Die Writing

Stay

Posted in Uncategorized by erdaron on February 28, 2011

The small army of friends cheered, waved, piled out the door, until just one remained. Groups of boxes, big and small, lounged about the apartment. Filled with loud talk and jokes just moments ago, the place fell silent.

He leaned on a wall. She dithered by the door.

“Stay with me tonight,” he said. She didn’t answer.

“The bed isn’t put together, but we got the mattresses… I’m pretty sure I know where the sheets are.”

“Listen…” she started, but didn’t finish.

“I’ll have you home in the morning before you have to leave for work.” It took him the length of the sentence to realize she wasn’t concerned with logistics.

“If I stay tonight,” she started again, struggling, choking on the anxious words. “If I stay with you tonight, I’ll want to stay every night.”

“What’s to lose, then?”

“You.”

On a porch

Posted in Uncategorized by erdaron on February 28, 2011

The wood smells of old summer heat and sunshine. Touching it still brings out memories of that summer a few years ago, the hottest summer anyone can remember. It’s been smoothed by age, and it breathes heat.

The dust is settling by the road, content with a day full of busy clouds and racing vehicles. Just as the sun is settling, so must everything and everyone else. It is time, as the sun would have it, to sit back.

It is time to absent-mindedly run the fingers along the cool glass, collect a few drops of condensation. To smile vaguely at the closing day – and each other – and enjoy another sip. To comfortably shift weight, lean on the arm toward one another as if to say something, but then say absolutely nothing, to merely motion toward the scene, pause emphatically, utter a sigh of deep relief, and sink back.

It is a conversation. There are no words in this conversation. Sometimes, the pesky words simply get in the way of what must be communicated. It is a deep and impassioned exchange, built entirely of cool drinks, slow nods, meaningful glances, and those content, understanding smiles.

Not feeling it

Posted in Guns of St. Michael by erdaron on February 23, 2011

“I can smell your breath, Michael, you can’t hide!” Screamed the demon. He was strutting, toting an enormous weapon with both hands. His eyes were scanning the rubble through clouds of smoke and dust.

Rounding another pile, he finally came upon his foe. St. Michael was sprawled on a pile of what used to be a brick wall. His coat was torn up, his clothes bloodied. Every shallow breath made his chest shudder, aching with broken ribs. He was half-buried in the rubble; a thick slab of concrete was crushing his right shoulder.

“Why won’t you die, Michael, why won’t you just fucking die?” The demon shouldered the weapon and grinned.

“I don’t feel like it,” St. Michael spit up thick blood as he spoke.

Blast.

The demon staggered and dropped. The bullet ripped a huge hole in his chest.

“And I’m a better shot.”

Some cops

Posted in Uncategorized by erdaron on February 19, 2011

Aside

There’s supposed to be a second speaker, by the way. Look for a rewritten version later :D.

In a bathroom

“The thing you have to understand about cops is that a lot of them are just like every other asshole with a nine to five job. Their whole goal is to not get fucked and then go home. And I don’t mean go home like some sort of hero movie, a fucking Gary Cooper Western. I mean get through the grind, eat his lunch, go home and sit on his fat ass watch some TV. That’s it.

“I’m talking about the tired old beat cops. Now you take one of those assholes. He knows he is not going to make a big arrest. He is not going to bust the kingpin. He knows it, he fucking knows it in his bones. But – and this is the important bit – he doesn’t want to do any of those things. He is fine being just an old tired beat cop. Just like everyone else, he’ll get his kicks watching the police dramas. He hasn’t pulled his weapon in five years, and he’d like to keep it that way.

“So we take this creature, and we put it in a little scene with a bastard like you and I. This cop can smell the shit on us. He’s been working the streets long enough, and he can’t fucking help it. But he doesn’t want to be bothered with and he just wants to go home.

“Now he looks at us, and he sees that we’re hanging out in a train station bathroom and we got no luggage on us. And he fucking knows it’s because we’re selling weed to the tourists, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t give a shit. He wants to see a good citizen just washing some piss off his hands, and that’s exactly what we give him. We act nice and polite, and we make no sudden moves. We let the officer know that everything is cool, that we are cool, and that he is the big cat. Everyone loves being the big boss – and you know what, his life ain’t roses, so we throw him a bone.

“And now it all looks clean, and the cop – he wants to believe that everything is clean, so he does. And he says, Well you boys move along now, and unzips his pants at the urinal. And we say, Yes officer, you have a lovely day. Now everyone moves along just fine. He gets another donut and then goes to watch the Steelers take on the Packers like all the other good citizens. And little shits like you and I, we get to make rent and we don’t go to jail.”

With Shade

Posted in The Unbroken City by erdaron on February 19, 2011

A presence stirred in the corners of the room. The king froze mid-stride, fingers dropping near the grip of the sword, eyes quickly scanning the space. Nothing was out of place, but the two in the room were experienced hunters.

“Shade,” the king said finally.

“Your highness,” the corners obliged in a whisper.

“If you had a heart I’d run my sword through it.”

“A lot of good that’ll do you.”

A pause. The king relaxed a little bit, straightened up, but rested the hand on the weapon’s hilt.

“What do you want?” He finally inquired.

“I was going to offer you some help. It’s quite a pot you’re stirring.”

“Don’t need your help, Shade. It’s your kind that’s on the other side of the line.”

“I don’t pick sides, king. I just want to be entertained by end of the world.”

“You should leave.”

“Fine. Fine. By the way, your champion is returning. Though it won’t be a sweet homecoming. He is coming to kill you. Thought you’d like to know.”

A very important message!

Posted in Uncategorized by erdaron on February 2, 2011

Aside

WARNING: the following piece contains seriously adult language. It is obscene, grotesque, and silly. Mainly obscene. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Well, fuck it

Hello, America. I would like to talk to you about skull-fucking. It is a grave epidemic that is sweeping our great nation, and I find it necessary to raise my voice where others have remained silent. Skull-fucking threatens us all, especially the children and the elderly.

First off, I would like to dispel the rumors that I do not take this subject seriously. Nothing could be farther from the truth. Skull-fucking is the deciding battle of our times. It is an issue entirely unfit for any kind of levity or tomfoolery. Skull-fucking is destroying our great nation and must be stopped.

Consider the threat that skull-fucking poses to our elderly. Most of them are high on glaucoma medication, and due to a combination of these two conditions might be completely unaware that they are presently being skull-fucked. A recent study revealed that on average, a person over seventy years of age only has a twenty per-cent chance of noticing that they are being skull-fucked. This means that out of every five seniors currently being skull-fucked, only one is even vaguely aware of what is happening.

How can we dishonor our geriatric heroes in this way? How can we stand idly by while grandma gets skull-fucked into pulp? We cannot allow things to carry on in such terrible fashion, America. Every elderly person must be issued a chastity helmet with a proximity alarm.

Well, what of the children, you ask? Things appear even worse with our young, as many of them consider skull-fucking to be cool and hip. Many kids skull-fuck at recess, during lunch, and while skipping class. They disguise this vile activity with cool slang terms, such as “skulling,” “noggin-rockin,” and “voting Republican.” Some may constantly wear sunglasses to hide their blood-shot eyes. Many develop a taste for hip-hop music. Frequently, children engaging in skull-fucking lose interest in school and grades. If your child displays any of these signs, he or she may be secretly skull-fucking right in your house. Right now.

Parents – constant vigilance is the only way to catch skull-fucking early. Remain alert at all times so that you may protect your sweet little one from the scourge of skull-fucking. Scrutinize your children constantly. Analyze their every behavior in terms of skull-fucking potential. Face the facts – if your children reach the teenage years, they are probably skull-fucking at least once a week. So talk to your kids about the dangers of skull-fucking early. Talk to them before their innocent eye sockets are violated by strange penises in the back of a bus station.

Above all, remember this, America. United we stand, but divided we get skull-fucked.