Wednesday, June 19, 2013

A Step Up

It's complicated,

he said,

being married

to a woman

who refuses

to live with you.

He took a sip of whiskey

and stared into space

as I twirled the straw

in my drink.

I thought he was


A co-worker

had set us up.

He'd been a clown

with the circus.

(No really, a graduate

of Clown College)

and now

he was

an actor.


I thought,

was definitely a

step up


abusive alcoholic.

At least,


I saw him smile,

then turn his

gaze back

towards me,

as I let my

bare foot

brush against his


A gentle,



Enough to show interest

without arousing

immediate rejection.

I felt the embers of


long dormant in my groin

begin to flicker.

Just slightly.

I smiled back

and waited for

the moment

to breach

the awkward reality


It's complicated.

Full Wolf Moon-Part Eleven

"The moon is full."

The little man scrunched his face in confusion.  He glanced up towards the skylight; the moon's soft glow drifted down like a soft snow.  He returned his attention to his work.  He needed to complete the task, needed to complete his army.  He shoved needles and tubes into Edwards  body, finally flipping a switch.  Edwards flaccid body stiffened, then joined his brethren in their twisted, contorted dance.

Glover glanced at Cassandra and motioned with his head to follow him.  He didn't know what the hell was going on, all he cared about was getting Pryor and getting the hell out of here.  The two of them made their way through the sea of corpses towards where Pryor lay; Glover studied the web of tubes and wires, then gave a quick look back to the little man's feverish ministrations.  Glover shouldered his weapon.

"Cover me.  If that crazy man moves towards us, shoot him."

Glover let his eyes drift over the room.

"Shoot any of them if they move towards us."

Cassandra nodded and kept watch as Glover began his work.  His agile hands disentangled his friend from their spidery web.  He bent over and put his ear to Pryor's chest and tried to listen for any signs of life, holding his arms over Pryor to stop his convulsing.  He strained to hear over the howling and groaning that enveloped the room.  He stood up and let go of Pryor's body; Pryor began to shake and writhe.  Cassandra looked back at them.

"What's wrong?"

Pryor shook his head, then reached down and opened Pryor's right eye. The pupil was fixed and dilated

"There's no heart beat.  He's not breathing.  Yet look at him, he can't keep still."

The two of them jumped and aimed their weapons as they heard the little man behind them, his voice raising like a phantoms.

"I told you, he's dead but not dead.  There's no heart beat, no respiration.  He's unable to die. Ever.  They all are.  Once I've reanimated them, they'll be unstoppable, an army that can't be beaten."

Glover still had his weapon trained on the little man when a scream from the depths of hell erupted behind them.  The old man jumped as they turned and stared at Pryor.  He was sitting up, his hand clawing at his skin, his eyes staring blankly in front of him as he howled in pain and agony.
Cassandra kicked the little man to get his attention.

"You said he was dead! Why is he howling like that?  Why does he sound . . ."  She stopped herself as she realized what she was about to say.  The old man finished her sentence as he hopped on the slab to examine Pryor.

"Like a wolf?  Because of the Lycan blood flowing through his veins, stupid girl.  It flows through all of them."

Pryor stopped his unholy growls and began to pant.  He seemed to struggle to catch his non existent breath, sweat dripping down his face and chest.  He slowly turned his head towards them, his dead eyes fixing a predatory stare on Glover and his weapon.  Glover inhaled as he felt his finger slide towards his trigger.  Pryor lunged forward towards them; Glover let a volley of bullets fly into his friend,  catching the old man in the back.  The old man screamed as his body twitched and jerked.  He slumped down onto Pryor's lap.  Pryor's chest was pock marked with bullet holes; he was still upright, his mouth open and twisting.  A low guttural sound emerged from his lips.

"Don't waste your ammunition, Glover.  The old man was right.  I can't be killed.  Again."