Category Archives: FICTION

Fiction – Stories I make up for fun

3 Word Challenge Story – Fifty Six


 3 Word Challenge Story – Fifty Six


This will be a bit different from my usual challenge posts. It is a challenge, though.

Brian Lageose, of Bonnywood Manor, has challenged us with coming up with a story, using 3 words he chose for us.

You can visit Brian’s blog at the following link. He has lots of interesting posts, and has written a couple of wonderfully humorous books.

Writer to Writer: The 3-Word Challenge


My three words were: Happiness, Drought, Flower


“Fifty Six”

I emerged, fragile and pale as a newborn. Inhaling deeply, I breathed the first unfiltered air since that dreadful day, fifty six years ago.

Overwhelmed, I shaded my eyes from the glare of sunlight, and looked around. Squinting, I saw nothing.

My name is Flower, and this is my story.

I was a child of twelve on that beautiful October day, with not a care in the world. Oh, I’d sensed the uneasiness in the way my parents spoke in hushed tones. They didn’t know I was listening to their conversations any chance I got, yet still it didn’t make sense to me.

As it happened, my carefree days were soon over.


We descended into our spacious, but spooky storm cellar. I hated going down there with the spiders. I was surprised though. The cellar had been cleaned, and even enlarged. There was now a small kitchen and bathroom, and places for hundreds of boxes of food and water. My parents must have been preparing for a long time.

At first I thought our seclusion was an adventure, some game or experiment, but as time went on, I came to know the truth. Wrinkles and gray hair appeared on my mother and father, and I myself changed through my teen and young adult years. Still, we remained underground.


Now I am old, older than my parents were when we first were hidden away. They are senile now, and I take care of them as best I can. Lord, when will this be over? If you say I hadn’t thought about just ending it all, it would be a lie. So many times…so many times…


We had ran out of food, two days before, and I knew we couldn’t last much longer, when I heard a scritching, squeaky noise coming from our air vents. I stared, as a long flexible tube snaked it’s way out from a tiny hole. Afraid, yet curious, I touched it, and noticed small letters printed on the hose. I collected my magnifying glass to read them.

‘This is a happiness indicator. Blow into the tubing to be accessed as to your readiness for extraction. Notification will follow shortly.’

I blew, then I held the tube up to my mother and father. We waited. Soon we heard a mechanical voice.

“You have passed. You may open the hatch to your domicile.”


Nuclear winter was over, but the fiery blast had left behind devastation. I saw no buildings, no people, no animals. Smoky skies from the fiery blast had caused widespread drought, leaving no vegetation. We were alone in a strange land. From the air around us, we heard again the mechanical voice. 

“You have a choice,” the voice said. “You may stay here and perish, or be taken as immigrants to our newly established civilization, somewhere in the universe.”

We made our choice.

My name is Flower, and this is my story.

Fifty six years ago, the world as we knew it ended. Today it begins anew.

The End


Thanks for visiting! Peace ☮️

© 2018 BS







My ear was itching in that deep down, hard to reach place. I tried for several days to scratch it by trial and error. Sticking my finger in there, jiggling it around did not help. Doing that thing with my tongue, scratching my throat did not help. Carefully inserting a cotton swab a little ways in did not work either. I tried flushing it out with warm water, then suctioning it out. This just made it worse. Now every sound was muffled, and the itch was still there.

There was no relief. Itching day and night was taking it’s toll on me. Lack of sleep, and unable to concentrate on daily activities caused me to call in sick to my place of employment on more than one occasion as the days and weeks went by.

I didn’t want to, but I made an appointment with the ear, nose, and throat doctor. The exam, which included tiny lights being shone down my ear canal, and small wire probing instruments poked down inside, turned up no clear cut diagnosis. I was sent home with only some ear drops.

After one day of using the drops, I noticed a change. The itching was barely noticeable now, but very faintly I could hear music. Even when in the silence of my house, I could hear snippets of songs, one after the other. Day by day the music became louder until it was a perfect volume.

I was able to shake my head, and the music would change to another song like magic. It was very strange, but at least it was not the infernal itching. In fact, I kind of enjoyed it, this radio in my head…turn my head, change the station, as often as I wanted.

All kinds of music was represented. I’d go about my business, at home or work, walking down the sidewalk, or shopping and be listening to a soundtrack to my days. Lucky for me, it would stop when I went to bed, so that was appreciated.

I had no need of my I-Pod anymore. I didn’t even feel embarrassed when I banged my head, or did a sudden hip-hop move in the grocery store. I even showed some people waiting at the bus stop my awesome ballet pirouettes.  Most people smiled along with me. A few tried some dance moves themselves, but I knew they couldn’t hear my music. They had their earbuds plugged into their own ears. Mine was internal, organic, awesome.

Word got around soon enough. I even had an interview that was broadcast on local television. Did that make me a celebrity? I think it did. After all, I sang and danced on camera, and now was recognized everywhere I went.

I did have one strange phone call, though. It was from a travelling troupe of performers. Their talent scout asked if I wanted to tour the fifty states with their “Amazing Freak Show”. I would be billed as “The Woman Who Hears Music In Her Head”. They promised a nice paycheck, a giant poster of me, smiling, free carnival rides, and all the cotton candy I could ever want.

I reluctantly had to turn them down. To be honest, after a year of constant music, I was beginning to be annoyed. I mean, the same playlist was on a thousand song replay. After I’d heard them three hundred sixty five days in a row, it was getting to me…and not in a good way. My dancing was becoming jerky, and I was forgetting the words to songs. More and more I’d find myself blocking out whole genres of music.

It happened gradually. I began to feel the tiny tickles of the itch coming back. After about a month, it was in full force again, and the music had completely stopped. The itching was much worse this time, so I made another doctor appointment. This time, to my relief, the doctor made a definite diagnosis.

As he reached into my ear with his long tweezers, he pulled out an object, putting it on a paper covered tray in front of me. I recoiled in horror at the sight of it.

“What in hell is that?” I managed to ask.

“You have had a bad case of Heliocoverpa zea…earworms.”


*earworm…a catchy piece of music that continually repeats through a person’s mind.

*Heliocoverpa zea…the larva of the moth commonly known as corn earworm.


Originally posted on 12/17/13 on Blogger


Thanks for visiting! Peace }i{

© 2017 BS





I like making up stories using the words from a crossword game, “Words With Friends”. These words were used in random order, and are underlined in the story, and listed at the end. 🙂



Jo and Chamsthey have been friends since childhood. It was always their dream to become famous rock stars. They were always practicing their music. Both played guitar and sang songs in the school’s talent shows over the years. When they met Al and Caid, it was a true band that emerged at last.

Calling themselves Radian, they got gigs all over town. Everyone waved at them with their lighters or phone lights at their concerts. For small town boys, they managed to make a name for themselves.

Mostly, they played hard rock tunes…at least at a club called “Mires“. That venue catered to the high school kids…no booze allowed, and no one over eighteen allowed in, either. Later on, their reputation for putting on a good stage show spread to outlying towns. They got themselves a manager by the name of Tiden…well, that was his moniker, anyway. He never told anyone his real name. However, Al got a look at his driver’s liscense once; he saw Tiden’s real name was Gary.

The guys in the band had a good laugh about it, but let ‘Gary’ think he’d pulled the wool over everyone’s eyes. They laughed behind his back, called him a ho and a sap, but he got them good venues to play, so eventually, they put a halt to the jokes.

As they all went on to attend the state college together, they continued to play their rock and roll, blowing out a few fuse boxes here and there.

All was going along great for awhile, and they were of a legal drinking age by now. This did cause problems…mostly squabbling between the band members. They all wanted top billing, and that put them at odds.

One night, after drinking too much gin, Caid and Jo had a fight. Backstage, before a show, they came to blows. It seems Tiden had received a telefax from a record company, wanting to sign Radian to a record deal. Tiden decided to hide it, and not tell anyone.

This night, however, at a club called “Kane“, Jo was going over their playlist from A to Zee, when he saw the communication stuck in Tiden’s briefcase. He almost got caught looking at it, when Tiden walked in unexpectedly, but Tiden only shooed Jo out of the office.

Jo promptly showed the others. That started the beef between them. The contract mentioned who would be primarily featured in their concerts and publicity pictures. Jo and Chams would be at the forefront, while Caid and Al would be only in the background.

A brawl ensued, which sent them all to the ER. The nurse put a ton of emu oil on their cuts and bruises, and only a lowly bandage for Chams’ lacerations on both sides of his jaws.

They eventually worked out their differences, by setting a trap for Tiden. They held his veg salad hostage, until he told them the truth about the record company. Tiden admitted he did wrong…he wasn’t anti success, but he was afraid he’d lose his meal ticket, as manager of the band, when they moved into the big time of the national spotlight. As he confessed, the guys, in unison, yelled and pointed at Tiden, telling him he was fired.

As Tiden left the building, Jo, Chams, Al, and Caid high fived, then called the record company, ultimately being signed to a four record deal, tours, and rotating top billing. This was acceptable.

They went on to become one of the most popular and beloved groups, from that day to the present time. Radian made history, and brought them all fame and fortune. Just like they’d envisioned all those years ago.


Words used from crossword game are underlined.

jo                           chams                           they                     been

rock                       al                                   caid                     emerged

radian                   waved                           boy                      hard

mires                    ti                                     wool                   ho

sap                        halt                                roll                      fuse

gin                         tele                                fax                       hide

kane                      zee                                 shoo                    beef

in                           er                                   puts                     ton

emu                       jaws                               anti                     trap

veg                        den


Hope you enjoyed my silly crossword story!

Peace, Love, & Laughter!

Thanks for visiting! }i{

© 2017 BS





Three Line Tales, Week Thirty-One



photo by Alex Hockett


Chain of memories all in sync.

Each one connected, link by link.

His life’s story told in ink.


Thanks for visiting! Peace }i{

© 2016 BS



NOW YOU SEE IT – NOW YOU DON’T – for FFfAW photo-20160724072916278

This story is written for the Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers challenge. It is a photo prompt, and should be no longer than 175 words in length. Enjoy!




“There’s his old pocket watch,” I hollered, as I dove for it, tackling it like a pro football player, before it could get away.

My family, I’ll admit, are a greedy bunch of gold-diggers, always looking for something for nothing, as the saying goes. So, when Gramps passed on, the will reading came as no surprise. We were all to gather out at the old homestead for a treasure hunt to beat all treasure hunts.

Gramps had hidden all his earthly treasures, and we had to find what we could. A time limit of two hours was specified. Any unfound goodies were to be donated to charity. So, we all began looking, inside, outside…everywhere.

But, something strange happened. As the items were found, they would be snatched away by an invisible hand, never to be seen again.

“What the heck, Gramps,” we wondered, but kept looking, grabbing what we could find.

When the two hours were up, we had nothing. I swear we heard Gramps laughing from beyond, as we trudged back to our cars.


word count = 175

Thanks for visiting! Peace }i{

© 2016 BS



CASHING IN – #SOCS – 8/13/16 – CASH


Cashing In – #SOCS – 8/13/16 – Cash socsbadge2016-17

Today is another Stream of Consciousness Saturday,  with the prompt word being Cash.

We also have a brand new logo for our posts. The votes came in, and the winner was the one submitted by John Holton!

Here’s how to join in the Saturday fun, and also see other’s entries!

The Friday Reminder and Prompt for #SoCS August 13/16


Today, I’ve done something a bit different. I missed a few of the prompt Saturdays and wanted to see if I could back-track a bit and use the words in a short story. I did look up what they were for the last 25 week ends. That was all the pre-work on it I did. The rest of the story, as they say, came as an honest stream of consciousness flow. 🙂

Here are the prompts, in the order they appeared, working back from today’s:

cash, ex, art, second, if/then, concentration, long, drink, class, mb (a word with those letters), book, press, brake/break, a 2 letter word, apparent, zoo, ta, no (number?), ha, be, real, egg, ball, this and that, food.

Hope you enjoy the story! 🙂



I’m ready to cash in all my chips. Isn’t that how the saying goes, when you’re ready to give up on whatever you’re trying to do?

I’ll go ahead and say it. “I’m an ‘ex’ artist.” Yeah, sad isn’t it?

I entered an art contest, and only came in second place. I know what you’re thinking, that it’s too soon to call it quits, and to just keep trying. Well, sure, I could draw some more, paint some more, sketch some more, but if I did, and then came in second place again, or worse, it would be embarrassing. I can’t take that chance. I now need to concentrate on another hobby/career path. I need to think long and hard on what I should do.

Know what? I need a drink. I surely do. That might settle my nerves.

We have a class reunion coming up soon. It’ll be ten years out of school, and what have I got to show for myself? A second place ribbon is all I’ve got. That’s all, and I feel so dumb. They’ll have the old school yearbooks for everyone to look back on. Yep, those were the ‘good ‘ol days’. They won’t be impressed by my accomplishments – I have none.

Oh, it’s apparent I’m a failure. No thanks…don’t want to go to that reunion zoo. Ta-ta to all that, I say. No. 10 get together will just have to go on without me. Ha-ha, am I being too real? Should I be a good egg, suck it up and go? No, I think not.

I’ll go to a ball game that night, instead. I’ll have more fun talking about this and that with other ball game enthusiasts. I can also get some good food at the stadium snack bar, too. Maybe, I’ll even have a beer or two. I’ll enjoy myself.

Then, when I get home, I can draw a picture of my fun day out. …wait…what did I say? Draw? heh-heh…I think I will! 🙂


Thanks for visiting! Peace }i{

© 2016 BS




Three Line Tales, Week Twenty-Six



photo by Maher El Aridi


Glowing softly, the  moonflower princesses glide silently across the countryside.

They are sent, once again, to welcome the most recently departed princess to their heavenly realm.

She will then be awarded an ethereal wedding gown, to commemorate her initiation into their most exclusive hereafter society.


Thanks for visiting! Peace }i{

© 2016 BS




Warning…adult content


(19th installment)

warning…adult content

A few cars passed by, as Ghost lay there by the side of the road, but no one in them glanced toward the angel statue. The sun was beginning it’s slow descent toward the horizon, when an old, four door sedan passed by on the road. The man inside had been this way before, and always looked for the angel statue as a landmark of sorts, to know he was on the right road leading to his home. This day he smiled and nodded as he drove by, but then something got his attention, and he slowed, then stopped the car.

He tried to figure out why the young man was lying there. Was he ok? Was he asleep? Was he injured? He told himself it wasn’t any of his business, and started to drive away, but he felt compelled to go back to see what was going on.

He stopped there on the side of the road, then walked cautiously over to the young man. He was shocked to see the bloody clothes and swollen face. As he reached out to touch a shoulder, trying to wake the still figure, he could see the rise and fall of the chest, so he knew he was still alive. He shook the shoulder a little more, and as the person roused, opening his sky blue eyes to a waking state, the man was startled at what they revealed.

“Ghost,” the man whispered.

Ghost nodded slightly. The man had never seen Ghost before, yet had said his name as if he had. He felt a strong connection to this Ghost person, and knew he had to take him to his home in the mountains. He gently put his arms under Ghost’s knees and back, and carried him to the old car. He tenderly laid him on the back seat, noticed Ghost shivering, so put an old, soft blanket over him. He brushed a golden strand of hair off Ghost’s forehead, saying softly,

“You’ll be ok, Ghost. You’ll be home soon,” and he drove off. It was over two hundred miles to the man’s home, from near the coast, where they were, up wooded, twisting roads, into the mountains.


 At last he was there. He still didn’t know why he’d brought Ghost home with him, but here he was. His wife would surely know what do do. She was a healer, after all. As he pulled up to their cabin, she came out, looking worried. Before she even knew about his mysterious passenger, she said,

“Bring him in here, hurry!”

They lifted Ghost from the car and carried him inside. He did not rouse, and they could see there was no light left in those amazing eyes. She looked at her husband,

“You know what I need. Bring me my tonics and herbs, quickly!”

When he returned, she administered the medicines to Ghost.

“He needs to be cleansed,” she said, drawing a warm bath.

The man nodded, and helped her undress Ghost. They both gasped as they saw the devastating injuries on Ghost’s body. They lowered him into the warm water, bathing him gently, washing away blood and dirt from his wounds, and his hair free of blood and debris. Even more than the washing away of blood, it was washing away some of the pain.

The gentleness of their actions soothed Ghost’s mind and soul. When they were finished, they clothed him in a soft flannel shirt of the man’s. It was very large and hung from Ghost’s thin frame, but he could feel the softness and was grateful. They took him to a small room, settling him into a soft bed there. He fell instantly asleep.

The woman and her husband sat at their kitchen table and talked.

“How did you know his name?” and “How did you know I brought someone home?” they questioned…and “What are we to do with him?”

Then, they revealed they both had felt a connection to Ghost, somehow, as if they knew him…then the wife exclaimed,

“Oh, my goodness, I think this must be Miz Deliverance’s grandson! That must be it. I knew something was nagging at me, something that was familiar. We haven’t heard from her in many years…maybe only once since she left the community.”

The two of them continued to discuss and ponder why Ghost was here now. How it had come to be that they had been the ones to find and care for him. As they talked, the wife prepared their supper. They knew Ghost needed to eat, and this would nourish him.

She brought up a tray for Ghost, and gently woke him…told him he must eat something, to keep up his strength. She helped him to sit up a bit, and took a spoonful of the dish she’d made, bringing it up to his lips. As he tasted it, he smiled slightly, because he knew it was the same potato soup his grandmother had taught him to make.

The wife had been good friends with Miz Deliverance for years, but when the troubles had begun, things changed. She didn’t know for sure, but doubted Ghost had ever been told the circumstances of his beginnings. She did hear from her friend later on, that she’d written a journal detailing everything, possibly to be given to Ghost after her passing. Just in case she’d never given it to him, the woman decided to write a note for him to find someday.

She wrote, “Ghost, your grandmother had many gifts, and was an exceptional woman. She loved you and cared for you when no one else would. She kept a secret journal, wherein everything would be revealed to you. If it has not, please search for it, possibly hidden in her house in Missing Mile. It will reveal her secrets…about her and about you, Ghost.

I know what she intended for you to know, but it is not for me to tell. The journal is very important. Do not fail in your search for it. My prayer for you is that the angels always watch over you, and keep you in their arms.” Then she took Ghost’s old backpack and hid the note in a small rip inside, to be found someday.


Ghost continued his slow healing, and was eventually able to join the man and wife. He told them some of his story about his time with his grandmother. Little by little his sky blue eyes were getting their light back. The couple encouraged him to go out in the community to meet people, and learn what he could of the mountain ways, which after all was his heritage.

In time his accent grew thicker, and he became knowledgeable of the ways of his ancestors. It came easily for him. But, to the community, though they were mostly accommodating and cheerful around him, they still considered him an outsider. Even though he adapted to their ways, they’d still give each other knowing looks…and Ghost, being the sensitive he was, could feel their hesitancy to accept him…could hear their thoughts, which were mostly negative.

This hurt Ghost’s heart. He was such a giving person, he couldn’t understand why most shunned him. His spirit grew restless. He felt it was time to move on. Toward what, he didn’t know, but the leering looks, the ‘accidental’ touches, the name calling, the bullying, had already begun from one group of guys.

So, he decided to go from the mountains…go face his destiny. It had been one year exactly since he’d come there.


Next part coming soon!

Thanks for visiting! Peace }i{

© 2016 BS


This is a work of “fan fiction” based on the novel, “Lost Souls” by Poppy Z. Brite. All credit for the original characters, places, and some backstory mentions, belong to Ms. Brite and her publishing affiliates. Only newly introduced characters, places, and original elements of this story are entirely from my imagination. Character descriptions are a blend of the original book descriptions and my interpretation of them.

All songs included in this work will be solely owned by the original performers/writers and will be credited. Creative liscense is taken in including them in this story. 

No harm is intended toward author, muscians, or people and situations to whom there may be a resemblence.

warning      warning      warning      warning

The content herein is rated by me as being at the high end of MA (Mature Audience). It includes strong language, violence, sexual themes, including same sex pairings, religious themes, and fantasy horror.







warning…adult content


9th installment

warning…adult content

 Morning came as it always did in Missing Mile, hot and humid, even this early. Kinsey had closed up the Yew the night before after everyone had left. Ghost and Steve had packed up and left, to sleep and to head out on their fishing adventure this morning. Kinsey chuckled at the thought of those two. He brewed a strong pot of coffee and sat thinking of what he had to do this day.

The bar wasn’t open in the mornings, but Terry knew Kinsey would be up, and he really needed a mug of the coffee he knew would be just about ready. As he quietly opened the door, he felt the refreshing coolness inside, and smelled the rich, dark coffee. Kinsey was seated at one of the tables, feet propped up on a chair.

“Hey, get yourself a cup,” Kinsey nodded toward the kitchen. They sat in companionable silence for a bit, letting the steaming mugs of liquid do it’s work in waking them up.

“Quite a show last night, huh?” mused Terry.

“Yeah, we did good on the count, and you guys were amazing! I can always depend on Lost Souls? to pack the house. I’m glad they’re back in town,” Kinsey replied.

“So, what’s everyone doing today?” asked Terry.

“Well, I’m cleaning up, and then we’ll be open for regular hours tonight. No bands are booked, so it’ll just be the kids wanting food, beer, and games. The jukebox will have to do tonight.”

“Yeah, I’ll probably drop in later. I have to go open the store in a little bit. I gave Steve the next couple days off,” said Terry. “Oh, what’s that I heard about them going fishing? Was that today?”

“Yep, them two had it all planned out. Gonna leave first thing this morning and head over to the lake,” Kinsey chuckled again. “I can’t even begin to imagine how that’ll go.”

“Hmm,” Terry mused. “Why don’t we sneak out there and see for ourselves? I’ll bet we’d get a few laughs out of it.”

“Yeah, that’d be something to see, but I got too much to do around here. I suspect we’ll hear all about it when they get back. Might be interesting to hear what they say. You know, we’ll be hearing two different versions of the thing. It’ll be funny to compare the two stories…and I do mean ‘stories’, ya know…neither one will be what actually went on.”

“You got that right, Kinsey,” laughed Terry, as he got up to leave. “See ya later.”

Kinsey went to get the supplies to begin his chores.


Meanwhile, at the house out on Burnt Church Road, Steve prodded Ghost to get up.

“Get your ass outta bed, Ghost, we’ve got fish to catch!”

“Wha…what time is it?” mumbled Ghost.

“Time to go, man…I’ve already got the T-Bird packed. Get your butt in gear and let’s get outta here,” Steve replied in a sing-song voice.

“You made a rhyme, Steve, that’s funny,” said Ghost, as he burrowed deeper into his blankets. Steve yanked off the covers, grabbed Ghost by the ankles and dragged him to the floor.

“Get up, NOW!” he said, as he left the room.

Ghost rubbed his eyes as he slowly made his way to the kitchen in search of coffee. He poured a cup from the pot Steve had made earlier. Going into the living room, he sat cross legged on the couch. He could hear Steve pacing around on the porch.

“Guess I better get dressed,” he thought, “before Steve comes back in here.”

Too late, Steve slammed open the screen door and stood looking at Ghost. He pretended to be mad, but really, he was thinking how cute Ghost looked, all sleepy soft, and messy hair, his eyes looking at him over his hot coffee cup. Steve shoook his head and just said, “Hurry up,” and he smiled

Ghost bit his lower lip and whispered, “Ok.”


Finally, they were on their way to the lake. It was only outside of town a short way. Steve was in a good mood. He babbled on about what fun they were going to have. Ghost just looked doubtful. After finding what Steve deemed a good spot to find fish, they lugged the fishing poles, a dilapidated old Army tent, a cooler of beer, and some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches Steve had put together, over to the lake’s edge.

“What now, Steve?” Ghost asked. “I never done this before, ya know.”

“Hmm,” said Steve. “Let me get the fishing stuff ready, and you can put up the tent.”

He started off with the poles and bait bucket, while Ghost just stood there staring at the tent. He had no idea what to do to put it together. It was one of those old fashioned canvas one, from an Army supply store. They’d had it for years. It was unwieldy, with wooden poles, ropes, and pegs. It was also dusty and had cobwebs on it. It smelled funky from being stored for so long.

“Ewww, this is gross,” Ghost wrinkled his nose in disgust, but he started to unroll it anyway. As he did, a big spider scuttled out of the rolls of canvas.

“Aiiii,” Ghost hollered and started hopping around, sure the giant monster spider had somehow jumped on him. He was flapping his arms, and stomping his feet, and shaking his hair all around. Steve looked over in alarm, thinking Ghost was having some kind of psychic fit or something.

“Ghost! What’s wrong?” he hollered.

“I think it touched me! I think it bit me…I think I’m gonna die out here! And you don’t even care!” Ghost wailed.

Steve ran over, trying to find out what Ghost was actually screaming about. “Slow down, dude, what bit you?”

“It was a giant, ugly spider…do you see it on me, Steve, do you? Look on my back, look in my hair…Oh, Steve, get it off me!”

Steve looked, and brushed Ghost off, but never saw any spider. “It’s ok now,” he said, to a much relieved Ghost. “It’s gone.”

He started laughing. He laughed until he thought his sides would burst. “Dude, you screamed like a little girl. I never saw anybody flap around like that in my life!” Steve was rolling on the ground, holding his stomach. “Oh, my God, I wish I had a camera, Ghost. You should’a seen yourself.” He went on and on.

Ghost did not think it was funny at all. “Fuck you, Steve. Just fuck you!”

Steve looked up at Ghost, and still laughing, said, “Is that all you got to say? Huh? Let’s hear what the funny guy has to say.”

Ghost gave him a look of daggers, but didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then he let Steve have it. He rarely lost his cool, but Steve deserved his wrath.

“You asshole, Steve,” Ghost said in a deadly calm voice, his blue eyes stormy. “You dragged me out here in the middle of nowhere, and you know I hate stuff like this. You probably hoped I’d get freaked out about something, so you could be all ‘I have to save Ghost from his crazy ideas’ and be a big shot. Well, congratulations, Steve, you got your wish. So, I’m walking home now. You can stay here and fish your brains out.” He turned and stomped away.

“Ghost…” Steve started.

Ghost turned back and hollered,”And furthermore…I DON’T KILL FISH!”

Steve just blinked at the sight of his best friend’s back, as he left. He’d never seen Ghost so mad. “Damn,” he said to himself. “Well, he’ll be back soon enough.”

He set about his task of baiting the fish-hooks, dropping them in the water, and waiting. He was waiting for a bite, and waiting for Ghost to return.


Thanks for visiting! Peace

© 2016 BS


This is a work of “fan fiction” based on the novel, “Lost Souls” by Poppy Z. Brite. All credit for the original characters, places, and some backstory mentions, belong to Ms. Brite and her publishing affiliates. Only newly introduced characters, places, and original elements of this story are entirely from my imagination. Character descriptions are a blend of the original book descriptions and my interpretation of them.

All songs included in this work will be solely owned by the original performers/writers and will be credited. Creative liscense is taken in including them in this story. 

No harm is intended toward author, muscians, or people and situations to whom there may be a resemblence.

warning      warning      warning      warning

The content herein is rated by me as being at the high end of MA (Mature Audience). It includes strong language, violence, sexual themes, including same sex pairings, religious themes, and fantasy horror.


Next part coming soon!

Peace, Love, & Writing


FILAMENTS (don’t read if you’re squeamish) – 3 Line Tales Week 17


Photo by Wynand von Poortvliet

FILAMENTS (don’t read if you’re squeamish) – 3 Line Tales Week 17

The gastroenterologist asked me if I wanted to see the results of my abdominal MRI.

“Sure, but what does it mean,” I asked, when I viewed the scan, not worried at all, because my symptoms weren’t that bad.

He pointed out the tiny filaments protruding from my intestines, and said, “These are worms, and there’s nothing we can do.”


For 3LineTales

Three Line Tales, Week Seventeen

Write 3 lines using the photo prompt.


Thanks for visiting! Peace }i{

© 2016 BS