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The Lounge Singer
In the 1960's there was a washed up lounge singer that worked a nightly gig in a seedy little lounge off the Vegas strip. This lounge singer sitting on stage looking like burnt out caricature of Sinatra in a cheap piss yellow suit, like a trashy bird perched in a dark smokey cage. He sits there and he sings with his audience half listening, half drunk and he does his act the same way every night. First he sings, and then he finishes his act by telling the same story every night:
"Baby," he says as he lights up a cigarette.
"We almost made is big."
And the band plays this slow jazz in the background.
"We were on the fast track baby."
The band, plays this slow bluesy jazz that fills in every single second of silence in his story.
"We were going places. Just you and me Honey... Honey, we almost made it... All the way to the top."
The Bass player always looks like he's about to fall asleep.
"And baby, you were beautiful. We started going to all the best parties, we were friends with all the stars... Honey we got all the way out to Hollywood. They were gonna put you in pictures honey..."
And then the lounge singer just leans back and sneers at the audience:
"But then you got fat."
And the audience starts laughing.
"You just couldn't put down the cheesecake, you started using the heel of your palm to just jam more of it down... Then, everything changed. We stopped getting invited to parties, you stopped fitting in those dresses... It all ended baby... And now I'm here..."
And then he'd walk off the stage and the band just kept playing that slow bluesy jazz.
But then one night something different happened. Just as the lounge singer said the line "And then you got fat." A gunshot rang out in the audience.
The lounge singer. He drops the mic. And then he falls down dead. In the audience, a fat woman stands holding a revolver, still smoking as tears cascade down her cheeks.
And the band keeps playing, because they think it's all still part of the act.
And the audience cheers.

“I’m very glad you’re giving me a chance to explain myself. I really think I’ve gotten better. I used to be so sure I was right, but I guess that’s what really makes a person crazy, to just believe that they are completely right and that there are no other possibilities. I remember that this all happened when my wife Sarah and I were going to Rolling Pointe for the weekend. It was this little resort town off a lake. We planned on sunbathing and seeing all the local tourist attractions. Unfortunately we never got there. The day we left we started packing late and we ended up leaving a lot later than we should have sometime around 5 p.m. It was around 1 a.m. that we got too tired to drive and we ended up stopping in this sleepy little town called ‘New Durham’ that was off the highway. There was a dingy hotel with half burned out neon lights that read ‘Vacancy.’ we pulled into the parking lot and we got a room for the night. It was the standard type of dingy motel room you’d find vacant at one in the morning. We got in bed and spooned as we usually do when we go to bed and slowly I fell asleep.
I don’t remember what I dreamt but I remember waking up abruptly from a nightmare. I was covered in a cold sweat and for some reason I noticed the strong smell of her perfume in the room. It had to be sometime around noon when I woke, I rolled over on the bed and I noticed that Sarah was gone. There wasn’t even an imprint on the pillow for where her head should have been. I got up and checked the bathroom. She wasn’t in there either. I checked the car to see if she was there but she wasn’t. I was starting to get worried, but I tried to relax. There had to be a logical explanation to what was happening. I went into the dingy lobby of the motel and asked the clerk if he’d seen my wife. I think it was then that I really started to panic because he had seen my wife that night. I remember him looking at us both. He even said ‘ya’ll have a nice night’ to us when we took the key to the room. But this morning he told me that I came in alone last night.
I started to argue with him but he told me I was crazy. I demanded that he call the police.
When they came they asked to see the security footage for the night before. It was then that I started to think that someone was playing a trick on me. In the video you could clearly see someone who looked like me walking into the lobby. Getting a key and walking out to the room with the clerk, my wife was nowhere to be seen. I started screaming that the film was a fake and that someone had kidnapped my wife. The police took a report but couldn’t file a missing person report until 48 hours had passed. I called my brother John and asked him to come down to the town because Sarah was missing. It was then that I started to think I was going crazy, because he answered: ‘who’s Sarah?’ I didn’t know what was happening after that. I remember that I stayed at the dilapidated motel for that entire weekend waiting for her. John came and eventually so did my parents. They started trying to tell me that they had no idea who Sarah was. I told them that I had been married to her for 5 years and they kept telling me that I was single. Eventually I had to go home. I remember that when I got to our apartment that it looked like half of the furniture was missing.
All the things that we bought together over the years were gone. It was a bachelor’s pad I had returned to, not the happy home I made with my Sarah. I started looking though our old photo albums. I needed to see a picture of her to know that she was real, but all the photos in those albums were of me standing alone. Or odd photographs I had taken of sunsets and city skylines that seemed to have the main focus missing. I tried to call her family and friends, but every number I called was disconnected. I called her work and they told me there was no employee that had that name. I couldn’t find our marriage certificate and after the 48 hours. There was a missing person report made. But there was no record of that person. I remember having dreams about her name on the back of milk cartons with a caption under the ‘have you seen this person’ label that read: No picture Available.
My family told me that I was crazy, but I didn’t want to believe them. I knew Sarah was real. I remember going to Seattle with her, I remember buying her a kitten for her birthday, I remember her telling me that she loved me and that she wanted to spend the rest of her life with me. I remember our wedding when we got married barefoot on the beach where we met and she pushed me into the wedding cake.
I knew she existed. I remember the night that John and my Dad brought me here. It was a Friday and I remember that the phone started ringing when they grabbed me. They started pulling me out the door and I knew it was Sarah on the phone. It had to be her on the phone. I just knew it. It was at that moment that I was waiting for that no one would listen to me. She had to have gotten free or found her way to a payphone or something. At first I kept trying to escape and get back to the outside world and maybe find her somewhere. I was so sure of it. But eventually I had to face reality.
I’ve realized that everyone was right. I was just delusional. I ended up losing my job and my home because I was so sure that Sarah was real. I didn’t want to believe the truth. But everyone was saying that she wasn’t real. It took me a while but I think I finally accepted the fact that she wasn’t real. The whole world couldn’t possibly create a conspiracy to just take away someone I love, right? I think my time here has helped me cope with my mental illness. I really think that I might be well enough go back to living on my own soon too Doctor.” Nathan finished his story as Doctor Moore opened his file.
“It’s very good that you’ve been able to cope, most people with your condition and severity of delusion have a very low rate of recovery.”
Nathan smiled at the doctor, but kept his eyes on the table.
“But, I still think you need another month before you can return to your life.” Doctor Moore said.
“But, I feel normal.” Nathan smiled.
“Well we need just a little more observation of your behavior to make sure you are able to return to the outside world and function.”
Nathan stopped smiling. “Okay.”
When Nathan returned to his room at he lay on his bed spooning his pillow. When he closed his eyes he tried to remember the smell Sarah’s perfume as he drifted off to sleep.

Cold Like Silver, Baby
-Wake up-

"Wake up. Wake up. You're my sterling silver angel, baby."

I'm standing over the abyss, with my arms outstretched toward the stars.

"Gold and shimmering like Orion's belt, baby."

With the ocean spread out before me, I close my eyes and try to see; try to see me.

"All your past and and future, baby."

And I don't see.

"What it's worth--what's more--what is it worth, baby?"

I feel the breeze, sweet blue and sugar, and I let it lift me up.

"And don't you remember why you said you'd want to leave, baby?"

With the dark and gray battling waves and feverish clouds that surround me, I close my eyes and try to see; try to see you.

"Don't look away. By the time you look away, your time has run out. Don't look away, baby."

And you're there, there with me, with everyone who has ever cared if I live or die.

"You left the note on the bookcase; the one you'd said I'd never forget...and I haven't, baby."

But I can't look at you, and you see right through me. And I can't look at them, and they see right through me.

"But there's nothing to fear, nothing at all, baby."

I look down into the abyss--those circling, singing waves transfix me.

"I can see you baby, my tormented angel, my tourniquet. Don't look away, don't turn around, baby."

I turn my body towards the sun, to ease the passage into the void. I close my eyes and try, try to see.

"You're my blood red angel, baby."

The dirt and rocks feel hot and dry on my bare feet. They're slipping now; a rock slide, an avalanche. My toes try to grip the ground but all my strength I gave you to. I love you. I love you, I said aloud, but only the sky could hear me. And I fall.

(no subject)
I fell asleep like I usually do. Staring at the Orange lines of the streetlights on my bedroom floor. Right before I sleep I usually see the orange lines look the outline of a door.

In my dreams I rise out of bed and slip out from under the covers and reach to that glowing orange door. I open it like the entrance to an old cellar and watch as a marble staircase extends below me. I follow it down and reach a hallway. Once I set foot in the hallway the stairs behind me are gone. I don't worry because I don't need them anymore. The hallway is a pale ashy gray that looks like it's been aged. I can't smell anything. I follow the path until I find myself meeting a hooded figure in a long black cloak holding a lantern.

I smell Grass. Freshly cut green grass.

The Hooded Figure takes me down a hallway to a round room with three doors. One door is open, through it I see a field of tall green grass and wild flowers. The sun is at noon and I feel a cool breeze through the door. I know that if I go through that door I can have a beautiful dream.

One door has a question mark on it. It's old and made of wood. I know if I go through that door I'll have a terrible nightmare.

Then the last door has a question mark on it too, but this door made of the same ashy gray as the walls of the hallway. The Hooded figure stands by this door. This is the door I have to go through.

I feel myself twist the knob and I walk inside. There is only a sidewalk in darkness. I start walking and begin to notice that starlight is illuminating the sidewalk I'm on. as I walk I realize that the sidewalk I'm on is actually floating in space.

I walk until I reach a platform that's at the end of the flying sidewalk. It's a park floating in space. I walk there and see my Father.

He tells me that he died in a car accident in Denver. I don't want to believe him. But I do. He tells me that he loves me and that he is very proud. We hug and say goodbye.

I wake up.

The phone is Ringing.

my Mother on the other line, she's already crying.

I already know what she is going to say.

this community needs moar

(no subject)
In the countryside of most states there's always that one house that sends chills up your spine when you look at it. The house on the hill at Black Street, right on the edge of town next to the woods. Just a typical little house that on first glance would appear to be a simple two-story red house with a white trim.

Almost picturesque.

The front yard was a cliche of American middle class living. A tire swing and two car garage. A big tree in the front yard and a mailbox with block letters stenciled on it. Two Lawn gnomes stand in front of the house like sentinels. The Big tree is jasmine and on summer nights fills the air with a sweet smell that mixes with the smell of backyard firewood.

Almost perfect.

But there's something about the house. Something about the Norman Rockwell scene that this house embodies that makes it fill the air with a bad vibration. Something like a shadow that you see in the corner of your eye just as you plan on going to sleep. Something sinister, that just seems wrong. Some of the kids in the neighborhood tell tales of a witch or a ghost. Some of them tell stories of a monster that lives in the attic. But there's something, something that lurks in the darkness of that house that fills the neighborhood with fear.

During the night, the house on the hill at black street was the highest point in the darkened side of town.

And on summer nights when the local kids wander in the woods smoking weed and drinking cheap beer, sometimes they come across the house on the hill at black street. Through the sounds of cicadas and the wind, the local kids hear screaming. Screaming that comes from the house.

Almost demonic.

The truth of the house on black street is that there is a monster that lives in the house. In the basement of their home the Silas family their youngest son is chained up in to the wall. His name was Matthew before his father decided to chain him in the basement. There was no real reason that he choose to chain Matthew in the wall. Mr Silas decided that Matthew was the bad one. The evil child. Mr Silas decided that he was going to punish the boy for being bad. He beat him in the Basement. Forcing the boy to live there at first. Then eventually he found out that little Matthew was sneaking out when Mr. Silas was at work. Finally Mr. Silas build shackles and bolted them to the wall. Mr. Silas bolted them around Matthews neck and wrists. Only giving the boy enough room to shit in a bucket and get his meals from another.

Almost human.

The Silas family lived with this secret in the shadow of fear of Mr. Silas. The thought of him suddenly snapping and deciding they were bad kept them believing that Matthew was bad. This kept Matthew in the basement.  Matthew was no longer called Matthew. He was called "The Thing." It made him more of a monster than he really was. They called him "The thing" because the years of abuse made him more a creature than a human being. His father tourtured him with whips and beatings daily. He once attacked the boy with battery acid, rendering him bald and horribly scarred. His head was covered in pale and scarred skin, no hair could grow on him. His face had no lips, his cheeks were slightly burned away and his teeth were exposed. his left arm was two feet longer than his right. Horribly misshapen because it was broken and never allowed to heal.

Almost art.

They say that one night the boy had escaped in the middle of the night. That he ran off into the woods terrified that Mr. Silas would find him. They say that he lives out in the wood living on animals he catches and trash he finds. They say he's like a troll that lives under bridges that are abandoned in the forest, bridges that connect to overgrown roads that people have fogotten. Old back country roads that no one uses.

Almost legend.

Kids still talk about Matthew. There are stories that he comes out at night to take you into the woods and in his cave if he gets the chance. Stories that kids tell in the woods while drinking and smoking joints around the camp fires. Stories about the monster that lives on black street, and what it did to Matthew.

(no subject)
It was morning when I woke up to the sounds of screaming. My friends over the hill were the first to die. Apparently some human tossed a cigarette butt out the window of their car as they drove by last night. It's amazing how quickly the crest catches fire. Last year it had just barely reached the rim of the other side of the mountain when the firefighters stopped the flames.

All the creatures that live in my arms ran away while I slept.

Today I am alone with my neighbors all around me terrified of the wall of smoke that is looming right over the hill. The sounds of crackling death and the smell of burning wood are acrid and nauseating.

And the crackling sound is getting louder.

Soon the orange glow is rising out of the smoke. Then the cries of my friends at the top of the hill echo through the earth. The friends that I've had for almost a century, soon they will only be ash.

And the crackling sound is getting louder.

The flames are now over the treeline. They are leaping from branch to branch, dancing like the butterflies. The cinders of our fallen are slowly floating towards me like the fireflies of summer.

And the crackling sound is getting louder.

I can only watch. The anxiety of the heat is radiating through the trees. I feel it in my heart. I remember living in this forest for years. Being a home for birds and small creatures. Now I will only be a memory of a shadow. Soon I will be nothing but ash. I'm not scared, I'm only seeing how quickly the world is going to end for me.

And the crackling sound is getting louder.

I don't know what to think, the screams are deafening. I am silent. The heat is already making my skin dry. The heat is unbearable.

And the crackling all around me.

I felt it on my arms first... I feel myself dying. There is silence all around me, silence of death over the crackling. The sounds of the fire are like a symphony of death. The pain is blinding. I feel my arms fall off. I feel my skin turning to ash and breaking away. Everything feels like it's slowing down. Getting darker in the fire light.

And I am Crackling.

I feel myself laying down. The first time I have ever laid down.

I fall asleep.

A year later I wake up and I am just a sapling again. And all my friends are saplings too. I remember that I have done this before. I remember that every time the fire comes we all grow anew. I remember that this happens because the forest needs to change and grow. There are new saplings with us, and in the end after everything seems to fall apart and be terrible, there is always something new that grows out of it.

(no subject)
Doctor Mobile's last invention
It was the final step in his invention, the phone that could call God. Thus proving the existence of God, or proving that God was just a myth like the Easter bunny or St Nicolas. The bulk of the machine was a massive tower that became the shell of his laboratory covered in the holy glyphs of all known religions placed in a massive star of David around the tower... The final step was to pick up the receiver and hear a voice on the other end.

With nervous fingers His hand picked up the phone and lifted it to his ear.

"Hello" he said nervously.
"Yeah?" he heard a voice on the other end of the phone answer, sounding slightly annoyed.
"This is Doctor Mobile, I'm with the..." Before he could finish the voice on the other end interrupted with "I know who this is, I have caller ID. What do you want Steve?"
Dr. Mobile was shocked as he stammered "I was calling to see if you exist."
"Oh... Well, I don't."
Dr. Mobile sat their stunned, "well... who am I talking to?"
"This is God, Steve... What makes you so sure you're talking to me?"
"Because... I'm talking to you?"
"Uh-huh, What makes you so sure you even exist?"
Steve didn't know how to answer, so he paused
"Well... I..."
"Think therefore I am?" God finished his quotation for him.
"You know as far as you're concerned Steven the whole world might just be a figment of your imagination, your existing, the whole thing. Just because you can control your breathing and blinking doesn't mean that it's real. So technically you might just be a thought being had by a drunk somewhere in a London bar... That is if the bar even exists."
Steve didn't know how to respond.
"All the neurons in your brain are firing all at once trying to figure out a way to explain yourself and you just don't get it do you. You scientists you're all the same, it's not real if you can't see it but you never question that which you see or feel. I was the first scientist and you were just a hypothesis. You all just swear that 'oh well evolution just disproves God, hurr' You have any idea how long it took me to come up with evolution? Huh?"
"It would have been a really long time if not for the fact that I created quantum mechanics at the same time. Seriously, your science... That's just my blueprints. I spent all this time making a universe and what do you do? You say it just showed up. That's like saying that the sounds of music are just there in front of a musician and saying that there's not such thing as a musician."
"I never thought of it like that."
"Well... I don't blame you... It's called faith for a reason."
"So you do exist?"
God sighed.
"Nah man... I'm just a myth. Nobody is going to believe you so here lemme give you a sign to prove to you that I don't exist. Also, call Doctor Bell already, she likes you too. And you're not going to need another lab since you're going to become a teacher. Goodbye Steven, know that I love you, even if you don't think I exist."
"What, wait, I want to ask you..."
"Heaven, Hell, other religions, the meaning of life, yadda yadda, look, don't worry about it. You wouldn't be satisfied by my answers anyway, just do your best. Also don't move for the next 47 seconds. Goodnight."

And with that a sudden rain of frogs fell on the Laboratory and caused it and the machine Steven used to talk to God to collapse all around him. In a perfect circle around his feet.

Years later when he was married and teaching at a prestigious university he had a student ask him if he believed in the existence of God.

He answered: "Do you ever wonder if you really exist?"

(no subject)

It's like a dear john letter...
Dear Author,

     Over the last few months I've been feeling more and more strained over things that have been happening here. It's not that I'm not grateful to the fact that you've created me or the small piece of universe for me to inhabit. It's just that it's difficult. I don't really know how to really say this. I mean we've had lots of fun and I've really appreciated the different plot devices and different things that have happened. How you gave me three different histories in the process of finding a place for me. I really appreciate all that you've done for me. When you let me get revenge on all those guys who wronged me. That was great, and when you gave me the ability to control fate and all that creepy stuff. That was fun. I didn't like the horrible nightmares that came along with it but it's fine. I didn't really like the times you made me get into fights with people. Or the horrible murders, but I tried to really enjoy it as much as you said I did. In fact I was really convinced that I was okay with pushing old ladies under cars and stabbing my neighbor's daughter. I had myself convinced it was okay to shoot my ex-boyfriend in the face. It was fine with me, as long as you said it was fine. And when you gave me the ability kill people with my mind I was okay with causing horrible car accidents when you were bored and writing short stories. I didn't mind that time you had me cause a bus to hit my boss while he crossed the street. It wasn't as bad as I thought it was. You clearly stated to me that I was a sociopath. And don't get me wrong, I'm okay with that. I mean it's fine that you want me to do these horrible things on a regular basis. I don't mind. I didn't mind when you made my history a terrifying horror story of abuse. I didn't even mind that you created me on a rainy day when you were bored and horny, I know that I'm just a mixture of your Ex-girlfriend and your sister. It's our secret and I don't intend to tell anybody. I really don't mind. Honest. I just think it's been sort of trying on my psyche to do these horrible things all the time. I didn't really want to be such a monster. I really didn't. I don't think that I want to keep being in these stories. I can't keep on doing these things you make me do. I don't like these random sex acts and bloody ritualized murders. I'm scared to even walk down the street in the fear that you'll make something bad happen to somebody who looks at me the wrong way.

I just don't want to keep doing this, I can't keep being responsible for the deaths of the people around me, even if you did just make them up. Even if you just made me up. I don't want to do this anymore, even now. I don't know if you're writing this or if I am. I don't want to keep doing this. I'm... I like being one of your characters. I like you too. I really do. I just... I just don't know if I want to keep doing this. I don't want anything to happen to those that I still know. I'm really sorry. Please just do me one favor. In the next story. I'm not going to be in it. Tell my mother to call the police.

I'm in the bathroom and the door is locked. Tell her I'm very sorry. Please let her know I'm very sorry, but this is the only way I know I'll be able to keep her safe. She's all I've got. I'm sorry to you too. I really did enjoy our time together. Please believe me, I just don't want to be a character anymore.

I hope I'm dead by the time you read this, I love you.