Fifty dark weird flash stories, surreal miniature worlds told in one hundred and fifty words. Laugh out loud, wickedly sad, curiously disturbing, welcome to a world of the lost and dispossessed.
HAIR FELT A MESS, FACE NEEDED FIXING, lips slashed with red the colour of blood. Well guess that's that, after the night she'd had, exhaling a long steady breath tinged with stale aftertaste and alcohol. She'd been hurt, wanted her pound of flesh, taken him back to a one room flat over a drug store, cheap sale damaged furniture tying the space together. He reckoned she was so good she'd make a corpse come. It made her feel good that! She reached over, found some Motown hits station, it pained her to laugh. What remains of the broken hearted, a crumpled 50 dollar bill in hand and a St Nicholas pendant cording tight around the neck, a heart spilling rivers of blood across a linoleum floor soon posing for crime scene in strobe flash lights. Well she figured, a cannibal's got to eat sometime. She took the freeway, headed north.
In a Las Vegas gambling den that was heaven for silver retirees glued to the slots and sitting in their own urine, Sam cut in at the table; he had this stranger's system worked out. It all went wrong. Sam couldn't understand it and hit the bar necking what he had left until the stranger came alongside. "Friend don't be too nailed about me fleecing you." He stood back. "You sort of don't recognise the new outfit," presenting himself in new light. Sam weary from the booze. "Fella, you've goddamn ruined me ain't that enough?" The stranger came in close whispering low. "We had a clause in that deal way back. You work for me if we meet again in Zanzibar " "This ain't Zanzibar! We're in Las Vegas!" The stranger reflected with a grin. "Check out the name of this hotel! Here's the suitcase Sam, you know what's to be done."
Therefore, the call went out for Theodopolous Anderson to rise from his grave and give evidence at court. Disturbed by this interruption in deathly repose, he did his duty, stepped from the grave, and duly came bound up in a tattered death shroud holding firm his jaw from dropping to the floor when loosening his chinstrap to speak and testify against the accused. Once raised from the dead however, the Priests thought his spirit could not lay in peace and so the court of the day decided to set Theodopolous impossible tasks to keep the Devil from possessing an idle mind. They planned for him varying duties and favoured a most impossible task of weaving sand into rope. Theodopolous looked aghast and would have none of this, against such an infringement of his rights he appealed, won his case for death, duly bestowed at the gallows in Bracken House gaol.
Cut to the Bone by Thomas Flyte
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