Woom

by Duncan Ralston

He examined her body with clinical detachment: a gynecologist's gaze. He was neither aroused, nor repulsed. She was merely a vessel. A thing to be filled and then discarded.

"I'm not a writer. I do have some stories to tell, but those will come later."

"I don't believe in ghosts. But I do think places, like this motel room, I think they hold on to bad things, the way people hold on to memories. Grief. Pain. Disease. Addiction. I think when you enter a place that's absorbed enough bad things, it pukes them out at you. It drenches you in them. So a relatively innocuous room, like this one, will appear evil. Because bad things happened here."

this new development was just icing on the urinal cake.

By her mother's count, Bethany had more uncles than picnics had ants.

He was stuck. Stuck inside an unconscious prostitute's vagina.