​Stupid Intruders
The door is left unlocked. On purpose, of course. Have to entice the rats to enter the trap after all. It does not take long. Three little mice, dressed all in black, try the doorknob and find that it opens. They swing it open with a creak and they freeze before they high-five one another. A fist bump, perhaps. A golden opportunity, they believe. The three of them sneak inside and shut the door behind them as quietly as possible. It is a nice touch. They do not notice that the door has now locked behind them. Pity. The panic will have to come later.

This is not their first time. It is obvious. The ease with which they creep around and try to avoid making noise is practiced and commendable. Any other house would have been cleared out within minutes with none of the occupants being any the wiser. This is not any other house, though. And they are being watched. The cameras that have been installed see every movement, every twitch, every single step they take. The cameras watch and wait. Patience is the key here.

Soon, the rats make their way to the center of the house, wherein lies the cheese. The promised reward for the exercise of skill waits for them. The largest one opens the door to the den and creeps in, motioning for the others to join. The room is completely dark, devoid of all light. That is by design for, once all three have entered, the inevitable occurs: one of them tries the light switch. And then the trap is sprung.

The light flares to life, illuminating the room. The door slams and locks. The surge of surprise from all three of the intruders is glorious and, when the door is tried, there is no response. The cameras see them yelling at one another. The body language is aggressive and frightened. Natural, of course, but entertaining all the same. The trio is so caught up in blaming each other that they do not notice that the light is shifting from brilliant wide to a deep, angry red. Only when the floor begins to shift do they realize that the bar of the mousetrap is swinging down. So to speak. The furniture, cheap and replaceable, falls away into darkness before splintering on something sharp and violent down below. 

The panic begins in earnest and it is delicious. The rats scratch at the walls, try to latch onto something - anything - to keep them within the room. It will be to no avail, however. This has been tried over and over again. Rehearsed. Perfected. They will fall, as all the others have done. That is why the lights down below were installed. The bulbs ignite and show the extent of the horror. Bones. Bodies. Decay. Rot. Blood. All the intruders from before wait below on the spikes. They await their newest friends. 

The men struggle. They always do. They will fall. 
​
They always do.

​Burn It Down
"Are you sure it'll be okay, Reg?" Ron asked with worry in his voice. 

"Course I'm sure. It's simple, isn't it? We do the gas 'round the edge, light 'er up, and Bob's your uncle. Place burns down, owner gets paid, we get paid, everyone wins."

"It just seems like we should check out the building first. Maybe a walk-through."

"Look. You're paranoid, mate. Mr. Logan assured us this dump's been abandoned for ages and any squatters what don't get out when they smell smoke...well, they get what they deserve."

"But -"

"No buts. Pour the gas."

Ron grimaced as he hefted the can from the ground. The liquid inside sloshed heavily and Ron grunted with the effort of moving it. Reg had been extra-motivated this time and splurged on more gas than usual. Something about wanting to impress a potential repeat customer. Ron wasn't sure, but he wasn't the brains of the operation. He did the physical work which suited him fine. He wasn't much for thinking, after all. 

The gas poured out in a thick stream as Ron began dumping it around the perimeter of the abandoned house. They were getting paid to destroy it. Something about a businessman wanting a new place to build. Again, Ron wasn't much for thinking. He was told to pour, so he poured. Besides, he reasoned, this place was awful. Peeling paint, rotting curtains, missing shingles. The house looked like it was ready to fall down on its own any one of these days. They were just ushering it along, right?

He finished up the can with a few hard shakes and tossed the empty can through one of the broken windows. It landed inside with a clatter. Ron knew that fire would help burn away fingerprints. He knew that much. 

"All done, Ron?" Reg called out.

"Yup. Do what you gotta do."

He saw a spark and then a flame as Reg lit up his favorite ciggie lighter. That was Ron's cue to run as far as he could so he didn't get caught in what was coming. He turned, about to go, when he heard something that dropped his stomach out of his pants. 

"Hello?" someone cried out - from inside - "Is someone there? Please, can you help us? We've been tied up! Someone put us here! Can you help us? PLEASE."

Ron spun and stared at Reg, who was bending down to light the puddle of gas. He tried to call to his friend but his voice caught in his throat just a half-second too long and the fumes were ablaze. Ron watched in horror as the line of fuel ignited and swirled around the building within a half-minute. The cries turned to screams and all Ron could do was stand there and feel his face crisp in the heat. A crash inside - likely the top floor collapsing - silenced the noise and all that was left was crackling agony. 
​
Ron wanted to run. So he did. 

​Crash of the Crown
Thomas King woke up with a snort. His head felt fuzzy, and his mouth tasted of something chemical and astringent. He didn’t remember falling asleep and, judging by the throbbing in the back of his head, had not done so voluntarily. He was too groggy to panic just yet, which allowed him to survey his surroundings without his veins pulsing and nerves electric. He was on the top of a building. The air howled around him, cold and sharp, and the sound of honks and movement was muffled and distant. In front of him, the city loomed large and bright, beacons of light piercing the night. Numbly, he looked down and saw he was sitting on the edge of the rooftop, his feet dangling precipitously over the streets below.

He drew to full wakefulness immediately after seeing that and the expected rush of adrenaline nearly drove him to pass out again. Seizing his faculties with as much strength as he could, he tried to pull himself away from the edge, only to find that his hands were bound tightly with wire. So tight, in fact, that his wrists had leaked blood and dried before he had even woken up. He began to scream for help but was met with the silent indifference of the big city. He struggled against his bonds, but to no avail. He was trapped.

A hissing sound behind him drew his attention, though he could not turn around. Acrid, rotting breath curled around his face and made him wince. A voice in his ear, low, hissing, ancient. It whispered of vengeance from ages long since past. A debt centuries in the making and the cost was now due. He argued but a cold, skeletal hand clamped across his mouth, silencing him. The voice told him of his escape from their clutches. The rituals ruined, the lands scourged with blight and drought. It snarled as it explained how the entirety of the populace succumbed to famine, starvation, and ruin. He had fled, the voice told him, because he was a coward. It had taken them countless years to find him, but now they had come to extract their revenge.

He pleaded with them for mercy. He begged for his life. He tried his best to explain that he was not this person they were looking for. That he was just a grad student. He was only 24. Hell, his NAME was Thomas King, but that didn't make him a king. Could they not see that? Could they not understand? 

There was a pause then. A sharp cut on his cheek made Thomas cry out and blood trickled down to his neck. A finger, all bone and rotted flesh, touched the blood and drew some away. A pause as the thing tasted (?) it. Then, it said the words Thomas had hoped not to hear.

"Nice try."
​
A foot impacted the back of the hidden king and he felt himself go weightless. He closed his eyes. And waited.

Head Like a Hole
I nearly threw up. Why wouldn't I? The guy was just standing there, waiting for the bus, completely oblivious to the fact that the back of his head was open and his brains and the like were pouring out. He wasn't screaming or in any sort of pain, near as I could tell. He was just...going about his daily life as if everything was normal. I couldn't believe it. The gray-pink matter dribbling down the back of his suit should have left him dead a hundred times over but, nope, not a single reaction. Not a damn word.

I didn't want to point it out to the people standing next to me. I didn't want them to panic or, worse, think I was insane. I had been told that before and it wasn't pleasant. Still, I had to be sure that other people were seeing this. Finally, I resolved myself to talk to the lady standing about two feet away but, when I looked, I about jumped into the road. The back of her head was intact but the entirety of her face was missing, replaced by a gaping void. Not like it had been blown off or something grotesque. It was just...gone. Nothing but an endless, yawning crater. I gasped and she turned her head to face me. I think she was confused by me, but I couldn't tell. All I saw was that emptiness going into something that was less than nothing. 

She asked me if everything was okay and it sounded as if her voice was being filtered through a cavern. Echoey. Resonant. I stammered some sort of apology and excuse. Something like I had not slept well last night because of a break-in so I was jumpy today. That seemed to mollify her - near as I could tell - and she turned back to stare at the street. Like she could see it! I saw her hair flip and flounce as she turned away. 

My eyes darted back and forth. I had to know it was just a mistake, a horrible coincidence. It wasn't. Every single person I could see had a sort of hole in what passed for their head. Some had big ones, like the man with no back of his head. Others were smaller - the child waiting with her mother that had the void in place of her left ear and part of her jaw. Nobody seemed bothered. Nobody seemed in pain. It just appeared normal. 
​
Something about that snapped something else in me. I started to scream but I couldn't. It sounded like rushing water or a light breeze. I placed my hand over my mouth, but it only disappeared. I couldn't see myself, but I knew there was nothing there. I was stuck, just like the rest of them, but I had the bad damn luck of being able to understand and see it. The void opened again, but this time it was in my heart. It was fear.

Six Underground
It was crowded in the pit. Barely enough room to move around. One or two people at the most could sit for a little while, but it left everyone cramped and more upset. It would have been easier if they could have seen one another, but the room - such as it was - held nothing but pitch blackness around them. After all the screaming and begging and crying subsided, which took longer than some expected, the group got to work figuring out their situation. There were six of them. Four men, two women, none of whom knew each other in the slightest. They were in some kind of cavern dug out of the earth and there was no light. At all. The walls were sticky and clumped when touched. Behind that, there was dirt. Possibly rock, but who could tell?

More importantly, there was something above them that was blocking all light, air, and the like from entering. A plug, perhaps, although what that meant, none of them could fathom. One man realized early on that none of them knew how they got there, but that they had been on a subway car together. It had been evening and they all had been heading home from work. Some had families to return to. Some did not. Some had wine and that was enough for them. There had been shaking, like an earthquake, and then the world had gone dark. When they awoke, they were stuck in this hole. 

A couple of the men started to protest, saying how they were important and this and that, but the others did not care. Status had nothing to do with the situation in which they found themselves. Money could not buy them out of this. Power could not threaten them out of this. All they had was each other and their minds. That was a daunting idea in multiple respects, though that remained an unspoken barrier. One enterprising woman suggested that they form a human tower to see how far up this hole went. Maybe they could climb out or, at least, one of them could and go get help. It was an idea that was met with reluctance, but eventually was accepted. 

So, they figured out who was which size and formed the tower from biggest to smallest. At the top, a young woman reached out her hand and grazed the roof. It was hard and smooth and cold. It was the top of the subway car. There was no way out. She informed the group of this with a trembling voice and then plummeted to the ground as the group exploded in an argument. She landed with a crunch and a thud. And then there were five.
​
The fighting began in earnest and soon grew violent. There were blows thrown and crunching and wet smacking noises. And then there were four. Then three. Then two. And then one all alone. Stuck underground. No way out. At least there was food. 

The Woods
Thick rows of trees choke the light from the sun. The leaves intertwine with one another to create a mesh of black-green shadow. The mood is eerie, silent, almost a graveyard. There are no chirps from birds or rustles from squirrels or other creatures dancing through the bushes. There are no snaps of twigs from moving animals. There is no running water burbling quietly and peacefully. There is nothing, my love. Only the sound of you and your breathing as you stare around you. You can feel your heart beating faster, I know, because you feel - no, you know - you took a wrong turn a mile back. You weren't sure which path to follow and you were already tired from the hike. Such a beautiful hike out in nature, yes? So needed. So demanded of you by your sister when you cried to her about your breakup. She told you that you needed to get away for a while. Go out into the world and heal your broken heart far away from any reminders of your past.
You chose the forest. A reasonable choice. An admirable choice, in fact. Nature is so often forgotten in the hustle and bustle of daily life. You went camping and hiking. You fell asleep next to the lake and woke up to the sound of fish splashing. It soothed you. It healed you, in a way. Then you went for a walk and kept walking, even though you didn't know the way. These places were always well-traveled, you thought. Some paths would surely come to you if you kept walking. 
And now you are here. You are deep in the heart of a wilderness untouched by human feet. You are nestled in the bosom of Mother Nature and she does not wish you to leave. She is so lonely, my love. So many tourists and families dance around her edges, tantalizing her. They dip in and out but never too far in. Never far enough to be loved by her. Always close enough to civilization to run away when they get scared at the intensity of her love. Not you though, dearheart. Not you. You plunged as far as you could into the depths of her and she has decided that you are hers. 
You turn around, as one does. You look for an exit, a gap, something to give you direction. There is nothing but green now. Green and brown and heavy trunks and silence, silence, silence. Blessed quiet. You are home, your new home, and you will never worry about your lost past again. How can you when you see all that is around you? You yell, of course, to no avail. The overgrowth muffles your voice. Mother Nature is amused and saddened. She thought you would be happy to be hers. To begin a new life with her. You are just like all the rest, though, she is afraid. Another failure. Another lost child. The trees close in tight. You disappear. It ends.

Rattlesnake
I cursed at myself as I stumbled to my car. I should have been smarter. More aware. I had been camping before in all sorts of locations and had never once gotten into an accident. Sure, I had had some scrapes here and there. A trip down a hill. Stumbling into a maze of thorns. Even a close call with a lumbering bear that one time in the Northwoods. Throughout all of those, though, I had managed to be safe. So, with that in mind, I had assumed that sleeping out on the ground so I could see the stars would be a valid way to go to bed. After all, I hadn't gotten myself into trouble yet. Why would it happen now?

I had fallen asleep staring up at the endless expanse of dark sky and peppery little bites of stars dwarfed by the looming moon. It was peaceful in a way I can't describe and that most people tend to ignore as the ramblings of that hippie (as I have been so charitably nicknamed by those coworkers who dare to talk to me during work hours). Gazing out into that blackness made me feel so small but comfortable at the same time. I had drifted off as my mind sailed among the ancients.

I woke up, however, to a stabbing pain in my body. It felt like electrical wiring had gone off and acid was leaking into my bloodstream. I bolted upright with a strangled gasp, just in time to see a shape disappearing into the bushes. Oh, screw me, I thought. A rattlesnake had just bitten me. This was bad. This was very bad. I needed to get to a hospital as soon as I could before my heart gave out or whatever nightmarish crap happens when you get bit. Hence, groggily dragging myself to my feet and the five hundred feet to where my car was parked. The nearest town was about twenty miles away so I would have to floor it. Hopefully I wouldn't die before then. 

The drive...well, I don't remember it. Not exactly. I know I made it. I know that it was a close call. I mean, I think it was. I didn't get a whole lot of answers. Just that they did a blood transfusion and made everything all better. Anemic was the word they used, but they didn't mention one word about poison. Strange that. Not that it mattered, I supposed. I felt better and wasn't dead. I needed to celebrate.

I stopped off at Scarpelli's for a slice of my favorite pizza and savored the heat steaming from the cheese and bread as I stepped outside. I took a bite and my stomach heaved. I bent over and threw up on the ground. Blood came out. Clearly they hadn't gotten all the poison! And why the hell did I just puke? All I did was get my favorite: meat-lovers with a garlic butter crust. What the hell?
 
Under Control
Just breathe, Lucas whispered in his head. You're going to be fine. It's just a car accident. Everyone has them at some point in their life, right? He sat on the hood of his car and waited as patiently as he could for the authorities to arrive. He hadn't even seen the SUV turning into his lane. All he had seen was the light going green and him accelerating. He had been late for work then. Now? Well, that was the least of his worries. 

The other driver, an older man, hadn't been kind. He had burst from his car screaming and waving something at Lucas. The adrenaline from the accident spiked Lucas's heartrate and, without a second's thought, reached into his glove compartment and pulled out his (legal) pistol. Just as the man reached his window and slapped his wallet with insurance information on the glass, Lucas aimed and fired three shots. The first one took the man's eye out and he stumbled back. The second two just finished the job. Then it was all over. 

Lucas crossed and uncrossed his legs as he sat and stared at the body on the ground, a halo of thickening red around its head. It was curious, Lucas thought, that the man had been so aggressive with the insurance card. That wasn't how normal people acted. That wasn't how people in control acted. And he was normal. He was under control. He was perfectly content to sit and wait for the whole situation to resolve itself. Surely the authorities would understand! He was in fear for his life, after all. You don't sit and think. You act. That was what normal people did.

How did it go again? Lucas thought as he tried to lock in the memory. He had gotten out of his car to try to explain but the man started yelling at him and pulled a tire iron, so Lucas shot him. Self-defense, obviously. How would he explain the window, though? The man's window was shattered from where the bullet had struck it. It wasn't his fault, though. The man cut him off in traffic. It wasn't done! That's not what normal people did. They drove respectfully of others. They watched themselves and managed their emotions effectively. They didn't dream of t-boning someone in an intersection to cause harm, did they? No, Lucas thought, they did not. And neither did he. Because he was a normal person with normal feelings.
​
Lucas was fine, he told himself. Everything would be fixed as soon as they got here. Everything was managed. All he had to do was tell the truth. As always. No problem. That the man had been sleeping with his wife and he took revenge. No, wait, that wasn't right. Was it that the man was random? No, that wouldn't fly either. He needed something more effective. More...poignant. He wasn't worried, though. Eventually, it would all sort itself out. All he had to do was remain in control. 

I’m hot
Burning up
It’s internal, though
It’s not the 110-degree weather
Not a cloud in sight
Crisping my skin to a golden brown
No, it’s inside
Something within my skin heats me
I sweat even in the air conditioning
This is a joyous place
Gambling and food and liquor
As far as the eye can see
And I’m feeling my stomach twist into knots
I feel tired in a way I don’t understand
I feel weary, bone-deep, deeper than that
It’s queasiness too
But that has to be from something I ate
Has to, of course
I just need to let things settle a bit
If I only weren’t so hot
Gotta use the bathroom
Maybe that will help
It’s hot in there too
No relief to be found
Why is my throat tight
Like a noose inside of it
My jaw muscles clench
Heat behind my eyes
What is going on
I’m where I want to be
I’m having fun
Why are my eyes burning
Why are they wet
My chest is tight, like a band across it
Force your way through it, man
You have to enjoy yourself
I’m back out at the table, nachos in front of me
My brother is concerned
Who can blame him, really
I don’t understand what is happening
He says something about Dad and it clicks
This is a lot of shit all at once
It takes all I have to keep it together
To not let tears flow freely in public
I put my sunglasses on
It looks douchey indoors but it’s safe
Thoughts are racing now
Threatening to burst
We retreat to the hotel room
To recover and to talk
It’s so much and all at once
I miss my Dad
It’s not fair that he’s not here
It’s not fair that we don’t get to call
To say hi
To tell him how we’re doing on the machines
To call him Daddio affectionately
It’s not fair that we’re here and he’s not
It’s not fair that we have to live without him
I miss my Dad
I miss my Dad
I miss my Dad
I miss the life I wish I had
The career, the marriage, the kids
All of that seems so far away
Impossible, really
Those thoughts and dreams of a respectable man
Replaced by being a fat guy crying in Cabo Wabo
I am dissatisfied with who I am
Down to my very core
I miss my Dad
A long time coming, I think
This has been building up
I don’t let it go
I never do
I bury it, an undertaker of my own emotion
Because it’s easier
Safer
I don’t have to confront myself
I miss my Dad
I miss my life
And the anxiety takes over
Despite fighting it off for so long
I cry
And I swear
And I go throw up
Purging myself in many senses
Literally and metaphorically
I drink water
I try to calm myself
I try to let go of the guilt
Because I don’t value guilt
And yet there it is
Sitting on my chest
On my mind
Waiting for me to slip up
Waiting for me to hold on to too much
I miss my Dad
I miss my life
I miss what could have been
Should have
No, not should
Should is useless
And yet
And yet
We talk and calm down and my body is cooling again
We go get a drink
We gamble
I’m free, at least for now
Therapy is going to be fucking fun next week

Another Day In Paradise
Burn, fire, burn. Take us away. Cleanse us with your tongue of flame and agony. Lick the world anew and reduce the nonbelievers to ash. Free us from our prison and allow us to walk the new Earth on roads of charred pavement. Race through the streets and touch all of us with your red-orange flickers of pain. Alight everyone and everything and turn us into your signal, your beam, your announcement. Come and be the heat and horror that brings us into a new age.

No. Come, rushing tide. Flood our alleyways and thoroughfares with wave after wave of brackish, salty water. Use the power of momentum and choppy, white rapids to demolish our homes and businesses. Wipe us away in a surge of blue and black. Tear bricks from their foundations and drag them away. Take those who would deny you and pull them into your swirling depths. Show them the might of what once brought life to the world.

No. Arrive, earth, and erupt from below. Send boulders above and crash down onto the populace. Heave and crack and open up great gashes in the planet. Swallow us whole into impossible depths. Rumble and shake the marrow from our bones and chew us to bits with stone teeth. Grind us to dust with rocks and gravel and sand. Remind us from whence we came and to where we shall return. Take from us our pretensions of control and pull us back into our birthing place.

No. Blow, wind, blow. Scream and howl and bleed our ears. Whip across the land and rip chunks of the world apart. Scourge our skin and remind us what it is to breathe when the air is stolen from our lungs. Remove us from gravity’s grasp and hurtle us like weightless specks through untold spaces, spaces never before experienced by man. Smash through our monuments to stability and pull us limb from prideful limb. Take our heft and float it away.

No. All of you. All of you must combine and free the world from what we have done to it. Band together, you lords of nature, you kings of pure primeval energy. Work together in tandem to free us from our wickedness and greed. Our perversion and our hate. Our tribality and our division. Unite us together once more in defiance of your power.

And then teach us that we cannot win. Show us the folly of attempting to defeat the elements. Instruct us in the way to move forward with our lives in deference to the might and strength of the world around us. Take from us our pride and our arrogance and reduce those of us left to our knees. Remove the wickedness from this world and bring to us peace in our weakness. Only then can we rebuild and find hope in our new Eden.
​
They will call it apocalypse. The End of Days. The end of the world. They will be wrong. It will finally be freedom.

Shattered Dreams
It is like glass as it ripples and warps and then bursts. Splinters fly and pierce your mind as you slumber without peace. Something has come. Something big. Something has split the veil between your thoughts and whatever else may be out there. Lucky you. You have a front-row seat.

Shards cut and slice and open seams in your mind. Lines of blue and black and green appear and spread, exposing boiling colors. Nothing comes through. Not yet. It seems to be enough to simply have the option. It is not your option, though. You have no say in the matter.

You could try to wake up. Should, in fact. It may work. It may do something. It may save yourself and the rest of the world. But what if it doesn’t? What if you staying asleep is what is keeping the things inside you at bay? What if it is better for the world if you never wake up? Can you accept that?

As the dreams develop, you can feel the bits push into the corners of your mind. They pierce memories and leave them bleeding. The thoughts leak and drip from where they have been sliced, like pigs at a slaughterhouse. The runoff pools on the floor of your mind and mixes together. Your prom is now part of kindergarten. Driving with your ex is mingling with the breakup in a strange, melancholy fashion.

Something calls to you from within the dream. Something dark and deep. Something wide and mean. Something that wants you to wake up, to make you a portal to wherever it’s from. Stay asleep if you can. Delay as long as you can.

You feel anger now. It comes toward you, not from you. You are not cooperating. The glass in your mind pushes deeper, cuts harder. It’s trying to hurt you now. Force you to let it out. It’s going after the most precious of your memories. Your eighth birthday where you went to Disneyland, for instance. The colors are seeping into it and changing the memory. Where you had met Mickey, now he is touching you inappropriately. Where you rode a roller coaster for the first time, now you are covered in your own vomit and fear. This blessed recollection is tainted.

Stay strong. They are only memories. They are only thoughts. They do not exist anymore and the experience itself cannot be changed. Even if you do not remember it the same way, it still happened and you can be assured of that.

It rages now. It yells at you in some unearthly voice in your mind. It tells you to wake up, to set it free. It demands action. It demands your obeisance. It will not receive it.

It did not consider what you had done. It did not know of the poison flowing in your veins. It did not know of the final trip you were taking, an escape from your life.
​
Ironically enough, the needle saved the world.