Tales of New Arizona: Rathe
romantheauthor

This is a short story I wrote this afternoon that takes place in a post nuclear wild west. It's a really rough draft but I like it well enough to go ahead and post it. Enjoy.


Tales of New Arizona: Rathe

 

            Rathe awoke with a snort and a mumbled gargle that somewhat resembled words. He figured his own snoring had probably woken him as he stared stupid eyed waiting for his pupils to adjust. Heat and bright sunlight registered first, so he must not have been sleeping long. As his eyes zoned in from fuzzy to fierce, he noticed the door swung wide. Had he left it open? Quickly, smoothly, his hand moved for his gun, or where it should have been.

 

           

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Three poems: Fire of My Fire, Me and Yin, Combustion Song
romantheauthor

I think the subject says most everything. Fire of my Fire is new. The other two are older, but the theme fits I think. None of them are easy reads, but that's kind of the point.


 

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The Morning After
romantheauthor
A story I've been fiddling with for a while based on lyrics from the Faith No More song of the same name. Rough draft.


The Morning After

 

            Did I encounter a darkness stronger than sleep? Did I encounter? Did? Bleu sat straight up in bed with a shotgun start, looking around as her heart raced laps in her throat. No, not bed at all. The floor. Her floor, at least. There are no answers anyway. A Faith No More song bounced down the L shaped hallway, through the goodwill dining room, and into the kitchen where she had just been laying half naked and unconscious. Sunlight filtered through bamboo blinds and gave the room a tallow haze that washed out all color on the cock adorned wallpaper. Bleu licked her dried, cracked lips. Her mouth tasted like she had sucked on a copper top 9-volt all night. She’d have a headache in the morning for sure. Oh wait, that’s right. It’s not last night anymore.

           

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Nightmare
romantheauthor
I wrote this fun little story after Heather woke up from a Nightmare and had me check the apartment for bad guys. It's called Nightmare.



Jon woke with a drool slurped start from a bony elbow jab to his ribs, followed by a sibilant ‘you awake?’ He lay there a moment, watching the display of whites, yellows, and ribs dancing over his closed lids, wondering how it can be so bright in a completely dark room. Another jab bruised his bones. He had been dreaming of red bikini lying nakedly across a white sand beach while its owner massaged olive flesh with coconut oil. Now he blindly gawked at a shadowy ceiling while being repeatedly ribbed, contemplating whether he should ask what was wrong or say something mean like what do you think, or go back to sleep and let me elbow you a few times and see if it wakes you up, or even just a plain, simple, highly emphatic no. Not just no, HELL NO. But instead he rolled over toward the source of the spear-like elbow. “What’s the matter, honey?”
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evolution of a story- Dollhouse- Revised
romantheauthor
Here is the first revision of the Dollhouse story. As you will see, a lot changed from the first draft to this point, hopefully for the better. Again, feel free to comment.



Dollhouse

The smell of wildberry muffins wafted through the old, antebellum home, slipping in and sneaking about the second floor bedrooms in search of the birthday girl they were baked for. Kelsie loved wildberry muffins more than anything else in the world, including birthday cake with chocolate icing. So each year Mother made them in honor of Kelsie’s birthday. Each plump topped muffin held upright a single pink candle, which happened to be Kelsie’s favorite color. The buttery blue-straw-blackberry-ish scent sifted and seeped throughout all the cracks, crevices, and around the verandas until they found a nose on that special day, but that nose was not Kelsie’s.

Kelly woke with a start and a sigh, wishing away the yellow light screaming in through the glass panes. Kelly always closed the blinds at night, but Mother would sneak in each and every morning to reopen them out of spite. That’s how mother operated in the aged plantation house; unchallenged, and unrelenting. Kelly sighed again, wiped away the eye crusties, then slinked out of bed and headed to the closet, bypassing the white, lacey summer dress with pink trim along the sleeves and hem. After slapping on some denim shorts and a plain, yellow top, Kelly once again passed the awful dress, stopping just long enough to make a face. Today wouldn’t be a good day. Everyone knew that ahead of time. But then again, most days weren’t either, so best to get it over with.

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evolution of a story- Dollhouse- rough draft
romantheauthor
I wanted to show how a story evolves as I write it. I've taken a story I recently wrote, and saved it in different incarnations. I think it's interesting because the reader can see how the story was puked out, then fleshed out as the story arch changed along the way. This first draft is the rough draft as I wrote it, without taking time to revise or reread. Next I will post a revised version of the story after the first reading and set of revisions. Later, hopefully after hearing some comments, I hope to post a finished draft to see the final version of the story. Please comment as you see fit. Thanks.


Dollhouse

The smell of wildberry muffins wafted through the old brownstone, slipping in and sneaking about the second floor bedrooms in search of the birthday girl they were made for. Kelsie loved wildberry muffins more than anything else in the world, including birthday cake. So each year wildberry muffins were made in honor of the occasion, each holding aloft a single pink candle, which happened to be Kelsie’s favorite color. The scent sifted and seeped throughout all the cracks, crevices, and crawlspaces until they found a nose, but that nose was not Kelsie’s.

Kelly woke with a sigh, wishing away the yellow light screaming in through the glass panes. Kelly always closed the blinds at night, but Mother would sneak in and reopen them out of spite. That’s how mother operated. Unchallenged. Unrelenting. Kelly sighed again, then got up and headed to the closet, bypassing the white, lacey summer dress with pink trim along the sleeves and hem. After slapping on some denim shorts and a plain, yellow top, Kelly once again passed the awful dress, stopping just long enough to make a face. Today wouldn’t be a good day. But then again, most others weren’t either, so best to get it over with.
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some poetry
romantheauthor
Selections from November Poems, coming soon.

A Plea on Bourbon, Me and Yin, Mahogany BarCollapse )

The Rain
romantheauthor
Saturday

The rain started just after dawn. I call it rain because I really don’t know what else to call it. My brother, John, woke me up around seven. I was dreaming about fishing, I know that. His voice kept jumping up like a Keys Marlin, splashing down on the tranquil water with get up, get up, giddy up. I hit him on the arm for waking me up so early. Then I looked at him and saw that his eyes were big, Mississippi mud pies. He’d only look that excited on Christmas and maybe Easter Basket Day, so I knew it had to be something fantastic. “Don’t pee your pants, I’m up.” I hopped out of bed with a yawn and followed him to the window. All I saw was rain splatting on the bikes we left outside last night and I elbowed him, thinking he was playing a trick on me. But then I looked harder at the rain and noticed it was green. Green rain!

Sometimes Mom would bring us sour apple candy from the pharmacy. It was green, but you could still see through it. That’s what this rain looked like. You could see the color really well in puddles. We stared at it with silver dollar eyes.
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An introduction of sorts
romantheauthor
I am a horror writer and poet. I am working on publications and looking to network with other writers, share ideas, and talk about subjects pertaining to horror, literature, and poetry. I will be posting some of my work soon, welcome feedback, and love to read other people's work.

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