Monday, January 17, 2011
Just for Friends!!!!
Check out the stories below, I will leave them posted for a while so that Friends and families can easily read them. So much better than trying to email all of it to everyone!!! Enjoy, post comments!!! Comment on Face book!!! What ever rubs your belly!!!
Faithfully
Faithfully
By
Steven McGuire
Copyright 2010, All Rights Reserved
Tuesday came and went in silence. The fighting came and went. The house had been silent since Saturday.
Sometimes, they just yelled. Sometimes, she had to wear sunglasses to work. Once in a while, he was the one with the fat lip, and those times she ended up in the ER. On Saturday, he accused her of fucking their neighbor Mike. It was bullshit; he had a bad day and wanted to take it out on someone.
April was often at her wits end with Jeremy. Yet, she couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him. He was dominant. She would often find herself aroused after a physical altercation. Sometimes she would purposely taunt him. Make his dinner late or talk back to him. Just to get him fired up, just enough to make him not send her to the E.R.
She would run to the bedroom and grab on to him. She would beg for forgiveness. Making promises she would do whatever he wanted if he would forgive her. She would bite her lip and start removing his clothes. The sex would be rough and passionate. He would call her names and grab her roughly. She would groan and buck until they lay there covered in sweat. He would roll over and all would be forgotten.
That was the only thing they had. Their lives were empty and hopeless. She thought he was the best she could do. He thought she was going to fuck up their little life any day now.
Saturday night had been calm. It had been almost a week since they had their last argument. She defiantly spent money on herself to get some new shoes
Jeremy walked in. His boss was riding him at his construction job for showing up late. Making him do the crappy and heavy work. Jeremy was looking for an excuse, he wanted the release. Both confrontational and sexual. He walked in and April came over giving him a kiss on the lips.
Rage and adrenaline rocketed through his veins. She knew that look in his eyes. She knew these were the nights she wouldn’t make it to work the next day. Jeremy’s head rang like a dial tone from a phone. He didn’t even hear the words either of them were yelling. He didn’t feel the heat burning his hand from the heavy skillet in which she was cooking dinner.
It was an out of body experience. He saw everything in slow motion while hovering from above. Slamming back in to reality as his hand came down. The vibration from the impact raced up his arm. The adrenaline was palatable to his tongue. He exhaled hard and unclenched his jaw. Blood was spilling on to the kitchen floor next to April’s lifeless head.
He stood frozen. There was no scream. There was no pleading and begging for life. Just a thud. Blood was quickly covering the floor, the food from the skillet mixed in. He careful lifted his foot trying to avoid contact. He walked calmly to the kitchen table and grabbed the newspaper. Spreading it out over the puddle. His hands began to shake and was breathing was becoming more labored.
He pulled the retro 1970’s looking kitchen towel off of the hanger. Leaning down, he was careful not to touch her. He laid the towel over her expressionless face. Next, he walked into the garage and grabbed the box of heavy duty yard debris bags. The kind branches and other pointy objects cannot pierce. Then he grabbed his saw.
On his way back in he stopped and grabbed his fifth of Wild Turkey. Unscrewing the lid and tossing it on the counter, he chugged a quarter of the bottle.
It was early in the evening. Too early to bring her out to the back yard and bury her. He would have to wait a couple of hours. Jeremy had time to take care of the body and clean. He grabbed the bottle again only taking a couple of swigs. He knew he needed to be somewhat sober for this, yet drunk enough to make it through. He set the bottle down then grabbed his saw.
He made quick work of the body and had 3 bags full of April and other items used for cleaning. The blood cleaned quicker than he thought. He didn’t allow it to set for long. The linoleum was old. It was brown and had gold paisley shapes in it. The blood mixed in well with the color and older stains; though he still used bleach and some old fashioned elbow grease. Jeremy cursed at her the entire time for the trouble she had caused.
“You just couldn’t fucking give it up could you. Look at you now. This is your fault. You pushed me to this. You never loved me, you just took and took.” Jeremy was getting good and drunk by now. The last of the Wild Turkey was gone. Now he was drinking tequila. El Jimador.
Jeremy’s hangover woke up before he did. He liked the feeling of the blackout. The comfort of feeling nothing.
The blackout was heavy, much darker and emptier than usual. He smelled alcohol on his breath and in his sweat. He smelled something else too; black and damp earth. Licking at his nostrils. His head was spinning so hard the best he could figure was that he had tracked in mud from the night before. Something else was there too, perfume. It stung his head and made it pound more. It was the same smell that April had. Cheap shit he bought he a couple of years back.
Jeremy sat up quickly. His head nearly beat him in to submission. The heavy fog of the blackout clung like a thick blanket. He felt as though he was dreaming. Yet this was too real.
April was standing in the corner of the bedroom, silently looking over to the bed where Jeremy was lying.
She was standing there looking at him. A rush of images came at him like a freight train. So fast he couldn’t believe them let alone his wife across the room. Instinct kicked in and he tried desperately to move away from her. His voice was hoarse. He was breathing so hard when he tried to scream he sounded as though he was choking. He quickly fell off the bed ending up ass over head. He clambered up the side of the wall and stood frozen.
Her dirt caked face flashed the images of him burying her. The heavy bags sloshed as he dragged them. Soil was wiped in areas around her face and body. Her skin was grey and sluggish. Dark, lifeless veins pierced through. Dried blood had glued dirt to her head where the skillet hit. Her dead eyes looked liked spoiled milk; white and yellow. Her limbs were reattached and oozing a black liquid. Seemingly to glue them back together.
Standing there, April didn't move, only swaying gently. Her lips were slightly pursed and her hair matted. She was dripping with foul muddy water. He wondered if she had really been dead when he buried her in the backyard. He rationalized that she couldn’t have been dead. Yet, her brain was visible through her broken skull. It was now maroon and brown with bits of soil clung to it. No one could live through that.
“You shouldn’t be here, you...” He tried to speak but he was breathing so hard he felt as though he would pass out any moment. His knees went week and began to buckle.
April’s empty face tracked his every move. She began to mirror his steps, like a shadow, as he tried to move for the door.
He stopped. Trying to regain his senses. He knew he just needed to catch his breath. His lungs were exhausted. Like he just sprinted a mile. Breathing would be good. Just a couple of deep solid breaths. Breathe. Breathe. A new smell kicked him in the chest.
The smell of decay overtook him. Before he could react, he heaved violently. Spilling the entire contents of his gut with two massive bursts. It projected. The alcohol left in his stomach came with ease. He tried to regain composure. He tried to watch April, to see if she was approaching him.
Vomit ran up his face and burnt his eyes. The smell of decay and stomach acid made his head spin wild. The hangover was taking each breath out of him.
He wouldn’t wait for her to make a move. He dashed as quickly as he could past her. He cursed as he felt her dry and rough fingers scratching his shoulders. He was completely naked, having hoping into bed after a quick shower. He didn’t even notice her as he ran down the short hallway. Turning towards the stair case, he stopped to look into the bedroom. April was walking after him.
He didn’t notice the first step. He stumbled halfway down the stairs. Finally missing a step and crashing hard to the ground. The wind knocked out of him.
“God fucking damnit!” He managed to croak.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
April trudged heavily down each step. He slid on the hardwood floor with his naked ass. Falling backwards yet again off the last two steps. Her legs had been removed, now they were walking her down with a slow and sure step.
He remembered quickly that his keys to the truck were in his coat pocket. He jumped to his feet, having to grab on a small end table for balance. Once he steadied himself, he went for the kitchen. His jacket was carelessly tossed on the table. He reached for it and his shaky hands fumbled through the pockets. The keys fell out of his hand. As he tried to catch them he ended up hitting them across the room. Right at April’s dirty feet.
Defeated, he fell into the kitchen chair. Landing so hard the wood creaked. He sobbed into his hands. She made no further movement towards him. The half bottle of El Jimador was at arm’s length from where Jeremy was sitting. Jeremy grabbed it without looking and swallowed as much as he could before coughing hard. He peered up with red swollen eyes and slammed the bottle hard on the table.
“I killed you,” he whispered. Almost not wanting her to hear him. She didn’t move, and hardly seemed to even notice.
His confidence grew, “You’re fucking dead!” Louder, angrier. “You’re fucking dead! You hear me, bitch! Dead!”
April didn’t answer but simply cocked her head to the side. This was a look he knew all too well. Fury overtook him. This wasn’t Sunday morning, the day after he killed her. This, to him, was Saturday night. The fight was just starting.
In one quick motion, he stood. He pulled his right arm as far across his chest as he could. Then he stepped down, turned his hips and swung harder than he had ever swung before. When he did, he felt several bones in his hand shatter.
Her head swung to the left, moving far past the motion of a regular head. A foul mixture of black ooze and blood flew through the air, landing on Jeremy’s face and the floor around him. She made no noise. Yet, Jeremy could see she was still there in a sense. Her head slowly turned back to face Jeremy’s, making an unsettling popping sound as the bones realigned. She cocked her head slightly to the side. Jeremy swore he saw a smirk on her pursed lips.
In a blind rage he moved forward to swing again. This time he was going to punch her straight on. His bare feet stepped on some of the black ooze and brain matter on the floor. His feet came clear up over his head, he landed hard. His head whipped down violently, sending him into a daze. The hangover and the headache completely fogging his mind.
He heard movement. Then felt an icy cold body straddle his. Moisture was dripping on his face and into his mouth. Thick and ice cold, the foul liquid tasted like death. He began to vomit again. The stench of rotting flesh was over whelming. The little liquid he had came up, turning quickly into dry heaves.
He felt a cold, dry hand touch his face. Brushing it gently from his forehead down to his check, the iced skin felt like sandpaper. A cold breath slid across his cheek. Instantly sending chills to his very core. April kissed him with her dead lips. He tried to break free but her grip was strong. She pressed harder, her tongue dragging on the inside of his mouth. Her tongue was like a pumice stone, scratching the soft flesh inside his mouth. Bits of dried soil filled inside, covering his teeth and tongue leaving a moldy taste.
As she pulled away slowly, a trail of dirt and blood stretched like snot. From the wound on her head, black ooze onto his face and in his eyes. Small chunks of brain fell and landed on his cheeks. They slid off slowly leaving a trail. A large night crawler appeared from her head. It slid out and dropped like a spaghetti noodle on his right eye.
He was frozen with fear. She sat up and raised her hands, making them into a single fist high above her head. She looked down and Jeremy and smiled.
Jeremy hears her speak in a low, gravely tone.
“I love you.” April croaked. The she brought both fists down.
The never ending blackout that Jeremy longed for came back and took him. April’s voice floated in the endless space, repeating the last words he heard.
“I love you.”
By
Steven McGuire
Copyright 2010, All Rights Reserved
Tuesday came and went in silence. The fighting came and went. The house had been silent since Saturday.
Sometimes, they just yelled. Sometimes, she had to wear sunglasses to work. Once in a while, he was the one with the fat lip, and those times she ended up in the ER. On Saturday, he accused her of fucking their neighbor Mike. It was bullshit; he had a bad day and wanted to take it out on someone.
April was often at her wits end with Jeremy. Yet, she couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him. He was dominant. She would often find herself aroused after a physical altercation. Sometimes she would purposely taunt him. Make his dinner late or talk back to him. Just to get him fired up, just enough to make him not send her to the E.R.
She would run to the bedroom and grab on to him. She would beg for forgiveness. Making promises she would do whatever he wanted if he would forgive her. She would bite her lip and start removing his clothes. The sex would be rough and passionate. He would call her names and grab her roughly. She would groan and buck until they lay there covered in sweat. He would roll over and all would be forgotten.
That was the only thing they had. Their lives were empty and hopeless. She thought he was the best she could do. He thought she was going to fuck up their little life any day now.
Saturday night had been calm. It had been almost a week since they had their last argument. She defiantly spent money on herself to get some new shoes
Jeremy walked in. His boss was riding him at his construction job for showing up late. Making him do the crappy and heavy work. Jeremy was looking for an excuse, he wanted the release. Both confrontational and sexual. He walked in and April came over giving him a kiss on the lips.
Rage and adrenaline rocketed through his veins. She knew that look in his eyes. She knew these were the nights she wouldn’t make it to work the next day. Jeremy’s head rang like a dial tone from a phone. He didn’t even hear the words either of them were yelling. He didn’t feel the heat burning his hand from the heavy skillet in which she was cooking dinner.
It was an out of body experience. He saw everything in slow motion while hovering from above. Slamming back in to reality as his hand came down. The vibration from the impact raced up his arm. The adrenaline was palatable to his tongue. He exhaled hard and unclenched his jaw. Blood was spilling on to the kitchen floor next to April’s lifeless head.
He stood frozen. There was no scream. There was no pleading and begging for life. Just a thud. Blood was quickly covering the floor, the food from the skillet mixed in. He careful lifted his foot trying to avoid contact. He walked calmly to the kitchen table and grabbed the newspaper. Spreading it out over the puddle. His hands began to shake and was breathing was becoming more labored.
He pulled the retro 1970’s looking kitchen towel off of the hanger. Leaning down, he was careful not to touch her. He laid the towel over her expressionless face. Next, he walked into the garage and grabbed the box of heavy duty yard debris bags. The kind branches and other pointy objects cannot pierce. Then he grabbed his saw.
On his way back in he stopped and grabbed his fifth of Wild Turkey. Unscrewing the lid and tossing it on the counter, he chugged a quarter of the bottle.
It was early in the evening. Too early to bring her out to the back yard and bury her. He would have to wait a couple of hours. Jeremy had time to take care of the body and clean. He grabbed the bottle again only taking a couple of swigs. He knew he needed to be somewhat sober for this, yet drunk enough to make it through. He set the bottle down then grabbed his saw.
He made quick work of the body and had 3 bags full of April and other items used for cleaning. The blood cleaned quicker than he thought. He didn’t allow it to set for long. The linoleum was old. It was brown and had gold paisley shapes in it. The blood mixed in well with the color and older stains; though he still used bleach and some old fashioned elbow grease. Jeremy cursed at her the entire time for the trouble she had caused.
“You just couldn’t fucking give it up could you. Look at you now. This is your fault. You pushed me to this. You never loved me, you just took and took.” Jeremy was getting good and drunk by now. The last of the Wild Turkey was gone. Now he was drinking tequila. El Jimador.
Jeremy’s hangover woke up before he did. He liked the feeling of the blackout. The comfort of feeling nothing.
The blackout was heavy, much darker and emptier than usual. He smelled alcohol on his breath and in his sweat. He smelled something else too; black and damp earth. Licking at his nostrils. His head was spinning so hard the best he could figure was that he had tracked in mud from the night before. Something else was there too, perfume. It stung his head and made it pound more. It was the same smell that April had. Cheap shit he bought he a couple of years back.
Jeremy sat up quickly. His head nearly beat him in to submission. The heavy fog of the blackout clung like a thick blanket. He felt as though he was dreaming. Yet this was too real.
April was standing in the corner of the bedroom, silently looking over to the bed where Jeremy was lying.
She was standing there looking at him. A rush of images came at him like a freight train. So fast he couldn’t believe them let alone his wife across the room. Instinct kicked in and he tried desperately to move away from her. His voice was hoarse. He was breathing so hard when he tried to scream he sounded as though he was choking. He quickly fell off the bed ending up ass over head. He clambered up the side of the wall and stood frozen.
Her dirt caked face flashed the images of him burying her. The heavy bags sloshed as he dragged them. Soil was wiped in areas around her face and body. Her skin was grey and sluggish. Dark, lifeless veins pierced through. Dried blood had glued dirt to her head where the skillet hit. Her dead eyes looked liked spoiled milk; white and yellow. Her limbs were reattached and oozing a black liquid. Seemingly to glue them back together.
Standing there, April didn't move, only swaying gently. Her lips were slightly pursed and her hair matted. She was dripping with foul muddy water. He wondered if she had really been dead when he buried her in the backyard. He rationalized that she couldn’t have been dead. Yet, her brain was visible through her broken skull. It was now maroon and brown with bits of soil clung to it. No one could live through that.
“You shouldn’t be here, you...” He tried to speak but he was breathing so hard he felt as though he would pass out any moment. His knees went week and began to buckle.
April’s empty face tracked his every move. She began to mirror his steps, like a shadow, as he tried to move for the door.
He stopped. Trying to regain his senses. He knew he just needed to catch his breath. His lungs were exhausted. Like he just sprinted a mile. Breathing would be good. Just a couple of deep solid breaths. Breathe. Breathe. A new smell kicked him in the chest.
The smell of decay overtook him. Before he could react, he heaved violently. Spilling the entire contents of his gut with two massive bursts. It projected. The alcohol left in his stomach came with ease. He tried to regain composure. He tried to watch April, to see if she was approaching him.
Vomit ran up his face and burnt his eyes. The smell of decay and stomach acid made his head spin wild. The hangover was taking each breath out of him.
He wouldn’t wait for her to make a move. He dashed as quickly as he could past her. He cursed as he felt her dry and rough fingers scratching his shoulders. He was completely naked, having hoping into bed after a quick shower. He didn’t even notice her as he ran down the short hallway. Turning towards the stair case, he stopped to look into the bedroom. April was walking after him.
He didn’t notice the first step. He stumbled halfway down the stairs. Finally missing a step and crashing hard to the ground. The wind knocked out of him.
“God fucking damnit!” He managed to croak.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
April trudged heavily down each step. He slid on the hardwood floor with his naked ass. Falling backwards yet again off the last two steps. Her legs had been removed, now they were walking her down with a slow and sure step.
He remembered quickly that his keys to the truck were in his coat pocket. He jumped to his feet, having to grab on a small end table for balance. Once he steadied himself, he went for the kitchen. His jacket was carelessly tossed on the table. He reached for it and his shaky hands fumbled through the pockets. The keys fell out of his hand. As he tried to catch them he ended up hitting them across the room. Right at April’s dirty feet.
Defeated, he fell into the kitchen chair. Landing so hard the wood creaked. He sobbed into his hands. She made no further movement towards him. The half bottle of El Jimador was at arm’s length from where Jeremy was sitting. Jeremy grabbed it without looking and swallowed as much as he could before coughing hard. He peered up with red swollen eyes and slammed the bottle hard on the table.
“I killed you,” he whispered. Almost not wanting her to hear him. She didn’t move, and hardly seemed to even notice.
His confidence grew, “You’re fucking dead!” Louder, angrier. “You’re fucking dead! You hear me, bitch! Dead!”
April didn’t answer but simply cocked her head to the side. This was a look he knew all too well. Fury overtook him. This wasn’t Sunday morning, the day after he killed her. This, to him, was Saturday night. The fight was just starting.
In one quick motion, he stood. He pulled his right arm as far across his chest as he could. Then he stepped down, turned his hips and swung harder than he had ever swung before. When he did, he felt several bones in his hand shatter.
Her head swung to the left, moving far past the motion of a regular head. A foul mixture of black ooze and blood flew through the air, landing on Jeremy’s face and the floor around him. She made no noise. Yet, Jeremy could see she was still there in a sense. Her head slowly turned back to face Jeremy’s, making an unsettling popping sound as the bones realigned. She cocked her head slightly to the side. Jeremy swore he saw a smirk on her pursed lips.
In a blind rage he moved forward to swing again. This time he was going to punch her straight on. His bare feet stepped on some of the black ooze and brain matter on the floor. His feet came clear up over his head, he landed hard. His head whipped down violently, sending him into a daze. The hangover and the headache completely fogging his mind.
He heard movement. Then felt an icy cold body straddle his. Moisture was dripping on his face and into his mouth. Thick and ice cold, the foul liquid tasted like death. He began to vomit again. The stench of rotting flesh was over whelming. The little liquid he had came up, turning quickly into dry heaves.
He felt a cold, dry hand touch his face. Brushing it gently from his forehead down to his check, the iced skin felt like sandpaper. A cold breath slid across his cheek. Instantly sending chills to his very core. April kissed him with her dead lips. He tried to break free but her grip was strong. She pressed harder, her tongue dragging on the inside of his mouth. Her tongue was like a pumice stone, scratching the soft flesh inside his mouth. Bits of dried soil filled inside, covering his teeth and tongue leaving a moldy taste.
As she pulled away slowly, a trail of dirt and blood stretched like snot. From the wound on her head, black ooze onto his face and in his eyes. Small chunks of brain fell and landed on his cheeks. They slid off slowly leaving a trail. A large night crawler appeared from her head. It slid out and dropped like a spaghetti noodle on his right eye.
He was frozen with fear. She sat up and raised her hands, making them into a single fist high above her head. She looked down and Jeremy and smiled.
Jeremy hears her speak in a low, gravely tone.
“I love you.” April croaked. The she brought both fists down.
The never ending blackout that Jeremy longed for came back and took him. April’s voice floated in the endless space, repeating the last words he heard.
“I love you.”
This is my second story to be published.
Here is my second story titled Faithfully. This will be published in an upcoming anthology called "Zombie, the Other Fright Meat.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Here is my first published story: Happy Anniversary
Happy Anniversary
By: Steven McGuire
Copy Right 2010, All Rights Reserved.
Months passed since the infection. Thousands are lost in Oregon and millions worldwide. Yet, as fast as they came, the zombies have been eradicated.
The events were heavily publicized. One horrific image was the Pope, who had turned into a slow moving corpse, attacking a news reporter that got a little too close.
Roy Neilson is a survivor. He lives in the small town of Sandy, Oregon with his wife Helen. He survived by being paranoid for years. Having made his basement into a bunker and filling it with ammo and goods. Roy didn’t leave the bunker until word that a local Safeway had re-opened.
They don’t spend much time out of the bunker. People are still afraid a roamer might be walking around. Though none have been spotted one in over a month. The last was a homeless man seen biting into the neck of Alan Henderson.
Today is a special day. Today is the thirty-fifth anniversary with his wife. Roy heads into town, living near where Roselyn Lake once was. He travels five miles in to downtown Sandy. The area still looks like a demilitarized zone. Heavy fencing and a couple tanks still line the streets. The National Guard has been a presence since the outbreak.
Roy pulls his Ford F-350 into the make shift Safeway, his dream truck he purchased just before hell broke loose. A far cry from the original store, and lacking luxury items, it still has many necessary goods. He walks through the aisles selecting ingredients to make his wife a cake and more supplies for his now depleted bunker.
He pays the cashier in cash that he had buried underneath his house. Roy never believed in banks. The bills smell like wet earth. The cashier accepts the money after checking to make sure it wasn’t counterfeit. With so many people out of work, bogus money is all over. Looting is an everyday occurrence.
The sweet smell of cake fills the kitchen. A television is blaring a re-run of Helen’s favorite show “Perry Mason”.
Roy smears frosting on the cake, making it just right. He mixes a little left over frosting with some food dye. Roy scribbles Happy Anniversary on the cake. The hot pan doesn’t hurt his rugged hands. His heavy weight makes the wooden stairs creak as he walks down into the basement.
Helen, sitting in a chair, turns and acknowledges Roy. He smiles and places the cake before her. She whines and hisses. Her shackled hands clank as she reaches for Roy, revealing bone.
Her teeth and finger nails have been removed. Her rotting flesh peels and oozes. Her decomposing body fills the basement with the smell of death. Roy leans in and kisses her forehead. He wipes some yellow liquid from his upper lip, the smell makes him queasy. She snaps at him like a turtle.
“I love you, Happy Anniversary.” He sits down and eats his cake, admiring Helen and smiling at her.
By: Steven McGuire
Copy Right 2010, All Rights Reserved.
Months passed since the infection. Thousands are lost in Oregon and millions worldwide. Yet, as fast as they came, the zombies have been eradicated.
The events were heavily publicized. One horrific image was the Pope, who had turned into a slow moving corpse, attacking a news reporter that got a little too close.
Roy Neilson is a survivor. He lives in the small town of Sandy, Oregon with his wife Helen. He survived by being paranoid for years. Having made his basement into a bunker and filling it with ammo and goods. Roy didn’t leave the bunker until word that a local Safeway had re-opened.
They don’t spend much time out of the bunker. People are still afraid a roamer might be walking around. Though none have been spotted one in over a month. The last was a homeless man seen biting into the neck of Alan Henderson.
Today is a special day. Today is the thirty-fifth anniversary with his wife. Roy heads into town, living near where Roselyn Lake once was. He travels five miles in to downtown Sandy. The area still looks like a demilitarized zone. Heavy fencing and a couple tanks still line the streets. The National Guard has been a presence since the outbreak.
Roy pulls his Ford F-350 into the make shift Safeway, his dream truck he purchased just before hell broke loose. A far cry from the original store, and lacking luxury items, it still has many necessary goods. He walks through the aisles selecting ingredients to make his wife a cake and more supplies for his now depleted bunker.
He pays the cashier in cash that he had buried underneath his house. Roy never believed in banks. The bills smell like wet earth. The cashier accepts the money after checking to make sure it wasn’t counterfeit. With so many people out of work, bogus money is all over. Looting is an everyday occurrence.
The sweet smell of cake fills the kitchen. A television is blaring a re-run of Helen’s favorite show “Perry Mason”.
Roy smears frosting on the cake, making it just right. He mixes a little left over frosting with some food dye. Roy scribbles Happy Anniversary on the cake. The hot pan doesn’t hurt his rugged hands. His heavy weight makes the wooden stairs creak as he walks down into the basement.
Helen, sitting in a chair, turns and acknowledges Roy. He smiles and places the cake before her. She whines and hisses. Her shackled hands clank as she reaches for Roy, revealing bone.
Her teeth and finger nails have been removed. Her rotting flesh peels and oozes. Her decomposing body fills the basement with the smell of death. Roy leans in and kisses her forehead. He wipes some yellow liquid from his upper lip, the smell makes him queasy. She snaps at him like a turtle.
“I love you, Happy Anniversary.” He sits down and eats his cake, admiring Helen and smiling at her.
Time to get printing!!!
My first Story is getting published!!! Found out a couple of months ago. This is a zombie flash fiction piece that is going into an anthology called Rapid Decomposition. Release date is yet to be determined. I will keep the entire story posted for a few weeks.
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