Sunday, October 30, 2011
Monday, September 12, 2011
WARNING* Part 2 contains EXPLICIT LANGUAGE *
"Until sundown. That’s how much time Marshal Brady Hawkes had to get out of Prosperity."
Read the rest of the text of this story here: http://ronearl.com/fiction/the-greenhorn/
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Death overlooked the idyllic wasteland below the banister of his dwellings. Flowers were in bloom, and the scene was unpleasant due to its extreme optimism. Even the trees were arched straight and were filled with sheets of healthy green leaves. Nothing could be more abhorrent than to see such bliss. Even the denizens of this perversion were whistling merrily while shuffling off to their gratifying jobs. No disconcerting screams of pain could be heard in this land.
The whole scene below him appeared incomplete without Death. It needed that small ounce of misery in order to make the scene complete. Some tree needed to become unwieldy with burden. The petals of the flowers needed to be properly scorched till the color disappeared. And those merry bumpkins, who littered the prairie space with their sinful happiness, needed to be removed from the scene. Death had to make its presence known.
So death stealthily moved about the glorified prairie and quietly stepped upon the cobblestone pathway. The pathway cracked with the impact of Death’s daring steps; while the blanket of grass, bordering the path, turned yellow with Death’s quiet sneers.
As death pranced happily about the cobblestone path, trees collapsed and the mirthful citizens gasped. Without forewarning, the prairie’s citizens became inanimate. Their former life of purpose and meaning was meddled with. Children and adults alike cried endlessly over the meaningless carcasses of their loved ones. The only remaining lives were the happy memories held in the fogged minds of those fearing Death.
Death cackled while more people befell their deaths. Piteous screams erupted from the people. Death thought they were pathetic to offer prayers to some ruler of an afterlife. This was their final termination. Once they died, the illusion of life would be abolished.
One boy still walked through the wreckage of the death surrounding him. He walked upright with confidence. The locks of his dark blonde hair shimmered in the obscene darkness of the world. His blue eyes discerned the dark, searching for one last piece of happiness.
Death laughed then sniveled. He laughed hard enough to cry at the ridiculousness of this boy’s steady hope. What could this boy potentially find?
Suddenly the boy pointed confidently to Death’s blackened form.
“Please I implore you Death, Kill me. I’m much too happy.” The boy announced his plans with a surprising amount of determination.
Death was daunted by this boy’s willingness to die. No life force has ever asked for death.
“Fine, I shall do as you command. You’re the last form of life in this miserable place.”
The boy suddenly became dominated by a feeling of strangulation. He breathed one slow breath and then exhaled his last. Finally, the boy crumpled to the ground. He was dead.
Death laughed aloud at his success. Then the gathered memories of those he killed became unrepressed. Death died with the unwillingness to accept their worth.
Life awakened soon and reverted to its former glory. In this remade world, life was the master
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Grandma used to come to me in the night. When all the lights were out and the pale glow of the moon broke through the trees and fell across my bedroom floor, she would slink out of the shadows and perch on the foot of my bed. She appeared to me, in those late hours, as a twisted wisp of darkness. An extension of the silhouetted trees, she would mimic their movement, dancing and swaying to the howl of the wind. She died many years before I was born, so I had no way of knowing what she really looked like. The only feature that stood out in all that amorphous black was the faint and raspy whimper of her voice. Oh, it was such a pitiful sound.
She used to tell me stories about what it was like to be dead. She would cry when she spoke of how she could never again see the sun, and how living in the cold and dark had bled all the color from her skin. I think she was ashamed of her appearance, and that's why she stayed hidden in the shadows. At the end of her visits, she always asked for a kiss. She would tell me to close my eyes, and then she would move over to me and press the cold flesh of her lips against mine. I remember how she always took a deep breath during our kiss. The air creeping up out of my throat would tickle, and I'd cough a little bit. By the time I opened my eyes, she was gone.
I moved away from the house where grandma lived when I was 8 years old. I hear a new family moved in, with a little girl even younger than me. I hope she's nice to my dear old grandma.
“Seeing Grandma”By Ray Dillon
I can only skip through the foggy forests of memory to get to grandmas house, and it hurts to realize I can lay out the exact floor plan of her warm home in my mind’s eye, but not the details of her warm face. While I could tell you roughly how many steps it would take to cross her screened-in porch with grass-green carpet to enter her front door, I can only offer a vague shape of her head; and on that short, pear head is not the expression of happiness and love but the feeling of it wavering in front of smooth skin where a face should be. Eyes, nose, mouth, all blink in and out, but never long enough for my eyes to process. The single detail of her I can actually envision is the drastically sagging skin of her arms that scared me at first but now pull me into the memory of her joking about it and making me laugh. She always made me laugh. She made everyone laugh. I can recall the concept of her smile as infectious. Perhaps when she smiled her rosy cheeks stood out and her eyes became crescents, but I can only speculate.
We moved away. She died a year later. I was 10.
She left the Earth and what remained was a shell of her house that was later demolished leaving no trace of her in reality. But the golden ethereal holograms of that time I took a nap in her bed, and the brick walkway to my favorite tree, and Neapolitan ice cream, and safety, and love, and her arms around me only intensify with time.