Halloween Flash Fiction

Hello everyone, and welcome back!

Today I have a flash fiction piece I worked on this past week, and just in time for Halloween!   Originally I had written it for a writing contest, only to find I missed the day.  Guess it's time I invest in that calendar, eh?  Anyways, I'm really happy with how this turned out.  Being as wordy as I normally am, I find it very difficult to condense my thoughts into a smaller frame.  I relish the chance I get to do stuff like this though. Helps me to learn my way around words and phrasing to make what I have to say that much more powerful.

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Anniversary

 
 
I woke to a massive clap of thunder.

The room is cold, my blood slush in my veins. An impossibility in the middle of August. A soft caress on my left ear makes me twitch. Turning sharply, I find only the all-encompassing black of night staring back. With the howling of wind and driving rain to spur me, my hand desperately searches for the knob of my lamp. Two clicks and nothing. Two more, still no light to banish the darkness. The power had been knocked out by the storm.

Digging in my bedside table, fear has my heart thumping and my movements jerky. I turn on a small blue flashlight. The sickly yellow light flickers on, a cone of dull light that barely pushes the black back.

Moving to and fro, nothing but the faded portraits of time long gone stare back. But one is missing. Scooting to the edge of the bed, I search the warped wood floor to find one picture broken. The glass glints like dying stars. My heart stops as the light finds a cracked photo in black and white. My dearest Evelyn and I on our wedding day.

A muffled boom shakes me from my memories. It was not thunder, but something downstairs.



My feet hit the first floor, and I can see my breath, long trails of steamy breath dissipating in the frigid air. My bones ache as if ice were forming in my joints.

I trudge on to the right into my living room.

My heart begins pounding with fear once more. All of my furniture has indeed been moved. Stacked precariously upon each other, my sofas, coffee table, and other pieces form a twisted wooden mess. Broken frames and crumpled photographs littered the floor in front of the fireplace.

A shadowy figure stands facing the mantle. She radiates cold. She turns slowly, and my heart catches.

Dearest Evelyn. Her face is contorted with rage. Her hair hangs limp. Her tattered dress exposing skin turned blue with death. A crooked tree limb hangs from her chest, dark droplets of blood forming a platform around her bare feet. A gaping wound in her head oozes blood down her face.

Her eyes meet mine, and the rage melts like springtime thaw. The shadows flee and her skin seems to glow from within, banishing the cold.

She glides towards me, arms outstretched. My arms yearn to embrace her once more.

It is the same dance we have been doing since her death nineteen years previous. A fatal car accident took my dearest Evelyn from me on a stormy evening much like this one. Every year she returns.

I keep my arms to my side. I am afraid to die.

I slump to my knees, all pains of my old body forgotten. Tears stream down my face unashamedly. A soft caress on my cheek makes me look up into her honey eyes.

She is slowly dissipating, returning to beyond. The last to leave is her face. It’s always her face.

The storm has subsided and morning sunlight streams into my living room. I slowly gather myself with creaking joints.

There’s always next year.

-----

As always, your feedback is much appreciated!  You can reach me through my e-mail, Twitter, or Facebook.  Stay tuned, as shortly I'll have a fun exercise up wherein a VW bus full of bananas and a confused thief must get out of the country.  Until then, I hope you all have a fantastic weekend!

Time Flies Right Out of the Window

Hey everyone, and welcome back!  Forgive me and my lack of blogging lately.  I checked recently to find it has been over a month since my last post.  I hadn't realized so much time has passed since then!

First up a little update on my life here on the Gulf Coast:
-Most of my computer time logged these past five weeks has been writing on my novel.  I'm proud to say that I'm nearing completion, and my goal of having it finished before the holiday season will actually happen!  I'm really excited to see this one through.  If I haven't mentioned it at any length before,  it is science fiction adventure tale of the dark secrets of this metropolis and how one average man gets wrapped into it and tries to do the right thing while staying alive.  Taking place in a dystopian metropolis with hints at a future earth where today has been lost in legend.  Every time I sit down and write it I get lost for a few hours and then have to force myself to sleep.  After I do some major editing I will post a little teaser here for you all to enjoy!

- Next up, on top of taking care of my daughter,working, writing and the other numerous things that seem to pile up on any given day, I've found I was accepted to the MBA program at the University of Florida!  I huge honor, I had almost forgotten about applying in the first place.  This was back when I graduated with my bachelors and was just putting feelers out since I had no idea what I was doing with my life post-college.  I have some hurdles to jump through to make sure this dream comes to fruition, but I know I can do it.  Unfortunately the time constraints of everything will put a hamper on my writing time, but a writer will always find time for his passion, right?

Now, to share some of the writing/reading/gaming things that I enjoy when I get the chance.

First up, I'd like to introduce you all to a fantastic author I've been reading for years.  I began reading Carol Berg back in college.  Even with all the studying, I found time to read a novel or two.  I started with her duology called The Lighthouse Duet.  Mrs. Berg has a fantastic grip on world-building (one of my all-time favorite writer skills I hope to cultivate one day) and manages to create whole new worlds with their own unique belief systems and laws of magic.  Just fantastic.  Anyways, I moved on and got into some heavy science fiction for a while, but when I came back for some solid fantasy, I found her newest series The Collegia Magica and was immediately hooked.  This new world tickles the brain into thinking of Italy or France, and the lore and laws of magic are unlike anything I've ever read.  My only real complaint is that she does not pick the greatest covers for her novels.  This is exactly what they mean by not judging a book by its cover!  Now I'm going back to her earlier work with The Books of the Rai-Kirah.  I'm currently on book two of the trilogy, and I can't put them down.  I won't go on too much longer, but if you go to any of the links above, they have synopses of the books so you can see if they are up your alley!

Secondly, I wanted to spread the word on the announcement of Dragon Age III: Inquisition.  In my previous blog I talked at length about the series, so you can imagine how excited I was to find out about this!  It won't be released until late next year, but I will be keeping my ear to the ground for any and all details on this well-crafted game series.

Alright, that's going to do it for me for now.  I will do my best to post the promised writing exercise/short story in the near future.  Don't forget you can follow me on Twitter as well: @bczubinski.  Thanks for checking in and I hope y'all have a great day!!!

Books and Games and Websites, Oh My!

Hello again everyone, and thanks for stopping by!  Today I wanted to share quite a bit of fun stuff I've gotten into in the recent past when time allows.  As I said previously, life has picked up speed for me in the last few months, and I'm finally getting the hang of it to keep a schedule of sorts so I can still write and blog to you all!

First on my list is Stephen King's On Writing.  I'm slightly ashamed as a writer that I did not find and read this gem sooner!  A fantastic mix of autobiography and writing advice, King's book opens with his journey from childhood writing short stories based on his favorite movies and moves through his first novel to the when he wrote the book (2000).  After that his advice on writing is perfect for those of you who enjoy writing fiction, but he still gives solid pointers for writing in general.  And finally in the back (at least with the copy I got) he has a short manuscript and how butchered it got in the editing stage.  I could go on about this book, but please pick it up for yourself and see just how awesome it is.  You won't regret it.

Next on my list is a website I found while trying to get some Christmas shopping done.  Now I'm usually a procrastinator, but this year I decided I didn't want to be eating ramen for Christmas dinner, so I'm getting a head start on things.  Tee Magnet is a great resource for all of those "one a day" t-shirt websites.  This one gives you the Top 8 currently making shirts on a daily (with two updating every 2-3 days) basis.  Its full of fun, unique and nerdy designs you'd be hard pressed to find in any department store.  I've already bought a few myself, and its hard some days to pass up on the deals.  Most of the websites sell the shirts at $10 a piece plus shipping (around $13-$14), but a few of the links do go above that.  Either way, the designs are almost always quirky, beautiful, and worth every cent.

Another comic website I love to check out is called Penny Arcade.  A fun and satirical three- or four-pane comic, they touch every aspect of gaming, comics, television and movies.  It follows two men, the creators, and the hi jinx they get into while making fun of all the above mentioned.  The link above leads to the latest comic, but start at the beginning and I promise you'll love it.  I won't go on too long so you can see how awesome it is for yourself.

Last but not least, when I'm not reading or writing, I try and log an hour here and there on my Playstation.  Lately I've been knee-deep in the Dragon Age series by Bioware.  I picked up the first on a whim a while ago, and I was hooked.  Great storytelling and graphics with a battle system that I'm still trying to master.  The battles can actually be troublesome and require strategy, which makes that victory that much sweeter.  Dragon Age 2 feels like an upgrade from the first.  The story follows a completely new character starting in the middle of the last game.  The game allows you to discover a whole new region of the map you only heard about in the first installment.  You get to choose to be a mage, rouge or warrior, and these choices allow for different options during conversations and battles, allowing for a new experience every time you play.  And plus, if you can upload a complete game from Dragon Age, it further customizes conversations to reflect the decisions you made previously.  All in all, with great storytelling and fantastic world-building, I have a hard time turning it off.  I highly recommend these two games if you have an XBox 360, PS3 or good PC.  The link above is to the first of the game at Amazon, but I was able to find a used copy at my local game store for about half the price listed.

Well, there we have it.  Another list of stuff to spend your time on instead of cooking or cleaning.  Keep checking back as I'll be uploading another writing exercise within the next week.  Until next time!

Read the Fine Print

Hello again readers!  Welcome back.  It's been a rough month or so, my life picking up and it just seems there isn't enough time in the day!  So in that time I've been a horrible writer and not following my normal schedule.  What writing I have been doing is on my novel, and that isn't what I was doing before.  Starting to lose that "oomph" I had built up, so I'm going to work my butt off and get it back!  Also, expect more blog posts with my usual nerdy stuff, writing exercises, and a few short stories.  Speaking of...

Here's a short story I wrote this evening, trying to get back into some semblance of a schedule.  This is purely practice and just for fun, and I'm drawing on my (and I'm sure your) experiences in buy a car and dealing with the weird salesmen.  So this is a fun short about that, and don't look too deep into it.

Jason felt sweat pooling at the small of his back. Sweat stains ringed the collar and underarms of his favorite t-shirt. The midday sun beat down on his neck, the dull pain of a sunburn creeping into his consciousness.

Jason hated car shopping. The portly fellow to his left droned on about a used convertible they stood in front of wiped his face with a yellowed handkerchief, only for beads of sweat to appear again moments later. The man’s threadbare suit fit too loose in the shoulders and too short in the pants. Jason should have seen it and run away to the nicer car lots down the street. This place was a shit hole.

But dammit, he needed a car today. Catching the bus to work was getting old. He had laid off the bar scene for months to scrounge every penny for a meager down payment.

“So what do you think, young man?” the salesman wiped his forehead and upper lip once again, his mouth hanging open in a sloppy grin.

Jason shook his head and wiped his own forehead with the back of his hand. “It’s nice. It’ll do the trick, I suppose. A/C‘s good and cold, right?” Jason began another lap around the convertible.

Once it had been a vibrant blue, but years of use and disrepair had worn the color down to a dull cobalt with flecks of rust sprinkled over the hood. The tint was peeling in several places, and the exhaust hung a little too low. With over a hundred fifty thousand miles and a new engine, however, Jason couldn’t complain. It beat sitting next to the old Chinese woman who perpetually smelled of soy sauce and too-ripe fruit, or the talkative teenager who claimed to know infinitely more than his elders.

“Yes sir, just installed last year by the previous owner. And a new CD player to boot.” The salesman puffed up, the sloppy grin never wavering.

Jason finished his circuit and stood next to the man once again, crossing his arms. “You said three thousand and its mine?”

“Yes sir.”

Jason saw the desperation in the man’s eyes. He could relate. For the last year he had spent his time between the old room at his mother’s house and his best friend’s couch. With this car he could get a second job and have his own apartment in no time at all. Jason felt freedom within arms reach.

That didn’t mean he was going to jump at the first offer. “That’s a great price, but I don’t think I can afford that much right now.” Jason walked towards the rusty chain link fence bordering the small lot. Before he had passed a dented white hatchback, the salesman called out.

“I can sell it for twenty-five thousand!”

Jason smiled. Being poor for so long had its advantages. Never accept the first offer. He turned around and joined the salesman once again. “You have a deal.”

The two shook hands, each with their own grins of victory.

“Here, hop in and cool down. I’ll get the paperwork and you’ll be driving home in a few minutes.” The salesman handed Jason a scratched and slightly bent key. Jason handed him an envelope of all his material wealth. The salesman winked and hustled to the small trailer in the center of the lot, disappearing with the sound of rusty hinges and the slamming of a screen door.

Jason got in and smiled as the car roared to life. The cloth seat, although torn and stained in places, seemed to fit perfectly. He cranked the A/C to full power. After a few minutes of musty hot air, a frigid breeze began to cool the interior. Relaxing fully into the seat, Jason basked in the feeling of freedom restored.

Jason was unsure when he had dozed off. He opened his eyes to find the sun was close to the horizon and the sky was bathed in a swirl of purples, pinks and reds. The A/C was still blowing cold, and the gas gauge read full as it had been.

Jason turned the car off and went to the trailer. The air was silent and thick with the leftover heat from the day. Beyond the chain link fence Jason could see no traffic or lights on. Everything beyond the lot seemed hazy and indistinct.

Reaching the trailer, no lights or sounds came from the small structure. The door was closed and he could see nothing through the dirty window. The creaking of the screen door broke the eerie silence. Turning the tarnished knob, the door swung open onto a dark space that smelled faintly of mold and age.

In the gloom of dusk Jason could make out a cheap metal desk with yellowed paper scattered across its surface. A large monitor sat quietly on one side, a thick layer of dust untouched on its surface. On the other side of the trailer were two filing cabinets and a folding table with a plastic coffee maker still on. Jason caught a whiff of the burning coffee, but could not find the large salesman.

As Jason turned to leave, he caught a flicker of movement near the door. Framed in shadows of the door was the salesman.

“Hello? You said I needed to sign the papers and the car is mine?” Jason’s voice felt too loud.

The man in the door didn’t move, and Jason felt something was wrong. He dared not move as the man began a shambling motion into the trailer. Jason heard an odd clacking sound.

“Yes,” the salesman finally said. He lifted a hand and pointed to the desk. “Sign those and the car is yours.”

Jason moved to the desk, passing over receipts and invoices until he could make out his name and the details of the car in the failing light. Grabbing the nearest pen, Jason exclaimed. His fingertips were bleeding, drops marring the papers below.

“That will do, sir,” the salesman said. He was on the other side of the desk, his features still in shadow.

Jason beelined for the door, but the salesman intercepted his course.

“There is one final part,” the salesman said, stepping back a step.

His body began to shudder as if in a seizure. Fabric ripped and bones cracked as his shape began to ripple and elongate. His arms became long and looked like scythes. Quills protruded from his back with scraps of fabric hanging from the ends. His head split down the middle to reveal the antennae and mandibles of some insect.

Jason froze. Rays of dying sunlight highlighted bits and pieces of the man changing. Jason couldn’t hold on turned, vomiting into a small trash bin at the foot of the desk. When he looked up again, a giant insect filled his vision.

A low buzzing suffused the air, building into a crescendo that vibrated everything. With lightning quick movement, the insect head snapped forward and decapitated Jason.

“It’s all in the fine print, sir.”

-----

As always, I love feedback and (constructive) criticism.  Let me know what you think, and I'll see you all in a few days with some links to fun things I've found on the internet during my absence.  Godspeed!

Witch Ever Way The Wind Blows

Hey everyone!  I know it's been a few weeks since my last post.  Life has a tendency to speed up time on me every now and then.  So, in apology, here's a piece of flash fiction I wrote for fun about hurricanes and witches.  I wrote this inspired by the last hurricane to threaten our little town and it mysteriously turned away...

“This is a Channel Three Severe Weather Alert. Hurricane Joseph is on a north-northwest track with Bienville, Florida directly in its path. By the time it crosses the Gulf of Mexico, it is predicted it will be a Category Four hurricane. It is estimated to land in two days. You are advised to evacuate as soon as possible. If you are staying to weather the hurricane, prepare now and get to a designated storm shelter.”

“Well this just won’t do,” Amy says.

Amy sets her empty wine glass on her mahogany coffee table and unfurls herself from her plush couch. Her silk pajamas whisper as she crosses the wooden floor.

“I just put in that pool last month and the Sisterhood Cotillion is this Saturday. No time for a hurricane.”

Amy’s auburn curls bounce as she walks into her bedroom and picks up her phone. Quickly dialing a number, Amy taps her foot.

“Hello, Jessica? It’s Amy. Have you heard about this storm? Ridiculous, I know. Well don’t worry, I’m taking care of this one. Let the sisters know that we’re still on for this Saturday. Okay, thanks, bye.”

Hanging up her phone, Amy gingerly steps to her walk-in closet. Opening the door and stepping in, she almost closes the door on her tabby cat.

“Sorry, Agatha. Come on in. I’m going to need you for this anyhow. This is so inconvenient…” Huffing her way to the back of the closet, Amy pushes aside her fur coats and designer dresses. Behind them is a small door blending seamlessly into the wall. With a muttered word, the door pops open.

Ducking low as Agatha zooms past, Amy mutters a second word. With a flick of her wrist, candles throughout the room burst to life. Along the walls are tables with odd implements. Curved knifes rest next to dried herbs and flowers. Books line small shelves with jars of shadowed objects acting as bookends. Stubs of chalk lay on the floor around a bare space of unfinished wood floor.

Amy picks herbs with ease. Grabbing flint and stone as well, she places the herbs in bowls of silver. Using the flint and stone, she kindles the herbs until a heady smoke fills the space with perfumed air.

Kneeling down onto the floor, Amy picks up a stub of chalk and begins drawing a circle around herself. As she closes the circle, Agatha zips inside the circle and crouches low next to Amy. A sphere of energy creates a dome around Amy, her hair frizzing as on a muggy day. Still fuming at the inconvenience, Amy begins drawing esoteric symbols inside of the circle. As each symbol is finished, it flares crimson. As the last symbol is complete, the whole dome of energy flares crimson and the air inside is heavy.

“Ba’al, Father of Storms and Giver of Life, I beseech thee.” Amy’s voice echoes in the tiny room. Agatha’s hair stands on end and she begins to hiss. Amy continues her chant as the air grows thicker and the dome around her becomes opaque. Amy stops as she feels an unseen presence in the dome with her.

“Ba’al, it is your loyal servant Amy Pendergast. I beseech thee for thy aid.”

“Alright, alright, enough of the fancy talk.” A dark-skinned man with a bushy beard is suddenly in the circle sitting cross legged across from Amy. Atop his head sit’s the head of a bull, the eyes glassy from death but the horns as sharp and gleaming as if alive. In one hand he holds a club and in the other a lightning bolt. The lightning crackles with intense energy and glows white.

“Ba’al, thank you for answering so quickly! I was worried I’d be here all night.” Amy flashed Ba’al a genuine smile with a bow of her head.

“Now Amy, you’ve been my loyal servant for too many years! Come now, I think we both have an understanding of each other. Besides, you always have the best sacrifices.” The man smiled back and straightened his back. Before his head could touch the dome of energy, it bends at his presence. “What can I help you with?”
“Well, I need you to redirect the hurricane coming this way. I have much to do in the next few days, and this hurricane will ruin everything.”

Ba’al laughs and shakes the room. “Of course. This one is a doozy, too. You know how bored I get on the mountain? So few worshippers these days…” His eyes mist over in memory.

Amy clears her throat gently, shaking Ba’al from his reverie. “I’m sure. If you ever get too bored, I have a spare bedroom upstairs, thanks to you,” Amy says as she winks.

“Ah yes! The wealthy husband. You really got me on that one. I take it you’re enjoying the fruits of your sacrifice?”

“Oh yes, my lord. Everything is as I envisioned it. Thank you again.”

Ba’al waves his hand at her dismissively. “Think nothing of it. Now back to business. This is a pretty big favor you’re asking. Are you sure you want to do this? I mean, if I veer it off course, it could lead to drought and disease. I’m sure Garra will love the opportunity to start a few fires, but Ashnan will be pretty miffed you messed with harvest this year.”

“I’m willing to deal with them in turn. I have enough to sacrifice.”

“Don’t stretch yourself too thin now. Tell you what, I’ll talk to Garra and Ashnan, and the whole thing will be washed clean. But in return, I get your cat.”

Amy looked appalled. “Agatha? My familiar? I don’t know…”

“You can always get a new one! It’s not like the old witches where your life is tied to theirs. We’ve gotten a whole less pickier now the worshippers are few and far between. I can promise you will not die.”

Amy thought about it, a crease forming in her forehead. She nods and hands him her cat. “Treat her well.”

Ba’al unhinges his jaw and swallows the cat in one bite. “Delicious.”

Amy forces herself to remain calm and not slap the god for his actions. “Very well, what else do you desire?”

“Let’s see. Before the end of the month, place ten lightning rods throughout town. Preferably buildings, but I won’t get too picky. Your human laws are weird, and I don’t want to incarcerate my servants.”

Amy knew of a rival witch who could use a good lightning strike. She smiled and nodded.

“Oh! And when the next storm rolls around, leave some of those delicious cookies you left out last time. Chocolate peanut butter? Truly divine!”

Amy nodded and smiled. “So we have a deal?”

Ba’al nods and extends his hand. Amy shakes his. A bright flash envelopes both. When Amy’s vision clears, the dome of power is broken and the candles are all blown out. Muttering and snapping her fingers once more, she finds her way out and snaps the candles out once again.

“Honey, is everything alright? I heard a rumble just a minute ago.” A man stands in a suit and tie in the doorway, loosening his tie and kicking off his shoes.

“Everything’s fine, Steve. Just can’t find Agatha anywhere. I think she’s run off.”

“I’m sorry honey, I know you loved that cat.” Steve hugs Amy. “We’ll get you a new one this week, yeah?”

“That’d be lovely.”

“I heard on the radio on the way home that Hurricane Joseph is heading towards Texas now. Something to do with air currents and all that,” Steve says as he gets dressed in his pajamas.

Amy combs her hair in an effort to hide her smile. “Oh really? That’s wonderful news!”

“Now we don’t have to worry about evacuating. And I know you were heart broken about the Cotillion getting cancelled. Now you and your sisters can have it as scheduled.”

Steve and Amy get into the bed and turn out the lights as thunder rolls over their house.

Links 'N Stuff - It's Friday!

Welcome back everyone!  Today I'm gonna show you some fun stuff on the Internet I've found in the past few weeks.  First, however, I have some thoughts and ideas I wanted to share with you all.

So in case you were living under a rock this week, Mr. Ray Bradbury passed away.  One of the greatest authors of our time.  I won't reiterate what almost every news article and website even remotely associated with writing have said, but he left a great legacy for future generations to explore and enjoy as much as we all did.

This week I hit my first real wall of writer's block.  Safe to say, I panicked quite a bit.  For two days I felt like I couldn't do any writing or editing, and I barely read my book.  So on the third day I pushed on through and started doing research on current markets open for short stories and novellas, and I could feel that wake my muse up a bit.  She started whispering to me, and soon I was back to writing my normal amount.  I learned something very valuable about writer's block.  I know a lot of sites and advice columns will tell you to work through it, continue doing it, but it's actually very true.  People can't be inspired 100% of the time.  That's ridiculous.  I also noted that this lack of inspiration started when I quit smoking this week.  I had a solid schedule set up where I would write in a flurry, smoke a cigarette and think about what I wrote, then make edits.  Wash, rinse, repeat.  Now that I don't have that key part, I've had to adjust my routine, but I think its better now.  A lot less interruption and pausing so I can just plow through and worry about editing later.

So, enough about me, and on to some new road markers on your map of the Internet!

First up, in honor of Mr. Bradbury, I have a link to twelve writing tips from the man himself.  Originally tweeted by Derek Blass (@derekblass), this is straight from Mr. Blass's blog. Any tips from a successful and influential writer are always welcome to me, and Bradbury's advice is slightly different from anything I've read or heard.  Definitely check it out, you won't regret it.

Next up, a fun comic strip I found out about from Felicia Day's Flog.  Before I get into the comic, I have to say this:  If you haven't checked out The Flog, you are missing out!  It's full of fun nerdiness and interesting stuff straight from Ms. Day herself.  Anyways, on one of her episodes she highlights a comic, Manly Men Doing Manly Things.  It's a hilarious take on what all the heroes from video games would do when they have to readjust to the real world.  It centers around Commander Badass, the guy who runs the "halfway house" and all the adventures.  A new strip is posted every Monday, and I'm totally addicted.

And last but not least is an online t-shirt company called Ript Apparel.  I found them via Pinterest.  These guys have a new t-shirt design every day for purchase in all normal sizes, as well as for kids and babies.  The only downside to this website is the shirt designs are only available for one day, but that means even more cool designs to buy!  They have some of the coolest and nerdiest t-shirts I've ever seen, and I'm eagerly waiting for this Sunday's release so I can get a cool Doctor Who t-shirt.  Definitely give them a look, and if you want to try your luck, they have a grab bag where you have a chance to win an old design they didn't sell out of when it was available.

Well, that's it for me today.  Hope you guys are enjoying the stories and links I post here, and I look forward to later next week when I do a new writing exercise!  Until then, godspeed everyone, and have a great weekend!!!

A Ballad for John

Hey again, and welcome back!  I haven't been too good about posting some new writing material, so I thought I would show you a piece I have been holding onto for some time.  It's urban fantasy, involving a string of suicides and a karaoke bar.  It's really old, being one of the first pieces I had done when I got serious about writing in college.  As always, comments and suggestions are always welcome, and I hope you enjoy!

-----

A Ballad for John

            "Thank you for that wonderful performance!  Everyone give a round of applause for Dean!"

            A scattering of claps and cheers echo in the nearly empty bar, the haze of cigarette smoke making shades of the patrons.  The bright, showy lights for the acapella group slowly dim to a more intimate level, deepening the shadows as the applause fades and conversations continue.

            "Next up, our regulars may remember Miss Joanne Sharp!" the portly DJ says with forced enthusiasm.  "Taking a break from her usual 80's ballads, Miss Sharp is debuting an original song just for us tonight.  Put your hands together for Miss Sharp!"

            Onto the dingy and faded stage an ethereal woman glides to the worn stool.  Wearing a white dress that looks out of place in the bar, she slowly sits down.  Her doe eyes glance around the room as she pushes a lock of auburn hair out of her eyes.

            "Thank you, Mike."  Her words drip from her mouth like honey, deliberate and soothing to the ear.  The smattering of conversations slowly die off, and all eyes are on Joanne.  "I'm tentatively calling this song 'Ballad for John.'"  She glances at Mike, signaling him to start playing the track she had recorded in her apartment earlier that day.

            A soft piano begins to play, the melody both beautiful and haunting.  Joanne remains stoic, breathing deeply.  When her mouth opens to sing, any action taking place stops, all eyes and ears focused on her.  The lyrics are heartfelt, telling the tale of a love lost long ago.  The words and music slide through the bar, touching the patrons and wrapping around them like a warm blanket.  As the song continues to the climax, many eyes water as drinks and bar food lie forgotten.  Even the bartenders, long ago desensitized to the normal karaoke singers, stop what they are doing to listen to Joanne and slowly begin to weep.  As the piano slows down into silence, Joanne closes her eyes once again and breathes deep.

            The bar erupts into a frenzy of cheers and applause, like nothing The White Room Bar has ever seen before.  Many get up to hug or shake Joanne's hand, her face a deep crimson from the unusual attention her song has brought upon her.

            "Thank you very much everyone, this really means a lot to me," Joanne says quietly.

            "Encore!" a frazzled business man with circles under his eyes declares.

            "Yes, another song!" a young man with ruffled hair and a dirty plaid shirt declares.

            "That is the only song I have written," Joanne says, looking away as if in embarrassment.

            "We don't care, sing it again!" DJ Mike says to a round of applause and cheering.

            "O-Okay," Joanne says as she takes her seat once again on the stage.

            As the song plays again, a lone and worn elderly man, tears rolling down his cheeks, abruptly gets up from his seat, goes into the bathroom and slowly hangs himself from the ceiling, all the while thinking what a beautiful song it was and how he wishes it would never stop.

-----------------

            Three days later, Detective John Rickmon is circling The White Room Bar, asking the various customers about a string of mysterious suicides, all beginning with a Mr. Clive Studebaker and his suicide in the bathroom.  This was followed by four other men in various circumstances, with nothing to tie them together except for a Saturday night out.

            A fit man in his mid-thirties, he was recently promoted to Detective after six years as one of the regulars.  This is John's first major case.  After a string of simple robberies and domestic disputes, the powers that be had wanted him to try something more challenging.  A strange case, he gladly took it to show that he is deserving of his rank and raise over some of the more veteran cops who were passed over.

            "Mrs. Jackson, can you please tell me what happened this past Saturday at this bar," John inquired smoothly.

            "Please Detective, call me Judy," the woman said, her eyes glazed over from a few too many beers.

            "I'm sorry, Judy, please tell me what you know about the events of Saturday night please."

            Judy pauses and sighs quietly.  "There was this woman, Joanne. Joanne Sharp, I believe.  She's always here.  Crooning about the place with cheesy rock ballads or modern love songs and no one really gives a crap.  She has a great voice though. Shame she has to waste it working at the mall."

John could tell he was losing her to the details.  "What about this Joanne woman connects her to Saturday night?" John interrupted briskly.

            "Ah, yes, I'm sorry Detective.  She sang the most beautiful song.  One she wrote herself.  Who knew she had that kind of talent?  I’ll admit I teared up a bit.  But the men seemed to go crazy for her.  All they wanted to hear from her was that damn song.  After the fifth time I closed my tab and left.  I didn't know a guy had killed himself till one of my girlfriends told me the next day."  Judy paused to take a gulp of beer and light a cigarette.  "Poor Clive had a wife at home and two kids in college."

            "Thank you Mrs. Jackson, you've been a big help."

            John walked towards the bar, curious to get the take on what had happened from the hardened bartenders on duty when his phone began buzzing.

            "Rickmon."  There was a pause.  "Another suicide?  Let me guess, connected to this bar?  Damn, alright.  I think I have a lead.  Can you get me the address for a Miss Joanne Sharp?"

-------------------

            The next day, John Rickmon finds himself on the second-floor of a rundown apartment complex a few miles from The White Room Bar.  Once a proud building standing in the heart of Touchstone, now it stands in the slums of the city, home to drug addicts and struggling citizens alike.

            Knocking sure and steady on the faded wood door of

apartment 13-

B, John steeled himself for a druggie or prostitute, but was shocked to discover a young woman barely out of her college years.

            "C-Can I help you sir?" the young woman stammered.  John was floored by her beauty.  Simple features in a heart-shaped face, framed by auburn hair with just the right amount of curls cascading to a sundress that seemed to show off and hide exactly what the person wearing it would want.

            "Yes ma'am, I'm Detective John Rickmon.  I have a few questions for you regarding the death of a Mr. Clive Studebaker.  May I come in?"
            "Clive?  You can't mean that nice man from The White Room Bar."  Joanne looks genuinely shocked, her delicate hand poised in front of her mouth.

            "One and the same, ma'am."

            "Well of course I'd love to help you Detective.  Please, come in.  And excuse the mess.  I've been busy at work the past few days."

            Her apartment is immaculate.  The furniture is a hodgepodge of items that could be found at the Goodwill was laid out in an appealing way, with various posters of famous composers and abstract paintings along the walls.

            "Would you like something to drink?" Joanne asked as she shows John to the couch.

            "No thank you Mrs. Sharp, I'll just ask my questions and be out of your hair." John waits for Joanne to take her seat on the sofa before he sits on a recliner with a faded floral pattern.           "So you knew Mr. Studebaker?"

            "Of course.  He was always there for karaoke nights, and if I sang one of his favorite songs he would buy me a drink." Joanne absently twirled her hair, gracing John with a quick glance before looking elsewhere.

            "Did he ever come on to you?"

            "Oh gosh no!" Joanne blushed slightly.  "He would always gush about his wife and how they would travel to places by throwing darts at a map, and how proud he was of his son and daughter."

            "Did you know Mr. Matt Fitzgerald?  He was a younger man, red hair, couldn't have been long over the age of twenty-one." John hated using his tactics on this sweet girl, but he had to get some information.  After getting the call, he asked a few more patrons and the bartenders, and all signs point to the song she had sung numerous times.

            "I do know Matt.  Is he in trouble?"

            "No ma'am, he's actually dead as well."  John inwardly cringed at the sight of her shock and the single tear that formed in her deep blue eyes.

            "Oh dear...We actually had a date this Friday..."

            "I'm sorry to be the one to deliver the new Miss Sharp."

            Joanne opens her mouth to speak, then pauses.  Finally she takes a deep breath, closes her eyes and says, "How did he die?"

            John looks away from her, gathering the courage to tell this young woman the truth.  "He shot himself in the head."

            Joanne whimpers and gets up.  Faintly John can hear her blowing her nose in the bathroom.

            "Forgive me for that Detective.  I’m not usually so emotional," Joanne almost whispers, sniffling discreetly.

            "No apologies ma'am.  Are you okay to continue?" John is having a hard time keeping his tough cop facade in place with such a beautiful young woman in pain in front of him.  "I can come back at a later time."

            "That would be preferable.  I'm sorry I'm getting so emotional."  Joanne crosses her legs, showing enough skin to get John's attention.

            "I'm sorry I upset you Miss Sharp.  Here's my card," John hands her a typical business card, "and call me anytime you feel ready to talk.  Thank you for your cooperation."  John stands and makes for the door.

            Joanne follows him to the door.  "Thank you for your services Detective, and please, call me Joanne."  She flashes him a toothy smile as he steps out.

            John's heart doesn't stop fluttering until he's at home in his shower.

-------------------------

            Two weeks later, John sits at his desk at the precinct, alone and poring over all of the data he has compiled, his eyes are slightly blood-shot from lack of sleep and stress.  His meeting with a team of psychologists from Touchstone University that morning left him feeling as confused as ever.  There was no way a song could cause suicidal tendencies.  Joanne Sharp's file was checking out clean.  John felt he was at the end of the road, and a possible demotion.

            His cell phone rings loudly in the cavernous silence.

            John sighs audibly before answering. "Detective Rickmon speaking."

            "Detective?  This is Joanne Sharp.  You talked with me a few weeks ago about the suicides?"  John remembers the conversation like it was still happening.  The sweet smell of her apartment, the otherworldly beauty of Joanne and the lingering feelings he was developing for the young woman.  "I think I may have some information for you."

            "Good evening Miss Sharp.  I mean, Joanne.  When would be a good time for me to stop by?" John tries to contain the eagerness in his voice but feels he is failing miserably.

            "I just got home from work.  You're welcome to stop by tonight."  Joanne purrs into the phone, or was that John's imagination?

-------------------------

            An hour later, John knocks on Joanne's door, his heart racing.  He barely registers the deep bass emanating from the apartment across the hall or the sounds of sex coming from the floor above.

            Joanne opens the door and it takes all of John's will not to kiss her on the spot.  Wearing a stringy camisole and boy shorts, John's mind begins going to places he shouldn't.

            "Detective Rickmon, thank you for coming by on such short notice," Joanne says, her eyes blazing with an emotion John thinks is lust.

            "Of course, any aid to solving this case is welcome at any hour."  John steps into the apartment and notices how dark and sensual the space appears at night.  A side table lamp is dulled by purple fabric, giving an air of intimacy to the place.

            "Would you care for a drink Detective?" Joanne saunters to the kitchen and pours two glasses before he can respond.  "I just made sweet tea this morning.  I hope you like it."

            John clears his throat and takes the glass, unsure why his throat is so dry all of a sudden.  "Thank you," and takes a sip.

            "So you had questions for me Detective?"

            "Please, call me John."

            Joanne smiles. "Okay, John, where would you like me to start?"

            John feels his limbs become lighter, his fatigue fading into a haze of calm and comfort tinted with lust for the woman sitting across from him.  "Ah, yes...Do you have any idea what caused these men to kill themselves?"

            Joanne's smile falters as she looks down, and then looks up with a gaze of pure lust.  "I think I do."

            John finishes his glass before he realizes his legs feel too wobbly to move, but he doesn't mind.  His head is full of the intoxicating smell of Joanne.  He shakes his head slowly to try and clear the fog.  "Then, uh, then what do you think caused it?"

            Joanne smiles wickedly and her features subtly shift.  Her heart shaped face becomes more angular, the jaw elongating and the teeth becoming sharp spikes.  Her cheekbones hollow and her eyes sink, becoming glowing red embers in pits of darkness.  Her hair, once lustrous, becomes wiry and dull.  Her form-fitting clothes become loose as her frame elongates until her her skin looks like it is stretched too tight over a skeleton.  Joanne's hands and feet become claws, the fingernails long and sharp.

            "I did, John."

            A small part of John's mind tries to panic, but whatever he had drunk has numbed him completely.

            Joanne's once graceful and elegant movements are now quick and gangly as she stands up to hover over John.  "I'm what you people call a 'siren', John.  I lure men to their deaths."  Joanne's once sweet voice is now gravelly, like glass being slowly ground to dust.  "You got too close, John, and I'm sorry for this, but I'm so awfully hungry..."