PART 11

Before she died

You’re trickin me, it’s a joke, right? Miranda asked, and she’d laughed briefly and sheepishly like a live stage actor pretending to comprehend a scene she’s never been in before. Her mascara and dark eyeliner had crumbled because of the showers outside and had given her light eyes a flaked and hollow look, making her seem lit from within like a jack-o-lantern when she grinned.

No, I ain’t kiddin’, you’re stayin’ here, they’re out there and they’ll get you, Gabe’s mother had told her, igniting another cigarette with the bitter end of the one she’d just finished. You can’t go home tonight, not through there, she’d added, And Gabe and all the boys is too drunk to drive you home.

I can’t stay here, Miranda had said pathetically in a voice with faint tremor, Mikey’s alone, I have to go back. He can’t be alone anymore! What if he wakes up and I’m not there? I timed it this way. He’ll feel so alone if he wakes up without me. He’ll cry. He’ll look for me and I won’t be there.

For an older, stouter woman, Gabe’s mother was as fast as a high school sprinter. She was never wont to shoving young girls she liked into bedrooms and locking the doors behind them, but she had to protect her. She’d pushed Miranda into the mouth of Gabe’s room, watched her get swallowed up into the dark throat of it, and heard her fall back onto the rickety dresser. She’d heard a few neglected bottles that had once lived there on top vaguely teeter, plummet, and bounce off of the thinly carpeted floor and thankfully not bust open. Then she’d heard Miranda rise up and go for the door before she locked it from the outside and started sticking a stained foldable chair underneath the knob just to make sure she couldn’t get out. Miranda was hysterical, begging, sobbing… and then everything went quiet on the other side of the door.

Trust me, Gabe’s mother said in the seam with a sigh of relief, you can’t leave. We’ll do the wedding ritual another time. Mikey will be fine. Please, just stay here. Wait till the suns up.

The sound of it was a wire in the blood; a noise that sent an electric, chemical signal to the leftover reptilian part of the mammal brain.  The howling was a call and the call sounded through the thick bodies of the trees; the sound reached in, and somewhere in the gut it dazzled, mesmerizing, wailing, tumbling through branches, digging up dirt, rustling the leaves.

Miranda? Gabe’s mother had asked.

But when she’d opened the door the window had been opened. And Miranda was gone.

 

to be continued … 

‘Far From Any Road’ – Collaboration II – S.K. Nicholas & Samantha Lucero

Sudden Denouement Collective

When I looked into your eyes that time not long after we first met, I told myself that if I was given the chance, I would go ahead and do it. And such a thing would really impress you and make you want me even though I was just a zero.

Because the black light has been here since the beginning.

When I first discovered what you were in the early hours of the morning while drunk and on the brink, you reached inside of me and brought me back. Sounds melodramatic, I know, but before I found you it was as if I were the only one and that being a zero was all I was good for.

And it’s been burning a hole for so long.

When I swallowed what you had to say, I found a truth that had been denied me my entire life by those…

View original post 1,160 more words

her old stories from the grave: the horseman, pt 1.

[a series written a million years ago by a total goth.
unearthed for amusement. posted in parts.
a ridiculed man desperate to find evidence
of the soul embarks on a murderous journey.]

THE HORSEMAN’S LETTER TO MR. HARRY HOUDINI

 

Continue reading “her old stories from the grave: the horseman, pt 1.”

she finds old characters

The Unexciting Chronicle
of Miles Glass to His Caravan
By Miles Glass, Reality & His Imagination

minute (1)one :
A falcon-feathered grenadine syrup birdbath, they say, commingled with a flippin’ your fin-splash of mermaid honey-colored, sparkling ginger ale (a medicinal concoction, mind you, brainchild of a Doctor.) +1V.I.P. glowing ember of a crimson ghost-dot maraschino cherry, could make the mathematics and tipsy geometry of any gypsy gymnastically blush. Oh, and it mixed so well and so fine, so fresh and so clean, with the dead purple ♥ hue of medical-grade molasses swash buckling in the sunken ship of his inside vaudevillian, striped vest pocket. Where cough syrup, shave and a haircut, two bits, and dance routines go to die. When Miles bristled, his fake, exaggerated mustache bristled with him.

minute (2)two :
As he hydroplaned through jackpot jumping jacks and stacking chips, bumbling his beeline through the casino with full intent to be insanely punctual and, if not woefully on time at least near so, he kept it all together with a red thread of equilibrium and practiced fumble. She was going to leave without him. She, his matchbook dear, was going to run off if he were to be late back to the room, thrust so many floors up, up, and away. BUT! there had unfortunately been some distraction(s) and obstacle(s) during the arcade course of his jack-be-nimble odyssey.

To put it simply, there had been a gaggle of tribal belly dancers hoarded by the lustrous, distractingly lion-gold elevators, drinks in their slave-bracelet hands and sequins dotting the avian-streaks of their shamelessly multi-colored accents, bells, tassels, pin-point climaxed eyes. Peacock turbans and silver toe-ring spins and back bends. He recognized one of them from San Francisco, and she made it a necessary witchery to delightfully inform the wild plume of the curious flock that he could make a great many things disappear easily, seamlessly, and pleasantly.

He blushed and trickled into the split gray thighs of the elevator door, waving with an overflow of Shirley Temple pink and hazy cough syrup jester grinnings.

minute (3)three :

MISTER
are you a
MAGICIAN?

minute (4)four :
And somehow, he arrived to the room in 4 measly minutes with a pocketbook of intoxicated smiles, stinking of lemongrass, patchouli and glitter, and having gotten a hold of a circus bear which he threw directly into the exposed hole of her tent (gently and whether she was in there or not.) Announcing with a midway roar:

“I won you a prize!”


words = samantha lucero 2016 ©
image = not mine.