Novels!

I have noticed in the short time this blog has existed that people have a limited attention span, not your fault, I understand. I too am a product of MTV editing techniques and the emerging blogosphere, it’s got to be short or I won’t read it. However I feel like I should put the longer pieces up, so I’ve found a solution.
The Novels page! it is made for the longer texts. if you’ve got an afternoon handy or feel like watching the evolution of a story you can check out the new page. I’ll post when I make changes or throw new material up.
Check it out, currently I have a completed story called Georgia about hypnosis and a cuckholding fetish. I also posted the incomplete Snot; A Redneck Fantasia about a Pro Wrestler with acidic snot coursing through his sinuses and a Norwegian Black Metal band fueled by the powers of Satan.

As always, enjoy,

k.bishop
Neon Rabbit

FireEater

Dusty paths routed through the carnival, throngs of people moving like a river through the thoroughfare. Milo moved deftly through the crowd, weaving between the bodies. there was a kind of dance to it, but his quiet need made him clumsy and he bumped more than he slid. He hadn’t seen her in a year and only just heard she was here, their meetings were always brief, but the life had its price.
Milo entered the darkened tent, and saw her form. She was naked from the waist down. Her stomach was taut and adorned with an intricate Celtic cross off set from the ends with intricate cursive script. He couldn’t make out the words, but his eyes had no trouble tracing the loops and twists in the cross. Her pubis was shaved bare, he grinned looking at her face “What are you doing to me?” He asked coquettish. She bit her lower lip, her pixie cut hair framed her gorgeous face, her eyes took him in hungrily. He put his arm around her waist. she was light, he lifted her up and supported her ass with his other hand. They fell against the wall, she bit into his neck, he felt the sting of her teeth as his flesh was pierced. His eyes went wide for a moment, but he settled in and ground against her pelvis. She reached for his pants, pulled ineffectually against the denim in a quiet pleading way. “I have to go.” he said trying to pull himself away. She whimpered.
“You’ll come back?” She said.
“No one could stop me.” he responded. The stage waited for him.
Fire grew lazily on the torch. The red glow of the wick shimmered like a phantom beneath the flame. Wispy tendrils of yellow lit the Fire eater’s face from below. he pulled another torch from the decanter, whipped off the excess fluid with a flourish and lit it off the first torch, held them over his head and lowered both into his mouth extinguishing them. He smiled at the audience and held the torches casually at his side before lifting the first torch and igniting it from the fumes in his mouth. He repeated the routine and played the fire against his arms, stroking it lovingly with his hands until finally he dropped both torches on the stage, still lit and lifted the decanter to his mouth and took a hefty swig. He dropped to all fours on the stage and let the fluid loose, atomizing it in a fine mist. the mist ignited from the torch-flame and a fireball erupted. He moved like a beast , slow lumbering movements as he took another pull from the decanter, lifted a torch and blew another fireball out over the audience. They shrieked in delight, he finished the act with a series of fireballs each one from the same mouthful and each one bigger than the one the preceded it.
“Jekyll and Hyde. Beast and man, the primal nature of fire. that’s what I’m trying to get at.” He answered the reporter, the showman hadn’t left from him yet, not with the crowd still lingering. He belched under his breath the non taste of paraffin and the subsequent smell of petrol in his nostrils nauseated him as he tried to make his escape backstage.
“What about the possibility of being burnt or the carcinogenic nature of the oil?” The journalist pressed.
“Risk is the nature of life, I just take it a step further than most, but really my job isn’t as dangerous as a police officer, a fire fighter or even a bike messenger. jobs with inherent risk are the most satisfying I find.” he let off a smile that had coaxed more than a few women into bed.
He left quickly. No more showman, no more talking today, he had another appointment. Dusk was heady at the carnival, the games were louder, the smells of fried food more inviting. the day was for children, but night was when the lovers came. He wove behind tents and moved back into the crowd at varied intervals. As he stepped back behind a tent for the final leg of his walk he stepped into a man. he was big and very strong, Milo fell back from the force, but the man didn’t budge. He stared at Milo, “Sorry about that.” Milo said as he got to his feet.
Milo brushed himself off and was moving to continue his trek, but the strange man wasn’t quite finished with him. He reached out and stopped Milo from his path. The man was strangely still, his suit was purple save for the sleeves which were dark with moisture, his hands were coated with something gummy and his chest didn’t rise or fall. Milo was suddenly very aware of his own heartbeat. A chill fell over him in spite of the summer heat. “Listen,” He said, “I’ve got to get going.” The man gripped Milo by the throat, lifted him off the ground and opened his mouth wider then any human mouth Milo had ever seen. Milo tried to yell, but the grip on his throat was already draining him of oxygen. His vision flickered as his eyelids struggled to stay open. The purple man’s teeth grew sharp in his maw, black, yellow eyes boring into him, black. He pushed at him with whatever feeble strength he could muster and fumbled at his pouch with the other, reached his hand in. no knife, just a flask, pack of cigarettes and a lighter. In a wave of fear he grabbed at the flask, pulled a mouth full and dowsed the man with the rest. The creature’s teeth were closing in a half grin at the corners of his jagged mouth. Milo almost lost consciousness as he pulled the lighter, but managed a burst of strength, brought the lighter to his mouth and blew with as much force as he could. A conflagration burst to life between them.
Milo’s face was lit as well, but the purple man dropped him and he dove into the dirt face first patting his face in a flurry. He turned to the creature who was screaming through the crackle of flame. The creature ran through the carnival lighting tents and people on fire as he passed. Milo released a deep breath and grabbed at his throat. He finished his walk to his girl’s tent slowly and in partial shock.
He heard her weeping gently. he was weary, but quickly moved to her side, “what’s wrong baby?” He said quietly as pulled her into a hug.
“It’s, ah, it’s my brother…” she sobbed.
“What happened?”
“He’s dead. Tonight, he died. Somebody lit him on fire…” She looked up at him through teary eyes. “What happened to your face?”

The Devil

Note: From time to time I write flash fiction, a short blurb that gives a complete story with a minimum of words. This story is one of those. It is short and to the point, submit your own flash fiction and I will be more than happy to put your flash fiction up on this happy little site. Seriously, I want more writers up on here, this isn’t just for me. One page or less, what is that, 1,000 words, yeah do that.

Time moved placidly. The wind buffeted the windows and set the insulating plastic rattling. He rubbed his hands, they were dry and raw from the cold. “Are you sure this is what you want?” He asked, knowing the answer.
“Yes.” The boy was focused on him, waiting for his moment, searching for weakness.
“You know what happens if you lose.” He looked the boy in the eye.
“Yes.” The boy flew at him, full of rage.
He almost hit him, almost. The man leaned back, just out of reach and came up from underneath, struck him in the abdomen, something popped, but he wasn’t finished, he spun behind the boy, grabbed him from underneath the jaw and dropped him to the ground. It was too fast for the boy to react, he scrambled, but not before the man’s boot heel fell on his face, caved in his palate. The fight lasted two, maybe three seconds and the boy was already wounded beyond healing. “You lost.” The boy was wheezing and gurgling beneath the pooling blood in his throat. The man held him by the chest, felt his strength leaving him, he pictured a mass exodus of butterflies ascending through the ceiling, the roof and out into the ether. “Don’t fuck with the Devil boy.” He grinned down at the boy and closed his eyes. The boy’s breathing shallowed, his pulse stopped and he died. The man inhaled deeply and stood up. “See you downstairs.” He said casually as he shut off the lights and left the room.

Tattoo

A very special Valentine’s Day message:

Originally this was a holiday about fertility and it was named after the wolf that watched over Romulus and Remus. Once again some seriously creepy origins to what has become a hallmark holiday, an excuse to drink and/or get laid and it is with this in mind that I submit the following story.
The story itself is very simple, a man investigating a murder, but there is one hell of a twist. It is part of a larger volume and connects in some ways to that larger story, but I feel like it stands alone.

Enjoy.

The trailer park yawned with each gust of wind. The detective wanted to throw up, but his pride wouldn’t allow him. He stared at the man lying in a pool of his own blood, his arm was degloved at the shoulder. The detective was tall and wide, a stetson sat on his head and a large shiny buckle in the shape of Tennessee held in his straining midsection. He looked over the room trying to make some sense of the scene in front of him.
The room was stagnant, the corpse appeared to be something of a hoarder, everything that wasn’t covered with blood was covered with dust. The linoleum in the kitchen was peeled back revealing the wooden floor, rancid food filled the refrigerator and everything had the faint reek of locker room socks. The rest was strewn with decades old magazines, soda cans, cigarette butts on every available surface, random musical instruments, decaying food, a collection of useless crap, the television was on, but muted and the blue light made the horror less real somehow. He swallowed hard and moved carefully through the scene.
Something kept striking him as he looked at the body. The skin at his stomach was loose and coiled and his face was frozen in a scream, his eyes were clearly fixed on his arm. He looked as best he could without touching the body for any other wounds, but he couldn’t find any, the base of his shoulder looked torn, like a ragged piece of leather. It reminded him in it’s way of his youth spent in his grandfather’s tannery. The place smelled foul and the gutted bodies of wildlife were slung hollow on racks. The stomach and arm both triggered his nostalgia and set his stomach reeling
He let his eyes fall on every surface. A small spot on the entertainment center was untouched by blood or dust, an elongated oval of clean space. A framed photo next to it showed the dead man posing with a girl, the now naked arm once had a tattoo, a naked pin up devil girl, and he was a large man, easily three hundred pounds. There was no sign of the girlfriend here, nothing feminine would survive in this hovel. He turned away and left the room. Police outside were ready to enter with their bags and paint cans.
The chill of fall greeted him. The trailer park was still, it was the middle of the night, somewhere a cat yowled, the detective lit a match waved the flame underneath the stub of a cigar and drew in.
“Rhiner.” He turned to see Unger, the coroner, running a hand through his thinning hair. Rhiner tipped his stetson towards him. “What have you got for me?” Unger asked.
“Dead body. His arm was chewed up real good. Not much to go on, why don’t you give me a second opinion?”
“What do you expect me to turn up. Nothing I do will help you this evening.”
“I don’t know, but that is some horrible God Damned shit in there and I don’t want to give whoever did it time to rest. I want him caught and hung by dawn if we can.”
The coroner shook his head and moved into the trailer. Rhiner lit his cigar again and puffed it to full burning life. He tasted the tobacco and slowly blew out, felt the tension drain from him at the first heavenly drag.
Unger returned as he finished his cigar. “The victim, died of blood loss from what I can gather, won’t know for sure until the autopsy, but he also lost a considerable amount of cellulite.”
“Yeah he lost some weight looks like.”
“No, I mean there are portions of fat tissue strewn along the floor with the blood. He looks like he was gutted.” Rhiner chewed on the information. Unger spoke again, “May I go now?”
“You’re dismissed.” He absently turned away from Unger, who stomped away.
Despite the motion of those around him flowing in and out of the trailer Rhiner’s eyes were drawn to the ground, a brief reflection of sulfur light, the ripple of a puddle, he looked at the ground and saw them. Little cat’s paws of blood anointing the asphalt at haphazard intervals. The size was not uniform, some smaller, some larger, but each seemed to follow a rough path.
He followed the path at a leisurely pace until it disappeared below a trailer. He dropped awkwardly to his hands and knees hoping to spot the source of the tracks, but there was only gravel. He made another trip around the trailer, but the trail was cold. When he returned the crime scene was fully secured, the body was removed and only a few officers remained to continue collecting, swabbing and bagging evidence.
He tugged at a uniform police officer, “Get some samples of these.” He pointed to the blood splotches on the asphalt. The officer nodded and set to work.
Rhiner went to his car to catch his breath. He hadn’t realized he was holding it until he sat in his driver’s seat. He was a homicide detective and had seen horrific crime scenes in his time. Tim Woolly took a gunshot to the face and compared to that this crime scene seemed tame, but it shook him worse somehow. The lack of other identifiable wounds first on his list, the torn flesh a very close second. The old girlfriend was obviously the first suspect, he would have to find her, but he felt a strange stirring in the pit of his stomach. The girl didn’t do it, his instincts told him, but the world he felt encroaching on him felt so suddenly alien. He got out of his car and instantly lost his balance, he fell to his knees on the asphalt.
“Are you alright sir?” an officer nearby asked.
Rhiner scooted to his butt and nodded to the cop. “Just lost my balance, I’m good.” he gave a thumbs up. His head swooned, he felt feverish, placed his palms firmly on the ground and he felt it. Suddenly and undeniably he felt the asphalt take a breath. He lifted his hand like it touched a hot pan. His eyes bulged wide and he rose from the ground as quickly as possible. Something was wrong, he was hallucinating, he slapped his face, grabbed hold of his car door everything felt real, solid.
He pulled out his cellphone, dialed and brought the phone to his ear. “Baby? Did I wake you?”
“Yeah, ‘sokay, what’s wrong?” His wife, Kimberly answered, he could hear in her breathing she was still asleep.
“I’m at the crime scene, it’s gonna be a while.”
“Okay.”
“I love you.” he felt the words come and couldn’t stop them.
“I love you too. Is everything alright?” she roused a bit.
“Yeah, no everything is fine, just wanted to hear, I’m gonna go, sorry I woke you.” Sweat was pouring from his brow.
“I’ll see you when you get home babe.”
“Uh huh.” he hung up, wiped his brow and leaned his forehead against his car. He saw the blood again, leading away from his vehicle. He pushed himself off and followed it.
The trailer park was big, bigger than any he had been in before and it wound into cul de sacs and empty swampland at several turns, but the trail kept presenting itself to him, like a morbid gift whenever he lost it he would look around and find it again within moments even in the darkness. The path ended at a small trailer towards the back of the park, it’s west flank butted up against a gum tree.
He stepped carefully onto the tin stoop. The screen door hung open flapping with the wind and the interior door was open letting a sliver of gold light through. Overcast blotted out the light of the moon and left the street in darkness save for the ribbon of light. He drew his gun and placed his hand gently on the door. He heard a sound, like latex stretched too far, a faint squeaking sound. He pushed and the door swung open.
The living room was furnished with a couch, two recliners and a coffee table. The décor was sparse a painting over the couch a bowl of candy on the coffee table. A hairy man slumped in a recliner with a pocket knife sticking from his chest. Beyond him and the chair there was a shape moving, something slumped over crouching low. Rhiner lifted his gun and drew a bead on the shape when it moved into the light.
A woman, red skin, jutting enormous breasts, and devil horns holding luxurious black hair out of her face. The corpse’s tattoo brought to life stood illuminated in the gold light. It smiled and licked its lips as Rhiner stared at her. Her skin was impossibly smooth and seemed slick with oil. “Put your hands up.” He said without confidence.
She lifted her arms. Her back was still knitting over the lumpy corpse of the body she now possessed. She put her hands on top of her head and let them slowly move down her hair grasp onto her neck momentarily before descending to her tits. She lowered her head and stared at the detective eye to eye. She traced her aureola with one hand while reaching out with the other. Rhiner didn’t moved.
He was frozen in place, she reached towards him pulled the gun from his hand, he let her, laid it on the table, she pulled him in for a kiss, he didn’t resist. His thoughts drifted to his wife then were consumed by the salty sweet taste of the demon woman’s tongue. She pushed him into a chair. In this moment his adrenalin was at a fever pitch his penis was at attention nothing would move him from this spot. She could ask him anything, run away with her, kill for her and in this ecstatic moment he would say yes, it was the only thing he knew to say.
She put one leg up on the chair, flicked his stetson from his head and pulled his yellow tinted glasses off his face demurely. His eyes were fixed on her exquisite pussy, the dark mysteries he was about to discover. She pulled teasingly at her labia and leaned in towards him. Rhiner grabbed her thigh with one hand and her ass with the other. He wanted to take his time, to enjoy this brief moment before whatever consequences he had to face were upon him. He kissed at the thigh and moved quickly for the cleft between her pelvis and her leg. Nibbling and kissing in equal measure before moving to the vagina. He kissed it, made out with it tasting and luxuriating in its smell. Pulled back for a moment to look up at her, she had one hand mauling her breast and her head was thrown back. This gave him the drive to press on, he pulled the petals apart and flicked the clitoris, let his tongue linger there, hummed into it with longing and gave long strokes with his tongue. She had grabbed the back of his head and was moaning, the smell of her filled the room, may have filled the whole damned park for all he cared.
The demon girl howled, Rhiner grinned. He watched her tits sway and bob as her hips bucked against his face. The force of her thrust threw him away and split his lower lip. She looked down on him and curled towards him. Her tongue flipped out, its thin pink tip touched his lower lip and she drew a single drop of blood from the wound rolled it into her mouth. Her eyes fluttered, she grabbed Rhiner’s shoulder for balance. Her head rolled back for a full wide circle as she exalted until it once again stopped in front. They were eye to eye, she kissed him, just a peck and then smiled. It struck Rhiner strangely she reminded him in that very brief moment of his wife. Something about the crinkling of her eyes, the broadness of the smile pulled her image from his memory. In that moment he looked around, the room was a crisp, clean, the edges and distances were suddenly very clear, he was solidly in the moment. His fingers felt the texture of the chair he was sitting on, he smelled the dead body laying five feet from him, saw the blood and the silver glint of the pocket knife. The knife’s handle was edged with a thin coat of blood, Rhiner’s mind drew back to the oval shaped spot in the victim’s house. The tattoo stood over him, the man’s simple tattoo of a busty devil girl was in the room and was no longer smiling. The tattoo pulled itself from the corpse’s arm and left him on the floor to bleed to death. She put her hand around the back of Rhiner’s head and pulled him forcefully back into her sex.
Her labia opened to greet him its fleshy petals reached out to him. Rhiner was suddenly very aware of how strong she was and couldn’t find the leverage to pull himself away. He shoved a heel into the coffee table, but it slid leaving him more prone than before. He put his hands around her taught waist and pushed with all the strength he could muster. His gun was too far away to reach, his buck knife was within reach, but he feared if he moved a hand from her flank to his boot her strength would overwhelm him. He was locked in this grapple, the devil girl’s labia were reaching out for him stretching beyond human capacity, the horror of it sapped his strength long enough for her to fall on him. Her greedy snatch swallowed his face. Everything went black for Rhiner, the room was gone and all that remained was the musky darkness. His eyes bulged, he thrashed as he began to suffocate what oxygen he had was leaving him with his exertion. The grip from her hands and thighs held him fast. Rhiner’s struggles stopped as his last breath trickled away. She smiled ecstatically as she released her grip on him.
The devil girl dislodged the lifeless detective and perched Rhiner’s stetson on her head before she left the trailer. She whistled and skipped away from the trailer. The wind felt delicious on her new naked skin.

A Very Short Manifesto

I have a habit of indulging my flaws and allowing old habits to take root.  My habits, my peccadillos burden me with a lack of focus.  I’ve been writing, drawing, painting, acting and filmmaking for as long as I can remember, but none of these skills have produced much in the quantitative sense, I float from thought to thought dropping projects, letting go of ideas because I can’t quite remember what was so exciting about it when I started.  So it is with all that in mind that I decided to start a blog. 

I am a Luddite, I have always rejected new technologies, scoffed at these tools of social media, but time and time again I have seen people as smart as me, as unfocused as me start careers in these creative fields.  I’ve known about Twitter, Reddit, Facebook, etc. forever, but I always thought I was somehow better than that.  Like somehow I could just lift that veil and show my talent with one well placed submission, one agent that saw the diamond in the rough.  None of that ever happened, I remained obscure and then I would flit across to another obsession and loose track of where I was. 

The problem is a lack of commitment, I have a lot of interests, but everybody does, but everybody also knows it is important to choose a major.  I’m not unique, I’ve got some talent, but I have an opportunity to utilize tools that would have put a creative career completely out of reach due to simple economic class twenty years ago.  I live in an unprecedented moment where nearly all human information is at my fingertips, where you can build a worldwide audience from your simple efficiency apartment.  

So three days ago I embraced this new paradigm, and made a commitment.  I am a writer.  I also paint, draw, do martial arts, know my way around a film set and have fantastic customer service skills and I will always have those things.  Today I am a writer and I am making a commitment to that field.  Today I’m picking a major, it took me twenty five years, but now I’m here.  I’ll be tweeting and blogging and writing and self promoting the Hell out of my writing.

I hope anyone reading this has enjoyed the stories so far, strange tenses, sudden shifts in time, bad punctuation, typos and all.  Keep reading, I’ll keep writing and this post was something I just needed to get off my chest.     

The Tea

The jungle howled as light crept through the trees. Out of the thickest portion of foliage Melri, a Felarin girl burst through the branches, followed closely by a hoard of Olgri, creatures that appeared to be a marriage of man and boar. Chirping and snorting, they trampled the undergrowth in their pursuit of Melri.
Melri was a slight girl elfin in feature her skin mottled in greens and browns. She was sticky with sweat and her pert breasts heaved as her lungs grasped at the rapidly thinning air. The jungle grew darker as she headed further into the canopy. She knew in her heart that escape was nearly impossible, but the light of the moon shown one possibility, a volcano lay some miles ahead of her indicated by the hazy red mist that shrouded the moonlight. If she could make it there she might be able to find a cave and evade her pursuers.
She was heading for her homestead but she instead found herself lost among the twisting jungle when the Olgri horde came upon her. The Olgri were said to be vicious creatures that cavorted in blood and played malicious games with their prey. The Felarin were raised to watch for signs of Olgri encampments from a very young age. Melri’s people were enlightened but weak in the field of war. The Felarin’s lithe bodies were no matches for the brute strength of Olgri warriors. So they learned to hide themselves among the trees, this coupled with their natural camouflage were their sole defenses against the amoral Olgri.
Melri reached the volcanic rock and forced herself up. Her body bled from a thousand tiny wounds and her muscles screamed for rest, but she pressed herself forward. She reached a high flat plateau and stood for a moment unable to feel anything but the buzzing of her overworked form. She looked back and saw the hoard below, they were quicker than she anticipated, before she was able to turn and run they were two short strides from her. With nothing left to run on and no escape in sight her limbs gave out and the Olgri were on her.
Melri woke on a bed of soft loose feathers. She was in a small hut lit by a cooking fire in the center. Melri sensed a presence; someone else was in the room. The world spun as she tried to lift her head forcing her back down. “Who is here?” She groaned.
“Do not be afraid child.” The voice was soft and inviting. Melri turned very slowly to see another Felarin girl. The girl was a collection of ruddy red and purple hues, She beamed at Melri. “The Olgri are gentle, they will treat you well.”
Melri tried to rise again, “I have to get out of here, my mother…” She fought against the dizziness but was again overcome.
“They will come for you soon. For now you should rest, you’ll need it for tonight.” She giggled at this.
Melri, becoming more resigned, spoke. “Who are you?”
“My name is Illin. I was taken some time ago, I too was afraid at first, but that will soon go away when you see the Olgri generosity.” Illin giggled again amused by her own innuendo.
As the throbbing in Melri’s head began to subside she fell back into a dozing sleep. Illin massaged her shoulders and back lightly, the ministrations were initially unwelcome, but Melri didn’t have the strength to resist and soon enjoyed the relaxing heat of her new companion’s touch.
After a blissful hour the flap of the hut opened and a large Olgri brute entered accompanied by an ancient woman. “Wake yourself child.” The woman hissed.
Melri opened her eyes. The old woman held a cup of steaming liquid she kneeled next to the girl and with surprising strength lifted Melri to a sitting position. “Drink this.” She forced the cup into Melri’s hands. The Olgri watched intently, his head swayed and his muscles were taut. Melri wondered in that moment if they were always ready for war. His bulk was immense, intimidating. She was quietly preparing herself for death. Melri tipped the drink back it was thick and sticky as it touched her lips. The bitterness of the drink made her wince, but as it reached her belly she felt warmed by it and noted idly that the drink had a sweet aftertaste.
Melri’s appetite for the drink grew more voracious until she emptied it and greedily lapped up the remainder at the bottom of the cup. The ancient woman spat at the Olgri “Oonog! Come take this girl.”
Melri’s head swooned from the drink and as she looked up at the creature she saw him with new eyes. He was not so brutish as she remembered, Oonog, was what the woman called him, was strong and lean. He pulled her close. Melri couldn’t help but smile, he smelled musky and strong, like a warrior should smell. What happened here? He was brutish and ugly before, but now as she felt his cock rise against her belly she wanted nothing more than to impale herself on him.
Oonog bit at her neck and she arched her back. Melri was suddenly aware that her hands, acting of their own spirit, began stroking and messaging his thick penis. She looked on it her eyes widening at the prospect of what was about to happen. He breathed heavy and pulled her back by her hair. “You belong to me now.” Melri moaned and swallowed his tongue as she climbed on top of him. She had no idea why she felt the way she did, but more importantly she lost all capacity to care as she pounded herself against him. Five screaming, panting, and scratching hours later she fell back against the feathers and drifted to sleep next to her lover, her master, and her protector.

It’s a Good Thing He Scored

Timothy was sitting, as he often does, next to the window reading a book. He expected to finish the book and then shower, after that he was prepared to phone a girl he knew and ask if she might be interested in having coffee. Timothy did not drink coffee, but he understood the necessity of neutral ground in regard to social interaction. Other options included a restaurant or a bar, however he abhorred eating in front of anyone and he didn’t drink alcohol so the bar seemed a poor fit. Timothy did drink juice and water and occasionally milk, but the only real vice he had, if it could be called a vice, was marijuana. He reveled in the sensations provoked by the THC. He felt that this alone saved him from being utterly vanilla. The book he read was a lengthy tome of which he spent the better part of a weekend poring over. It involved an architect and his radical individualism; which prompted him to destroy his creation to keep it from the evils of socialism. Dry and unapologetic, the book was remarkably good read and left him with a sense of his own immense power.

As he finished his book he noticed the slight pang of tension behind his eyes and rose from his chair in response. The creature behind his eyes quickly took hold and tightened around his forehead. Phantom shapes obstructed his vision. The light around him was striking his eyes with snake-like ferocity and forced him to his couch more falling than sitting. He lay back unsure of where this demon was coming from. He hadn’t experienced anything quite like this ever and felt as if maybe he were being struck down by some divine entity. The coils around his ocular nerves pulsed and grew and he feared that they might snap like rubber bands from the strain.

He breathed as calmly as he could and tried to assess his condition. Generally Timothy could feel them coming. This fiend in particular snuck up on him. It started as a mere bud, a tightness, and blossomed into a kraken. With his eyes pressed tightly closed he reached for his sunglasses in what could easily have been the longest walk ever from his couch to the coat hook next to the door where his coat pocket was occupied by his stylish and quite urban sunglasses. He fumbled at the pocket dropping the thing to the floor in the process. They weren’t there, Timothy let out a moan accompanied by the recollection of his leaving them in the car nestled between the roof of his mustang and the sun visor.

He gave up with his quest and sat in front of the door one hand covering his eyes and a defeated slump to his shoulders. He pushed down to lift himself from the floor. His hand landed on a small metal case, he stopped, lifted the container and tried to identify it without opening his eyes.
The metal had an odor to it, a sweet tangy odor that made his heart swoon. He was lifted up by the serendipitous realization that he had scored the previous night. His mind quickly jumped to Glaucoma; which was eye related this was an attack on his ocular nerves so perhaps he would deal a killing blow to his unwelcome visitor. He quickly ministered to the pot loading a small pinchie he inhaled the smoke and let the THC work its alchemy. Slowly the nightmare receded as a full-blown high marched across his body like a rampaging Mongolian horde, but instead of carnage the byproduct of its onslaught was a plush gore and strips of yarn strewn like party streamers.