In lieu of anything else to say, here’s a short short I wrote in February. It’s not the greatest, but hey. It keeps the blog going.
He had driven past the cemetery for almost twenty years and hardly thought of it in all that time, much less look at it. When he did, all he saw was row and row of gray stone and the occasional statue worn smooth by the passing of time. He would think, “What a waste of good property.” And then he wouldn’t think of it again until the next time, long after.
This night should have been the same. Maybe a little different; his mistress had come back to town after a long absence taking care of an ailing mother. Through it all he had to bear up under the ministrations of his wife, which had never been much in earlier times and even worse now. Now that the mother had cacked it, he intended to make up for lost time.
So he was doing a little speeding, okay a lot of speeding, say sixty in a forty. He had a nice, fast car, sporting colors, and it felt good to trot it out once in a while. Had he his druthers he’d be doing more. In fact, with the thrill of the ride and the promise of the mistress, perhaps he would do a little more.
His foot pressed down against the gas, and now he was at the cemetery, almost to his work during the day, almost to the mistress now, and his head turned its direction. Not that he expected to see anything, not in this dark. The city had cut back on lit street lights to save money and the moon refused to move from behind the clouds. Still, what was there to see but a waste of good property?
Except there was something there. Something more. A bright pale shape beside the cemetery fence. Almost as soon as he realized he was seeing something, the apparition moved, tearing through the air at an incredible speed, straight for him. As it neared he saw in its pale glow blackness instead of eyes, blackness instead of a gaping mouth. The blackness was so malign that without thought he twisted the steering wheel of his fine car, twisted it hard without even the thought of slowing down.
The car flipped over.
How many times it rolled, he could not say.
Oblivion claimed him a moment.
When he returned, he was in the ruins of a car. Parts of him hurt; what didn’t felt horribly, horribly numb. He thought he was dying.
Perhaps it would have been better if he was.
He turned his head and saw the apparition looking in on him. It stood upright, yet bent at an impossible angle to leer in upon him.
To stare at him with that malign black eyes.
To grin at him with that malign black mouth.
A thousand thoughts assailed him at once. To pray not to die, to survive, to be forgiven for his infidelity and for the thousand of sins both little and small that he committed in his life.
But instead of giving voice to these pleas he asked the apparition one of the world’s oldest question: “Why?”
The answer came as a single amused word. “Lonely.”
In time the paramedics and police came. As they worked, none of them noticed the two pale shapes standing nearby on the other side of the cemetery fence.
I’m watching next week’s film for review, pausing as I always do to take notes on what’s happening/my impression of the film. The ending seems a bit disjointed, so I’m making with the snark. A little upset, too, as up until this point I was enjoying the (admittedly bad) movie.
Then, after one pause, it jumps right to the end scenes.
It’s been doing this throughout the end and, being unfamiliar with the film, I didn’t realize it.
Maybe it’s been doing it through the entire movie.
I don’t think so, as I haven’t noticed any jumps, but that’s beside the point. Why the hell is the movie doing this?
I’ve never had problems with the media player I’m using? Could it be the disc?
I’m thinking of pausing for now, then coming back later to check on anything I might have missed. But really, this is upsetting.
Two weeks ago I got a message from WordPress dealing with a minor triumph of mine. And, you know me, not wanting to toot my own horn (new review over at WCR on Friday!) I sat on it. But I figure now was the perfect time to reveal:
If this trend continues, based on past data, I should surpass this achievement sometime in December or January, moving the “most follows” record up to a grand total of four. While this is nice and all, I wouldn’t mind it if I knew just why the follows were increasing. If, say, some sort of comment was attached. Might give the event more meaning.
But that’s a wheeze for another day.
In other either vastly depressing or vastly humorous news, I discovered that I had in the previously linked post had the word “Department” spelt as “Deptartment”. I’m not sure how I feel about that. Perhaps a .gif might do it:
Yeah. Yeah, that about sums my feelings up on the matter.
Well well well. Three updates in a row. Mighty nice. Might nice indeed.
For the curious, last week I looked at The Amazing Transparent Man. This Friday will be Monster or Monsteroid or whatever the hell the damn thing’s called.
The week after that… brrr! Could we see four in a row?
Afterward there were accusations. Hurtful accusations, like I was going too fast for the street I was on. Insisting that I was going eighty, maybe ninety. Stuff like that.
Which was ridiculous. Limit where we were at was 25 miles per hour. You don’t do ninety there. Everyone knows that. I was only thirty over, thirty-five tops.
There are rules for this sort of thing, after all.
All this is beside the point. As we were heading at a nice, sedate, completely boring speed, I noticed a dip in the road. Literal, mind, not a judgement call on some pedestrian in the street. Which is an important distinction, as the former you reduce speed while the latter you put the hammer down.
Despite going very, very slow, the car hit the dip with a nice, firm jar. Beside me, Mom gasped on impact. In the back, Brother Todd panicked. He cried out, “Jiebiers!”
That’s right. When in distress my baby brother calls out to his Lord and Savior Justin Bieber.
Now the thing that gets me isn’t what Bieber was supposed to do in that or any other particularly life threatening situation. Which probably would be to pause in whatever he was doing, look around, say “Who the French just called my name?” then return to whatever it was he was doing.
No. It’s why the hell out of all the names he could have called out for, he picked that one?
This is the kid who listened to Slipknot religiously as a youth. Who introduced me to the Insane Clown Posse. Whose current choice in music can only be generously be called music. You’d have thought if he’d call out some name, it would have been someone more hardcore.
Like Tom Jones.
You think you know a person.