alex kimmell
  • home
  • a chorus of wolves
  • the Key to everything
  • #TerrorTuesday
  • blah blah blah blog
  • who am i?
  • people are saying...
  • news
  • folks you gotta know

dead drop

3/31/2015

0 Comments

 
Picture
Sunrise spread light across the town, a thick golden syrup slicing between cracks in the old walls. Deserted, he spent most of the night with his flashlight peering through dust covered windows and opening doors shouting “Hello?” or “Anybody there?” He saw a shadow shift at the far end of an alley around three o’clock in the morning, more than likely coming more from hopes of discovery than an actual presence.

What he assumed passed for homes on the outskirts were spread strikingly far apart. Standing on the porch, only the vague, angular shape of a rooftop could be seen through the brush in the distance. The emptiness between the structures flourished in vibrant colored flora radiating hues of deep crimson and violent purple, easily distinguishable in the moonless night.

He followed the shadow line’s retreat from the rising sun. Through the wide suburban streets lined with lonely parked cars covered in timeless dust. A tire swing hung motionless from an oak tree’s thick branch criss-crossed with planks of wood nailed on as a makeshift ladder to the tree house above. It should have inspired a happy nostalgia.

Where were the people? The quiet overwhelmed. A tidal silence pressed against his ears. He longed for the buzz of bees or flock of geese overhead. A rusty lawn mower sputtering the cobwebs before finally catching life. Nothing lived other than the possibility of memories.

He reached the center of town shortly before the sun aimed its rays straight down. Every shop and restaurant held its doors open, welcoming only lonely ghosts. The signs all written in a language unfamiliar to me, He could only guess what the shops purposes were by peeking inside and looking around.

The first on his right appeared to be a hardware store of sorts. The metal and wooden object that hung on the walls had the aspect of tools. Some were sharp enough to make him think of weapons. A four foot pole painted blue supported an transparent cylinder on the top. Touching it sent a biting electric shock through his arm sending his brisk shouts reverberating through the town. He licked his finger and left the tools to their own devices.

Next door looked like a combined cafe and book shop. He glanced at the wall between the two businesses and stopped. A small rectangular piece of metal stuck at an angle from the rough concrete. Two small holes were on the top. The front opened to reveal a plastic strip running the width of the bottom. A USB connector?

He leaned in closer, tentative to touch it after his incident with the cylinder. The sun glinted off the top sparking clean and free of the dust covering everything else in sight. Nothing written anywhere to indicate the devices purpose, he continued on to the shop. Book spines lined the walls offering more unintelligible symbols. All the stacks color coordinated. A rainbow crossing the entire spectrum spread from one section of the store to the other.

An open kitchen took up the rear end. Pans and cooking utensils hung from hooks on the walls. Knives of various widths and lengths suspended by their blades along a thick magnetic strip. Everything cleaned, ready to work but passing their existence unused for what may have been decades.

Twelve circular tables with five chairs each spread in a long rectangle around the floor. Place settings and glasses half full of water waited patiently for diners who might never come. The bar displayed a full stock of bottles. Every one of them labeled in the strange, unreadable squiggle marks. Looking for a good scotch, he pulled the cork from a dark glassed bottle. The pungent sourness chased up his nose before he breathed in. Every hair on his body twinged in repulsiveness. Quickly he slapped the cork back in the neck with an open palm and put the bottle on its shelf while swallowing hard against the urge to throw up.

He took the chair nearest to sit until the waves of nausea passed. Goose flesh rose on the back of his neck. He spread his fingers wide on the tablecloth, taking deep cleansing breaths. He opened his eyes after his stomach finally unclenched. Passing notice earlier, he looked at the black rectangles laying in the center of each table. A small blue and silver sticker was placed in the lower right corner of the devices. Below that a orange light pulsed slowly. Possibly a power indicator.

He picked it up and felt an opening on the left side. Turning it, the small rectangular USB port beckoned for connection. The darkness pulsated with tangible energy. He placed his index finger over the hole. Subtle vibrations pushed against his skin through to the bone. His eyes glazed over. He weaved a counterclockwise semicircle. Colors faded in the room around him. The world gone sepia. The circle he twisted widened. The chair legs creaked under his shifting weight. His hand slipped knocking a fork to the concrete floor.

The high crack burst him to the present. The rush of colors back to his eyes were daggers of ice to the brain. He tightened his jaw until the ache simmered to a low roll. He slid his hand across the table finding nothing but the place setting next to him. The black rectangle lay on the floor in front of his feet. He nudged it forward with the toe of his boot. It bumped the fork beside it as it spun half way round leaving the USB port facing the open door.

A hint of movement passed by the window to the street. He looked to the left and right seeing nothing but the empty buildings and parked cars. The tables appeared to have grown larger in the last few moments. Their shape becoming more oval than circular. The glasses all emptied of their contents. Each filled with a layer of dust as if the water had never been there at all. The black rectangles were all missing from the table centers.

He kicked forward hitting nothing but empty space. What was inches away only moments before now lay half out of the door. The USB port angled in the direction of the wall outside. He stood with no feeling in his extremities. The walk across the room more swimming through a thick cottony fog.

Outside he held the device in his hands. Turning to the left he lined up the USB port jutting from the wall. They fit together with little resistance. Holding the black rectangle against the wall, a low hum trembled upward from the ground beneath his feet. Windows rattled in their frames. Cars parked along the road wiggled on ancient, rusty squealing shock absorbers. Light posts bowed over the street whipping back to collide with the sides of buildings. Dogs barked. Birds sang. Radio chatter overlapped cash registers and footfalls on sidewalk. Conversation. Singing. Laughter. Screaming.

“Mommy, what’s this?” The little boy pointed at the strange black box suspended on the side of the wall. He wiped his runny nose with his arm.

“Honey, don’t do that. You’re going to ruin your sweater.” The tall brunette reached in her purse and pulled out a tissue. “Hold still.” She grabbed the boys face pinching his nose with the cloth.

“Ow.”

“Did I do that too hard?” She kissed him gently on the cheek smoothing out his hair. “I’m sorry boo bear.” She took his hand pulling him briskly through the crowd walking along the road. The boy looked away from the black box and didn’t think about it again.

amk
3.31.15



0 Comments

empty infinity

3/24/2015

0 Comments

 
Picture
Robert Fludd’s 1617 Utriusque Cosmi Maioris scilicet et Minoris Metaphysica, Physica, atque Technica Historia
Not much daylight left. I’m still sweating mid day sun rivulets. The wind stopped. It’s hiding from what comes after the sky goes dark like everything else is. Everything but me of course. I’ve never been afraid of the dark. More rational that most little kids, I knew the only things hiding in the blackness were created by my imagination. The scraping noises under my bed? My cat Taffy chasing after dust bunnies or cleaning herself after a long day of napping on the couch arm by the living room window. My brother Ben wore headphones after nine o’clock. The buzz of distorted guitars and thud thud thudding of speed metal drums found a way through cracks in the walls into my room anyway. Brittle and sharp as tacks, all low end stripped away they imitated the sound of miniature demons knocking against the wall demanding entrance into my dreams and a finger hold on my young soul. Fortunately for me I knew the songs. I dreamed of playing along with the bands on stage in front of thronging crowds of hellions unable to breach the security gates manned by flaming sword wielding protection angels. Out here the gates are overwhelmed. The songs are unfamiliar allowing more than shreds of doubt to enter my panicked mind. If there were anyone or anything else nearby to hold for comfort, I couldn’t see them through the emptiness on all sides. One step leads to another. With each footfall I anticipate landing on nothingness. Falling into some vacant space with an infinity of empty. “Get it over with.” I whisper through chattering teeth. I’d much rather feel the razor edged teeth than reside in this anticipation of unknown until the sky illuminates into morning. There are no stars. The moon is in hiding too. Time refuses measurement here. Who knows when dawn might come, or if it will come again at all? One step leads before another. I have yet to fall. Or am I falling now?


a.m.k.
3.24.15
0 Comments

slow motion riot

3/17/2015

0 Comments

 
Picture
“Please.” Mitchell fell to his knees hands up between his face and the large angry man towering above him. “Please don’t. Don’t hit me.”

“You shoulda thought of that before sticking your dick between me and my girl.” The man pulled the end of his long beard to a point and dropped his empty beer bottle to the floor with his other hand.

“I’m sorry.”

“Leave him be Charlie.” The woman with stringy back hair and sullen eyes grabbed him by the shoulder. “He didn’t mean no harm.”

“Shut up Nina.” Charlie whipped his arm behind him smacking her in the neck. She fell against the bar gasping for breath. “You don’t tell me what to do. Flirtin' ass slut.”

Charlie’s colossal fist launched through the smoky air at Mitchell’s trembling face. Suction created by the inhalation of every bar patron’s collected breath birthed a momentary vacuum. For a brief instant each hair on their bodies, every thread stitched into clothing tugged in the direction of Charlie’s terrified eyes. Ripples formed on the surface of each beverage. Tiny waves on boozy oceans.

The moment froze.

Mitchell retreated into memory.

Van Gogh Street Elementary School playground in 1978. Toughskin jeans and Star Wars iron on t-shirts. Barry Osten punching Mitchell in the cheek and chin over and over while other faceless children held him by the arms.

Blink.

Robert Frost Junior High quad 1983. Hair spiked with oily gel and Adam and the Ants t-shirts, torn holes and safety pins in a row from shoulder to belly. Doug McShane jumping from the hallway corner near Mitchell’s locker. Mitchell yelps in surprise dropping his books. Bending over to pick them up Doug slams a swift knee into his chest, grabs his belt throwing him headfirst into the wall.  Concussion and a neck brace for a month.

Blink.

Kennedy High School bleachers 1987. Parachute pants and hip hop mix cassettes blasting from boombox speakers. Ty Dannings pushing Mitchell off the second bleacher into a row of nearby trash cans during lunch. Ty kneels on Mitchell’s back lifting his head from the ground with a handful of his shoulder length hair. He gently removes the already cracked glasses depositing them into a muddy puddle. With no previous sign of animus or argument between the two, Ty begins pummeling Mitchell about the head and face eventually cracking the right nostril requiring seven stitches, splitting the upper lip and breaking the right eye socket in three places.

Blink.

Mitchell peers deep between the callused knuckles and cracked joints of Charlie’s fist. In the fraction of a second it takes to throw the punch, he watches blood pulse through the thin veins just below the skins surface. The rattle of bones embraces his ear drums. Teeth wriggle loosely in the gums. Before the hand leaves his face, Mitchell feels the bruise begin to form.

His heart slows.

His breathing mellows smoothly.

Dizziness fades.

Eyesight sharpens.

He laughs.

Charlie grunts in confusion.

Mitchell’s stomach clenches. Not in terror, but with gulps of air to keep up with the hysterics. His throat burns from the sheer volume tearing it’s way upward from his gut.

The bar is still. No one speaks. No one drinks.The DJ stops the music.

Mitchell’s amusement is pure maddening joy. The laughter of a fool unafraid of death. Or pain.

Mitchell takes Charlie’s fist in his hands. Caresses between sausage fingers with the ends of his nails. A lover in courting. Charlie pulls away taking a step back. Mitchell turns his eyes up inside the lids.

“Again.”

0 Comments

glue

3/10/2015

0 Comments

 
Picture
First, a pinpoint of intense pale white…slowly unraveling like ball of yarn rolled too many times.  The ragged edge stretching outward until it jerked back, burying her under the blackness once again.  Gradually her sight adjusted enough to make out shapes in the otherwise blank landscape.  She saw a straight vertical line to the left.  Her eye flashed far to the right at a flicker of movement that could have simply been her eyelash shaking.

The girl tried to blink.  She couldn’t.  Her eyelid struggled and pulled to close, but there was only so far it could go.  The tear duct ballooned. Her left eye wouldn’t open at all.  Something cold and hard pressed flat against it, forcing it closed.  She pulled, the entire left side of her face from forehead to chin wouldn’t move.  Through her open eye, she saw the straight edge of something hard, maybe concrete pressing against the tip of her nose. 

Things were revealing themselves through the thick fog in her mind at a quickening pace.  A muffled cry clawed and scraped to make its way out of her lungs. The border of sealed lips allowed no crossing. Muscles pulled and skin stretched.  Right hand brought to mouth she pulled at her lip.  The girl’s eye, dry and painful from exposure looked down at a strange, greyish hand attached to her own. 

Stuck together in an air tight seal from fingertip to the base of her palm, dirt clumped around its nails. Freshly scabbed scratches blotted around the knuckles.  At some point the nails had been painted a deep shade of red, but that was a long time ago.  Hints of a tan line where a wedding ring used to be were faded beneath layers of dust and blackened, dried blood.  The cold hand offered no resistance to her movements.  She grunted, hoping some noise would rouse the person attached to the hand’s attention.  Shifting weight revealed the chill of her bare feet sticking firmly to the concrete floor.   

Her left arm numb and tingling pulled the strange hand to the right.  Letting the arm swing back it dropped limply in the opposite direction.  Pictures appeared in her head of spinning around a maypole and holding hands with her brother when they were kids.   A painful sharpness jabbed at her shoulder blade as she writhed back and forth.  She looked around to find out what it was, but couldn’t see that far. 

The light disappeared. 

A cold, smooth piece of metal slid into her right nostril. In her mind’s eye, a memory of her doctor breathing on his stethoscope before touching it to her breast.  Even in the darkness her open eye burned and darted around to find some source of hope.  She smelled sour mint as liquid coated the insides of her nasal cavity.  The strangers hand still attached to hers, pressed against the outside of her nose sealing it completely.  When finished, it dropped swaying back and forth gently. 

The girl pulled for air through a small crack left open in the other side of her nose glued against the wall.  A faint whistle, like squeezing air out of a balloon tweeted with each inhalation.  She didn’t question why this was happening to her, or who would want to hurt her like this.  Her only thoughts were “air”. 

Her knees writhed. She pulled her head so hard the skin on the side of her face began to tear. Blood slowly pooled into the crevice of her collarbone.  She didn’t care about a mark or a scar.  She didn’t care if it tore half her face off.  She pulled for more air. 

A scraping sound… hints of smoke and sulfur. Red-yellow light burst to life millimeters in front of her eye.  The stranger’s hand came up slowly and pushed against her ear forcing her harder into the wall. The metal tube filled any remaining open spaces with the thick cold liquid. 

Lungs screamed against the emptiness, fighting for one last breath that would never come. 

The match went out.

---

The ground warm and dry, aside from a few cars passing the end of the block, everything remained silent.  No dogs thank goodness.  No baying at the moon or leaping at fences to heckle strangers while walking by their land in oh so predictable attempts to protect their masters from every interloper’s intent of wrong doings. 

A deep breath in brings clean spring air.  Arms stretch out and reach those fingertips far as they go. Naked beneath the robe, there hasn’t been anybody around to see for a few months.  No one left to watch his body as he stands fully exposing his skin from head to toe.  Leave it open and let the sun tickle every inch.  It feels good. 

Squint and hold a thumb up to get a sense of scale.  Head angles to the side a bit for a change of perspective.  It might almost work.  Very close now, the picture being formed inside. A few more touches, something here and there.  Already have an appointment with the next model, later this afternoon in fact. 

Pick up the paper, stretch again for a moment and then head back to the door.  It’s going to be another busy day. 

0 Comments

1 2 3 men (two of them thin one of them thick) overheard in conversation at the beginning of the end of the world 

3/3/2015

0 Comments

 
Picture
1 - “I am the most selfless person you know. Wait until the apocalypse, you’ll see.”

2 - “Apparently you’re the most modest too.”

3 - “Whatever man.”

1 - “You guys are the selfish ones. Seriously, look at this society. Soccer moms in yoga pants and belly cut tank tops. Roided lunks wearing their mesh t-shirts showing off six pack abs and spandex shorts so tight they leave no mystery if they’re Jewish or not. Going to the gym…” He held up quotation fingers. “‘to work on yourselves.’ Go ahead and chisel and sculpt your perfect body. Not me. No way. I’m already in shape.”

2 - “Yeah. Round.”

1 - “Round is a shape motherfucker.”

2 and 3 laughed at 1.

3 - “You’re insane.”

1 - “Not gonna get any argument about that my friend.” He shoved a large handful of nachos into his mouth, spitting half chewed shards of chips and cheese while he talked. “If something is crazy doesn’t mean it ain’t true though.”

1 took his time staring fiercely 2 and 3 in the eye.

1 - “What’s more crazy, sacrificing yourself to save friends and family or doing a forty five minute steam-spin class and a thousand crunches?”

2 - “I think it’s crazy to really believe the apocalypse is going to happen. Besides, do really think that there’s something wrong with staying healthy?”

1 - “I never said that. What I said was it’s selfish.”

3 - “Get off it man. You’re judging on appearances because of…”

1 - “Because of what?”

3 - “Nothing. Forget it.”

1 - “Because I’m fat? Like it’s a surprise to me. I’m not an idiot. I have seen myself in a mirror and shopped for clothes you know.”

3 - “I just don’t see what the big deal is man.”

1 - “Ever tried finding size forty-four pants at American Apparel?”

2 - “So shop somewhere else. I don’t go there either.”

1 - “Because everything at the Big & Large store is so Vogue cover worthy.” 1 pulled the shirt away from his belly. “Fat people are the last members of society that it’s okay to discriminate against.”

2 - “You watch way to many movies dude.”

3 - “Nobody’s discriminating against fat people.”

1 - “No?” He wipes his mouth and gently folds the corners of his napkin before placing it daintily on the table beside his plate. “Hollywood, magazines, high school, college, elementary and kindergarten.”

3 - “Waiting for a point.”

1 - “What’s the one thing in common with all of these institutions?” 1 points a finger at 3. “Every single 1 of them hates fat people. The instant someone appears who is even slightly larger than some randomly decided upon acceptable size, everyone else in society has a green light to pounce on them. They are made fun of, beat up and discarded. Doesn’t matter how intelligent they are, their ideas will either be dismissed or stolen by some1 attractive enough to be worthy of contributing.”

2 - “You have got some serious issues my friend.” 2 shook his head. “No attractive people are ever made fun of, humiliated or have their ideas ripped off? It’s not even worth arguing about man. Your head ain't right.”

1 - “My head is just fine thank you very much.”

3 - “Sure.” 3 shook his head dismissively.

1 - “You guys ever wonder why I never have a girlfriend?”

2 - “No. I don’t have to wonder.” 2 laughed.

1 - “Why not?”

2 - “Well, first off you’re rude.” 2 counted on his fingers. “You’re also a slob, you have a shit job, you live with your parents, you refuse to cut off that ugly ass pony tail…”

1 - 1 breaks in before he can list any more. “And I’m huge.”

3 - “He didn’t say that.” 3 interrupts.

1 - “He was going to.”

2 - “No.” 2 frowns. “I wasn’t going to.”

1 - “Right.” 1 folds his arms defensively across his chest. “I’m sure you weren’t”

The 3 sat in silence for a long while. The only sounds coming from other tables conversations and the scraping of silverware across plates.

1 - “We have a triple standard in our society.” 1 spoke silently to his empty plate. “We objectify women and hold them to impossibilities of how they are supposed to look and behave.” A tear slipped to the end of his large nose, hung from the spot and wobbled as he talked. “But men? Nobody ever seems to notice that unless we’re wealthy or aggressively successful in business or sports, we big guys are treated as less than human. I get laughed at every day. Kids on the street make pig noises at me when I walk by. Have you ever had some1 throw food at you from a moving car?” 1 looked from his plate to 2 and 3 sitting in stunned silence. “I didn’t think so. I’ve been pushed and punched and kicked and treated like an animal since preschool.” 1 held up a hand to stop his friends from speaking. “I’ve tried to lose weight. I’ve thought abut surgery. It took me until I hit thirty to realize that this is the way I am. I don’t pig out or binge eat. I’m fat.” 1 patted himself on the belly. “So I await the inevitable. When the end comes, I will sacrifice myself. For you.”

As if on cue, there was screaming heard from the street outside. A crowd of terrified people stumbled past to the east. Some with torn shirts. Others noses bloodied and skin of hands covered in dripping black ooze.

1 - “Get behind me.” 1 grinned. Satisfied and ready for his moment. “Now!”

1 strode to the door with confident steps. He gripped the handle with both hands and pushed. The screams from outside rushed into the restaurant piercing their nightmare blades into the ears of 2, 3 and the other table’s full of patrons. 1 shifted his face slightly over his shoulder to his friends for the final time.

1 - “I got this now. Run!”

1 left the door open and pushed his way to the center of the raging throng. 2 and 3 ran to the end of the street looking back and for between exchanging horrified glances. Before turning left at the corner, each looked back at 1. His fists pounding into expressionless faces of indescribable nature. Talons dug through his skin. Tentacles overlapping around his body, squeezing. 1 ripped at the green flesh throwing ragged tears into the air. An enormous mouth rowed with bladed teeth opened above him. A spray of gray liquid rained down turning 1 to a person shaped blaze of green flames. Still, his hands punched, grabbed, ripped, smacked. One leg thrust forward to kick before being removes by the beast’s jaw clamping shut above the knee. 1 laughed. 2 and 3 turned the corner and fled toward safety.


a.m.k.
3.3.15

0 Comments

    Author

    i live. i breathe. i write.
    i have nightmares.

    Archives

    April 2015
    March 2015
    February 2015
    January 2015
    December 2014
    October 2014
    September 2014

    #horror
    #blog
    #flashfiction
    #nightmares
    #tK2e
    #ACo
    #writing
    #books
    #indieauthor

    RSS Feed

    Subscribe to our mailing list

    * indicates required
    Email Format
Powered by Create your own unique website with customizable templates.