my parents adopted him just so they could harvest his heart for me.

Whenever I remember Dede, I would sit alone in my room, stifling my sobs with my pillow. I would think of him until my heart ached, knowing that he is gone. Dede came to live with us seven years ago. He was a little boy around my age—eight years old—who had eyes so wide they […]

my parents adopted him just so they could harvest his heart for me.

Loved this bit of fiction so much that I had to share it. Hope it is enjoyed by someone else as much as I.


50 Word Story

The last 18 hours were shrouded in a blinding darkness that left him feeling renewed.

James awoke from yesterday’s migraine with a calmness he had never experienced.

He sat up from the sofa knowing that it was over.

He opened his eyes and noticed the body on the floor.

Toopid Moose (the reboot)

The child holding the string cheese triggered a mental flash from her past that she did not remember.

Kind of odd when she thought about it. Not knowing her past was not a new thing. She was adopted from the agency when she was 9. She loved her adoptive parents and felt no need to find out who gave her up or why it was done.

Until she saw the child in the park.

She was going on a stroll through the park to clear her head and enjoy being outside. People were riding bikes, sitting under trees and basking in the warm summer glow. Kids were running around, like kids do, and it made her smile.

She saw a family having a picnic. She glanced over and saw the pretty young girl hold up a strand of string cheese, cock her head sideways and giggle.

That was when the image overtook her vision. It was her, as a 5 year old child, head cocked sideways. The face held a blank expression. She was holding up something and the words she saw herself mouth were, “Toopid Moose”.

She stopped in her tracks. She couldn’t understand what it was. She tried to shake it and just couldn’t do it.

She went home and thought about it. The one thing she could remember was when she lived at the adoption home, she was always watching “Rocky and Bullwinkle”. A cartoon with a flying squirrel and a moose. But it just didn’t fit with the image.

The image wouldn’t go away. In her sleep, she heard her own childhood voice repeat that phrase, “Toopid Moose”. When she looked in the mirror, she would be sitting behind her in child form holding up…..whatever it was with a tilted head and blank face. She had to know what it meant.

To find they answer she went to her adoptive mother and father.

She normally had dinner with them once a week. Upon arrival they knew something was up. She wasn’t herself.

“What’s wrong, honey. You look a little pale. Have you been sleeping well?”

“No Mom I haven’t. Can I ask you a strange question?”

“You know, you can ask me anything.” she replied as she began placing the the dinner plates on the table.

“I’ve been wondering about my childhood…..before you and Dad adopted me….do the words toopid moose ring a bell with…

The plates hit the floor with a crash. Mom lost color and held the chair for support.

“Mom? What is it?” she asked.

“Well, I had a feeling this day would come …..but I prayed to the good Lord that it wouldn’t. Your Father and I can’t be the ones to tell you the truth. The only one who can is your old caretaker from the adoption agency. We made a promise to her to let her tell you. You know how we are about our promises. We keep them. Just like the promise we made to love you as if you came from my womb on the day we adopted you.”

Mom reached into small box and pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to her. ” Here is her address. Go visit her and ask for the truth. She promised she would.”

She left her parents house and went directly to the address. She pulled her car up to the curb and got out. An elderly lady sat on a bench on the patio. As she approached the steps the old woman spoke,

” My, My….I knew it was you the second you got out.”

“it’s been over 15 years since I was adopted. How could you possibly remember me?”

“The look on your face now matches the one you had when you came to us. Bright green eyes, blank expression. You came for the truth, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I keep having this image of me holding up ….string cheese….and saying toopid moose. What does it mean?”

“Sit, child. I have to get something.”

She went inside and returned with an old cigar box. She back back on the bench and placed it beside her.

“Child….When you were brought to us, you were in a state of shock. Your biological mother loved you dearly but could not handle the state of her affairs. Financially, emotionally and spiritually broken she was. You were not a burden to her….she wanted you to have better but did not know how to accomplish it. The more she tried the more depressed she got…….

for right or wrong I took it upon myself to attempt to train you to hide your memories of that night. That cartoon with the moose was the best I could come up with. I had you watch it continually to cloud your memory of the words you always repeated. Toopid Moose. I thought because of your young age you would forget the truth. Eventually the truth always wins out.”

She opened the cigar box and handed her a newspaper clipping…..

The headline read- Single Mother Commits Suicide While Child Watches

Police were dispatched to a home in response to apparent suicide. The woman was found hanging from a noose tied to a basement ceiling rafter. Her young daughter was found in the room. Name withheld due to her being a juvenile…..

A white flash erupted in her vision. A scene from her childhood began to play.

“I need to end this sweetie. Someone will find you. If I could just figure out how to do this knot right….”

She tied her 4th attempt at a noose to the rafter and got up on the chair. She placed her neck into it and kicked the chair out.

And for the fourth time the rope came unloose and she came crashing down.

“Stupid noose. I can’t even kill myself right.”

The child lifted up the first discarded attempt at a noose, tilted her head and said,

“yeah mommy toopid moose.”

The mother became frantic. One more try…..

She picked up the thick rope from the hardware store and REALLY concentrated on the instructions she got online. She tied the square knot around the rafter and pulled it tight. It seemed secure. She calmly figured out the height of the noose she needed and formed it at the other end. She looked at her daughter.

The child looked up, cocked her head, held up another piece of rope and said, “Toopid Moose”

“Hopefully not this time sweetie. I love you” before getting on the chair she picked up the phone and dialed 911, and left the phone receiver lying on the shelf. She got up on the chair and placed her neck in the noose….

“Emergency services, how can we assist you?…..hello….is anyone there….hello….”was heard in a muffled voice

She kicked out the chair. The rope tightened. She struggled for a moment….then swung in the air until she stopped.

The child looked up, holding a piece of rope, and said, “Toopid moose!….. Mommy?….mom meeeee!!…”

Her normal vision returned…and she began to cry. The old woman held her and rocked her like she did when she first met her 19 years before and said,
“There, there child…. It’s over now.”


This was the first story I wrote on this blog years ago.

Entertainment wise….the world seems to love reboots.

As I attempt to break in my new story writing boots…..

I’m trying on the oldest to see if they still fit.

I hope it caused some sort of stir of emotion, as stories should.

Cult Forty5

Through the black acrid smoke and bright  flames that were ablaze in my dream, the child walked out from within the fire and pointed at me.

Then, turned his palm up and beckoned me to come with his index finger.

As the hot embers encircled and danced around him, he stared directly into my soul, smiled a devious smile and said-

“You should be here with me….”

He then put the hand up to his mouth, blew on the muzzle of his index finger, turned, dropped his weapon to his side and returned to the blaze.

The bang on the metal door is what awoke me and prevented me from following the child into his abyss.


“Med time, Forty5.”

I got up from the bed and made a slow walk to the door.

The slot on the center of the door opened and a cup with a single pill and another cup  filled with water were pushed through. 

From behind the tempered glass window above the slot, the pill pusher said,

“I expect you to be shuffling around in a daze the next time I do my rounds like the rest of the psychos in this place.  Swallow your pill this time. Don’t make us come in and force you again.”

Without a word, I looked him in the eyes and pointed my index finger at him. Then I turned my palm up and beckoned him to
him to come in, while wearing a devious smile across my sunken pale face.

He returned the smile with a missing  front tooth and held up his arm which was in a cast and replied-

“I said us…..not me. I learn a lot quicker than you psyche patients do, which is why I am on this side of the cell and you are on the other. Take your pill.”

I took the pill and swallowed it.

I then put my index finger up to my mouth and blew on the muzzle, turned and returned to my bed on the other side of the sparcely furnished cell.

“Good boy, Forty5. Once you are nice and loopy, the doc is gonna come by for a session. Don’t worry….he will have back up, also.”

My name is not Forty5, by the way.

It’s the cell number.

I’m not the only Forty5 that has called this dump home. Evidence of their past occupancy are carved into the concrete walls like cemetery headstones.  Names, dates, conversations, pleads for help, admissions of abuse and criminal acts by patients and staff.

The walls are a virtual soap opera of psychotic bliss.

The pills I am forced to take are Thorazine…..which are used to keep psychotic and schizophrenic people in check.

By, in check, I mean turning them into zombies that shuffle around in circles until then last coherent thought slowly escapes their mind and the drooling sets in.  

Then hours of sleep.

I’m not crazy.

It’s just that no one believes that they are real.



That they will stop at nothing to get me to join them.

(Shuffle shuffle)


I thought the fire……..

(Shuffle shuffle)

But even death won’t…….


Sometimes the writing on the walls talk.

(Shuffle shuffle stop stare)

Beware of the listening bugs in the vents – November 1973 fourdefive

I pull my stubbed pencil out of my pocket and scrawl a sentence on the wall amongst the other cemetery residents.

(Turn shuffle shuffle)

The bed………far.

I reach the bed, groggy….lay down and face the wall that I just wrote on.

As I surrender to the effects of the pill, my  epitaph on the wall rings through my head-

And a child shall lead them – yesterday today n fourever Forty5


To be continued……

Feeding The Labrinth

The labrynth calls to me…..beckons me into its maze of bound backs and spines filled with stories from centuries long past and ones yet to be told.

Fantastic imaginative yarns weaved with words that speak louder with each page that is turned.

The labrynth allows journeys to the farthest corners of the earth and beyond. The only barrier being the limits of the imagination of the one who breaches it’s hallowed corridors.

One does not seek the labrynth. The labrynth seeks for the one.

Calling out in dreams that begs to seek the reality.

The labrynth has no address, no sign to announce it’s existence.

It is only found when the one seeks to follow it’s call.

The whispers begin at the back of my  memory. A distant calling back to a time when when audible letters became words. Pieced together, they became sentences. Transcribed on paper and repeated through the eyes they became magic. Unleashing worlds and creatures that beg for existence beyond paper and ink.

Those whispers beckon the search for the location where imagination lies in print.

The Labrynth.

The whispers called to me.

The only rule of the labrynth is this-

To satisfy my hunger for the labrynth, the labrynth must be fed in return.

To keep the delicate balance of the mysterious labrynth in check, I  must give my words in order to take someone elses.

I left my home as day was turning to night. Dark clouds began to roll in and shielded the blood moon from illuminating my way.


The whispers as my only guide. Leather satchel flung over my shoulder containing a bound portfolio of my minds work.

My imagination.

My sweat.

My cramped hands.

My soul.

Stories created on this blog, casually listed under the menu section, transcribed from screen to paper using ink that flowed like blood once the process began.

My words.

My sentences.

My stories.

My soul.

About to be turned over to a place that I have never been to and will probably never find again.

In order to be fed…..I must feed.

The whispers grew louder as my journey wore on.




My head was ringing with interconnecting voices, accents, and language I could not decipher.

My eyes began to water and blur from the decibels the arose within my mind. I closed them tight to regain my focus.

As I turned a bend in the road and nearly collapsed from the weight of the drawing force within me……

Everything stopped.


I gripped my leather satchel with both hands until they became numb and then opened my eyes.


A single building with a single light stood before me in the darkness.

I walked up the few steps and cautiously rapped on the metal door.




The door opened.

A man who stood easily over 7 feet, looked me up and down and said,

“Welcome to the Labrynth…..we have been waiting for you.”

I walked past him and into the entryway of the labrynth. My first thought was he smelled of dust…..and time.

“I trust you have brought something of yourself to leave behind….” he asked.

I opened up my satchel and reached in to grab my portfolio.

The tall man stopped me and shook his head.

“You dont give to me, young man. You give to the labrynth. Leave it in place of the one you take.”

I quizzingly asked,

“How will I know which one to take?”

He smiled and replied,

“The labrynth knows…..the labrynth knows. Come. It is time.”

He walked over to 2 large oak doors that stood taller than he. He pulled them open revealing as many stories of books above as there were stories below.



A virtual skyscraper of books that reached into the heavens and to the depths of the underworld.

I tried to take in the massive inventory of bound words.

All I could manage was a gulp.

The man led me in and said,

“Take all the time you need. Find what has been waiting for you. Leave what will be sought. Exit through the door from which you came.”

I began walking through the catacombs. Brushing my hand against books that could very well be older than time itself.

Every language.

Every genre.

Every type of script ever imagined.

Shelves upon shelves lined with books, manuscripts, stories, lives waiting to be awoken and explored.

I searched up.

I searched down.

I lost track of time and place.

Mesmerized by the centuries of print.

As I glided down a certain corridor lit only by candlelight, I was strangely drawn to a spine that seem to illuminate the closer I got.

My heart rate quickened, my fingers seemed to tingle as I brought the book out from the chorus line of the adventures that surrounded it.

Upon releasing the novel from its libraric prison, a soft but quite audible


was heard from somewhere deep in the labrynth.

I turned the cover toward me and shuddered when I saw the title-


With shaking hands I placed the book into my satchel and pulled out my portfolio to put in its place.

As I pushed it onto the shelf and released my fingers from my written soul another soft yet audible sound was heard-


Then all went silent.

The only sound was my footsteps as they were strangely led directly to the door from which I entered at the other end of the very corridor from which the feeding took place.

I walked out of the labrynth into the sunlight, which was overtaking the west and illuminating toward the other horizons.

I felt exhausted…..yet light on my feet. With my prize under my arm, I began to walk back to where my reality resided.

Stopping once to smell the bluebonnets, whose sight and smell were much brighter than I had ever imagined.


I stood up and opened my satchel. In the darkness of the case, the book that lay within, which bore the chosen name of my blog, seemed to tell me-

“We have such sights to show you……”

But that…..

Is another story all together.

All photos taken by good2begone or Mr. B Gone, if you will.

Story created as a tribute to the ‘Cemetery of Forgotten Books‘ found within the pages of “The Shadow of the Wind” series written by Carlos Ruiz Zafon.

The “We have such sights to show you” Quote taken from “Hellraiser” by Clive Barker.


Jake and the Giant

7 year old, Jake was playing on the floor with his hot wheels when his father came home from work.


He looked up as his dad closed the door, got up and wrapped his arms around his legs.

“How was work, Daddy?”

The father looked down at him with a genuine smile and a pat on the head and replied,

“Long, son….real long. I’m glad to be home….where’s Momma?”

“Getting ready to go to the store. She says she went to the cupboard and it was bare.”

The Dad smiled.

“Just like the story, huh?”

“Yeah, I like stories….you used to tell me a lot of them before you started working nights. Now I never see you before I go to bed….and when you get home…you’re too tired.” Jake said with a sigh.

The Mother walked out from the back room and said,

“Hey honey, sorry…but I gotta go shopping before my meeting with the school. Can you watch Jake while I go? And by watch, I don’t mean put on a movie and go to sleep. He is too young to be left alone.”

Jake smiled big, Daddy smirked.

She kissed her husband and her son and left to run her errands.

“Ok, buddy. Here’s the plan. I’m gonna sit in the recliner and…”

Jake interrupted him,

“HEY! Momma said no sleeping!”

Dad inhaled and exhaled deeply as he looked down at his son and replied,

“How about we make a deal….I sit on the sofa and relax…and you sit next to me and tell me a story…”

“Really? You want ME to tell YOU a story? I never do that afore.”

“I know…”

Jake thought about it by rubbing his hand over his head, just like his Dad did when he was thinking, and looked back up at him with a confident and excited answer,


Dad headed over to the sofa and sat down to get comfortable. He immediately let out a sigh and his eyes began to slip downward.

Jake noticed and jumped up onto the couch with a plop, which caused Dad’s eyes to quickly re open.

“You can’t go to sleep! You gotta hear my story, first!”

“I know, I know…I’m sorry. Let’s hear your story.”

“Ok…here it goes…”

One up on a time in a place far far far far……far……far away….there was a giant. An the giant lived with a little giant. The little giants name was Ja…ck. it wasn’t Jake… was Jack.
An Jack would always be waiting for the giant to come home from doing his giant stuff that he did all day and sometimes at night for the while if the giants boss made him.

Dad cut in.

“Is this a “real” story?” He asked concernedly.

Jake fidgeted a bit, rubbed his head and replied with a wince,

“Real?….giants aren’t real Dad….just listen to the story.”

Dad sat up straighter in his seat and intently listened to the story of Jack and the Giant that his son was spinning.

While the giant was doing his giant stuff, Jack would be at the giant house waiting for the giant to get home….wait…I already said that…the big giant would get home and be too tired to show the little giant, who whose name was Jack…and not Jake…what he had to do to someday be a BIG GIANT TOO! All Jack could do was try to do big giant stuff by himself…because the big giant always wanted to rest to be ready for more big giant stuff instead of showing little giant, who was Jack and not Jake, how to be a giant too. So…so…so the big giant kept getting gianter and the little giant kept getting smaller an smaller an smaller……an smaller…..until the big giant got home one day and couldn’t see the small giant named Jack….not Jake, and SPLAT…he stepped on him…..dee end.

“Wow!” The Dad said, “how could I possibly sleep after that story?”

Jake shrugged his shoulders and replied,

“I du no. You like my story? It wasn’t real….giants can’t get smaller…only bigger.”

“Well son, the best part of any story that isn’t “real”….is that over time maybe you want to change the story if you think it would sound better. Maybe…the giant gets busy and forgets how important it is to spend real time with the little giant and before he SPLATS him….the big giant changes.”

“How would he do that?”

“By starting to show the little giant how to be a big giant…..And by realizing that the little giant can show the big giant a few things about what’s important…..You wanna go to the park and play catch….or…..whatever you want?”

Jake asked quizzingly,

“You wanna DO something? Won’t you be tired for work later?”

Dad replied,

“Work isn’t going anywhere son and I need to enjoy time with you instead of sleeping it away….one day you may not want to spend with me and I will be the giant that feels like he’s getting smaller. I love being your giant. Get your shoes on.”

Jake ran back up his room to get his shoes.

In the time he had by himself before he returned, the Dad wiped a tear from his eye and thought,

“Giant lessons from a small boy….talk about an eye opener.”


Images from

The Fix

The young boy wandered the streets in a frantic daze. His eyes would jet back, forth and he would look behind him to make sure he wasn’t being followed.

He needed a fix.

It seemed, to him, that all the kids at school were experimenting with new things.

He wanted something new, too.

He didn’t fit in and had a hard time making friends because he was transferred from the “bad side of town”.

His clothes weren’t right. His hair wasn’t right.

He just needed something to make him “feel”…..right.

The other day, he overheard talk about a guy nicknamed “the fixer”.

They said he knew a place that had some stuff that would take your mind to places you couldn’t even imagine!

They said he promised that one fix from him and you would be hooked.

No joke!

They talked about going to look for the man with the raven tattoo on his arm, but they were all talk.

He wasn’t.

He was on a mission to get the elusive fix that all the kids were talking about.

He combed the downtown city blocks, glancing at every male arm he could to hopefully catch a glimpse of the raven.

As the heat of the day wore on and perspiration began to drop off his cheek to the concrete below, he knew he needed to take a break from his search.

He glanced across the street and saw a single water fountain at the edge of the downtown walking park.

He crossed the street and jogged up to the fountain, where he pressed and held the button and drank until he thought he would burst.

As he drank, a voice from behind him scared him into stopping.

“Are you planning on draining the cities water supply or are you gonna leave some for others to have?”

The young boy stopped, turned around and began to reply,

“I’m sorry…I was thirst….”

That’s when he noticed the tattoo.

He stepped out of way and let the man in torn jeans and long hair by.

The man with the tattoo pulled his hair out of the way and drank slowly from the fountain.

The young boy just stared at the tattoo and gulped, waiting for him to turn around.

The man finished drinking, turned around and gave the boy a quizzical look.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost? You ok?” He asked the boy.

The boy quickly replied before he changed his mind.

“Are you the fixer?”


“The…the fixer…I heard a man with a raven tattoo has some stuff that promises to take you away for a while….I heard one fix from you…and…and…I would be hooked…are you him.”

The man with the raven tattoo studied the boy.

He then asked him to sit with him on the bench, so they could talk.

“Look, kid..I don’t have “the stuff” as you called it….but I can take you to the place that does. But I have to warn you…..the one fix and hooked deal is real. It’s not one of those new fancy drugs that I hear about. This one has been around…a long time..and isn’t used much anymore…it lost its ‘cool factor’ a long time ago…..but it still works better than anything else. How much money you got?”

The kid shifted his eyes, stood up, turned out his pockets and replied.

“I don’t have any money….”

The man rubbed his tattoo and answered.

“First fix on me…..but here’s the deal. I will take you, but, when you come back for more, which you will, you have to bring a friend. When we get there you will have to talk to the woman who also has a raven tattoo….she monitors the joint to make sure anyone who goes there gets their “fix” in silence…..she will set you up for future fixes. Deal?”

The young man stared up at him and pondered if he could really handle what he was getting himself into. In defiance to his normal unconfident self, he stuck out his hand and said,


The man stuck out his arm with the raven tattoo and shook his hand gently with his hand.

“Let’s go.”

They walked two blocks down from the park, and up a stairwell that was in between two buildings.

At the top was a clearing of trees that had a walkway and two flights of stairs that led up to an old building.

A few people hung around outside.

They each nodded to the man with the raven tattoo as he and the boy passed.

No words. Just nods.

As he opened the large oak front door, the young man was stuck by a silence he was not used to. At first it was uncomfortable but soon it began to soothe him.

They walked up to a large desk, where a woman with long red hair sat.

The man with the raven tattoo cleared his throat.

The woman looked up and brushed her hair behind her ear, revealing a small raven tattoo on her neck trailed by stars.

“This kid is looking hit his first fix. I told him we could fix him up.”

She looked at the boy and then at the man and replied,

“Kinda young…isn’t he?”

The man shrugged his shoulders and answered,

“Hey…he came to me…if we want to keep this place going, they need to get hooked as young as possible. I told him first fix was on me…you set him up for a return visit?”

“I suppose…take him in…and don’t bother the others…I’m unusually busy today.”

The man with the raven tattoo led him to an opening that was covered by a curtain.

As he opened the curtain, the young mans eyes grew wide. He slowly looked in each direction and asked,

“What is this place?”

The man with the raven tattoo knelt down to be able to quietly speak into his ear.

“This place is the only fix you will ever need, it will open your mind, expand your imagination and take you wherever you want to go…..welcome to the library.”


The Reluctant Angel-Part 4

They walked down the hallway in silence.

The recently deceased Angel following a few paces behind the Angel who wears the grey suit and the immaculately shined shoes.

As he followed, Angel took in his surroundings and attempt to surmise his whereabouts.

All 4 sides that surrounded him were bathed in a color he couldn’t quite place a palette tone to.

It wasn’t quite white…but wasn’t grey, either.

The lighting came from spaces without fixtures.

He couldn’t call it brilliantly bright….but it wasn’t dimly lit, either.

He looked passed the man he was following and couldn’t tell if the hallway had an end.

He glanced behind him, as he followed, and was surprised to see that he no longer knew where the hallway began.

Angel stopped.

The man in the grey suit continued walking.

Becoming frustrated with the following to seemingly nowhere and into nothing, Angel broke the silence to ask a few questions.

“Are we headed into a bright light that is beckoning to take me beyond the pearly gates of Heaven”

The man in the grey suit slowly came to a stop and turned around…..

But didn’t answer.

“Or…are we headed down this off color white mile to the gates of hell where I will burn for eternity?”

The man in the grey suit cracked the slightest of smiles and plainly replied,

“For someone who adamantly does not believe in either of those scenarios, I am quite surprised at how quickly you believe that you are destined for one….or….the other.”

He paused to let that statement sink in then continued.

“Where we are headed is to what I like to refer to as….my office. I hope you will be content with the temperature, it will neither be hot….nor cold….but adequate for us to converse and…like I said when I introduced myself to you….to get better acquainted, which will help us to decide the placement of your transition.”

Angel cautiously replied,

“My transition into….what?”

The slight smile on the face of the man in the grey suit widened just a touch before he answered,

“The who, what, where, when…and most importantly the why of our relationship will be answered…..”

He paused and took out his pocket watch, clicked it open and turned the face toward Angel and then finished his statement,

“in due time.”

He then clicked it closed and made a motion with his arm to follow him to the right.

Angel followed his eyes with the motion of the arm of the man he followed.

An opening in the wall appeared, revealing a room with 2 chairs.

“Please, after you.” The man in the grey suit requested.

Angel walked through the opening.

The man in the grey suit and the immaculately shined shoes followed.

“Please, have seat, young man. Although, The vehicles I choose to cover the mode of my transportation are quite comfortable….resting them allows me to recharge not only my appendages but to enjoy the peace that surrounds us.”

He sat in the other.

Angel took the seat that was offered and sat, looking very rigid and uncomfortable in the comfortable chair.

The man in the grey suit noticed and made a blunt suggestion.

“You are not in a coffin, Mr. Davis. Close your eyes for a moment and let the peace relax your rigidity. This meeting is of great importance to both of us and a great many more….denying the peace access to your senses will ultimately decide your transition and we will be finished before we even have had a chance to begin.”

Angel recognized the honest yet stern urgency in the man’s tone.

He did not speak a word. He only took in a deep breathe, relaxed his shoulders and let the peace return.

The man in the grey suit watched as Angel’s fearful and guarded stance broke.

It was slowly replaced by a calm.

Angel opened his eyes and got a bit more comfortable by using the armrests and slouching down a bit.

“That’s better. Now…before I answer any of the number of questions and inquiries you must have….I must take the time to inform you about not only my past and how I came to be but how this realm works and it’s relevance to your situation….. I guess it would behoove me to start at what I know to be the beginning for that is where most stories begin….”


To continue press “here

The Reluctant Angel-Part 3

As Angel continue to succumb to that aura of peace that overtook every particle of his being, he began to accept that the life he knew….was no more.

He didn’t know where he was, why he was here, or what would happen next.

All he knew was that he was dead.


All he could do was wait.

And hope that he didn’t have to converse with any others of the newly dead that congregated in the room for waiting.

His eyes forced themselves open after hearing an odd yet familiar sound.

It was an argument between a mother and her child.

It almost made him giggle, and probably would have, if not for the absurdity of the scene.

As Angel watched the confrontation, he concluded that they died when their house caught on fire, due to the child’s curiosity or maybe it was a fascination with matches.

The mother sat opposite him with the child standing in front of her.

Their hair had been completely burned off. Their scalps still smoldering. Their skin charred and drooping off parts of their arms and legs. What was left of their clothes had melted in with the skin that was supposed to protect them.

“How many times have I told you to leave them alone?” The woman scolded as she tore a piece of cloth from the bottom of the smoldering nightgown she was wearing.

“I know, momma.” The child pouted.

“If I have told you once…I have told you a thousand times. Now look at me and stand still. We have to look presentable for the transition.”

The Mother spat in the blackened cloth and proceeded to wipe what was left of the child’s face. Trying to remove the soot.

“That hurts, momma…and smells gross…did you brush your teeth today?” The child griped.

“Shut up, child and stand still. Do you have ants in your pants?”

“No..the fire is eating my pants…it burns!”

The mother paused, put her rag down, placed her burned hands on her hips and said,

“And who’s fault is that, little miss fire starter?….hmm…..WHO’S FAULT IS THAT??”

Angel shook his head and got out of his seat and headed up to the clearing at the front of the room.

As he passed the first row of chairs in the waiting of the dead room, he noticed what seemed to be a glass window on the wall he faced, about 15 feet ahead.

Behind the window, sat a woman who was seemed to be monitoring the occupants of the waiting room.

The woman behind the glass looked up as Angel approached and quickly stated,

“If your name has not been called, it will be based on the order of the deceased.”

Angel calmly replied,

“Well, could you at least tell me how many deceased are ahead of me?”

The woman quickly shot back-

“Why? Do you have an appointment elsewhere? Where on earth could you possibly have a appointment? Ohh…that’s right…you can’t…cuz you’re dead…..”

Angel just stared at her in stunned disbelief.

“No one ever gets my jokes anymore. Sarcasm was supposed to be my way to the top…instead it got me killed….and here. Name and cause of death….”

Angel shook his head and thought-

“What sort of afterlife job fair are they running here?”

He paused then spoke,

“Ohh…sorry. Murdered by gunshot. Davis…Angel Davis.”

She stopped looking at her list and back up at him and asked-

“Your name is Angel?……Angel Davis? Riiight….and I’m the Virgin Mary….I know Angel Davis….and you sir…..are no Angel Davis!”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He replied.

She looked up at him and then glanced to the right. She lifted up her hand and pointed her index finger in the same direction and then spoke.

“Ask him.”

Angel turned his head to follow her point and was faced with the man in the grey suit. He glanced down at the floor to make sure he had the immaculately shined shoes on, then back up to the top of his head, where the fedora sat.

“Mr. Davis….it’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I had planned to speak with you before your untimely demise….but your fate had it’s way with changing our destiny. Please follow me, so we may get properly acquainted.”

Angel looked at him, as he generously smiled, with a look of confusion.

The man in the grey suit slacked his smile and returned a similar look of confusion, cleared his throat and spoke.

“Pardon me for my rudeness. I am still taken aback by our greeters sarcasm and tone with the recently departed who have come here. My name is Angel…….Angel Davis and I am the transition coordinator. Please….follow me.”

The coordinating Angel began to walk down the hall.

The recently murdered Angel followed.

The greeter quickly flipped through her list, looking for the name, Angel Davis, on her list.

As she came to the end, with no luck, she flipped back to the front to start again.

And again.

And again.

As she was looking a forth time, she was shaken out of her one name seeking frenzy by a tap on the window.

She looked up to see a different coordinator staring at her. He also wore a grey suit.

He frustratingly looked at her and said,

“Well….who’s next?”

She shook herself out of her daze and replied,

“Ohh…sorry Angel….next is Donnie Kendle….cause of death…drowning. He’s the little boy with the robot.”

Angel shook his head and replied,

“Thank you.”

He then turned toward the waiting room and knelt down and called out to Donnie who was playing with the burned girl.

Donnie looked up, smiled at hearing his name being called and sloshed over to Angel, where he promptly coughed up murky water before asking a question.

“Do you want to play with me.”

Angel smiled and comfortingly replied,

“Yes….yes I do. Playtime is my favorite time.”

He gently took Donnie’s hand and winked at the greeter as he led him down the same hallway that Angel Davis was led down, just moments before.

She smiled and with that single wink from Angel, she completely forgot what she was doing before he arrived.


To continue the story press “here

The Reluctant Angel-Part 2

Something awakened in the distant echoes of Angel’s consciousness. He couldn’t put words to the collaboration of new sensations that he felt but his mind brought one to the forefront-


For the better part of his life, Angel searched for this feeling….yet it wasn’t a feeling.

He couldn’t grasp or touch it.

He just…knew….that he had reached it.

He pleaded for the ability to keep his eyes closed and maintain the ability to experience this…..realm of peace.


Like all things, good and bad, that occur with eyes wide shut, they come to an end.

Angel opened his eyes, expecting to see the flawed popcorn ceiling and lint covered fan that are representations of his apartment.

What he saw, caused him to fall out of the chair he was sitting upright in, and to re close he eyes tight.

Before opening his eyes…again. He convinced himself that he must still be sleeping and his mind shifted into nightmare mode.

“Just ride it out….” He told himself. “just ride it out.”

As he continued to repeat the phrase under his breathe, he felt a tap on his shoulder.

He did his best to ignore it but the tapping continued.

He reluctantly began to opened his eyes. The nightmare wanted to talk to him.

He repeated the phrase, one more time, then opened his eyes to face to constant tapper.

“Ride it out.”

Angel uprighted himself in the chair and looked at the boy who inflicted the tapping.

He couldn’t have been older than 8, but it was hard to be definite of his age because of the bloating of his lips and body and extreme blue coloration.

The boy tilted his head, pointed at the exit wounds in Angel’s chest and asked-

“You get shot?”

Angel replied-


The boy asked again-

“Shot…pew pew pew.” With his enlarged blue fingers using a gun motion.

Angel slowly looked down at his chest and looked at the blood stained shirt he was wearing. He lifted it up to reveal 3 small exit holes. For the moment, he had no recollection of the events. He looked back up at the boy who was awaiting an answer.

“I don’t know….what happened to you?”

The boy shrugged his shoulders and simply answered after a coughing fit that brought up murky water-

“I go swimming to catch robot that fell in lake…..” He said as he held up a small toy robot and continued.

“I catch robot….but I forgot I can’t swim….wanna play?”

He started coughing again, then reached into his mouth and pulled out a piece of seaweed.

“Tastes icky….here.” He says and hands it to Angel.

The seaweed feels real in his hand. Limp. Soggy. He flicks it and the remnants of lake water and saliva that covered his hand, and wipes his hand on his shirt to dry it.

His hand comes up blood red.

He looks at it, wondering when this nightmare will end.

The boy gets disinterested and sloshes away.

“Maybe if I pinch myself real hard it will jar me awake.” He thinks and proceeds to grab portions of his skin with his index finger and thumb.

He twists and tugs in his arm as hard as he can. He shuts his eyes tight, mutters “hmmph” and let’s go when he can’t handle it anymore.

Then opens his eyes.

And is startled by a large man covered in a dark oily substance, laughing at him.

He looks up to look at the man in the face, but he has nothing but a neck.

Angel scales his eyes back down his torso. The head is laughing from underneath the bulging right arm that holds it.

“I tried that too,” the head stated as it chuckled, “you’re really here. By the looks of it…you got murdered. That sucks.”

Angel replied,

“Yeah, I’m here until I wake up. What happened to you?”

The face on the head smirks.

“Wake up? You should wake up and realize you ain’t gonna ‘wake up’. Have you seen you.” He says as he reaches his dirty left index finger out and at Angel’s bloodied chest.

“This hole is right where your heart…was.”

He pokes his finger through the hole and into where his heart should be then pulls it out.

“No one wakes up from that. Me? Oil rig accident. Tension rod snapped. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time…took my head clean off. Now I am here…like you waiting for my name to be called.”

Angel tried to grasp what the headless man said and managed to utter one question.

“Called for what?”

The head replied with another chuckle-

“Transition…wow…you are totally clueless, aren’t you. No worries, got nothing to do but wait…you go ahead and keep trying to wake up, though.”

As the large man finished his statement, a voice came over the intercom,


“Hey! That’s me. Gotta go, kid. Keep your head up.”

He said as he placed his head between both hands and raised it up and placed it onto his neck.

Angel watched in disbelief as “Headless Bubba Connelly” walked up to the front of the room and greeted the man who wore an oversized grey suit and immaculately shined shoes.

Before leading Bubba down a corridor, the man looked over at Angel, tipped his fedora and put up one hand and motioned for Angel to wait.

Angel began to get up to confront the man in the grey suit before he disappeared again.

Before he could, he legs went numb and he collapsed back into the chair. His eyes rolled back as the images of his death rolled into view, as if watching a movie.

A tear rolled down his cheek, as he watched his body fall and the life he once had end.

A thought slowly ran through his mind as he watched his eyes go blank-

“Wrong place….wrong time.”

As the thought finished it’s journey, the peace that had felt when was convinced he was dreaming….returned.

And he waited for the man in the grey suit and the immaculately shined shoes to call his name.


To continue the story press “here“.
Images retrieved using Google search.

Continued story from the mind of-