Quantum String Chaos Ripple Effect ‘or’ That’s What She Said

It was like watching internet porn with the soundtrack of a silent movie.

Bill was one of those guys with strong beliefs on everything. Chief amongst them, until a man put a ring on his woman’s finger she was fair game. His current girl had not yet come to grips with how the world worked. She had also been “taken” when Bill met her. He made short work of getting her to trade up. She harbored some latent beliefs that needed breaking if the relationship was to last.

Her suggestion of the county fair seemed good, quaint even. When Samantha squeed over the tent marked ‘Crystal Blue Persuasion’ Bill knew there were going to be problems. Still, it was the third date so he relented.

The gypsy fortune teller, a woman selling hokum and showing too much skin, insisted the crystal ball wanted to show Bill something. I’d have her fixed up in a week, Bill thought. Then he looked.

It was slightly embarrassing because Samantha saw too. The vision started with a newspaper dated exactly five years in the future. Bill was with another woman, thirty seconds in he was with her, with her. Samantha was obviously absent.

From the clothes the woman wore, briefly, Bill could tell it was a first date. By the time ‘sex date’ time came his girl would be showing a lot less skin or kicked to the curb. So Bill knew the vision was of him and a slut he intended on fixing. He wondered where Samantha had gone but not for long.

“That’s my ex-wife!” Samantha exclaimed.

Well that answered that. Bill had never paused to consider he was stealing less attractive lesbian. Then he was distracted by the festivities and how disturbing it was to see the woman talking and have no idea what she was saying. Then it got even odder.

As the couple uncoupled the woman started tying future Bill to the bed. He had never let a woman do that before, and definitely not face down. The woman said something and this time he did not have to wonder what it was as a flood of images conveyed the idea.

Samantha with a black eye.

Samantha kneeling demurely in church with Bill lording over her.

Samantha shaking her head and sending her old, deviant ‘friends’ away.

Samantha crying on her cell phone with her mother’s number showing in the screen.

Samantha in the kitchen cooking dinner while she wistfully looked out the window.

A note, signed by Samantha, apologizing to the ex. It explained how trapped she felt, how she had always felt more physically attracted to men but should have followed her heart and stayed with her wife.

The bedroom returned as a shadow, cast by something huge, fell over hogtied future Bill. The woman spoke again, this time present Bill could read her lips. She spoke the same words Bill had said to countless misguided women in lesbian relationships.

“All you need is the right man.”

#shortstory #author #socialcommentary #writer

Night Temors

It is always the same after one of my long slumbers.

I stride down the hall unsure of how I arrived there. In the darkness I see a diminutive shape. I hear the shuffling of feet. Unsurprising as the shape is not lifting them. The half steps gain speed as the shape approaches the light from my taper. I take look around. Yes, it is exactly the same.

My home is charming. Silver chandeliers hang in every room; holding candles not gaudy light bulbs. Normally the fixtures and corners are adorned with cobwebs, but not now. Every time I hibernate there comes a knock I cannot answer. When I wake my old, dusty friends are gone. There is always a girl.

“Daddy?”

This one appears to be three or four. She stops inside the light and casts a wary gaze upon me. I am not the paternal figure she was expecting. She utters a sharp cry. I know from experience other souls will soon haunt my waking. Still I make the attempt, putting on my best and brightest smile.

“I am not your father, little one, think of me as an uncle.  Would you like a cookie?”

Previously uncertain eyes gleam to accompany her cherubic smile. That tiny head nods as one thumb creeps into her mouth. It is a testament to her grin that it can still be seen around that fist. I have her attention and I must keep it. What comes next is never easy.

“What is your name child?”

“Issbeff!” She plops her thumb from her mouth to speak her name. While she does she points at her chest with all the pride she can muster. She has the mush in her mouth most children her age do, but it is tolerable. I understand her.

“Well, Elizabeth, I need you to look at me. No matter what you hear keep looking at your uncle.”

She does not listen. They never do. Drawn by her earlier cry the mother and father charge into the hall. Upon seeing me they scream, and Elizabeth cries out with them. My presence has a different affect on adults, one to which children seem to be immune.

It takes only moments until the parents weep all the moisture from their bodies, leaving the child and I alone with two desiccated corpses. It takes much longer for me to soothe her. I finally do by making another offer of the cookie, and perhaps some tea to go with it. Taking her hand I lead the child into the kitchen. It will be days before the authorities arrive to claim her. I have to keep her alive until then. As we walk I ask her the all important question.

“Would you like to own this house one day?”

They always say yes but they never come back. I believe an adult who met me as a child would survive my murderous aura. Perhaps one day I will know for sure. Perhaps in fifteen years.

#shortstory #ghoststory #monster #author #writer #writing

Trending Up

They call it an affirmation of life.

People will generally live up to their names. Maybe skydiving with Richard was a mistake. Though, it may have been the best decision of my life.

“Don’t forget your parachute!”

The words and his hands gripping my lapels startled me from my catnap. Then I was soaring through the air. I caught a wink of steel from doorway as my emaciated frame flew past it, my feet never touching the floor. Not that he had given me much choice, but I had done what Richard advised me not to. Then I was in the great blue abyss.

I was surprised. Friends don’t throw friends out of airplanes. Panic gripped me as I realized I was going to die in a painful manner. But wait, I wasn’t falling, I was floating upward!

It took time for me to get hold of myself. Breathing deep I closed my eyes. Just when I got into my zen place I realized I was approaching the stratosphere slowly, but not slowly enough. The air was getting so thin it was hard to breath. Damnation, I was going to die.

I didn’t panic though. I signed up for the jump because at ninety the doctors informed me the good news was the dementia settling in was still pretty mild but would eventually do for me. The rapidly failing liver was going to work quicker. So bouncing off the ground, or atmosphere, didn’t matter. My death sentence was confirmed, it was just the manner of execution up for debate.

I twisted until I looked down. Open country spread out for miles. At a certain height it looks like colored squares on a school map. It looks like love. That kept me calm. In the distance were towns and cities near crystal blue squiggles of rivers and ugly grey scars of highways. That was beautiful too.

A dot bloomed a rectangle, Richard opening his chute. Gasping for breath I was still serene. I wanted to hate him but I couldn’t. I was floating up like an angel winging to heaven. The thought pleased me more than the ever expanding view.

The sky above me faded from blue to black. Soon the ozone would turn me into the world’s oldest signal flare. Richard had given me a gift. I didn’t want to go out of this world gibbering, drooling on myself, unable to remember my name as my organs filled me with increasing pain.

His plan would have sent me out like a meteor, surrounded with terror and the thrill of life. My odd twist of fate was going to turn me into a blazing afternoon start wrapped in a warm embrace just before I froze. My last thought before the lack of oxygen caused me to pass into dreamless eternal sleep was this.

Not many men go out as a meteor. Even fewer go out as a star. Most leave this world as a vegetable. Richard was a pretty good friend.

#shortstory #author #writer

This is Kind of Bad Ass

I will let the site speak for itself mostly.

https://www.authorgraph.com/books?utf8=%E2%9C%93&search=Old+Odd+Ends









#aboutme #novel #shamelesssselfpromotion

Inevitable Realworld Scammers

The worst part is hearing your own self-deprecating thoughts echoed by people that are supposed to care for and about you.

Saturday, midnight, so technically it was Sunday. I sat at the computer with the usual windows open. Hunger gnawed at me. The Vienna Sausages from the dollar store were running low and the ramen was all but nonexistent. Perhaps when I finished I would fill up on water saltines. Tomorrow would be time enough to break open one of those precious packs of sodium flavored sustenance.

I paused to check my wallet. Green faced, bobble headed Abe Lincoln peered at me. I had just enough. After “breakfast” I would walk to the discount grocery store and pick up a wilted head of lettuce, a bruised tomato, one unintentionally dried mushroom, and a can of tuna. Once home I could add the last slice of processed American cheese and scrape questionable mayo out of the jar. Dinner for three days.

I would have a dollar left. Not enough for the bus but I prayed I had enough gas to get to the interview on Tuesday. I would probably run out on the way home but I would worry about that later, like when I was walking fifteen miles with my thumb out.

Finishing the inane questions I clicked submit. Instead of the ‘Your claim has been accepted’ message I got something else. At the same time the lights went out. I had been expecting it. Don’t pay the bill long enough and that happens. Thankfully the internet was still up at the moment.

I saw a counter that had started at thirty seconds. I had wasted ten. The message was cold.

Dear Long Term Unemployed;

 Your unemployment payments ended when the extension program terminated. Since that time efforts to renew have been made. All have failed as we feel it far more important to show separatists in other nations that they must bow to the will of their government. We feel the money is also better spent arming rebels that will inevitably turn against us in third world nations. We would much rather spend money you paid into the system on people who cannot vote for us.

Further, we do not want this issue raised during the election. We would like the unemployment numbers to go down. As one of the ways this is calculated is people filing claims, even when they are useless as no payments are forthcoming, we offer you this deal. Click below and we will pay you a lump sum of three million dollars. In return you will cease filing claims for the remainder of your life. You have thirty seconds to comply.

Sincerely,

Your Congress

I knew better than to click. The power was out, the internet would go soon. Once the laptop ran out of charge I wouldn’t even be able to job hunt. Next month the foreclosure would start. What the hell did I have to lose? I clicked the link and prayed.

The message was replaced by a new one, even colder.

We knew you were lazy. We knew you were looking for a handout. If you really wanted to work you would be. Your unemployment claim is denied. The process to demand a return of all funds due to fraud will be initiated on the next business day. Congratulations hippie.

I hate to waste water, but I began to weep.

#shortstory #anger #politicalcommentary #socialcommentary #writer #reneweuc

New Review

This is possibly my favorite review of Old Odd Ends. Nothing like being compared to the great ones to get your day going right.

Each of us likes to explore the darker places our mind can tak us. Patrick Elliot has created a story that captures the darkness each of us carries and expressed it in such a way to make it both familiar and uncomfortable. Each character is believable including one of the most simpathetic villains I have encountered in a long time. Reading this I felt like this book is something a character from a Stephen King novel would read to find something darker than life.

If you are a fan of older Stephen King or Dean Koontz this book will tickle your fancy.










#author #novel #reviews #shamelessselfpromotion #writer

One Priceless Thing

“God, is that you?”

Stanley knew it wasn’t. God called on the phone or spoke directly into Stanley’s head. Half a second of precious time was spent glancing at the tinfoil skullcap he had set aside, not too far, at the advice of his psychiatrist.

Stanley wasn’t sure he liked the shrink. The doctor said good things happened. The doctor said there were no government agencies trying to get into Stanley’s brain. The doctor also said porn addiction was nothing to worry about so long as Stanley could function in society and didn’t chafe.

Stanley was not sure how much of it he believed but he was willing to try. For the first time in months he had logged in to surf the free sites. Expected ads appeared. Then came the odd one offering three million dollars if Stanley clicked the innocent looking link that probably led to a virus. Stanley asked if it was God because then the lights went out.

Looking out the window Stanley saw it was not just his lights. The entire neighborhood, at least, was dark. A timer counted down on his computer. That was most annoying because it was blocking the really good bits of his favorite starlet getting it on with some guy who didn’t matter. Worse, there was no button to close the advertisement.

God did not answer.

So Stanley started to type instead. He was, thankfully, a fast typist.

Who is this? Are you one of the feds?

Yes, but you have nothing to fear. The money is a gift for being a good citizen. His query had not shown on the screen, but the answer did.

What’s the catch? I am not a good citizen.

No catch, tax free. Like your doc says, good things happen.

There is only one thing that comes without a price. What’s the cost? Stanley was getting nervous. He should have unplugged the computer already. Though, an agency that could kill the power to everything but his computer could also probably trace him by microwaves.

Click the goddamn link Stanley, or we are going to kill you!!!

Stanley clicked but he still didn’t like it. This had to be a plot. Some of the feds were like vampires. They needed permission to enter your home. What he liked even less was the response that floated on the screen when he did it.

Prize accepted. Wait where you are for personal delivery.

Stanley worked fast. When the black suited thug stepped through his door Stanley’s hand was covered in blood and glass littered the floor around him. He was also wearing his cap so the agent couldn’t predict him.

“Only one thing in this life comes at no cost.”

Stanley grinned as he reached inside the monitor and gripped bare wires. His body jolted, his tiny apartment filled with the smell of roasting pork. The agent dropped the large briefcase and screamed, no, as he rushed towards the deluded man claiming his one priceless prize.

#shortstory #writing #writer

Interesting

So I come to look at my blog earlier and it kept spinning and spinning. I had to spend the night wondering if the thing was mad at me for not posting yesterday.

Remember, the countdown deal is on for Old Odd Ends, short time left at the 99 cent price then up to $1.99 for a couple of days. Go buy then review.



#shamelessselfpromotion

Ugh! Part 1

So I still do not enjoy my job but I like the people. This is a temp thing but I take it seriously. Found out today my foreman referred me as a lead for the temps. Which means... same hours, same money, less physical, more bossing people around. No matter where I go I end up managing people. This is leading me to think of writing nonfiction. Thinking of a book called "Degrees and Industry are Very Important and Other Lies About Management". So maybe something great can come of this.

So I'm happy but still. It could be better. In the meantime, go by the book. You deserve it.





#aboutme #author #commentary #novel #shamelessselfpromotion

Countdown Deal

Hello to everyone taking a peek or being forwarded this through no fault of your own.

The novel Old Odd Ends, on the Kindle side, will be on discount in a few days. I have arranged a countdown deal for anyone that wants to purchase, or better yet give an early #allhallowsread gift. The sale will only affect the US market. I would put it up in the UK but to do so I would actually have to raise the price in that market and I do not want to do that.

The sale will last from 12 AM October 6th to 12 AM October 13th and have two levels. From 12 AM October 6th until 12 PM October 10th the Old Odd Ends can be yours on Kindle for the bargain basement price of just 99 cents. From 12 PM October 10th until 12 AM October 13th the price raises to the black light special level of $1.99. At that time it will increase back to the already very reasonable standard price of $2.99. All times listed are Pacific Time.

Take advantage of me and my Machiavellian generosity if you have not already purchased. Go on, it's October, scare the hell out of yourself.

Direct link to the Kindle version. http://www.amazon.com/Old-Odd-Ends-Patrick-Elliott-ebook/dp/B00NCQ3YFM/ref=la_B00NCV8UVK_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1412403208&sr=1-2







#novel #author #writer #shamelessselfpromotion #sale #discount #deal

The Muse

We all have one, and let's be honest, she is right bitch at times.

Mine decides to torment me with great ideas when I am at work and sleep deprived so I will not remember them later. I have a recording device on my phone but when you're at work you can't always make use of it.

So, yeah, going on forty eight hours with no sleep so going to end this here before I get really surreal.



#author #thoughts #commentary

Empty Promises

So normally I am okay with the stories I write for the prompts. This one I am very proud of.

The towel sealed in the scent of lavender from my shampoo while blocking all vision except the dark blue of terrycloth. Reaching on instinct to the back of the chair my fingers closed on empty air. I whipped the towel away to search for my favorite pants.

After years of use the slacks were slick enough to have a habit of sliding down to the floor. No luck. A small motion drew my eyes to the window. She was standing on my lawn, wearing my uniform pants.

At forty the widow Henderson was far too young to be a widow. Once she had lived across the street. She still lived on the block but now literally. None of the neighbors had the heart to run her out, especially me. When the bank foreclosed on her home, however, she was so far gone nobody was willing to risk taking her in.

Her cold eyes, empty of everything but a touch of insanity met mine through the glass and I knew two things for certain. One, we never think of how our promises affect those in the circle of trust but beyond the words. Two, she was right. I should be ashamed of me. I started to weep and remember.

One year ago…

The whooshing of the mechanical lung deafened me. I had been in David’s room for half an hour. I was holding his hand with my left, the right contained the syringe. Tears overfilled my eyes. His were empty of everything but pain and desperate, pleading hope.

He lost the power of speech the week before. Knowing what I had to do did not make it easier. In the end I kept my promise. Inserting the needle in the feeder tube of my friend’s IV I depressed the plunger. My tears fell on his face as I kissed his forehead and whispered goodbye for the last time. I exited the room. Dying is a thing we do alone and I would not watch my friend go through it.

He had been right.

Eighteen months ago…

David had returned home to spend his final days in the comforting embrace of family and friends. Treatment had failed. All that was left was the long hard road to dying. I was one of the first to come see him, at his request. The reason shocked and terrified me.

“When the time comes I don’t want to hang on in pain.”

“Why are you telling me?”

“I need you to do it. You’re the only one I trust who will follow through. You will put your promise above your own feelings of loss.”

“I wouldn’t even know how.”

“I have a dose of morphine to do the trick. It took some doing but I have a sympathetic doctor.”

“But David, after… and your wife?”

“Cecily is strong, she’ll be fine. Nobody is going to suspect a cop helped me die. You’ll be fine too.”

In the end I had promised. He had been right about me but wrong about Cecily. Though sometimes I wonder how fine I am.

Two years ago…

I was standing in the spotless Henderson kitchen. David was at another of his unending appointments. He did not want to put Cecily through it anymore. It was just a follow up she had been convinced to stay home. I was offering what comfort I could.

“I don’t know.” She sniffled, wiping snot with the back of her hand and fighting the good fight against tears. I let her babble, it’s what friends do. “You’re right. He’s a fighter but what if the cancer wins? We are one of those couples; you know the ones that follow each other? Except I’m too young, so my body won’t die after he does. Inside though, I’ll be gone. There won’t be anything left for me in this world. I can’t tell him this, not with the pain he’s in. You have to promise me. Promise me you’ll do everything you can to help him. We can get through this together.”

So I promised, which led to another promise.

Funny the things you remember when confronted with the truth.

#shortstory #writer #writing

Sweet!

Just got the second five star review on the paperback thanks to Mr. Howe. You can check out both on the link.


#fivestar