“Hell’s bells! Roosters out again,” Florence, old and aching, limped to the window, forgetting her cane, she held to the couch for security.

It wasn’t the first time Doug and Flo’s dragon had escaped though they’d been warned by the sheriff, if it happened again, it’d be the last.

Doug cranked his old pickup – coughing, he paused to catch his breath. His health was deteriorating.

Speeding, he made it to Rooster, witnessing him hiss a fireball towards the police station. Doug covered his wrinkled eyes as the front of the building collapsed sending shards of shrapnel every direction. Uniformed men scattered from the building, drawing their weapons, shots rang out. Rooster’s wings knocked them off their feet as he glided through the air.

Landing on the hood of Doug’s truck, they tearfully locked eyes. “Why’d you do it, boy?”

Rooster wished for the cops to kill him instead of enduring the pain the end of the elderly couple’s lives would bring.

He realized his selfishness as bullets ricocheted off his torso. Death was upon him but not before he repaid his parents for their unconditional love.

Rooster reached his beak into the shattered windshield and gently lifted Doug. He yelped, picking up speed as he carried him home.

Flo cried out to her baby. “Rooster!”

Rooster placed Doug on the ground and then laid his head next to the couple, nudging them to board his body.

He took off, forcefully dodging law enforcement’s attacks. He needed to get Flo and Doug back to the lair in which he was born.

Rooster laid Doug and Flo at the feet of the Dragon Doctor, having him withdraw his magic to cast a spell upon Doug and Flo – giving them eternal life.

The end.. or not..

The scorched gravel scraped her bony elbows as she dragged herself across the rugged desert floor. Beads of sweat blurred her already distorted vision. The earth’s fever formed lines of cloudiness.

The engine of the classic Mach One revved. “Woo, hoo! Look at her crawl.” Bubba Taylor and Scotty Fierce were drunker than cooter brown. They sped off, burned rubber in the middle Route 50 and headed back to taunt the girl from trailer six. She’d lived only yards away from them for years.

“Awwh Darla, get in the car. It’s a misunderstanding,” Scotty climbed through the window, sat on the seal, crossed his arms on the roof and laid his head down – only for a split second before the hot metal grabbed ahold of him. “Look what you did,” he swung around, his bare feet hit the concrete, his belt swung from his unbuttoned jeans, shirtless, he hopped towards her.

“Darla,” he sang.

Breathless, the half-naked young woman struggled to move before she felt his foot on her back. “Come on!” he inhaled deeply to produce a wad of phlegm, combining it with the blood and other bodily fluids that tangled her stringy brown hair.

“Leave her!” Bubba yelled. “They’ll find her when them boys from the Sheriff’s department start community service in the morning.”

Bubba cranked the radio, hitting the steering wheel to the beat of Lynyrd Skynyrd.

Scotty placed his other foot on Darla’s back. He jumped up and down, moaning loudly until her body completely collapsed.

“Garbage,” he placed his big toe in the corner of her eye-socket, digging his nail around until blood oozed.

The sun began to set, coyotes howled in agreement with the approaching night.

“You’ll make a fine meal,” he laughed.

Their shoes slid across the gravel. “Woah,” Franco held his hand out to stop his best friend, Kian. “Something isn’t right.” 

The vendors on Market Street had disappeared leaving their goods unattended.

Kian began to excitedly rummage through the merchandise. “Franco, the silver plate your mother always admires when we come to town. We should take it for her.”

“No!” Franco snatched the plate from Kian’s hand. “What my mother would want is for us to always be good boys.”

Dark clouds rolled back, revealing the moon much brighter than usual having awkwardly overtaken the sun at mid-day’s hour.

A loud scratching noise came from above, filling the air from both sides of the street. Franco pulled his friend into a shop. “Get down,” he said. The two ducked behind a rack draped with colorful garments. 

“The Diurnal Wolves, remember the story?” Kian said. “The moon bright in the day, the shops empty, the town’s folk abducted by werewolves.”

“Not abducted, Kian. At the turn of the century when the daytime’s moon is full, our people permanently change into Day Wolves but it’s all make-believe,” Franco tried to calm his young friend. 

“The moon,” Kian pointed. “The empty streets, what else could it be?” 

The scraping noise ceased as subtle howls filled the air. Franco folded his hands in prayer. Day Wolves suddenly swooped down from the rooftops of the trade huts, latching on to the boys with their claws and fangs.

Two massive wolves strutted ahead; vibrant cultural throws hung from their teeth swinging back and forth with each step they took. A small, bloody arm fell from inside one of the cloths, thick dark hair grew rapidly from it. The boys, now reborn, were presented to the Pack Mother to begin their new journey through life.

“Put this on.” Junior tossed an orange helmet towards his older brother, slammed the trunk to his convertible Jaguar and then reached into the driver’s side window to get his black duffle bag.

Winston held his head down. “I don’t understand… understand… understand…”

“Don’t start with that nonsense!” Junior swung the bag over his shoulder and took off towards the rocks. “Skeletor’s mound.” He sighed. “When’s the last time they brought us here?” Junior pretended to cast a make-believe fishing rod as he stared across the deep rippling waters occupied by a lone sailboat.

Winston lifted his shoulders and held them there as the zipper loudly separated the teeth of the bag. 

“Get down before they see you!” Junior ducked and directed Winston with a quick motion of his gloved hand. He raised the antenna of a small black box. His forehead crinkled as he exhaled. “You’re going to do this.” He said. 

“No, no, no.” Three times was usually the max repetition for Winston. “No, no, no.” He continued.

“Cry-baby!” Junior pushed his brother backwards causing a few rocks to tumble and splash into the lake. 

A man moved closer to the edge of the boat’s deck and waved towards the boys, soon a woman joined him. 

“Now!” Junior screamed, pressing the controller into his brother’s chest.  

“Noooo!” Winston, with his hands in his coat pockets, rammed past Junior, knocking him down and onto the device. The boat exploded, sending flames and debris flying. 

“Oh crap….. You made me do this! You’re responsible for the deaths of our parents!” Junior paced.

Winston began to cry.

“We go home, act normal, and wait for the lawyers to contact us about our inheritance. Most importantly, do as I say!” He patted Winston’s back. “Good job, baby.” Junior fist-bumped the air.

My mother passed away in October of last year. Her older brother passed away Monday. She and her siblings were very close. I can just imagine them back together again.

She climbed from the boat. The calming smell from the rain summoned her. She waded to the shore. She didn’t need her walker or cane, her legs were strong, her mind was sharp. Only the happiest times flooded her memory. She stopped to pick up a flattened gold stone. Its value meant nothing. She turned and with a flick of the wrist sent it skipping across the water, the waves rippled into a sweet melody. She listened for a moment and then hummed along with the hymn. 

Another boat approached, nearly six months out, but she could see it, there was no strain on her eyes. She had no need for the glasses she once wore. “Row! You can row! You have the strength of a million horses. Hurry and come to me.” She called out.

“Darling.” The sweet sound of her mother’s voice stole her focus. “I promised we’d meet again in the sweet bye and bye.”

She laid her head on her mother’s bosom.

Her father stood inches away with a slight grin, taking in the loving reunion. “Your brother will be here soon.” He reached for a jewel covered stick and headed towards the mountain. “Come.” He said. “See the place he has prepared for you.”

She strolled down the sidewalk, bumping into the fence a time or two. Tiny sparks flickered before her eyes. She breathed deeply. “I’m a strong woman.”

The lighthouse seemed much smaller; the cliff, not as steep as twenty-one years ago when he proposed. He’d pointed to the stars, explained the galaxies, daunted over the moon and then dropped to one knee. She said yes.

The two were destined for happiness.

“One day, I’ll be up there.” He spoke from the heart, but she never believed it would happen, until it did.

He’d missed their anniversary, their daughter’s sixteenth birthday, and Christmas. Now with the promise of his return from orbit, she cringed at the thought of his touch. Two hundred and ninety days trapped, and alone with another woman in Outer-Space. She was no fool.

The water jumped from the sea as the capsule made its landing, bobbing through the mighty waves, boats swarmed Hitlon’s chosen Spacecraft, Arson-X.

She sat crying on a park bench where the two had shared many kisses. She reread the divorce papers she intended to present to her husband upon reunification. 

She sighed, recalling the birth of their child – the first of many memories that would soften her heart. She tore the documents into a million pieces, tossed them and watched as they flurried over the water.

Together again, in their own home, the couple held one another tightly. “Finally, I’ll be able to sleep.” He said. “What were those white particles that fell from the sky?” His forehead wrinkled.

“Confetti, so you’d know I was there.” She laid her head on his bare chest.

Some secrets are best kept.

He bent down to reach for his favorite lure, the fluorescent green one with double hooks. But before his hand made it into the tackle-box, the lid slammed shut. His eyes met with a mauve colored cowboy boot then followed every inch of her tanned leg up to the fringes of her tiny blue jean shorts. He paused. “Excuse me, miss.”

She laughed. “David Huskin, fancy seeing you here… Don’t you recognize me?” Her sweet voice took him back.

He stood up, wiped the dirt from his hands and chuckled. “Violet Henry, I can’t forget.” The two sat next to each other at their High School graduation eight years prior. She’d stuck a “kick me” sign to the back of his gown. The entire auditorium laughed when he walked across the stage.

“You ruined one of the most important days of my life.” He raised his eyebrows.

She glanced back at a red corvette parked by his truck. “Let me make it up to you. Wanna go for a ride?” She winked.

He shrugged. “Why not?” He toted his gear up the hill. His calve muscles bulged with each step.

“You’ve changed.” She said.

“We all change.” He replied.

She wrapped her hands around his arm. “Make a muscle.”

“Sure” And with one quick punch to the face, Violet was out cold. He dragged her limp body, hoisted her into the cab of his truck, buckled her in and off to his secluded cabin in the woods they went.

Time passed… .. .. … ..

The chain clanked against the side of the bed. “Im starving, David!” She rubbed her swollen belly. “At least feed the baby!” She cried.

“You should’ve just let me be.” He tossed a bowl of grits at her.

The Weeping Willows and Tall Oaks couldn’t hide McAllister’s school for the blind – A metaphor – His pupils were not lacking in eyesight but empathy. Every year, a hundred young empty children were chosen to join the scholar at his reclusive, brown brick castle with all the windows missing. After a short stay, and many lessons of abuse, the angry students would bind together. They would choose a date to meet at midnight and hurl rock stones through anything breakable on the fortress.

McAllister found this humorous and encouraged the vandalism. He would stand atop the tower and yell obscenities towards the mob, laughing at their beginning step to freedom, releasing the first of many feelings that would sweep through their careless hearts.

When the crowd began to disburse, McAllister, an award winning slinger would hit an unsuspecting youngster square in the forehead with a large rock, killing them. The group would come together a second time to mourn one of their own, passing McAllister’s test by expressing sorrow. McAllister would swear he didn’t know what occurred to cause the child’s ill fate and would be allowed to continue his teachings. Some secrets must be kept by all who know them.

At the ripe old age of one hundred and eight, before his annual sacrifice, McAllister fell to his death. All one hundred in attendance gnawed away at his wrinkled and tough skin, a meal, McAllister, himself had once enjoyed. Though he tried, it would take more than one man to end the cannibalistic desires of those without feeling.

My love, 

Let me take you to a place amongst the silver skies. Where the reflections dancing off the quiet waters invite you into the depths of the unknown. I will be your guide and protect you from all evil. I have chosen this location specifically for you.

Undoubtedly, the potential for your heart to drown leaves you without concern. You believe that I will resuscitate your being, bring you back to the spectacular home in which we created in our minds…. well….my mind. 

Together at last, if only forever. 

If only forever were an eternity. The future is what I allow it to be, the memories I take with me from your last breath, the thought and feeling of the way you move in and out, gasping for air.

I will hold you underneath the still water until you are gone.

As one, we are unknown, unseen by the world around us, similar to when we journeyed alone.

My attention is seldomly called away from your beauty, though I must admit, I am drawn to the red lanterns, their glow, a heat attacking my soul. I can only dream of prosperity; however, I consider myself a wealthy man having my hands wrapped around your delicate neck. 

I cannot heal you nor do I desire to do so. Your elegance is far too much of a blessing for this world, with or without me by your side. 

Three folds and a lock of your hair, I will seal my envelope with a kiss and add it to the collection of words I have created for the many who have gone on before you. 

You, by far, have been the apple of my eye. 

Forever yours, 

Solitude

The group crunched through the unruly vegetation, some of which climbed the walls of the Mill Street psychiatric hospital. It closed in the eighties because of asbestos. 

“Have you heard the story of Lobotomy Larry?” Kenny asked.

“Shut up, Kenny!” Lacy playfully smacked him. 

“Yeah, shut up Kenny!” The others chimed in. 

The entrance to the asylum was slightly open. Kenny wedged his hands in between the door and its facing, with a swift tug, it opened, knocking Kenny down.

“That’s what you get!” Devon pulled Kenny up. 

“It goes like this…. Lobotomy Larry forgot all he was taught. He slashed through the halls, survivors, naught.” Kenny chanted as they headed inside.

The door slammed behind them. They scrambled to find their flashlights.

“His soul dwells within this place. His mind lost, gone, without a trace.” Kenny continued.

A noise came from one of the patient rooms. Everyone turned to run. 

“Wait!” A voice called out.

“Lacy, marry me?” Chris, on one knee, presented the girl with a small velvet box containing a beautiful solitaire diamond ring.

“I should’ve known this was a set-up. We’re not ghost hunters!” Lacy cried through her laughter. She wrapped her arms around Chris’s neck. “Yes! I’ll marry you!” Chris shook as he placed the ring on her finger.  

“Finish the story, Kenny.” Chris laughed. 

“I did, Chris!” Kenny spoke through clenched teeth, his belligerence, obvious. “You thought I was going to let you marry my girl?” Kenny pulled his gun.

Devon wrestled him down. Grabbing a metal rod from the floor, he forced it through Kenny’s eye, disconnecting his frontal lobe nerves from the rest of his brain. “She was your girl in Kindergarten-Kindergarten Kenny!”