The stranded ones


This is a short story,

it was a 200-350 word set,

horror genre,

based on a photo.

It’s after the end of this,

horror bites challenge,

I had posted it to office mango.



the crew member’s,

are waking,

I heard,

my assistant say.

I looked at the monitor,

and turned on the AC.

Taking my mask off,

my assistant,

followed suit.

“When do you think,

they’ll start asking,


and demanding answers Sir?”

“Very soon,

the anesthetic,

doesn’t have,

any lasting effects.”

“It was derived,

with compassion,

in mind.”

For a moment,

we simply stared,

at each other.

After all,

that might just be,

their last compassion.

As we flew,

along the skyline,

it was quiet,

for a while.

We watched,

the passengers,

come to life,

shifting and waking,

rubbing their eyes,

and looking,



they became,


Call buzzers,


I looked at,

the stewardess’,


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Dead relatives and moldy glasses


Fancy they were,
with their,
silky red velvet walls,
lined with,
gild golden trim tin,
along top,
near ceiling walls,
matching the lines,
thru winding halls,
leading round,
to around,
theater’s of attraction,
one show,
to absurd’s next,
an old lady,
looks at me,
she’s not,
what she appears,
to obviously be,
a compalation,
of what meets,
nasty and sweet,
I tell her lies,
I always know,
my abiding demise,
she graciously accepts,
I wander off,
seeing everyone all,
represented as,
blond short haircut’s,
blue eyed wide,
telling secret’s,
stories and more,
some of which,
forbidden lore,
I smile,
I nod,
patiently am I,
thru a rotting,
in their pooling eyes,
I wander away,
in search of a drink,
bottles everywhere,
I search for a glass,
all moldy,
in cupboards all,
with no sink in sight,
I awake,
with no drink,
sober enough,
to remember,

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Of Ebb’s, Tides, and Time


Of ebb’s and tides,
that which time rides,
winds forever blow,
sometimes fast,
sometimes slow,
perhaps in sands,
of distant lands,
where landscapes rise,
to simply fall,
innocent they blow,
clouds so high,
in a misty blue sky,
moving rains,
of cold then hot,
driving a sea to flow,
a rushing wave,
eroding faces of rocks,
once thought gods,
now only weak,
they fall and break,
still time goes on,
as winds blow along,
till time dies,
in which winds ride.

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Pseudo Heroes

I wrote this a few years ago.


You know their kind,

an always certain type,

guiding towards a better way,




they seem to be,

so bright,

most can’t see,

real life vampire’s likely,

not of blood seeking,

although only in a drinking way not,

but in all other way’s,

so similar to that lot,

worthy of following hype,

obviously so sound of mind,

til put later in history’s story type,

all monster’s alike,

they have a charismatic kinda fooling way,

one groups of crying fools follow,

like sheep falling to smarter prey,

promising similar to offering whey,

false hopes and dreams,

always liar’s schemes,

or so it seems,

but you know,

they always and forever will,

be take their tolling toll,

in every aspect,

whatever consensus say,

always in some fashion,

a murderous way,

be it of life,

or that of mind,

history will always be,

full of that kind,

maker’s of strife,

taker’s of…

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A Closing Narration – AkA – Or So It Seems

A closing narration or a prelude to a prediction?

“Where will he go next, this phantom from another time, this resurrected ghost of a previous nightmare – Chicago? Los Angeles? Miami, Florida? Vincennes, Indiana? Syracuse, New York? Anyplace, everyplace, where there’s hate, where there’s prejudice, where there’s bigotry. He’s alive. He’s alive so long as these evils exist. Remember that when he comes to your town. Remember it when you hear his voice speaking out through others. Remember it when you hear a name called, a minority attacked, any blind, unreasoning assault on a people or any human being. He’s alive because through these things we keep him alive.”

Words in quotations written by ~Rod Serling – Episode, He’s Alive~

In A Mind Of The Time

I saw a pale horse and upon it a pale rider. The name of the horse was Pestilence. The name of the rider was Death … Revelation 6:8

What he had once quoted, sat in the back of his mind like it did when he was a much younger man. Though now, it felt more like pestilence was a nation and the rider was their leader.

Could it be, this new leader that no less than a tyrant… Perhaps the dark man in another form?

The master of horror and other odd type stories, was at a loss cause the cost of humanities stupidities. All he could feel was anger, and that is a blinding muse. One that he needed to put away, at least while it was fresh. He needed time to think, or at least for now, not.

He was having trouble shaking the feeling of distain for those who chose that train. It was going to surely be a difficult ride. Although, those ticket holders were really always the same, he simply used to have more faith in them.

The presidential elections were over and the Republican’s were soon to be in. He would be number 45. He was a man, if one could call him that, that had certainly been around. Casino owner, multiple marrier, money capitalist mogul, tax evader, racist, sexist, class elitist, liar, false hope giver, and much more. Far worse than the average politician.

What made things even worse, he had a hand picked council of like minded tyrant’s.

Although, there were several worst’s.

The people that voted for him and his minion’s. The ones that religiously supported him. Were they just like him? Were they just blind to his way’s? Even the one’s he was against, were for him.

Were they all fucking moron’s?
Were they all elitist privileged, selfish with their own agenda’s?
Perhaps they were a mix of both.

Although, what could one expect?

A media raised nation, certainly one nation of a Cuntry.

For now, it’s a game of wait to see, unfortunately…………..