to the looking at the mirror, my foot pushed through the pedal I had every intention of making it home alive.

    What happened to be behind us was a white dog, standing on its hind legs running and almost matching speed with us. My blood curdled, my skin felt as though it was peeling off and I took began to weep. I couldn’t let off the gas. And seeing the large dog like a feral monstrous beast barring down on us had me entirety tight and quivering.

    What do we do? Russ asked screaming, what the f*** are we going to do? I didn’t have an answer, I had no idea what to do I looked at him shook my head, press my foot as hard as I can against the floor of the truck and didn’t look back.

    We drove like bats out of hell in record time making it back home within hours.

    Russ and I both looked at each other once we pulled up to the house, look behind us, and saw nothing. We sat there dumbfounded, absolutely sure that we had both seen a giant white dog running on its hind legs. And even still as I tell this story my gut sinks, my skin crawls, my blood curdles, because the fact of the matter is it was an omen. That white dog was the worst omen when could ever face. Death.

    I told Russ it’s nothing, told him it’s just the internet, I told him it was our imagination, playing tricks on us in our drunken stupor.

    He died yesterday.


    C’est La Vie

  • Forget-Me-Naught Pt. 3

    By: M. R. Vega


    † These are the recordings of Joel D. Braunagh. Patient #19-374222. Case #9119 Det. Milton # 617

    Date/Time – May 14th, 2009, 8:00 p.m.

    Pt. #19-374222 J.D.Braunagh


    -+- Evening Joel. Once again, for general purposes, I am Detective Rachel Milton. This is a recording of Joel’s discussions with me, over a divulging of details about the box, the altercation between Michael Braunagh; the brother.

    -+- Night three Joel. Are you ready? Can we do this tonight? At least the box, please?

    — I already told you I’d tell you, I’ll share everything. It’s going back and tracing the steps that knocks the f*** out of me. Leaving me completely drained and more than frustrated, it’s more than agonizing to separate that frustration with the law and the obvious situation that has me here. But of course, that’s not sensical to any of you, is it? But I already confessed to everything. I did it sorrowfully but willfully, taking the accountability for the loss of all three because it’s my hands that created the situation. It’s bad enough that I don’t get to put them in the ground!

    -+- Joel as a matter of fact, its a legal right for you, they’ll let you go to each funeral. But, we need to get this documented; we need to know, like I keep telling you. Deal?

    — Well that is a horse of a different f****** color ain’t it? Not that it was our plan to begin with, burying that is. I think we both wanted to become ash, like what we came from. At least, *sigh* it wasn’t set, not yet, we hadn’t even bought plots yet. Sorry, (sucks on teeth), I digress sorry, god I f****** miss her.

    ‡ Joel grabs at the nape of his neck and rocks back and forth for a moment grimacing at the tile beneath his obnoxious orange gel slides.

    -+- I’m sorry Joel. Truly but we do need to know what happened. What was it that happened after Luca died? (I pause for a moment, waiting to see that register, he doesn’t stir, doesn’t blink, or really pay mind), What happened, aside from the magazine collecting Joel, you’re a toy maker, the most you’ve done is what? Wind-em-up toys or pullbacks is that what they call these?

    ‡ I pull out a small plastic duck with wheels from out of my blazer pocket.  I pull it back pressing against the surface of the floor table desk and let go. I do this, position it to tap against his prison shoe, and when it hits it, he looks down, looks at me, sighs heavily nodding his head.

    — Yes and no, the person who made the ducks actually, her name is Jessica Stewart, I wasn’t ever really a big fan of her craft but we worked in the same tier level.

    — Anyway, no, I did more than just the simple machine type of toy, we had a production line that was similar to magnetic tiles but made sounds, and we were in the process of an interlocking block system that was definitely going to bring us to court with Lego, but I guess it doesn’t matter. (He grimaces again, shakes his head with a face that looks of disgust.) But no I…I did action figures, I did the molding, I did some robotics but on a minute and basic level and  no I…I…just happened to stop, I didn’t do anything for a while. You, *sigh*, I don’t know how to put it because I didn’t just lose my boy Rachel, I lost the fire of my life. It wasn’t until after Luca’s death, that had me realize truths to what Celeste and I were. We became a stagnant mass of gelatin together and alone. She loathed me and I the same with her but then cowered back with a loving embrace because we were alone. What with him passing away there was such a resounding loss in the both of us…that my wife and I, we couldn’t, she couldn’t escape. It was more like being shot into space knowing no one would catch us…we were just alone, together, of course.

    — But, it’s not the same…it’s not the same. It was never going to be the same and this wasn’t just killing Celeste, it was wreaking havoc on the mental health of our baby girl who now, had nothing.

    ‡ Joel grabs the small duck, pulls back a distance further than expected and lets go of the toy, leaving the duck sailing toward my feet and under my chair. He gives a meek smile. And continued…

    — We were both well aware of Zappy; the little five years old and her curious mind. She had a bit of an inclination of what actually happened though and just knowing that her brother was gone had deeply resonated within her and Celeste and I didn’t come to help build her up. We were too busy inside ourselves. But we did tell her that Luca went for the long sleep, she understood but kept saying he’d come back. That was until the ‘sealing‘ happened.

    -+- The sealing? Can you elaborate…you know I’ll have more questions to that Joel, what is that, the sealing?

    — Relax, I’m getting to it.

    — Promise

    ‡ Joel smiles, he’s starting to get moderately comfortable.

    — But as parents, we tried to…we carried it as best as we could but we stayed silent, we had become those that loved one another indefinitely, but somehow allowed the grief to eviscerate the idea of anything else but loss and the idea of Luca not being here. I lost myself, I was put on suspension with my job and started letting my team down, my activity at work severely lessened where I started running behind with everything. I started losing weight, even went so far to malnourish her due being blind. That’s how negligent and calous we were. But then thankfully Michael came.

    -+- Okay, so your brother was involved, your brother was a happy extension of the family and obviously had helped, with what I’m assuming, all of it?

    — Yeah exactly, he took me down into the basement and saw the stacks of magazines, copper wires, more metal sheets, bolts, crystal shards, more wire, and metal. Oh, and piled up earth magnets that were likely causing everything above us to go on the fritz and just held me.

    Joel let out a heavy sigh and visible tears were falling from his chin. They’d occasionally pool and hang for a moment in his meek goatee and fall soaking the gels wrapped around his feet

    — I let everything out, I melted in his arms and lost the ability to stand, and I think Michael knew, he knew how far gone Celeste and I had gone with just the entirety of our loss. So him showing up when he did, well it was bound to happen, I’m grateful it did, but at the same time, sorry that it did and I don’t get to tell him that.

    -+- How long did he stay with you?

    — A couple months until he thought he was seeing that we were getting back on our feet, he did help me keep my job, but he had also had some issue with what I was trying to make in the basement.

    -+- The box, okay so Michael had nothing to do with the box?

    — No, not a f****** chance, no, he thought what I was trying to do was idiotic, and thought I was being more than a fool, I don’t know, obviously he wasn’t wrong, look at where we’re at. What I’m f****** wearing, these are god damn jellies on my feet. This is ridiculous, I get it, and I know why, I’m just venting for a moment.

    -+- That’s okay, I get it. Honest. -+- Not wanting to be somewhere when it’s needed but if the opportunity arose, you’d be gone…trust me, Joel I get it.

    — Yeah, okay Rachel, okay. Anyhow, back to Michael, he was seeing that we were okay but there was something off…something dauntingly trepidatious, especially for Celeste. Sadly neither of us saw…‡ Joel inhales sharply through clenched teeth…I don’t know how we missed it.  She must be a hell of a thespian.

    — Anyhow Michael was seeing that she couldn’t handle the second floor hallway on her way to the Master bedroom, it went right by Luca’s open door and it wrecked her every f****** day, every moment that called for going anywhere near, which was always. She had become frail, nearly a different woman, her eyes sunken in, her cheeks shallow and pale, eyes near glossed and she looked more than haggard. Celeste was becoming a broke form of what she once was and all we thought was something so simple. How do we close the room off?

    — Brick and mortar was the answer and we started the next day, for a brief moment it looked like a scene from The Cask of Amontillado, brick and mortar, brick and mortar. We had the door and a good three feet in sealed up and off and drywalled over that leaving us an extended hallway as though it had always been there.

    -+- And did this help?

    — Mmm, for a bit Detective, maybe a month, maybe two, enough that I finished the box.

    To be continued…

  • Stuck Pt. 2.              By: M. R. Vega

    The blaring alarm shatters through the thick web of dreamland that David finds himself falling away from while he wakes drenched, drool cakes around his lips and beard, and shakes his entirety. Disregarding the mess on his face he grabs the phone immediately hoping that there would be a text message missed, in hopes a line of missed notifications. A hopeful meme or the goofy and dumb gifs the kids have sent in the past. The phone screen barely registers his finger jousting and to his dismay, once the screen blinks on, nothing. Just his usual weather alerts and breaking news alerts notifications.

    However David was wanting to feel sorry for himself and started with staring up at the popcorn ceiling, something he still neglected to fix and instead vied for a moment or three to wallow while doing so. David wanted to sink into the blankets and drown on grief. But instead he brought his body up, walked steadily to the bathroom and started a shower. He had to figure out what to do, not just what to do but how to get his wife to understand that he took care of the problem. That problem smoldering and rotting downstairs.

    He’s already gotten a call from his sister calling him scum, calling him the trash of the Earth that is meant for nothing but spoil, his brother threatened his life, and his parents have refused to answer the calls he’s made everyday since she found out. What troubles David and what has lingered even after she had left with the children, and what will become of him if she found out what really had come to be the night at question, at fall, at the end.

    The stinking and gnarled claws pick away at the darkness surrounding its mass, overwhelming it, it permeates the air, down to that last iota of the sogging mass. It is thrumming through tip to tip and thrashing, a hunger covets the beating heart above. Eyes covered, mouth sewn it struggles to breathe, but continues to suck at the agony and grief, the lies and the filth fuel enough, it sends for food another way, always to the next day, growing, reading and it grows while he ignores, ignores and neglects the need. His need.

    Herday 14 processed through Wombo.AI and self prompted from what’s written in red.

    The shower did well, he came out feeling refreshed and partially awakened. David found himself still needing food though, needing to get his body moving, and make an effort to manage the shit storm he’d created in the last week or two. He’d have at least a week or two before she even tried to contact him if ever, but knowing the kids and how the state felt both parents needed involvement, she’d make due the effort if it made her look good. He knew that, meaning he’d have to get downstairs sooner than later…definitely sooner he thought. But he went to the back yard once the clothes were on and the coffee drip started, he slid the heavy backdoor along its rail and peered over the drooping Austrian Pines he’d hated since they moved to the house. The branches took direction with the wind and leaned heavy with the snow, it left him usually trimming and chopping down peculiar and slanted branches that scraped the gravel and hid the windows. He then checked that onto the list he’d started early in the morning of steps to finish before his family got back, maybe, maybe he’d be able to close the door and play it off as drunken stupor and a mistaken person. He’d pile the yardwork up and bunch it with other mess, it’d distract from the obvious, he smirked and breathed in the pollen of the morning, the low hanging dew that forgot to stick to the blades of buffalo grass, and scuttled back toward the kitchen with a grin, leaving the door to the back open.

    A metal camping mug, a favorite of his held the coffee, a dark, thick and placid liquid stared up at David while he lingered back to the door. He wished for a taste of menthol, looked toward the steps that went to the basement and back to the trees, to the San Isabel mountain range thinking. Pushing the piping hot coffee mug against a temple wondering what could be possible and who could he call for help. His brother would likely kill him through the phone with a call, his sister would call his wife, and as for friends, well they were all her friends too he thought, and would likely call with concern, more questions that didn’t need peering into. He didn’t need that, couldn’t have it like that, it was already spinning out of control, he was far past being at a loss. Suicide was about of question and he knew she’d laugh, she’d mock and snivel with a smirk and smile at his funeral, it would only hurt him, she wouldn’t let the kids know, he’d become a figment of an idea after a year or two. He shook the thoughts from himself and slid the door shut, he sipped at the coffee and now stared at the steps leading down. Leading to the darkness. Leading to a mess.

    There’s rhythm to the shuddering above, a tremble steady, another tremble deeper, louder, closer, the shuddering stops. There’s a heave, a pull, a lunge of the heavy darkness that swallows and masticates what’s there, it gnaws at the fat, bone, skin and the viscerally revolting. It gnaws and waits in the darkness while up above comes a pacing, a striking, counting down, stacking, planning, to erase, to be rid. To remove it, remove her, burn her, leave it smoldering and rotting far, far, far from here.

    Herimage from day 22, processed using prompts from red  highlighted using Wombo.AI

    There was a moistness in the air that latched to his arms halfway down, the next step brought a reeling to his guts as a smell hit his throat and shoveled thus directly to his nose of rot filth death in a putrid that he knew he wasn’t going to be able to get away from for months. It only been 2 days, and he had no idea how to get that smell out of anything. The panic started to set in. He looked down at the black sticky bag and prodded it with the toes of his boot. The peculiar plastic of the bag squelched and crunched, nothing else moved. He pushed again this time with the back of a heel to make sure there wasn’t a pooling beneath the bag, David knew he was a lucky f*****. He smiled knelt down, patted at the plastic bag, threw an arm around it, grunted and hoisted it up.


    
    
    
    
    
    What was listened to while writing, enjoi.
  • A Student and a Question                     by: M. R. Vega

    This is based off of a simple question asked by a kid who decided not to look up. Rather simple question from the kid but it had me think and well here’s a short story, and like Lamont it will be a s***** draft.


    “Mrs. Nogare, Mrs. Nogare, I have a question.” Randall’s arm is already hanging in the air, waving erratically, and his teeth beam.

    “Randall that’s not how we get answers here is it?” Mrs. Nogare quickly turns from the white board, darting him a quick look and scans the room.

    “Class please remind Randall what he needs to do if he wants to ask a question or if he wants something.” Mrs. Nogare turns back around

    “To raise our hand until Mrs  Nogare shows that she can answer.” A little boy rings proud with the answer sitting at the front smiling toward Randall and nods at the room’s silence while Mrs. Nogare continues at the white board.

    “Thank you Matthew.” She smiled smugly, knowing that boy would be the one to answer, knowing he liked having the answers and assisting as often as he could. She adored her students, mostly all of them, but there was a sincerity to this one that had her tell her husband about him often. It was a mere coincidence her husband and him shared a name. Her husband, well she could do without more than half the time if not more. He’d become an incessant annoyance lately, like an ailing pet that needed a constant back rub or drink that he couldn’t get himself. She imagined coming home with a treat, least saying it was a treat, but upon greedy hungry fingers he opens it to rocks. She chuckled quietly to herself and wrapped up the instructions quickly as she realized she had been daydreaming. She spun around with a smile and clapped her hands together as if she’d sketched with chalk, and issued everyone’s attention to the board.

    “Now class please look at the board, follow the instructions as I’ve stated, you have steps one through five to finish, now after finishing the project put the finished assignment in bin one and once that’s done you can start doing your free time.” She swiftly slid down the rows of desks and chairs to Randall while also checking the room in that all the students were following the instructions.

    “Now Randall, how can I help you? Were you needing to use the restroom, did you want to go over the subject again?” She’d become so used to the students hardly listening most of the time she’s prepared with the monotoned response of what was said before, said before, and said before.

    “No, no, that’s not what I was going to ask, I wanted to… can you come closer Mrs. Daisy, I don’t want other kids to laugh at me…” Mrs. Nogare withdrew for a second,

    Expecting just that, she was more than confused when he responded. Leaving the words trapped at the throat and her wanting to scratch at her head for a second. She gave her head a quick and brief shake of the hair and issued him to her desk. “Of course Randall of course. Come to my desk and we’ll talk.” He quickly pulled from the desk he was in, grabbed at a pencil and then decided otherwise and followed Mrs. Nogare to her large and decorated desk of flush markers in color coded order, neatly marked cubbies for pens, pencils, one marked sharp with the pencils pointing up dart like and sharp, the other marked dull with rundown erasers kissing at the sky above them. Randall always admired her desk, the peculiar Lego flowers in a vase, the curious jewel adorned turtle nearly kissing the coffee mug sitting on the coaster warmer since the start of the day. Randall found he enjoyed the cleanliness. The order of it all. It left him silent and gazing until Nogare interrupted his string of thoughts

    “Now what is it Randall?” He shook from his admiring the big desk and wanting to play with all of the items in reach but shook away the thought and brought back in focus to Mrs. Nogare who was looking at him with kind but piercing eyes awaiting the inquiry.

    “Sorry, sorry, Mrs. Nogare have you noticed how the Sun gets dimmer, not, not like the clouds are covering it, but like it’s blinking or squinting, like it has an eye making the sky dim, the sun dim?”

    Mrs. Nogare not trying to be overly blunt or brash, and holding back an eye roll, she gently addressed the obvious to him. “Randall that would be called clouds my dear, you’re just needing to start looking up. See, the clouds moving from the directions of the wind across the Earth that make the movement go across the sun and across the moon, so when you’re out and about and you see that light coming from the sky dim, it’s due to that movement of cloud coverage. That’s all. We’ve gone over this quite a few times in science hour, remember Randall?”

    He knew it. He knew Mrs. Nogare wouldn’t understand. The one teacher he felt was a bit funny, maybe a bit mean, but odd in a way the question would hopefully draw a sincere concern. But no one did, his dad laughed at him calling him a baffoon, his brother gave him a noogie just for the question, and his mom just laughed waving a hand and telling him to clean his room instead of asking stupid questions. His inner lamenting was missed by Mrs. Nogare while she scanned the classroom as she often felt compelled to. “Is there anything else Randall?”

    “Yeah Mrs. Daisy, no, no, never mind, never mind. I know what the clouds are doing, it just looks different, I don’t know like I said just don’t tell the other kids please?” His face red and flushed, he quickly got up and almost tripping over his feet, walked back to his desk. Johnny, a friend of Randall’s who had tried to catch the question Randall asked Mrs. Nogare, was now sticking his tongue out at him but quickly sucked it back in when he noticed Mrs. Nogare staring him down.

    “Mr. Johnny, do you have the assignment finished yet or were you too busy eavesdropping on your pal?” Johnny went to ask what eavesdropping was or meant but decided he would rather not have a lesson today, he ignored her, shaking his head and slyly smiling and snickering at Randall while he sat back down.

    Mrs. Nogare found herself starting at the clock on the wall shortly after the inquiry from Randall and enjoyed the quiet shuffling of students, of papers sliding to and fro, the scribbles of pencils, and tapping of keys on laptops, these were the sounds that brought her peace and had her know she chose the right profession. She then thought of Randall and that curious question of his which took her mind and eyes to looking through the window and up at the sky. It was a clear day, the sky bright and nearly piercing, but just as she expected, looked just as it always does on bright and clear days. The sun gleamed through the window and had her mesmerized while also a bit curious still to the odd question of Randall’s. She whipped around on her chair and was happily surprised she found the students were sticking to doing the assignment, there were a few that decided the assignment could be ignored and doodled instead of working. But those few were known for great test scores, perfect CMas scores each year, and she figured they were bored, as she often is with the doldrum of routine and the same third grade topics each year. She refrained from bringing an alarm to the few not working and shook the words to the waste basket that is tidely set within her mind. Her thought though was due to that they’d be going to specials in near minutes and then off to lunch and the rest of routine that is third grade.

    She gazed over her students admiring those working, shaking her head at the few who decided otherwise, and then found Randall solemnly scratching at something he’d written on a small piece of scratch paper. She knelt down at his desk and placed an open hand on the desk. “Everything okay Randall, is it still about what’s going on with the sun?” She strained to see what he wrote but needed to get closer.

    Randall shrugged and shook his head not wanting to be a laughing stock, not wanting to point the finger of blame or negligence of her. She should know he knew she would know if she just saw it. But he just avoided the topic all together.

    “I’m good Mrs. Nogare, I just spelled something wrong and needed to erase it but,(flashing the pen) I wasn’t paying attention.” He quietly chuckled and she smiled at him not assured he was okay. Not one bit. She went back to her office desk and happened to look to the large window and saw a dimming to the outside.

    Clouds, she thought, it’s just the clouds. But, the inquiry of Randall’s and his demeanor after her response had her thinking, perhaps longer than she should have. The bell rang. The students who were anxious and getting hungry refrained from bolting and causing a ruckus. The waited. She shook her head and alerted the kids with a quick and cheerful addressing.

    “Alrighty class I’ll be seeing you after specials and lunch. Don’t forget to put your assignments into the right bin and I’ll see you all in a while.” She wasn’t paying attention to them, she was merely present and awake but her mind was a drift and she chose to look to the window, but avoided looking up while maintaining focus on the input of light.

    They all shuffled out quietly filing in with the large 3rd grade line heading off to specials (art, p.e., music) courses. Randall lingered for a moment until he saw her peer out the window and smiled briefly and hustled up with the rest, hoping she’d have something to say when he got back.

    Mrs. Nogare hesitated for a moment and went to the computer instead of going to her car as she had originally planned to have her lunch with her husband. What she did was send him a text message saying she wasn’t going to make it, and that she’ll see him for dinner later. Xoxo. And then took to the computer entering cloud coverage searches, Doppler readings, and the weather for the next 10 days duration.

    It will be clear skies for the duration of the next month, almost cloudless, today especially when she sees there can be no reason for the light to dim. Now Mrs. Nogare thinks maybe Randall was onto something. This thought still brought her attention to the outside again with a rapid urgency as Mrs. Nogare knew she needed to confirm it visually before she called anyone. Just like Randall with his quiet request earlier that morning.


    It took thirteen minutes from the time the students left for specials and her noticing the dimming herself. She had stared with complete attention to the outside, through the window from her office chair, not moving, staring, with her heart pounding within. She stared. Knowing that above her, above the school was clear and blue skies. She watched it dim again and had a thought.

    It has to be affecting the weather, right?

    She went back to the computer, and putting as many factors that she could think of pertaining to the coming summer season and the weather temperature increase or decrease, she waited for the slight pause while the info loaded. Seeing what she did though had her clap her hands to her mouth quietly and quickly.

    It can’t be she thought, couldn’t be, NASA and news departments would be losing their minds if the details were correct, she thought. Every time the sun dimmed she noticed or, as Randall put it, blinked, that effect dropped the temperature. Mrs. Nogare being no fan of math whatsoever, she put her theory and mathematical progress to the computer with inputs for time, duration, distance, and time again. So her model was loosely based off of an idea and not mathematically sound, what she was seeing had her really wishing she ignored Randall. This would mean that within a year the temperatures would be so cold, life wouldn’t be feasible. It’s impossible she thought, that’s impossible.

    Deep down though, Mrs. Nogare I knew that regardless of the hodgepodge math she used, there was a definitive knowledge and just seeing the dimming when she took the time to notice that had her regretting not going on that lunch. For now everyday looking forward, she knows the end is so much more near.

  • Forget-Me-Naught Pt. 1

    by: M. R. Vega

    I could see you now, I can see your plump youthful ‘cheeks the ones that complement the mother of you, and your smile is nearly matching. Your happiness is nearly intoxicating as we run up the face of the cliffs to see the sunset and I keep calling to you to slow down while I strain to breathe in the oxygen that I swear is thinning. You finally slow down to aid in me catching up but it’s like playing cat and mouse with you. Your energy is so sweeping and jubilated I can’t help but smile at your beautiful laughter while we chase the sun in hopes we’ll see it set with the purple clouds and ashen blue hues draped in plumes of orange and burning red. I slowly inhale and gasp while I look around…but the sunset is gone, the ground is gray and you’re nowhere to be seen. I call out your name, my eyes straining to find your moving and laughing body running up to the top but the hollering of your name meets silence…

    Joel wakes with a hollowness, his eyes wet and he looks at the bed seeing it empty as it usually is. Celeste can be heard in the kitchen, likely making more coffee, her usual stimulant that she recently has been mixing with rum, but Joel ignores that reality and shakes away the hollowness that eats at him and forces a smile while stretching up and immediately throws on jeans. He grabs at the t-shirt from last night and dismisses the smell wafting from it and quickly patters through the upstairs hallway and finds Cel’s clothes in a pile at the top of the staircase. He tilts his head, looking at it quizzically, and can’t help but wonder what she’s done to herself now. Ashamed of the thought he skirts down the staircase with an agile swiftness that goes unheard and finds her dropping in half a fist of pills and swigging at her coffee. Her face is riddled with pain, a known and shared pain but he looks away as he hears the large gulp of what he hopes was ibuprofen.

    ‘Morning love.’ He coos to her quietly so as not to spook her sensitive demeanor and rubs an open palm on the small of her back before grabbing the largest mug he could find in the cupboard and starts up a long pour of cold coffee over ice neglecting cream or flavor of any sort. 

    ‘What time did you wake Cel?’ 

    ‘Not too long ago, maybe an hour. I thought I heard a bang outside, maybe a holler but it was that racist neighbour of ours and his stupid dogs I guess. you…Your eyes are puffy B, did you wake crying again?’ with her question she points at the open bottle of Sailor Jerry’s and shrugs with a sheepish smile, and states ‘It helps.’ ‘Least it does for me anyhow.’

    He tries to smile at her attempt to segway to something avoidant but fails miserably and her scoff lets him know the rest of the day would be best served in the basement working on the project and he emptily stares at his stirring at the iced coffee. He watches her briskly walk to the living room couch, her eyes avoiding his inquiring ones and turns on the t.v. She flips through the endless channels and raises the volume enough that anything he says will go missed and he waves a quick hand and points at himself, signs work, and throws a thumb in the direction of the basement and she does nothing but shoos him away with a flittering wave using the back of her knuckles. He smugly smiles in her direction while he grabs the oversized coffee mug and lazily steps to the basement door, disappears into the darkness that has become a hellish escape while letting the door near slam behind him.

    He’s taken to the steps so often in the last year that it’s become second nature and going to his workspace through darkness was effortless. He reaches out to the wall and flicks the switch under his hand issuing the filaments above. Then the buzz and echo slowly fill the silence of Joel’s space. He tosses down half of the cold brew swiping at the liquid at the corner of his mouth and with anguish steps over cords, tubes, eclectic panels, schematics, and crumpled blueprints that swarm the concrete slabs of the basement floor. He glares at the glass desk, plops his ass on the barstool, and glares with a behooving that no one can recognize as anything other than hate. 

    Atop the glass desk, wrapped in oil-ridden burlap sits an item that only tortures Joel. no matter the connections, no matter the ionic bonds, the magnet components, and lithium-ion nodes, no matter how they’re stacked and connected what sits within that wrapped burlap mocks Joel. His failings with it bring nothing but a deepening hollow. One similar to the feelings he woke to that morning, the hollow drills into the lacking light that he tries so hard to keep grasp of, but within that burlap is dread, dampening darkness that brings nothing but anguish and clenched teeth. He grunts at the environment, the dust grips the filaments above, stinks of soil and mildew and he can’t help but wish he had more than a window well to gain some freshness. Knowing that opening the door above would just anger Cel, he hoists himself up with a groan and scuttles over to the wall that shares the window well, unlocks and slides the window open to a brisk and cooling air that raises his hair and brings clarity to him. Joel throws a weary eye to the burlap bulge and goes back, plopping down with coffee in hand and fiddling with the burlap sheet. He slowly unwraps the item from the burlap and takes a quick swig of the coffee before turning full focus to what was inside the shrouds of burlap. Joel stares at the gleaming metal and strokes the top panel of what is an innocuous and simple box. 

    He grasps the metallic object and nearly cradles the box as though it was malleable and more fragile than expected. With a quick burst, he raises it above his head and aims at the wall intending on throwing it to the wall to smash away the last eleven or twelve months but halts. Celeste above, sipping at her likely boozed coffee can be heard sobbing, sniffing, and continuing to sip away at her tame poison, and Joel reels in the box and cradles it again. Before setting it atop the desk her places it to his ear, rattles it with both hands, and waits for any sound. Silence aside from the bright light filaments above and his wife sobbing, the box in his hands lay docile and mute. After setting the box back atop the burlap he grimaced, and grabbed at his pliers and the magnets designated for the locking mechanism, after sliding the magnets over unseen latch mechanisms, the box bloomed open. Within was a myriad of tubes, a LiSOCL²; a lithium battery adequately tampered and wired through a gelatinous and tenuous threading of what Joel thought looked too much like snot. He grabbed his gloves and went to tamper through the innards of the box. His box. 

    The sobbing stopped and turned into what was a faint snoring, nearly muffled but endearing, and he sighed heavily while listening to Celeste. Looking back at the box, he fiddled here, twiddled there, and moved an N52 magnet, almost touching the LiSOCL² but leaving it off a hair or two away. Just shy from the LiSOCL², just shy from an imminent reaction and what he assumed would be an implosion of grand demolition but sighed with grace as he set it down, and placed it confidently on the malleable gleaming metal. He went to closing the shining metallic contraption and moved the locking mechanisms magnets appropriately and what caught Joel’s ears was something new. It brought a standing to his hair across the body and he couldn’t help but peer quizzically with a shit-eating grin. It couldn’t be, the one time he didn’t take to a complete rework, shredding the writing and starting anew, not taking notes, not painstakingly jotting down every move and adjustment as he had in every project, for every company, providence met him. A soft and euphonious trembling came to his ears and he couldn’t contain the joy that swept over him. 

    Its humming brought not only a jubilation to his reality but the ability to what he had strived in making possible from an impossible idea. What was once a futile juxtaposition to the chaos that had consumed his life and that of Cels was now looking to be able to be righted, rewritten and the quirkiness of a Vonnecgut short came to mind while he cried at the possibilities he was seeing with the assumptions of what was humming so mellifluously. He cradled the box, what he jokingly called the ‘Forget-me-Naught’ as a fastidious hampering to what he let lead his every waking moment since the tragic happenings of a recent past he so effortlessly wished to be removed from himself. It was final. The box set down now atop the burlap humming exquisitely and Joel chose to wrap it back up in the burlap and call to the only opinion he knew would be needed and likely the only one he thought would endorse his decision to come. He placed the box in the safe under the desk, punched in the three-digit combo, latched it with a key, and patted at the safe, pleased he could still hear the humming faintly emitting from the safe, and turned off the lights.

  • The Body

    The Body by: M. R. Vega

    The incessant and grizzly alarm went off like a banshee. Gerald adamantly settled his drool-soaked pillow over it and nestled over the blaring time. Bringing it to a muffled blurb of noise that was comparable to a trash truck hauling waste. ‘trash truck? Thought Gerald in a blind and sleeping stupor. His eyes were wide and opened in a blink of a moment’s breath. “Trash Truck! Fuck! Work!” He grabbed the alarm and saw that it had only been blaring for a matter of minutes and quickly jumped into the nearly still wet one piece with ‘Waste Management’ printed on both sleeves and the back. He cringed and clammed up while slipping the suit over his, what was dry a moment ago, and let out an angry grunt hoping his nethers gained temperature again and quickly. He looked at the tall and long mirror, thinking this must be what a wetsuit feels like while he angrily scrunched his face at himself shaking the image away with a brisk walk to the back of the house. The smell of mildew, though not manifested yet was all he could think about while grabbing his cap.

    He’d already checked on his dad, his dad’s respirator and heart monitor were all in check. He also knew the morning nurse, JJ, who’d be in early to bathe the old geezer. Gerald had intended on bringing lunch for the nurse and him to share. But probably would cower from doing so like he always did. JJ was always sweet, always gentle no matter the day who’d happen to carry a curious look of gentleness that was shared with Gerald. He swore she gave him an eye. Secretly Gerald hoped it was one with wanting and an aspiring light behind the iris, maybe a wanting of something tender. Then again, maybe Gerald thought himself to be crazy.

    This was usual of his mindless hopeful endeavors, an incurable hesitance that always seemed to manifest a negative contribution to his already loaded life. He shook the silly thought still keeping his fingers crossed for good intentions and hustled to the urn sitting atop the back counter near the door. It was narrow, flask like and near the same thickness. Though its weight was an absolute hull in that it was complete obsidian stone. What was within the sacred urn of Gerald’s was his Mi’ma. An old shrew, a woman who only shared her heart and kindness among love and care with Gerald. Little would she have ever thought it’d translate into him hoisting her dead soul with him everywhere. He kissed the stone gently with admiration and nestled it in a breast pocket of the jacket sticking to the damp jumpsuit he wore. He then walked out the door with a sigh of deep relief and jumped into his beaten sedan. Today he’d get to haul the shit, the cans, the mess of it all. He had the gloves, the boots, and the face mask in case and prepped for the foulest. Gerald drove quickly to the plant. Clocked in, grabbed the truck keys, route checklist, and clipboard. He threw the keys up at the awaiting driver; Eddie Viego. Their manager thought drivers and baggage handlers should be shifted, that way they all knew one another and helped with establishing a community camaraderie. It was gradually aiding in Gerald’s growing ambivalence to work communities. He begrudgingly jumped in the passenger chair gave a fist bump and kept his mouth tight. Thankfully he’d be hanging on the back end of the rig within twenty minutes. It was one of the luxuries of the job.

    He came to realize he was vehement in his dislike of contact with others let alone the genuine niceties he was expected to relinquish through the day. He cringed at the thought of ‘chatting’ with another man, nodding at a woman bidding them a good day, or smiling at an elder, he felt he was always over the top and didn’t know when to zip his lip. Therefore he enjoyed not having to need those attributes ready to share at a call. The drive alone to the route’s start was a good beginning of the day, if he could only disregard the blaring alarms and wheezing machinery his father needed to breathe. Gerald grasped at the stone urn sitting in his chest pocket and smiled faintly. Eddie, as it so happened, had managed to weasel his way into riding this specific route for the last three weeks and made it where Gerald was always his trash hauler.

    Gerald didn’t ask only assumed as he was likely right in the request. Eddie was one of those types, the ‘hands clean’ characters where even if a boss did see him tweak the system, they’d let it slide. Gerald didn’t mind. As long as Eddie didn’t burn his ears it’d be a peachy start to the beginning of the month.

    They drove on and once at the starting spot, Eddie gave Gerald a tough tap and stated the “machine can’t feed if it doesn’t have a feeder bruh” then cackled softly to himself more than to Gerald and sipped at his 44oz plastic mug filled with likely coffee. Gerald smirked and hopped to the back going about his way. He jumped atop an anchor meant for his arm and kicked at the side making a loud echoing thud.

    The weather was pleasant thought Gerald, his father was hopefully being tended appropriately and Eddie wasn’t all that bad a driver. Long as they didn’t deal with oversized hauls, today’s work looked as though it’d be wrapping up early. He smiled a big grin and nodded at the driver behind their rig. This surprised him and immediately he thought of JJ. Being aware of the ridiculous hope he laughed at himself and jumped off at the next house. The sun was barely making its appearance, the driveway’s lights were both on and bright. The extended drive curved to a three-car garage and Gerald scoffed. ‘If only’ he thought. The bushes were trimmed, the garden recently watered and the trash at the drive’s curve was abundant. Eddie opened his window and hollered ‘good luck!’ before sipping away at his coffee again. The boxes were nearly crushed and folded in a manageable spread that made hoisting them to the truck easy, the two company buckets also easy. The large garden green trash bag though was too much. He gave it a try and plopped on his back end with bad footing. Eddie ripped the door open, jumped out laughing, and came to give a hand. “You good? He laughed with riotous glee and apologized, “That was too funny Ger, your ass alright?” Eddie smiled nervously and helped Gerald up. Gerald brushed himself off and thanked Eddie to which Eddie brushed a fictitious foul critter off, letting Gerald know it was good. “Let’s get this lug to the compactor Ger.” Eddie said. He bent down to grab one end of the bag before quickly stepping back and waving the air around him. “Oh god! You smell that?” Gerald didn’t, his nose had grown blind to the smells wafting about and bent down with a quick jump regretting the choice “What is the hell is that?”

    “How’d you not notice before Ger, fuck?” Gerald stammered and looked at the oversized bag, then shrugged and tried moving it again before gagging and almost wretching his morning coffee. “Don’t do that again! Whatever’s in there, moving it, makes it worse. Don’t touch.” Eddie straightened up and tapped his shoe on the driveway.”I’m just gonna rip it open and we’ll transfer it to more bags. Go get the bags behind my seat.” Gerald abided and was back in an instant where he found Eddie further from the bag on the floor pointing in horror at the bag.

    Gerald slowly turned to look at the green trash and with an equivalent horror like Eddie’s shuddered at what he was looking at. “What do we do?” Gerald asked cautiously and softly. “That’s a dead body Ed, we can’t just throw it in the rig and crush it, we gotta call the cops man.” Eddie looked at Gerald with a grimace and wide eyes, he then got closer to Gerald’s face, scooting his rump closer “No.” He stated and slowly got up. “We’re gonna fold ‘em, bag ‘em in those” he pointed at the bags Gerald was holding. “and toss ’em into the rig. Kapeesh?” Gerald looked at him in horror and stepped back now far enough he could smell the cut grass of the neighbourhood and looked around in terror “What the fuck Ed? That’s insane, I’m not ‘folding a dead body’, we need to report this. I’m gonna grab the walkie.” Eddie puffed his chest a bit and stepped in front of Gerald aggressively and gritted. “You’re not calling anybody. You can’t. Plus its trash isn’t it? It looks like an old frail man or lady, Ger. I don’t think it’d take much.” Eddie shrugged clamping one arm over the other expressing ease.”Stop, shut it you filthy wretched Fuck! Ed, I’m not bending some old body, they deserve more.” Eddie angrily stomped a foot and hit the green bag with a boot. “I’m not losing my job for this, let’s just get rid of the body.”

    Gerald gave a look of terror as he grabbed at the lump inside his jacket. “I won’t,” Gerald says while aggressively shaking his head back and forth, “and there’s got to be a better way of dealing with this Ed, come one man, let’s just put the bag and all in the passenger spot.” Eddie threw his hands up cussing and clenched a fist before glaring at Gerald again. “I said no to the cops, I’m saying no to it sitting with me while I drive, and I’m gonna clock you one if you don’t just help me out it into the rigs teeth…Got Me!”Eddie’s casual demeanor had evaporated and what stood before Gerald, was a brute. Ed reminded Gerald of his dad before the sick came. All that was missing was a gut and beer, he choked before letting the smirk and scoff emit from his throat.”Ed we just need to walkie this in man, they’ll tell us to leave it as is, call the cops and bingo. We’re outta here and back on to working tomorrow. I’ve read the manual through and through. Hell “if you think it’s too shocking” you could even get some personal time Ed. Go on a binger and breathe? You know?” He said as he tried playing his nerves off and smiled an excruciatingly difficult grin at Eddie shaking his head with absolute and adamant approval. He almost shouted “Sounds great don’t it!?”Eddie sighed a bit and let his fists loose. Gerald quietly whooped and slowly headed to the rig before Eddie clocked him in the back of the head, hard. Gerald felt each separate knuckle collide with the back of his neck right below his skull. He squinted as his legs buckled and fell to his knees while Eddie started for the green bag and once nabbed, dragged it toward the rig as diligently as he could. Eddie hoped Gerald’s dazed self would hopefully have passed out while he heaved and struggled moving the rotting dead to the awaiting rig. He managed to move it about twelve feet and was quickly surprised to hear a heavy grunt and feel the slap of a clenched hand against the flat of his back. Gerald stood there teeth clenched and teetered between wanting to smash a fist in Eddie’s face or just haul him to the rig and make Eddie use the radio himself. “Stop being a fucking idiot Ed!”

    “Fuck you Ger, you don’t know how long it took me to get signed on this, especially after getting out, I’m not doing this. People die every day, hell ain’t your pops on the outs? At least getting closer and closer, yeah?” Eddie stood there clenching his jaw as though there was gum and shrugged his shoulders anxiously. Gerald looked at him dumbfounded. He thought to himself, ‘it’s that simple, just radio it in, and ta-dah!’. He looked at the open bag, and smelled it’s reeking, covering his nose all while still trying to figure out the gender of what was in the bag, rotting. He knelt down, patted the breasts pocket of his jacket, and lifted the bag a bit to see clearly.

    It was an old bloodied woman, probably 140 pounds, black hair, graying, wrinkled, and bruised. She was clothed but probably broken, Gerald could see an ulna sticking from the forearm and saw the neck looked peculiar, surreal, he thought it’d probably be found to be broken. He was enveloped by a morose notion and looked at Eddie with a saddened general look at nodded at the bag.

    “We gotta call the cops man, somebody brutalized her, look!” Gerald said as he pulled the bag open further and made sure Eddie saw the broken bone and neck.”I told you, I’m not doing it Ger, I’d rather toss you and the bitch in the rigs teeth and tell ’em you just walked off.” Eddie growled through grimy teeth and checked Gerald who quickly slid back on the driveway and looked around for anything to use.

    Eddie took another step toward him continuing. “It’s not like anyone will miss you Ger, you’re a droll, your fathers been stuck in a bed since I met you, no one sees you bru. You’re like a fly on the wall man. And now you’re trying to be high and mighty, does this make you better? You think it will get you stardom bitch? It’s an old dead hag, she just needs to be dumped, she’s fucking trash Germ.”

    He took another step toward Gerald, which Gerald copied toward Ed. Eddie scoffed at Gerald and smirked while taking an empty swing at him who was too far to meet with skin. With the miss and Ed nearly losing his balance Gerald charged quickly and pounced on Ed who yelped and fell to the ground. His face hit the concrete hard and Gerald saw the blood first before seeing a tooth loudly clatter as it hit the hard ground. Gerald pushed off of Ed and quickly stood up with his hands rolled into fists and awaited a banshee of force. Gerald looked at Ed, he still was on the ground, almost crumpled and unmoved. “Ed? Come on Ed, get up! Ed!” Eddie didn’t move and Gerald swooped down to the ground on hands and knees checking the vitals on Eddie’s wrist. He felt nothing and Ed’s arm moved fluidly at the grasp, he went to move Ed and felt a crack within the body and was sure something snapped. He breathed heavily and nudged a shoulder of Ed’s while looking at the green bag. He nudged Ed’s foot, looked at the time, nudged Ed’s body again, stood up wiping his hands off on his thighs. He breathed a heavily weighted sigh and walked to the two bodies. He gazed at them for a long time before seeing the sun was almost fully up and grabbed the green bag. The hydraulics could be heard squealing their agonizing screams as the trash loader compacted the remaining trash while Gerald placed the green body bag into the passenger seat. He waited to hear the hydraulics release and lift then hopped over to the driver’s seat. He patted at the lump in his breast pocket, gave a subtle smile to the mirror, thought of asking JJ out for a drink before shifting the truck to first gear and heading to the next pickup.

  • Rabbit for Brunch Pt. 2

    Rabbits for Brunch Pt. 2 by: M. R. Vega


    “Oh my god, oh my fecking god, this isn’t, this can’t be real! What the hell did I miss, there’d be news about whats happening, right? What about David? Oh my god!!! I need to get to the house, I need to get to my car and drive off, they’ll see me, I know it, what the feck do I do? What about David, He should’ve been pulling up if not already here. The boys are gonna rip me limb from limb and I’ll end up being their dessert while they engorge on my eyes and intestines! Fuck me!!!”


    The internal argument of Josie’s was a reflection of an inner truth she’d faced when watching the myriad of horror flicks David insisted on having her watch with him. She didn’t mind a good thriller, C.H.U.D. being a favorite, and the select few intellectual and enthralling horror pieces but the zombie route was getting old. David always stated it would end like this. They’d get ripped apart by mindless hordes somewhere down the line. She’d roll her eyes toward him and say he was silly, cuddle into his nook; right at his pit where he smelled of work, sweat, and their loving. Her eyes got wide, having the thought of David and his body molting, rotting, acquiring the odor of the walking dead within a week’s time became too sick to bear. She started to cry. Hand over her mouth, still hugging the grass and waiting while the boys devoured the lot of their rabbits. She could hear the squelching of the rabbit’s bodies being torn and gnawed and an eerie yelping and squawking of the terrified rabbits still breathing awaiting their doom.

    She held her breathing and slowed it as much as she could without choking at the terror she was succumbing to. The sounds reminded her of the revolting scenes David would get gitty with watching George Romero’s collections; this was worse and had her holding in gagging and a sampling of her own bile a time or a few. She looked at the sliding door and slowly started to crawl or slide along the grass not wanting to move too abruptly. Hoping she’d not bump into one of the few pink flamingos or stone cairns she had decorating the grounds, her silent prayers were for both her neighbours to be too enthralled with their morning feast. Her biggest wish though was that once she was close enough she could hop in the building, latch the door, and run to the car without anything being aware. ‘Fingers crossed’

    After her slow-going slide and pause that nearly lasted thirty minutes, she found that she was almost there, she was sure that the last of the rabbits had been ingested now. She didn’t care to inspect or for that matter even know. She just wanted inside, somewhere safe…safe?

    That word had a new meaning now, didn’t it? she thought to herself before coming to terms with how quickly and quietly this next move would have to go or she’d likely have teeth jutting into her flesh. She inhaled quietly, gulped slowly, feeling her heart palpitate and almost silently slid the door open and swooped in without anyone or thing recognizing her movement. She slid the door slowly and once she felt it stop, latched it quickly and turned on her heel, grabbed the keys to her car and ran to the garage. Grabbing a phone hadn’t registered, let alone her thought of phones seemed likely more of a trap to any issue if she survived getting out of town. It’d be her luck that a forgotten phone alarm would end up blaring and letting anyone know exactly where she was in her distant future and the thoughts needed to be about survival not getting ripped to shreds.


    The garage was already open…and David’s truck was idling with the driver’s door open. She could even hear his crap music playing on the radio quietly and with the door to the garage open gasped quietly. She whipped her head around and whispered into the house. “David…David…Dave, where the fuck are you?” She said this all within the decibel of a whisper and debated whether turning back into the house and searching would be an enlightening or detrimental choice. Hearing a crash and incoherent jabber of gnashing teeth told her to run. The truck though was blocking her car so she took her chance with the open door of Dave’s stupid truck and jumped in. There was blood everywhere, the seat had a puddle that her butt became accustomed to quickly and she threw the vehicle into reverse before giving a moment to the sound she ran from. It was surely David but it wasn’t worth the risk of getting her body ripped up for and drove away recklessly bashing through her mailbox and nearly hitting the neighbour’s silver Miata while speeding out of the cozy neighborhood she’d grown to love within the last couple years. Before getting to the stop sign though she made the idiotic choice of looking at the rearview mirror and saw a bloody, stumbling David lurching out of the garage, holding Timothy by the hair and flinging an arm of someone across the pavement. She screamed, swiping her sweat from her brow and tears from her eyes, she kept her foot planted to the pedal and refused to let up till the chaos around her started to thin out.

  • The Scream Pt. 2


    The Scream Pt. 2 by: M. R. Vega


    Luca and Tyler Sykes were playing monkey in the middle with a friend while anxiously awaiting their mom to pull up post haste. She’d reminded them to be ready so they can get to the fairgrounds quickly and get in before the lines were beyond a patient wait time. However, once again, Angela neglected them, as she so often did when she’d sounded so collected and ready to have all set.

    Luca, the oldest of the two, kicked the grass of the green that wrapped around the pickup lane and peered past parents already waiting for their own children to file in like any other day. Most of the kids for both his 7th-grade and Tyler’s 6th-grade class were all cheering for the rides and elated that it was Friday. Most bragged about how much they’d likely be given for the Ag Palace; known by all to have the best candy grabs a kid could find in town and embarrassingly neither of the boys had even known if they’d had enough for tickets to the rides let alone candy to lug back home after. They’d skirt the inquiries as they both so often had to, knowing they came from little money and it showed every year when they’d come to school wearing shirts from the year before or Tyler would be seen gluing his sole of the Adidas he treasured so much, again. They didn’t like drawing attention to themselves and both were happy that they managed to get some part-time jobs cleaning up the alleys around the neighborhood and the park. The crap of the matter though was that neither of them started until next weekend after the fair was gone. So they both made sure to dress in the cleanest and best clothes they did have for their excursion to the fair. Luca figured it wouldn’t matter how good they looked if they ended up missing out on the startup like their mom had promised would be taken care of perfectly. He kicked at the grass again and gritted his teeth when Angela blared her horn, rolled the window down, and told them to run to the side of the school and jump in.

    Both the boys looked at each other with shock and a smile and quickly adhered to the demand made by their mom.

    “Hurry it up you two, get in get in.” she said, ashamed of her lateness but elated to grace them each with an additional 40 dollars to split aside from the amount she scrounged from the couches and cleanup earlier that day. Turned out her parents had set aside some funds for this very day to make sure they could be kids without the worry of making ends meet as they usually did every other day and week. “Open the glove compartment Luca, give half to your brother, and make sure to keep that for you. Let’s get you two to the fair, make sure you have your tickets too, and I’m sure you’ll both have more than enough to get those ride bands so you can be having a blast till it’s shutdown time.” Angela was excited for them and didn’t think bringing up her reason for being late would need to be shared, her intention was to get the boys to the fair, and her investigation would be her own, even if her pops had eluded to hearing something too after sliding her that 40 dollars for the kids before she peeled out on the pavement and sped off to pick them up moments ago.

    Luca, with a smile and grimace, said thank you while passing Tyler his portion and asked her what had been the hold-up.

    “Don’t worry bout that son, let’s get you boys to the fair so you could have a good time, but don’t you two forget to thank your grandparents when we all come to get you tonight. Maybe we’ll even cap the night with a stop at DQ before crashing for the night. Sound like a plan Lu and Ty?” They both smiled at the idea and grumbled at thanking their grandparents, they never would dare to forget or else they’d get a chonkla, they’d both learned that lesson the hard way and didn’t want their mom to fret any more than she already does and had.

    Angela swerved and faired a good time after all and found that she was just in time to drop them off before the rides were starting to rev up. They both happily wished her a thank you and kissed her curly-haired head avoiding a lip print she loves to leave them. She waved at them and told them to keep track of time and to be ready for pickup, same spot at 10:30 tonight.

    “Me and your Gramps will be waiting for you. I love you boys, be safe!” they quickly thanked her, scrunched their faces up to hers, and shimmied out of the car. She watched them shuffle in, get stamped, and disappear into the crowds with smiles. She was elated to have been able to do that at the least, whispered a secret thank you to her Pops, again, and drove off back to the shanty home. It had only been a bit over 45 minutes since she heard the scream and god forbid there were screams still, but she had a tug at her heart that something was afoot. She pulled up slowly to the house while peering around at the familiar houses she’d grown up watching. She knew most of the houses were old and filled with elders. Only a few had new residents, mostly young and loud groups of college-fueled ideals needing to make noise or cause a ruckus for the sake of attention. Her assumption was that the scream came from a house with the younger renters in lieu of an elder who’d likely not have the strength to hurt anything but kick a dog away or push a cat off a couch.

    She pulled into the driveway, slowly rolling the windows closed and anticipating a curdled scream like she heard before she ran to get the boys. It was silent, eerily quiet except for the man pulling that dog again and avoiding eye contact as she waived again and walked up the steps to the front door. Once in the house, she peeked through the blinds to see if the neighbor and dog were in view and decided to go on a small walk up and down the block to see if she was just losing her mind or making things up for the joy of dismantling the monotony she’d come to know so frequently. She took off her slides and grabbed an old pair of sneakers, put her bare feet in them, and went looking for anything out of place. Realizing she’d have an hour if not more before her parents would need a pickup she decided to make it a three-block walk and took her time. Trying not to be a Gladys Kravits, but still needing to know if there was someone begging for help, she mozied about glancing through yards, looked for broken windows perhaps. She felt crazy doing what she was doing and blamed her decision on the old joint that brought her curiosity to this point.

    Once she hit that third block, she rolled an eye inwardly at herself and chuckled at her mere stupidity, turning tail to go back home and get cleaned up. She decided she needed to clean up, her feet were already sweating in the shoes tore-up shoes and she could feel the squish between her toes but then came a loud crack and what sounded like a gagged scream, or was that just the shoes she thought.

    She turned her head slowly, pinched her eyes shut knowing she likely looked like a mad woman, and waited to hear something out of the normal everyday hum of the city. The cars rumbled by, echoing in her ears, the critters, birds, and televisions within the block could be faintly heard but then there was a faint muffled whine and an angry growl. But it was further back, closer to the house and she clenched her knuckles tightly thanking her intuition. She straightened back up, faced her house, and slowly stepped forward quickly. She knew she couldn’t run, she had to find the source of where the trouble came from, but also knew most of the neighbors were bored and either starting to come out to watch the sun head down or cool off with a beer. Her assumption was that it was only houses away and likely in a shed or a basement. Most of her side of the neighborhood was either falling apart, broken down, or barely hanging together. Meaning that the structures thankfully had cracks enough that the sounds were audible. Even to her. She prayed for her tenacious endeavor and hoped she’d be quick enough to find whoever it was being harmed. She couldn’t tell, not yet.

  • A Scream Pt:1


    A Scream Pt:1 by: M. R. Vega


    The roads were busy, the heat lingered atop the pavement and the fair was starting with a flurry of the city’s energy. Its enthralling, reverberating, and tenacious emotion lay just shy beneath the skin of Pueblo. The incessant chatter and hollers could be heard echoing off the slabs of pavement around the fairgrounds. It was a rejoicing time for the youth, an inpatient length of noise and mess for the elders while it coaxed the restless and weary keeping their minds deterred from work or off of the monotonous schemes of clock in-clock out. After all, it was a mimic of the same, reminding everyone of last year, the year before, and before…

    Angela Sykes was on her weekly mission for her boys while she slowly yearned for a ticket to anywhere else. She scrounged up the change of the kiddos left in the jeans, thrown on the counter, and shook the couches and loveseat to their little divets she made them, allowing all the loose change that was inevitably going to be there to fall to the floor with a clang and chime. Along with the school’s fair tickets given every year, she had acquired enough to pay for two ride bands and maybe a basket of fries for them to share. It’d likely go to something like candy or a cheap lemonade but that was up to the boys. They were finally old enough that she could drop them off at the gate and come hours later to pick ’em up and shuttle ‘em back to the shanty house she and her old folks still managed to own.

    Aside from the one drawer of her own with old clothes and perhaps a dish set or two, that run-down house was the only thing her parents and her owned, the lease on the car was late on payments, likely to get seized before the fair was packed up and she knew it was either the car or food enough to feed the family. It was bad enough that the two boys were nearing adulthood and lacked control when they ate. Like locusts, they consumed most of what was bought for the week before Wednesday had come around. Luckily they started part-time jobs in a week, and to say she was proud was an understatement, knowing how hard it was to even get an interview in this town, she could clap and holler a ‘yippee’ if she knew it wouldn’t make them blush and deny her the gratitude a mom deserves.

    After cleaning up the muck and dust from finding all the loose change, taking it to the nearest Coinstar machine, and cashing it out, she had an hour to herself before having to pick the boys up from Pitts Middle School. She rinsed off her dust-covered face, embarrassed realizing that she walked into the Soopers store like that, and dabbed at her face with a dry rag. Being 29, she was starting to see the years hang on the corners of her eyes and damned her Abuela for the lazy eye she managed to get as it apparently skipped her mom and decided she was beautiful enough still, makeup could wait for a rainy day. She’d rather use up the last of her mascara, foundation, and highlight for work. Maybe she’d be able to stretch it out the next week and treat herself to the E.L.F line they had at Walmart. She rolled her eyes, scoffing at the idea and knowing, likely her boys would need something more important, at least for them. 45 minutes left and she ran to the closet of the room her parents and she shared, reaching up to a nook that saved an old and drying joint, now all she needed was a lighter and prayed her dada still had one in the silverware drawer in the kitchen.

    Luckily, the red Bic was still there, still moderately full and she went out to the patio to sit and bask in the sun for the next ten minutes, knowing she’d need to pull up to the school earlier than later if she didn’t want mouth and drama from her two boys.

    She closed her eyes, pursed her lips to the dry paper, flicked at the lighter, and took a long drag. It eased her senses, or clouded them, she had met a point in life now where either or, was better than nothing and shrugged it off while she exhaled slowly and stared out past the yard and waved at an old man walking his aging dog. The man ignored the gentle wave and hurried his steps, nearly choking the dog trying to get out of eyeshot. She snickered and smiled, knowing how the people were these days, she shrugged it away while taking a second and last drag until maybe tonight after the boys were in bed. She hid the remainder of the joint on the corner of the porch banister, put an old rock atop it afterward ran inside to grab her shoes.

    She grabbed the money from her small Coinstar stop and the fair tickets for her kids, got the keys and her purse, locked up the house then jumped in the car. The school was minutes away so she took her backing up seriously, not wanting to muck up the car. She had already messed up the backend bumper once or twice before and didn’t want an extra, exorbitant fee hitting her later. While backing up though Angela, knowing the radio wasn’t on yet heard a muffled scream. It was almost blood-curdling, however, she figured it came from a neighbour watching a film with the windows open. Still backing up and turning the wheel to steer her towards the school she heard it again. The fair was too far away for that to be it, she peered about the neighborhood, didn’t see anything amiss, and shrugged it away…