1977 He drove to a secluded, leafy spot, and looked at Cocoa covertly when they stopped. She patted her blonde wig, contrasting her chocolate skin, and popped her gum, pretending not to notice him pulling out a pair of nylons. Cocoa slammed his head against the steering wheel before he could act. He was out cold. Cocoa handcuffed him to the steering wheel. Vice arrested The Pantyhose Strangler. However, his car remains where he intended to assault and kill his fourth prostitute.
This abandoned car is oh, I don’t know, maybe a half mile or so from my humble yet lovely abode and it’s been parked right there for as long as I’ve lived in my said humble yet lovely abode, which has been oh, I don’t know, maybe eighteen years or so.
Every time I pass the beautiful, wabi-sabi of a relic on one of my walks, I always think to myself, I bet there’s a heck of story to go along with that thing…
And I also always tell myself that one of these days Ima gonna write my own story about it.
It’s different these days
I find it hard to remember
The person I was, back then
Or why I would do the things I did
Taken to the brink, time and again
But always pulling back at the last second
Was there a part of me that knew
Someday I would have a reason to change
Something worth being a better person for
Maybe hope lived within, waited
Behind all the nonsense I believed true
So close, so many times, but never quite there
It’s strange though
There are parts of me that I miss
The reckless abandon, living like there’s no tomorrow
The romantic notion to live fast and die young
But now content in the slow lane
Hoping that death has a long way to go
To get to where I am today
I’m happy to announce the release of my fifth book, a short story collection entitled: LEAVE: And Other Stories Short and Shorter.
Within the collection, there are 30 stories new and old. Some are short in length as are traditional short stories, and some are shorter in length, as are the more contemporary flash fiction stories. Some were written as recently as this past winter; others, as long ago as the early ’90s. Many have been published previously on my website and other places, but there are several new stories that have not yet been released until now.
Here’s a look at the book cover and a brief excerpt (it’s about the only parsing of the story I could find to share here that wasn’t filled completely with vulgar language – hey, the story involves sailors…what can I say?) of a story about fear, passion, and unrequited desire that I just added to my short story collection. I hope you enjoy it.
The lieutenant commander looked out across the water and focused in on one of the many dhows making its way through the harbor. Its wooden hull was long and its beam narrow. Its single lateen sail was full, even with the slack wind. Its two-man crew looked like haunting, seafaring wraiths through the heat rays shimmering off the water…[CONTINUE READING]
He kicks off the covers and reveals the body of a mid-sized, thin but muscularly defined, mid-twenties, African-American male. He does some cat-like stretching and then concludes his ritual with some aggressive eye-rubbing underneath the pillow. While doing so, he seems to notice something strange about his hands.
He holds them over his head and looks up at them from under the pillow. He flips them over and inspects both sides of them as if he’s never seen them before. He sits up on his elbows and looks down at his bare upper torso. He sees the scars of five bullet holes and an assortment of tattoos littered across his brown abdomen. The most prominent tattoo, “Thug Life,” arches across the muscle-ripped gut…