Edward Lorn's Blog, page 25

My Semi-Fictional Life #54 (Flash Fiction Friday!)

Hello, peeps. Today is Flash Fiction Friday! Not many submissions this week, so I had a lot more freedom to do what I wanted. Remember, every Monday, you get to choose what I write on Fridays, and then, next years, I’m going to publish all of these and give credit to everyone who submits.

Oh, and just because you played last week or the week before doesn’t mean you can’t play every week. Everyone can play as many times as they like!

Without further ado, I give you…

By the Light of the Sun

by Edward Lorn

 

I can still hear their nails on the winders: screeeeet-ch, screeeeet-ch, screeeeet-ch.

Sadie were the third of us to wake up. She done slept by the winder like a fool. When she seen that white man’s pretty face, o’ course she opened the darn thing. You can’t ignore the draw of their eyes. It’s a power they has. You lock eyes with them there bloodsuckers and you’s a goner.

Janie woke up ‘for I did. She done screamed and I came out the bed like a mouse trap springing closed.

“What? Where?” I hollered, ‘cause I didn’t know no better. Didn’t think to be quiet.

I looked over to the winder just in time to see Sadie snatched out into the darkness. Once she was out of the way, in crawled one of their lot, all pale and skinny and butt nekkid aside from their cowboy hats, with flesh glowing like a lantern.

“Howdy, girls,” he said to the lot of us, both us what were woke and us what were asleep.

“Run, Sadie,” I hollered as I swept off my covers and threw them to the floor.

I might’ve stopped and saved one of the other girls, or our caretakers, but it was no use. I could hear the click-click of the bloodsucker’s claws as they climbed through the winder behind me. I were outnumbered. All I could do was run. Swear ‘for God, that’s all I could do!

One thought blared in my head as I made my escape.

If only the moon were full…

 

Four days later, hungry and caked in dirt, I rose from the floor of my cave, the place I’d called home since the bloodsuckers run me out of the orphanage, and watched the sun start to drop below the hills. It’d be a little while ‘fore the moon rose. I had plenty of time.

Them folks, what called The Cattle Barons, live in an old plantation house what was burned down during the civil war. Place is surrounded by charred trees and within five-minutes walking distance of the cave I’ve been dwellin’ in the past few nights. I slunk my way through that there forest with my back itching and joints aching and fur sprouting all over my body.

Moon must’ve been coming up quicker than I’d reckoned it would.

The place come into sight through the trees, but no one was around. My winder of opportunity was drastically a’closing. I had such a short time between when they woke up and my body fully changed.

I crashed through the front door, turning it into splinters. I roared, not to intimidate no one, but because I got a sliver in my foot. Hurt like hell, too, considering I wasn’t full wolf yet. Pain didn’t really exist when I had the moon on me, but with it not fully up, a splinter in the paw hurts something mighty fierce.

The living area and the bedrooms were all empty. Figures. I rushed down into the basement, where I should’ve gone first off.

The Cattle Barons were all lined up like heads of cabbage in a darn vegetable garden. They done buried each other so that only their heads were above ground.

Vampires are weird folk. Never have understood their kind.

I went down the first line, ripping heads off bodies and rolling them into the corner like I was bowling.

I grabbed one head around the ears and began to pull. The eyes popped open, looked me dead in the face, and said, “Man, now I’m in serious need of seeing a robot bang a washing machine!”

People say strange stuff when they first is waking up. I didn’t have time for nonsense speak, so I tore off his head and threw it on the pile.

I were almost done, only three of them there bloodsuckers left to pluck, when they woke up like someone stuck a torch up their rear-ends.

The first one came out the ground like a gopher, clicking teeth and screeching. He locked eyes on me—all of me, in full wolfie form—and a hot stream of piss spurted from his shriveled up penis.

It’s much easier to pretend you ain’t scared when you’re not nekkid as a newborn.

I punched through his chest, weaved my claws through his ribcage, and grabbed hold of his crotch with my other hand. I tugged. Hard. He came apart like a ham sandwich.

The other two came at me mean and fast. I took one of their heads off with a swipe, but the other one was too quick for me. Sumbitch bit me right on the neck. I howled and twisted his head off his body like I was opening a jar of pickles.

When it was over, I felt sick. I knew I was infected, but I still had work to do, so I spent several hours digging up bloodsucker bodies and staking them through the heart with a length of wood I snatched off the banister upstairs.

Everybody I staked, its head burst into flames. It was like a magic trick.

Stake.

Whoosh!

Giggle.

By the time I finished staking them there bloodsuckers, the horizon was starting to purple. Bit like I was, I hobbled upstairs and out onto the porch. As I changed back to human, my wound burned something fierce, but I knew it was only temporary.

Bloodsuckers don’t like the sun. It kills them quicker than anything. So I just sat down on the porch steps facing the sunrise and waited for my time.

As the run come up and my skin started to smoke, I wondered to myself just what a robot would look like banging a washing machine. What either of those things is, I ain’t got the foggiest, but it sure did sound funny.

Not many people get to die laughing.

 

Michael Casper said: Weird Western – a werewolf prostitute destroys evil vampire cattle barrons who prey on pioneer women and children

Janie said: Comedy: “Man, now I’m in serious need of seeing a robot bang a washing machine!”

There you have it. Hope you enjoyed the story.

See you tomorrow,

E.

Pic of the Day

 

 

My Semi-Fictional Life #53 (Happy Turkey Day!)

Early Edition:

Happy Thanksgiving. Enjoy your turkey and try not to commit genocide today. Tom Cruise is watching you… *smooches*

See you tomorrow,

E.

My Semi-Fictional Life #52 (When dealing with rabid Trump supporters…)

Hello, peeps. Super short post today. I found this funny and thought I’d share.

When dealing with rabid Trump supporters, one must not insult their intelligence. Given enough time, they will do all the work for you.

Lads and ladies, I give you Twitter user and rabid Trump supporter, @Bravens1052 (a.k.a. phi slama bama) and his brilliant tweet…

This is a cache version from my browser history, because, when I called him on his improper use of “your” instead of “you’re”, he deleted the tweet. But, remember, folks, once you put something on the internet, it’s there forever.

The main point of this post is not to belittle @Bravens1052, but to show just how stubborn people like him can be. When faced with facts, they run and hide. He was so frightened of being wrong that he blocked me. How do you educate someone like that? Spoiler alert. You can’t.

See you tomorrow,

E.

My Semi-Fictional Life #51 (Local Happenings)

Hello, peeps. Today I want to update you guys on some things I’ve seen and information I’ve garnered locally.

Last night, while Christmas shopping at Target, my wife and I stumbled upon three rows of three-foot-tall Darth Vader toys, five deep, all with their left hands raised in a Seig Heil gesture. Chelle and I spent a minute or so lowering their arms. It was the only thing we could think of doing. To those of you who think this is a normal pose for the giant action figures, you should know that we shop at Target quite a bit, and they’ve never been arranged like that before.

Next, I would like to go over a discussion I had with a Trump supporter in the parking lot of my local Winn Dixie. I had just pulled into a space when an older gentleman parked next to me. I got out first and happened to notice his Trump bumper sticker. When he got out, I started a conversation with him with one simple question. “Mind if I ask you why Trump?”

The guy was very pleasant. He wasn’t some alt-right nutjob. He was calm and well-spoken and smiled while talking to me. I won’t go over the entire conversation, but I will hit the important parts.

This guy, who will remain unnamed, told me he voted for Trump because he was tired of politicians and Trump was, to him, the furthest thing from a politician.

When I asked him how he felt about some of the more disgusting comments from Trump, like “Grab them by the pussy”, he had this to say:

“Trump wasn’t talking about decent women. He was talking about actresses and their lot. Those Hollywood types are as liberal as they come. And [Trump’s] right. They will let you do anything you want. They’re just like prostitutes in that manner. It’s not like he was talking about my wife and daughter. They’re not that kind of woman.”

I’d not heard this justification before, so it naturally caught me off guard. This was this man’s truth. He actually believed what he was saying. I was stunned into silence long enough for him to go on without any help from me.

“Besides, democrats have held the presidency for the past sixteen years.” Yes, he said “sixteen”. He continued, “It’s about time for some change. I never did like the fact that Obama was allowed to be president and he ain’t even American. He’s Muslim.”

This one made me laugh. I couldn’t help it.

Seeing me laugh, he laughed as well and said, “It’s true. He was born a Muslim, not an American.”

After that, I thanked him for answering my questions and excused myself.

What I took away from this interaction is:

He’s tired of politicians and voted for Trump because Trump isn’t one.
He thinks liberal women are not “decent women”.
Muslim is a place.

I did not bait or challenge this man. I let him talk openly and freely. I am not misrepresenting him. These are the things he said.

Now, I know what some of you are thinking. This is only one guy. Well, no, it’s not. I spoke with the guy who sold us our trailer (he’s still an acquaintance) and his answer to the “Why Trump” question was the same. “He’s not a politician.” When I asked him how he can excuse the “Grab them by the pussy” comment, he said, “I can’t. But you have to admit that nasty language is better than causing the deaths of thousands.” Not sure what he meant by that, because thousands didn’t die as a result of Clinton’s emails, but it doesn’t really matter. He was going to believe what he wanted to.

Take what you will from all of this. I’m just reporting what I’m seeing in one of the most racist, xenophobic places I’ve ever lived in. And as Trump appoints more racists and xenophobes to offices, it’s only going to get worse. Stay safe out there.

See you tomorrow,

E.

My Semi-Fictional Life #50 (Let’s Play Flash Fiction Fridays, Round 2!)

Early edition:

Hello, peeps. Today I open up the blog to you fine folks. I need your plot suggestions for this week’s Flash Fiction Friday. But (PLOT TWIST!) you get to pic the genre, too! Any genre, doesn’t matter. I will write a story in the genre style most requested. If there’s a tie or no one suggests the same genre, I will let my son pick one out of a hat. Sound good?

In your submission, please start with the genre you would like to see followed directly by your plot suggestion. e.g. “Western, woman falls out of the sky and lands on a cactus.”

If you’re new to this game, you can read the post explaining what I am asking for HERE.

Remember to bring your wackiest ideas to the table. I can make anything work together. Promise.

Read last week’s story HERE

See you tomorrow,

E.

Pic of the Day

My Semi-Fictional Life #49 (What it means to be white…)

Early edition:

What it means to be white…

An Essay by Edward Lorn

It means I’m lied to in school. I’m given textbooks with smiling red-faced Native Americans accepting corn and turkeys from grinning people who look like me, their cartoon images comforting with their bonnets and pilgrim hats. I’m not told that, in return, we infected them with communicable diseases, and then raped and murdered them. But, hey, it’s all good, because you don’t have to go to school on Columbus Day!

It means I’m told to be proud of a legacy of hatred. I’m shown images of the Confederate Flag and told it’s an emblem of states’ rights. But no one tells me the rights they were fighting for was the right to own human beings. I’m told it was about the economy, because yeah, if you went from free labor to a living wage for every slave… Jaysus, talk about an economic crisis.

It means I’m lied to about race. I’m told there are four different and distinct races: White, Black, Asian, and Islander. But I’m not taught their ways and cultures. I’m taught white people culture, as if there’s anything in my culture that isn’t stolen from someone else’s culture. Everything is painted with this broad stroke that White America is the good guy. I’m not taught about Japanese-Americans being placed in camps during World War II. Nor am I taught about Jim Crow and the South’s horrific, murderous past. I am taught about the Civil Rights movement but not the meaning of Civil Rights. I’m told that our troops fight and die for freedom, but whose freedom? Certainly not just white people’s. But if white folks are allowed to stand up and fight for what they believe in, surely that means that People of Color can do the same… No? Really? They’re told to sit down and shut up and know their place? But I thought we were ALL Americans?

It means I’m not told that race, like religion and time, are man made concepts.

I am a whiny, entitled, loud-mouthed egotist who has been raised to believe he is better than People of Color. I am not the solution but I am a product of my education and my education is most definitely a problem.

We need to be taught empathy, that more than OUR lives matter. We need to understand that school should teach us how to learn and not force agendas and bend truths to fit our nation’s nightmarish past. America’s hands are not clean. We have the blood of millions on our hands. And in the name of what? God? Oil? The Almighty Dollar? Respect?

Control?

Ah, there she is.

Control.

Religion, time, race… they’re all constructs white people like me are taught to respect above all else because our CONTROL depends on it. We respect religion, time, and race over basic human needs and rights. Something has to change. Some of us are moving in the right direction. But we need to come to terms with and accept that the world we’ve built is a problem, and by proxy, that makes us the problem. None of us are innocent in this mess. Not a damn one.

 

Like my fellow addicts say, man, “Awareness is the first step.”

Wake up.

See you tomorrow,

E.

Pic of the Day

Gotdamm, lookit that tiny head floating in all that shirt…

 

My Semi-Fictional Life #48 (Self-Promo Shenanigans)

Hello, peeps. Today I wanna sell you something. In case you missed it, my novella Fairy Lights has been running as a serial over at darkfusemagazine.com. Well, yesterday, the series wrapped and the whole experience is live on their website. If you’re not a subscriber, no worries. You can read it online (looks good on any device) for $3.49. If you want the hardcover experience on January 24, 2016, then you can preorder a copy.

All that and more information is available HERE!

I hope you like the book. As I’ve said on several different sites, I’m extremely proud of this one. I think I managed to blend the lost-in-the-woods horror trope with a current-events topic, giving both gorehounds and those who want a deeper experience something to enjoy. Devour or dissect. Your choice.

The h

See you tomorrow!

E.

Pic of the Day

My Semi-Fictional Life #47 (Flash Fiction Fridays!)

Hello, peeps. Today is finally Flash Fiction Friday and I have not let you down. For your reading pleasure, I have the wackiest shit I could concoct from the submissions I gathered HERE. I will also be adding the submissions after the piece is finished. 

Without further ado, I give you…

Whatcha Got Up There?

by Edward Lorn

Stop me if you heard this one, nurse.

A sasquatch walks into a bar and orders a Fuzzy Navel.

Whataya laughing about?

No that ain’t the joke.

A fucking sasquatch walked into a fucking bar and ordered a motherfucking Fuzzy Navel. We good? I can finish me goddamn joke, now?

Hey! Where ya going?

Hey, doc. What happened to her? Oh, that always happens. Birds don’t like me. I think it’s me breath. I’ve had stomach problems since Putin invaded Australia over that Malaysian Air Flight 17. He got Trump’s blessing, you know. Got my nerves all bound up. I’m jumping at everything. Anyway, it gave me garbage guts. Been burping foulness for going on eight days.

Yeah, you didn’t hear? Putin came right in on that horse he rides. You know the one. The one in all the memes. He’s shirtless?

Yeah! That one. What a cunt, eh?

Anyway, so I got garbage guts since I ate the thing what come in the umbrella the week of the plane crash. Since then, my stomach’s been a hurricane. No matter what I put down me throat, it comes out me bum like spray-on stucco.

Yeah, yeah. Like the monkey’s on Nat Geo, when they toss off in some bird’s hair, or throw a proper shit-pitch and hits the bloke right in the kisser. That was me after eating the—

Yeah. The thing what came in the umbrella. What, I didn’t tell you?

Bloody hell. Okay. Lemme backtrack.

So I get this umbrella in the post. Proper fucking thing. Long as me dick, it was.

Har, har, very funny. No it wasn’t a miniature model of a goddamn umbrella—Wouldja let me tell me fucking story, doc? For fuck’s sake, mate.

‘Kay, so I get this umbrella in the mail. Sumbitch is wrapped good and tight with some ½ grade 304 stainless steel. Kinda shit you use to keep your dumb kids in the basement when company’s over, eh.

I’m kidding. Jaysus, mate, don’t be so sensitive.

No. I’m not Irish. I don’t get what you’re saying? You think I sound—

Right, right. Sorry. Back to me bubblin’ guts.

So printed right there on the umbrella, it says: DO NOT FUCKING OPEN. And—

No, shit? Ya mean you’re a member of the DO NOT FUCKING OPEN Package Company, too? Monthly or quarterly, mate?

Fuckin’ yearly? I’m in the wrong profession, doc. Wish I could afford a yearly DO NOT FUCKING OPEN subscription on my scanner’s salary.

Anyway, where was—

Right. The DO NOT FUCKING OPEN umbrella. Well, I got them bolt cutters from under the bed, the ones I keep in case that narcoleptic burglar comes back and tries to steal the missus’ Vibro-Mantic. What do I do with the bolt cutters? Well, they pack a punch don’t they, the heavy fuckin’ things. Keeps me and her safe.

As I was saying, I’d just got through eating what come in that month’s DO NOT FUCKING OPEN package when I got the urge for a cold one. So I went to Evan’s Pub.

That’s what I was telling your nurse before she stormed out. A goddamn sasquatch comes into the bar and he orders a Fuzzy Navel. Bartender’s laughing at the big hairy fucker when Sassy turns to me and says, “Garble garble gobbledy gook.”

Like I know what he said. I don’t speak skunk ape, doc. He said some shit, and that’s when I vomited all over his corduroys. Didn’t know Sassies wore corduroys? Well now ya fuckin’ do mate.

Anyfuck, my new friend Sassy didn’t take kindly to being thrown up on, so he knocked me into the next time zone. Whata cunt, eh? Proper cunt, this fucking sasquatch was. And they want fourteen dollars an hour and union perks. Fuck ‘em, I say. Hairy bastards.

While I’m unconscious, I have this great dream about being in an orgy with a load of nymphomaniacs, but then someone turns on the light—

What kinda cunt turns on the lights at a bloody orgy? Guy like that, well, he’s got no reason to live, does he? At that point, when you’re running around cutting on lights while dude’s banging nymphos, well you gotta ask yourself if the Drano under the sink don’t sound delicious.

So the nymphos, they weren’t just nymphos, no. They were nymphomaniac pygmies. Dream turned nightmare, lickety-split, mate. Serious buncha aboriginal birds sticking my dick through their lips and nose and modelling it like it was any other bone. Imagine me, mate, dick through some bird’s stretched out nose. They got my testicles through the hoops in their ears—

Hey! Where ya goin’?

I said it was just a nightmare. Probably cuz I ain’t sleeping right. You have some narcoleptic breaking in every other night and falling asleep in your hallway and you tell me how much sleep you’d get.

Am I hear cuz the Sassy gave me a concussion?

Fuck, no. I can take a punch. I ain’t no girlie-man, mate.

Am I here because of the food I ate? No. That’s just why I went to the bar. I’ve had my share of rotten food, doc. I ain’t a new one, mate.

I’m here cuz of this.

I can’t bend no more.

Fuck me, I got it as wide as it’ll go.

You don’t see that?

What’s that? he says. What’s that? like he ain’t never seen a zebra leg.

You know I told you about me new job? Scanning barcodes? Well, yeah, who knew you couldn’t scan a zebra? Who knew they exploded? I sure as shit didn’t. That’s how I got the leg up there.

Where’d the zebra come from? Mate, we live in a world where sasquatches walk into bars and order funny drinks, and you want me to tell you why there was a zebra in the barcode factory?

Fine, he was this month’s DO NOT FUCKING OPEN package. One of their themed boxes:

The DO NOT FUCKING SCAN line.

Great, now I forgot me joke. 

 

And that’s it. Hope you liked it. This one took me about an hour, and clocks in at 999 words, according to this website.

Credits (in order of appearance):

Annerlee: Zebra is used as barcode with catastrophic results. Check!

Evan: A man receives an unexpected package containing an umbrella… blood stained and wrapped in chains… with a note that says DO NOT FUCKING OPEN. Check!

Janie: A sasquatch walks into a bar and orders a Fuzzy Navel. Check!

Reanna: …a nightmare about nymphomaniac pygmies… Check!

Bill: …how about a narcoleptic burglar with a penchant for breaking into sex shops. SO CLOSE!

Sarah: Putin invades Australia over the MH17 disaster with Trump’s backing. CHECK!

Thanks to everyone who submitted. This was big fun.

See you tomorrow,

E.

Pic of the Day…

…obviously belongs to Disney. Please don’t sue me, Mr. Mouse.

My Semi-Fictional Life #46 (Tomorrow)

Hello, peeps. Sorry I’ve not been around, but I took a mental health day on Tuesday (which basically means I didn’t write), and there’s local stuff is taking up my time. I’m working on less talk, more action, so just a quick word before I run out again.

Tonight, I will be writing a piece of under 1,000 words for tomorrow’s Flash Fiction Friday. If you want to see all the wonderful submissions, you can click HERE. I figured more people would comment on Goodreads than here on the blog, but I didn’t expect to have so many submissions. That’s awesome. Thanks so much to everyone who submitted.

Next, I’m not going to finish NaNoWriMo again this year. I’ve managed to lose the fucks give for one book completely, and the newest project will take much longer to complete than 50k (probably double that), so I’m going to slow down and give it the time it deserves. For those of you who think writing 50k words in a month is winning no matter how many projects you write on, I’ll take the W. For those who believe that you only win if you finish one book of more than 50,000 words, I’ll gladly accept an L as well.

Finally, I never planned for this website to be Anti-Trump HQ and I do not plan to keep talking about him. There are plenty of real-world options to fighting him, and talking here is accomplishing little, other than giving my followers ammunition when arguing with the other side. Luckily, everything I’ve been talking about is easily searchable. I would suggest you find at least three reputable unbiased sources before arguing with anyone. In the meantime, I will continue to do what I feel I need to do locally, but I need to steer this blog back to true.

I hope to see you tomorrow for Flash Fiction Friday.

E.

Pic of the Day

Book mail!

My Semi-Fictional Life #45 (No Blog Today…”

 

Back to work tomorrow. Sorry, I really needed some Me Time. *smooches*

Oh, and thanks, Dan. *hugs*