Another Friday! Another Drabble! Another Party!
It’s gonna get crazy in here!
Well, maybe not crazy, but cooky. Okay, okay, maybe not cooky, but a little whacky. Alright, not so much whacky as I need a nap.
But seriously not serious, welcome back to the Drabble Party. Let’s just dive right into the drabble, shall we? And afterwards, while you smoke your post-literary coital cigarette, maybe browse the website a bit. Check out the novels, the short stuffs, the whatevers. Feel free to kick back and hang.
“You think threatening me with violence will work?” Mr. Mason asked.
“I’m not threatening you with violence,” I said. “I’m threatening to destroy your life. I will insinuate myself in ever single detail of your existence and piss all over it. By the time I am done with you, you’ll willing place a gun in your own mouth and pull the trigger.”
“Do you have any idea the resources I command?” Mr. Mason asked.
“I do,” I said. “And I don’t care. Fourteen hours to make things right.”
“How?” he shouted.
I just shrugged and walked out of the room.
Disclaimer: I be chillin’, yo.
Yep, I am writing this on Thursday. Why? Because I am Odin’s Son, Thor, the God of Thunder!
No, actually it’s because I am heading to World Horror Con 2015 down in Atlanta. I say “down” because I live in Asheville, NC. Atlanta is below me!
While you read this, I’ll be at the author mass signing at the convention. Sitting there with amazing authors, all lined up and signing our books together. I am going to sign all of mine using the name Shecky Dark. It’s funny AND scary!
But, just because I am hobnobbing with the horror elite doesn’t mean y’all don’t get a drabble! Huzzah!
“Finally, we meet,” the Shadow Master said.
“Yes, we finally do,” Lord Malk stated, his confidence at an all time high due to his ingestion of the Herb of Wuppass. “Come at me, Shadow.”
“I think not!” the Shadow Master laughed. “You come at me!”
“Uh, no, you’re supposed to come at me,” Lord Malk replied. “Seriously. Come at me.”
“Not sure where you’re getting that,” the Shadow Master said. “Why do I have to start the fight? Because I’m evil? As if.”
The two opponents, destined to stand and face each other, continued that way for eternity.
Disclaimer: It’s just an honor to be nominated!
Who’s ready to get their Drabble on?
So, while you are busy reading this, if you are reading it on Friday, which I know you are because you are a faithful, loyal reader that has sprung for the implant… Forget what I just said about the implant. There is no implant. Implants don’t exist. They never have.
Sooooo, how are you?
Okay, I’ve just given up on being subtle.
What was I talking about? Oh, right, what I’m doing while you are reading this. I’ll be at a cabaret fundraiser for Asheville High School’s drama program so a bunch of kids can afford to go to the National Thespian Festival this summer.
SUPPORT THE ARTS, MOTHERFUCKERS!
The NEA should hire me. I’d be very effective.
Anyhoo, if you want to go then just head to AHS by 7pm tonight or Saturday night. Tickets are $20 for adults, $10 for students. There will be desserts and beverages provided. Plus JAZZ HANDS! You should really go.
Now, how about a drabble?
“Come one, come all! See the amazing acts of strength and daring! The world’s most amazing, the world’s greatest, the world’s… Ah, screw it,” Miguel said as he looked out at the empty boardwalk.
The shop next to his Amazing Carnival of Freaks attraction stood empty, Ms. Bessie having packed up and left months ago. No point in sticking around when there weren’t any customers.
Miguel sighed and sat his ass down on the rickety stool by the mirrored entrance to his attraction. He frowned at his reflection, noting the radiation sores that had started to bloom on his skin.
Disclaimer: SUPPORT THE ARTS, MOTHERFUCKERS!
Well, hello there! Y’all just swinging by to shoot the shit? Oh, what’s that? You want a drabble? A FREE drabble?
Well, hot damn, are you in the right place!
Not gonna do any shilling tonight (BUY IN PERPETUITY!) and just gonna get right to the mighty micro-fiction that has you all hot and bothered.
The cocktails were served, the conversation was lively, the atmosphere of the evening was friendly.
Except for the matter of the corpse in the corner.
Folks tried to ignore it, to turn their heads and pretend that they had more relevant things to discuss. But, there it sat, refusing to leave.
“Didn’t even wear cocktail attire,” one woman scoffed, rolling her eyes.
“I know,” another replied, disgusted. “The nerve.”
There was a sigh of relief when a server finally hefted it over his shoulder and took it from the room.
More cocktails were served. It turned into a lovely evening.
Disclaimer: It’s okay to get hot and bothered by 100 words. It’s a perfectly normal part of life.
It’s time for another Party! Time for more 100 word goodness! It’s Friday!
And, while I have you hear, how’s about we chat a little about In Perpetuity? I know ya want to.
In Perpetuity is my latest novel, a military space opera romp set on a training station that orbits Earth. There’s plenty of action, blood, guns, spacefighters, sex, foul language, aliens, intrigue, sabotage, and plasma rifles. PLASMA RIFLES!
If you have a spare moment, and you’ve read In Perpetuity, then hop on over to Amazon and give that puppy a review. I hate to ask, but the unfortunate reality is that reviews help with rankings and rankings help with visibility and visibility helps with sales. It’s a shitty chain reaction that makes me feel dirty just writing about, but dems da breaks, right? Right.
Okay, enough shilling. How’s about a drabble?
Small people. Really, really, small people.
“Uh, hello?” you call out. “Are you real?”
They answer you, their itty bitty mouths moving, but their voices are so small, so tiny, that you can’t hear them. It’s like a far off squeak from a porch swing a few blocks over.
“Can you speak up?” you ask. “I’m having a hard time- Ow! Hey!”
They speak up, all right. They speak up with tiny pistols and tiny rifles, sending microscopic bullets at your face.
“Stop that!” you yell. “Stop!”
They do not.
Your boot ends it all in a sad, anticlimactic way.
Disclaimer: Dems da breaks.