Adrenaline and Worms

I have just recently completed the second edit of “Worms” a creature horror screenplay and ready to start a rewrite. I have forgotten how much i love the screenplay format and plan to do more.

As for now I have been working on a new series of short stories. A vigilante hero facing big bads in each installment. I love the superhero genre but like to keep it based somewhat in reality like a Punisher or even Nolan’s Batman. “Adrenaline” is a hero with no powers but the addiction to thrill seeking that leads him to fighting crime for a high, but soon finds himself fighting for more than that.

I love creating universes for characters to live in almost as much as i like to create the characters themselves. Sometimes i find myself engrossed in the task of laying out plot points and get sidetracked from writing. It’s what I love about Serial Fiction.

Anyway, keep an eye out for all this stuff. I’m thinking of doing something special for my one of my followers once i complete the re-write for “Worms”.




The moon hung lazy in the night sky covered by a thin layer of fall clouds throwing low light to the earth. Cool damp air lay on my skin as I sat quiet beneath an orange maple tree, it’s leaves turning with the season. I liked being in the trees, it gave me visibility to the surrounding landscape and coverage from the passing motorists. I could see that the little dive bar on the corner and the alley just to the south gave me the perfect opportunity.

It didn’t take long for me to spot the pretty young thing leaving the bar at closing, her blond hair whipping in the cool breeze. Her porcelain skin glowed in the moonlight, and her long legs beneath her short skirt begged me to spread them. I followed close behind her, watching her as she glided just ahead. I couldn’t have been any luckier, she was headed directly toward the alley.

She reached the alley and to my surprise turned, making her way into the dark. I followed ready to pounce on my prey. As I stepped into the dark I lost the angel. My eyes surveyed the scene. My heart beating like a herd of thundering horses. I had done this more times than I could count but something felt wrong.  Did she lead me here? I got my answer when I saw saw a flash of white in the moonlight and the feel of those sharp white teeth digging into the soft juicy flesh of my neck.

The Girl in the Window

Every morning during his walk to school Billy waved a happy wave at the little girl in an upper window of the large house that sat on the corner of his block. He often wondered how she could look so nice with her face nearly gone from the fire that had ravaged through house two years ago killing everyone inside.

Heeeeee’s Baaaaaaaack

I have had an eventful summer, staying busy at work, and writing. I took an unintentional hiatus from WordPress, but I must say it was refreshing. I thought about where I wanted to take my writing career and on what type of writing I should focus. I kept an eye on most of my followers and the people I follow but just decided not to post anything. I wanted to stay focused on writing and I felt WordPress was taking up a lot of time.

During this time I finished another screenplay, have one completely plotted and I am working on the outline of another.

With all this being said I am returning with more stuff for you to read. I am planning a new project of short and less time consuming stories. I got caught up in the short stories and series of this blog, and it was fun, but I think it hindered my opportunity to find more readers as most where fairly long. So I am going to start a new series of flash fiction, 2 sentence stories, 100 words or less, and so on. I will do this micro – fiction and poetry and Maybe talk some more about my larger projects.

Anyway this is my plan, and I am excited about being back.



A cool breeze slapped my bare cheek as the scent of early spring dew filled my nostrils. Leaves rustling was drowned out by a humming, slight droning hum like something spinning. Confused i attempted to find my bearings. Where was I, how had I gotten here?

I was wet, why, I wasn’t sure. My hand stumbled across the ground looking for what might the culprit. Tall dry uneven grass is all my fingers touched. Their jagged edge rubbing my fingers like a serrated bread knife.

My face lay pressed hard against the ground, legs trembling from an unknown force giving all it had to push me deep into the earth. Thinking that I hoped my legs worked I tried to move my toes and to an elation of a two year old on christmas morning, they moved with relative ease.

Still on a mission to discover the origin of the dampness I gave a deep inhale and smelled the fermented yeast. It must be beer. Was I drinking, I never drink and drive. It couldn’t be mine.

I moved my hand underneath my nearly limp body until I found my back pocket. I had to call 911. I fumbled until I couldn’t locate my phone. What I did find however gave me comfort. The photograph I carried in my right front pocket. The picture of her.

I had to get out from underneath this beast of a car and find her, last thing I remembered was her lips touching the crystal wine glass as she said yes.

Eating Games


Granite rose from browning grass, and multicolored leaves lay strewn about the ground. Bleachers sat in a semicircle around a table which sat atop a stage. Brisk fall air floated damp in the moonlight as they begin to fill the makeshift stadium. Ashwood Cemetery would seem a likely place for a competition, especially since it was an eating competition.

Flyers had been hung all over neighborhoods and websites and blogs were inundated with advertisements, if one knew where to look, it wasn’t just out there for every average joe to stumble upon.

The WDCEA (World Demon Competitive Eating Association) were trying to hype this particular competition, it was in fact their 1000th anniversary and it was the first year 28 time winner,Willamiester, known to his fans and around the circuit simply as Willy, wasn’t competing.

WDCEA’s scandals over the millennia haven’t helped the competition, but the associations officials hope this competition will help rectify any doubts that these demons are true athletes, some able to consume up to fifteen human bodies.

Willy’s alabaster “skin” glistened in the moonlight, absorbing even the most minute amount of light, amplifying it and throwing it out like a lightbulb. He resembled a large glowworm. Ragged teeth line his deep mouth, in rows, like a shark. Some believe this has been his key for success over the last 1000 years, Willy jokes that it simply was “years of practice eating delectable human flesh,”

He takes his seat as a judge at a small table across from the table which held four various horned green demons. It was the first time all the contestants were from the same race. Large bowls sit in front of all four contestants on scales.

“Ready your belly’s for a long delicious battle!” Willy screams. He takes a small mallet and hits a tiny bell and the demons begin gobbling up the humans, the packed stadium begins to root for their favorite athlete. And blood ran from the table and dripped unto the brown dead grass of the cemetery.

Lover’s Painting


image from google

Lover’s Painting

Mist hung heavy in the late fall afternoon as Abby stepped out of the taxi and onto the cobblestone street. Bushes sat behind a long wrought iron fence lining the perfectly manicured lawn that surrounded the three story turn of the 20th century mansion. The gate stood ajar so Abby helped herself up the walk dragging her wheeled suitcase behind her.

The wrap around porch squeaked as Abby’s foot landed just in front of a big blue door and placed her fingers around the big brass door knocker and rapped gently. In echo of the porch the also door squeaked as it opened. This place could use some oil Abby thought as a small man’s face appeared just inside the foyer. Darkness hid the rest of the man but Abby could size him up from his tiny head.

“I’m here to see Mr. Stanford.”

“Yes, you must be Abby McIntyre. Please enter.” he said with the wave of a hand.

Abby stepped in through the door and into the grand foyer her eyes drawn to a beautiful shining mahogany staircase that ran winded up three floors. Abby heard a door open and close and a strange clacking sound.

Soon another slight gray haired man met her gaze from the top of the stairs. His step slow with the aid of a walker.

“Good evening Ms. McIntyre,” he said as he finally reached the bottom of the stairs with his walker clacking the entire way. Abby watched as he passed Renoir’s and Picasso’s and Van Gough’s and Rembrandt’s.

“Good evening Mr. Stanford, it’s good to see you again.”

They leaned in and Abby could feel his brittle bones behind his wrinkled skin. Flesh around his frail tired eyes seemed to droop more by the second.

“I’m sorry it has taken me so long to get around.”

“I understand, its okay, you are just in time I believe.”

“Can I see it?”

“Absolutely,” he said taking her hand. “It is why I called you.”

They strolled hand in hand down a long hallway to another wing of the large home. “You know you remind me of someone I knew years ago Ms. McIntyre.”

“I guess I just have one of those faces.”

“I believe it is more than that, Ms. McIntyre.”

“It is beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

Her eyes lay upon the most beautiful painting she had ever seen. The fourteen by fourteen canvas was small by most standards and it wasn’t by a famous painter. As a matter of fact it was the only known painting that the person ever completed, a self portrait of him and his lover, a dark haired woman who lay on his chest, her face hidden by his hands on either cheek. He gazed down, appearing to gaze into her eyes. However the mans face and begun to crack and peel with age and it was Abby’s job to restore the beautiful painting to its original grandeur.

“It is a shame someone of this talent only did the one painting, isn’t it?”

Stanford pointed to tarp covering a painting that sat on an easel. “When you finish you restoring the painting, I’ll show you that this isn’t the only painting he completed, and I’ll show what the woman on his chest looks like. But it is a surprise, Ms. McIntyre.”

She turned and opened her case and opened it up revealing an aray of paints and scalpels and brushes.

“Ms. McIntyre, I will leave you to your work. If you need anything the butler will get you whatever you need.”

“I think I have everything I need in my case.”

“Your room is just down the hall. I will not see you until you are complete. It was nice make your acquittance.”

“As yours, Mr. Stanford.”

After three weeks of work and when the face reappeared Abby saw the most beautiful man she had ever laid eyes on. There was a rapping on the door behind her.

“May I enter?”

She recognized the voice of her employer. “It is your house.”

A warm strong hand fell upon her shoulder. Abby’s blood ran cold as she turned and saw a young man before her.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “you must be Mr. Stanford’s son.”

“Ms. McIntyre, may I call you Abby?”

“Sure, I guess.” she stood as still as a statue.

“May I show you the painting Abby?”


As the man removed the tarp her heart skipped, leaped from her chest like a frog. The face she stared at sat staring back at her and it looked as though she were looking into a mirror. And the man that stood beside her looked like a spitting image of the restored painting.

“Is that?”

“Yes, Abby.”

“Are you?”

“Yes Abby, thank you by the way. You saved my life.”

“But how?”

“I honestly don’t know, I just know that as my painting ages I do as well, and I also know that restoring it restores my youth. I know that yours never ages but you will. My curse is I must watch you age and die, but my gift is that I get to spend a lifetime with you before that.”

Abby sat quite, staring into the deep blue eyes of the dark haired stranger that she had fallen in love with over the last three weeks.

“Abby, would you like a cup of coffee?”

“Yes.” she said it without even thinking, like the answer just came out with no control over her mind.

Evening fog sat on the cobblestone street as they as she walked arm in arm with the new love of her life. And she knew he walked arm in arm with the love of his many lifetimes.