A nod to the late, great Otis Redding. Where would I be without soulful bliss?

LOVE VAM

She, a gorgeous blonde with a body to kill for was his number one fan. It was no surprise when he asked her to join him at his place for a nightcap after the show. She had driven nearly eight hundred miles to see him perform in his hometown. So, of course, she obliged. 

The house was creepy, candles flickered in the foyer. 

He flipped the light switch on; his pale skin told that he was more than meets the eye. “I want to kiss you in every…….” He paused.

For a moment, she lost her breath. 

“……Country in the world.” His accent, a bit frenchy. He laughed.

She exhaled. 

Hundreds of world maps hung in the entryway, exotic cities were marked by thumbtacks and then connected by rubber bands. Each, revealing the route to what he called love sessions with many different women. “My trophies.”

“Are these……. similar to notches in your bed post?” She asked. 

He placed his long finger on her lips. “Well………. Yes.” He rolled his eyes upwards in thought. He was goofier than she imagined.

She turned to exit; her expectations demolished.

In a flash, he reached the door before her, stretching his arms out across it. “You cannot leave.” He violently pushed her backwards.

Placing both thumbs in his belt loops, he bent his knees and shimmied across the floor towards her, spinning three times before stopping, his stunningly red lips nearly touching hers. 

“I’m not doing this!” She screamed.

“Oh, but…. you are.” He said before breaking into song. “I’m a love Vam…. Call me the love Vam. Ooh, baby, I’m the love Vam. That’s what they call me, I’m a love Vam.”

Wrapped tightly in his arms, he and his newest victim blessed the night sky. “First stop, Fiji.” He whispered.

Today, I wrote your obituary, though you haven’t yet passed on, I figured my mental status would allow for a more accurate description of your life, how beautiful it was. Maybe put to music, it would be a stunning melody, an ode to mom.

A few more days and you’ll be gone, I can’t grasp the reality of what is about to happen, a giant chunk of my heart, on the verge of being ripped out of my chest yet there’s nothing I can do about it.

I can’t sleep and if I manage to doze off for a moment, I quickly awaken, gasping for breath. How did we get here?

A rose and a get well soon card covered in musical notes sit at your bedside though you will never smell the sweet aroma or read the words from someone you once loved.

I am only existing right now…. I am only existing right now…..The pain is too much to carry. I. am. only. existing. right. now.

Mom, I hope you know how much I love you.

The heartbreaking end.

I kill to once again be in the presence of my adoring Bianca. Though tired and often confused from lack of nourishment, I have hope our reunification is approaching. 

I am a hunter. 

The castle is in sight and though I go alone, I am fearless. My strength is lifted by the thought of the satisfaction that will come with the sweeping violence I will cast upon the King and his minions. A feat that the others before me dared not attempt, their heightened boldness ceased at civilians.

I am a warrior.

My horse succumbed to a bloody altercation long before I set foot on the canyon’s ridge. Our companionship had to end as he would bring attention to my presence once the invasion of the fortress begins. His demise and tortured appearance provoke power within me, a taste of victory.

I am a needful man.

I cup my hands and drink vigorously from the stream’s crystal-clear water, sparkling even as the dark clouds roll over. The thunder rumbles, exciting my inner being. 

I am a monster.

My black cloak, and scarred face hide my identity as I creep through the royal quarters, slashing and dehumanizing the people within, taking from them their status, riches, happiness and even their woes. Shells of beings now scatter the premises, I rejoice, satisfied with the horrific ruin. I will go home to my Bianca with the spoils of war having obtained a second urge, to pleasure her in every way.

The front page of the Britannia Times referred to me using unknown terminology amid confusion as to why such a brutal crime would’ve taken place – less a robbery.

I am a serial killer, adding new fear to the land.

Twenty-four houses lined the neighborhood street, twelve backed up to tall trees, and a hidden creek amidst overgrown greenery, a playground for children of all ages. Playgrounds and unsupervised children attract predators. And so, it was said, as many children as there were houses on Weeping Willow Lane, had been abducted from the woods… …..

Madeline Forsythe was the oldest resident on Weeping Willow Lane. Now, aged One hundred and two, Madeline continued to convince parents that they shouldn’t live in fear or keep their children from normal activities. What child doesn’t want to play in the woods. After all, she must’ve had some smarts about her, look how long she’d already lived. 

Madeline’s crooked cane and oversized black cloak didn’t clue anyone into her heritage. A witch from birth, she had a family to grow.  Hunch backed, she hobbled around from house to house, motivationally speaking, knocking on doors, pointing her stick and casting spells of delusion onto the mothers and fathers of Weeping Willow Lane. “Time for the kiddies to play.” She’d gruesomely chuckle and then whisper loud gibberish into the ears of the guardians which in turn made every September the 20^th a special day. 

With the parent’s blessing, children would follow Madeline into the night, the subtle glow from her lantern leading the way. They sang a witch’s ballad as they strolled along, happy as could be.

Madeline placed her lantern in the middle of the field. “Hero, zero, multiple, destroy, or let them go back and be good little girl’s…… and boys.” A strong wind blew out the light and then…it reappeared… Some lucky children skipped back home with no recollection of the night’s events……Well….. The others, now flittering sparkles, were ready to flourish and grow, chosen by the High Priests to join Madeline’s brood. 

The immense rumble from the ground sent fright through the hearts of everyone in a thousand-mile radius. The loud warning tone set free by the Emergency Broadcast System rang through every television and cell phone around. All sense of normal had escaped. Instructions were to stay where you are, avoid doorways and remain inside. Stop, drop and hold on to whatever was sturdiest around you.

I made my way through the debilitating shake, my arms spread out for balance, each step calculated in order to reach my kitchen table. 

I crawled underneath it and began to pray, wondering if this was how the last minutes of my life would unfold. 

I watched the clock, seconds ticked by before it plunged to the ground, next went my late grandmother’s china, and then her oak cabinet. I intertwined my fingers, placing my hands on the back of my neck. I could see the foundation split beneath me like a crooked line of death. The roof began to buckle. I was sure to suffocate in my own home… and alone. 

Six minutes it lasted, a nearly unheard of six minutes. I dug from underneath the rubble, coughing and spitting dust from my mouth. I shook the mortar from my hair and wiped it from my clothing. Debris particles floated through the air, assuming they were harmful, I pulled my shirt over my face, leaving my eyes uncovered. I could see my front door, perfectly conditioned, only now resting sideways. Unable to open it with my hands, I laid on my back, placed my feet against it, and with the strength from my legs, pushed it open. The bright sun immediately blinded me. Helicopters flew frantically against the cloudless sky; sirens overwhelmed my ears. 

I emerged from my hillside cave, thankful to be alive. 

“I see a train.” He exhaled. 

“My mind feels heavy, mushy, like that blob you’re holding.” The man looked towards the neatly dressed woman, her hair in a bun. She wore reading glasses, he assumed only as a fashion statement.

“Heavy steam rolling from the engine, passengers peering out the windows, looking down on me from the trestle. The mighty wheels roaring over the tracks, click, clack, click, clack..……. I don’t feel anything. I’m wondering if I’ve lost my train of thought. Forgive me for the pun. A lot of things just pass me by.” He said.

“The greenest of trees flourish in the summer sun, the locomotive roars on at a steady pace against the bright cloudless sky. The sound of the horn fills the air, an unheeded warning. Chugga, chugga, choo, choo. I plainly hear its movement……… Tunnel up ahead. I must warn the conductor, though I’m sure he’s travelled these railings a million times. All color disappears, a circular void awaits their entry…….. No one notices, only me, the outsider looking in. I’m always the outsider.” He continued.

Glancing over her wire frames, she asked for clarification. “What do you see?”

“Okay, so, what is it that I see? What do I see?” He moaned, frustrated by the length of time that had passed since the test began.

She nodded. 

“That ink blot, and every other abstract dark shape you’ve shown me, appears to be a mirage, a trap. If the train keeps travelling and at the same rate of speed, it will hit the brick wall disguised as a tunnel to detour and destroy. A train wreck, that’s what I see. My life is a train wreck. Pun, once again intended.” He forced a smile.

She switched cards again. “And this one? What do you see?”

“I see a butterfly. Are you happy now?”  He asked.

“Get her! She doesn’t listen to anything I say.” Scarlett pulled her three-year-old daughter by the arm.

     “Come to daddy.” Jordan reached down and twirled his daughter upwards. Ruby wrapped her arms tightly around his neck. “It was your bright idea to bring her to this museum.” He griped.

     Scarlett swung her purse around. She leaned in closely to the glass encased exhibit containing a fragile map and compass used by the late, rugged Isabella Bird. She glanced back at her husband. “Don’t you want our daughter to be a strong woman?”

     “Depends on what your definition is.” Ruby began twisting and turning, Jordan let her back down. “If it involves constant nagging, then no.”

     “Freedom! Look at this!” Scarlett fanned her hand through the air. “So many artifacts that helped women wander off the grid.” Scarlett was jealous of their journeys, no secret there. “A chance at a life away from terrible marriages and motherhood.” She went as far as to stick her tongue out at their daughter.

     An awful shrill exited Ruby’s lips. Jordan, once again holding Ruby, moved in centimeters from his wife – with his teeth tightly clenched, he whispered. “I tell you what, you ungrateful wench. When we get home, you can pack your bags, grab you a compass, GPS, whatever your preferred method of guidance. Mount you a horse or you can even plop your tail down in the front seat of that Jeep I paid for. But, when I tell you this, know I mean it with everything in me. Don’t come around my daughter or my home again!”

     Scarlett gasped, stormed off, and asked for a refund for her less than desirable museum visit. She caught an uber home having convinced herself that Jordan wasn’t serious. 

Strong women sometimes need husbands.

    

Let me say, I know this is not a Volkswagen but in my story it is. 😁

Vampire Wagon

The sky was covered in clouds, a subtle breeze brought life into my soul – or – lack thereof. I loved the formation of a morning thunderstorm. I…can…. day-walk, only if it’s overcast, a gift passed down to me from my maker. Most of my kind slept in the a.m., where I could enjoy the morning’s finest brew.

I found it pleasurable to take walks, my cane clacking against the concrete with each step, not a human around, as if the day were made especially for me. That was – until the dark, soothing ambience was suddenly interrupted by a hideous, colorful thing. I gasped, stopped my movement, felt the tail from my suit-coat smack me on the bottom. I jumped a few steps forward. “Woooh.” My inches long fingernail went straight into my mouth, old habits die hard, if at all. I tilted my head at the thought of my own brilliance, wondering if I were ever someone’s habit, maybe not, but an obsession, surely.  “Hmmmm… what in the hippie, retro, mind-blowing, ethnocentricity is this?” I’ve been walking this earth for three hundred and seventy-two years and never have I ever seen such. 

I moved closer, four wheels, terribly small wheels, and windows. I leaned forward to see inside. Yes, a steering wheel. I ran my fingers over the chrome lettering. V. w.  Of course, it’s a Vampire Wagon. I’ve heard of these things. I opened the hood to examine the specimen and what to my wandering eyes should appear? Nothing! Not a blasted thing! The engine was in the trunk! The vehicle was being used as a flowerpot. Angrily, I spun around and tossed it across four blocks. “I haaaaate people!” I left my top hat, a fitting exchange, maybe they would plant a fern in it. “Tisk!”

Kasidy is now live

“Let me position this thing correctly……Hello, can everyone see me?”

Jeannie joined

“Good…. Hey there, cousin……… I’m sure I could’ve chosen a better spot for this but at the end, you’ll see the location’s purpose…… Isn’t this dyed blue water lovely? A large sprawling tree and tons of weeds……. Insect laced, I’m sure………….Hello, Nate. Thanks for joining.”

48 people are watching

“Oh, great, the more the merrier. Like and share this post. Make it go viral………..What is this? …….. I suppose……. The earth, returning all my beautiful thoughts. The thoughts and memories that no one had any interest in………. Hey Gregg! Have you ever seen water this blue? Isn’t it amazing?”

156 people are watching

“It’s no secret that I love trees, I climbed them when I was little, hid behind them as a teen. As an adult, I still feel protected by the shade the monstrosity provides. Sometimes, I look towards the sky, squinting my eyes at the rays of sunshine that force their way through the leaves and branches.”

4,659 people are watching

“Wow! This is amazing! You guys must know what’s going on here……..Shelley…. Welcome!…………The outdoors, all of this, it no longer does anything for me. I’m saddened to have lost my drive. I’m stuck in a fast-moving society of self-gratifying lunatics who call me crazy. So, for your pleasure, please indulge in the greatest narrative I’ll ever create.”

10,904 people are watching

“Hey, Marshal! Thanks for asking…… Yes, it is a pearl handle.”

14,391 people are watching

“When I fall, the red will mix with the blue, making the water purple. It’ll definitely be a work of art, hopefully you can find a story in this.”

25,546 people are watching

*VIDEO HAS BEEN REMOVED DUE TO GRAPHIC CONTENT. *

The morning sun began to rise, sending a cotton-like fog across the bridge covered water. It reminded Hugh of the early morning coffee he and Stella enjoyed together at least twice a week.

They’d allowed their feet to dangle from the edge at a time when they were still dangerously in love.

Their meetings chanced the discovery of a frowned upon relationship, Hugh, fifty-one, Stella, barely nineteen, found themselves trapped by what one could give the other. Hugh’s experience was mind blowing for the young lady, and her lack there of, did the same for him, something that could’ve bonded them forever.

Their cricket baited hooks vigorously splashed into the murky water as they cast their rods, the sound always sent Hugh’s hand immediately to Stella’s. A gentle touch was how it always began.

Hugh would laugh, claiming worms would’ve lured a more significant catch, right before his lips would meet hers. Truthfully, neither cared to reel in anything, except one another.

Hugh wasn’t shocked when he drove by Stella skipping down the sidewalk, tugging on the hand of a younger guy. She turned to give her old friend a subtle nod.

Hugh chuckled, stopped at the light, geared down and let the engine of his fifty-nine bel air rumble. Hugh knew that her memories of him would keep her satisfied for years to come.

Since that day, he’s not left the lake empty handed and that’s just fine with him. You win some, you lose some but you always remember the good ones.