Smell like shit? I had never noticed it before, but now every one we get called out to stinks like hell.” Moans the slight framed man with a wispy beard. “Probably due to all the piss and vomit, would be my informed guess there Garreth.” Replies the short heavy set woman with cropped grey hair. “That and the dead bodies.” She chimes in a second later. “Yeah – the dead bodies would most likely be the culprit for the stench.” Chuckles Garreth, his weak shoulders jumping as he laughs. “So how the fuck do we keep finding these bodies after they’ve been dead for so long?” Garreth whines as the two officers walk deeper into the dilapidated tenement building, wandering the labyrinthine halls lit by flashing yellowing bulbs. Everywhere you look is cracked dry wall, mould patches, and peeling paint. Ceiling tiles with greasy brown water stains, and puddles of urine gathered at the edges of the red well worn carpets. “Well Garreth, in these instances most of the neighbours are junkies, extremely poor, or illegals. Nobody wants us here, they want as little local law enforcement scrutiny as possible. So shit goes from bad to worse, until they can’t stand it. And we turn up, bother people by asking questions which nobody will answer, and then cart off the rotting corpse. Rinse and repeat. Feel me wee man?” The large woman croaks through gritted teeth. “How many does this make for us Garreth?” The female officer asks as they get within visual range of the slumped body. Previously laying on the floor where it meets the wall. Turned inwards to face the baseboard. From the angle they are standing at they can’t tell if it’s a man or a woman. There is a definite unusual twist to the torso, like it had tried to scratch an itch went too far and died after snapping it’s own spine in twain. Various fluids and puddles seep out from under the grayish blue body. The smell is thick in the air. A humid and pungent overly rotten orange twinge to the air. “At last count we were up to six this week. Not counting the four last week left in a similar state.” Garreth replies quietly. “Looks like the last apartment on this floor. Shouldn’t this hallway have a window or fire exit or something?” Garreth asks as he kneels down to poke around the body with one latex glove on, and a thin metallic rod he uses to lift a collar here, and a jacket pocket flap there. “I’d be surprised if any of the rooms had more than a port hole sized window per unit. These bastard builders cram as many bodies into these apartments as they can. What a shit hole.” Grumbles the larger officer turning away from Garreth while he conducts his first pass over the prone body. “Something tells me we won’t find a listing for this victim in this apartment block. Not sure why, just a vibe I’m getting.” She offers offhandedly. “Whatever you say boss lady. I don’t see any Id on the vic, and the coroner’s folks will get here soon. We can get some fresh air and wait for the retinal scan from doc’s people.” Garreth answers standing up while peeling off his lone glove by the heel of his palm. “Want me to go grab us a bite?” He offers. “Yes. We passed a Longo’s on the way in here, grab me a partial rotisserie chicken.” “No problem Priss, what you eat for breakfast is no business of mine.” He chuckles as he walks back out of the dim pungent hallway.
Tag: fiction
“And you’ve had a job before this one correct?”
“Yes, that’s true I worked at an aquatic zoo”. “Is that like an aquarium?” “Oh, you know that term, I assumed that was just insider corporate jargon.” “No, no – that’s a fairly common term for water based fish conservation.” “Hmmm. I respectfully disagree.” “Well, can you tell me what lessons you learned working at the aquarium.” “There you go, throwing that corporate jargon in my face. The fish zoo I worked at had several kinds of penguins and bottle nosed dolphins.” “Ok, do go on please.” “Sure thing. Ah – the first piece of information is that penguins can be vicious. And dolphins like to engage in rape.” “COUGH! – Goodness I wasn’t aware of that. How did you learn those things and what actions did you take because of it?” “Yeah, ok, right. Well, what can I say – penguins can’t take a punch. And I don’t recommend retaliating against a dolphin by raping it with said stunned penguin. That’s for sure. No sir.” “Wait – were, were you raped by a dolphin?” “To be fair… what do you know about lady dolphin vaginal secretions?” “Good lord , nothing. I don’t know anything about female dolphin vaginas.” “Count yourself lucky then doll. That shits like Valhalla. Only way there is to die in battle!” “What does dying have to do with dolphin vaginal secretions, vicious penguins and rape?” “Well skinny dipping in the tank and taking a dolphin dong in the bum will ruin your hole weak if you let it. Taking a short cut through the penguin exhibit nude is also not suggested.” “Jesus H Christ.” “Welp, the little bastards jumped up and bit me, so I punched it in the head. And even unconscious it was rigid which gim’me an idea, so I trekked back to the dolphin tank for a wrestle and to settle my score. You’d be amazed at how helpful an octopus can be when…” “Oh my, well I’m sorry to say that it has just come to my attention that the current supervisory position here at Little Tykes Nursery School has been filled. Good day to you sir.”
Three weeks of writing everyday
And what have I learned, or what is my major take away? It’s this… I still can’t figure out how to get in the groove to write any new fiction/non-fiction creative writing for a (micro) short story. I have had a couple of flickers of story ideas flash through my mind, but nothing I’ve been able to jot down on paper or contemplate long enough to find my way through it. Which is… annoying, I suppose. I’m not a writer per se, but I really did enjoy putting 60,000 plus words together in a somewhat cohesive story line in 2020 and early 2021. I always wanted to write a book, and I did it. I guess I thought that once I had done it I would be able to revisit that ability at will. That is proving to not be the case, at least at the moment. I’m what?, annoyed… yeah a little, disappointed…. sort of… feeling like it’s just a bit of a funk? Most likely. Much like any of my creative endeavors, if I force it, I’ll only produce forced garbage, but if I maintain some discipline and attempt to do something along those lines every day, at some point something will click or an idea will catch and my habit of doing it for a little bit every single day might stretch out and I could get on to something. Could, might, maybe, if… not possibilities to shy away from this early into the new year. I hope the month of January finds you all clear headed, and with vibrant ideas flowing from your finger tips.
After all this time
I didn’t do any work on my illustrated children’s book this year at all. Last year in Year One of the Covid-19 pandemic I took my rough notes and wrote the story out in full, and then also rewrote it two more times, along with a few character sketches, but then I’ve just left it sitting untouched. Mind you, I did then go and write a full book of short stories in its stead. Now however I feel like I should resurrect the project for 2022. Alas, in the few golden months I had since both of my kids were attending in person school I tackled home diy projects to improve or finish off rooms in the house, rather than devote myself to an illustrated childrens book. I haven’t drawn by hand in a very long time, and I haven’t painted in watercolours or acrylics in nearly the same amount of time. I think I’m nervous about the artwork being terrible, more so than the story not being entertaining. But wave #5 and the end of Year Two of the pandemic are nearly upon us all. Part of me is still chasing the high from actually writing a full book of interconnected short stories set mostly out in space, along with some non-fiction autobiographical stuff mixed in. Funny how a lot has happened while nothing has happened. A very strange feeling. I think what I’m missing is, I used to come and work/write every day from 12-2pm while my kids napped, and then the youngest gave up naps, and I had to resort to working at night and then I dropped off my writing habits because I was focused on the paid work for my day job, and my brain was a tad fried from several weeks where I wrote 5 or 6 thousand words over some very productive days, week after week. Not always that many, but I know my cognitive skills dipped on any day that I wrote more than 3,500 words at once. A fugue state, brain fog, brain fart, mom brain, synapse fatigue or what have you. Odd feeling, that. Oh yeah, and I devoted more time to wood working, and I scaled back my sculpting too this year. Perhaps a more rounded dabbling in all of my hobbies will make for a better choice next year. Glad I am alive and well enough to consciously make that decision.
” You look terrible, what happened to you?”
Shouts the older grey haired man almost immediately after pushing his way through the grimy glass revolving doors, knocking an elderly man’s elbow causing him to fumble his hat, dropping it and then kicking it out into the gutter. Crossing the shabby lobby faux marble floor directly towards the rather bohemian looking man in a mad rush, his hawkish angular features pulled back into a sneer. “Oh, don’t start with me Derek, it’s this whole thing. I’m tired and sore so just leave me alone this one time, ok, huh!” squeaks the meager looking man shambling along with the flow of foot traffic heading to the thick line up for the elevators into the enormous and drab building. Pulling along beside the bedraggled man, Derek leans down over top of him and whispers “Come on little man, tell me, you always have the best stories. I need another doozy to impress the c-suite suits!” It’s a harsh whisper, the kind that carries and reverberates off of the polished concrete and forty year old wooden accents on the wall behind the sconces. Above the bank of elevator doors the massive brass clock ticks away noisily. People stand crammed together in the tight space, shuffling their feet and readjusting ties and hair pins. The heat of other peoples breathe is starting to make the little man sweat. Somebody has eaten day old eggs and sardines. “It was nothing really, nothing much at all!” whimpers the emaciated man. “Not sure why Doris made me sleep on the couch, I didn’t really do anything wrong.” His voice a wet warble little more than a whine. “Sure sure, bud, of course, I know you have a good heart.” “I do, I really do, I just say things some times, they just come out, I just tend to blurt out what I’m thinking.” “I know you do, and it tends to be the gods honest truth doesn’t it bud?” “It does, yes… but I don’t know…” He groans. “Come on bud, the elevators almost here, just gimme the Cole’s notes version.” “Well, after I got home from work, Doris had made me dinner, you see, a burger, well an unbattered chicken burger to be exact, so should have seen it, it was so thick, it was glorious!” He exclaims. “Ok, ok bud, there’s only twenty floors to go before this carriage gets here.” “Oh, ok, yeah, so It’s great you see, I’m tucking into it, and it’s juicy and delicious. Then on my fifth bite I get a real heavy crunch, like, almost crack my tooth kind of crunch right?” “Yeah, ok, crunchy chicken, not so good.” “Yeah, so I says, without thinking mind you, ‘Oh! must of had a bit of beak!’ and Doris without missing a beat, she throws up, all over Avery and Gemma. That’s my boy and my little girl see, they’re attached at the hip with Doris. Then they start to throw up, on themselves, each other and Doris too, you know for good measure. Then the dog wanders into the room because of all the commotion, you know?” “Dogs and commotion! It’s a real thing, I believe you.” “So he starts feasting on it, it is fountaining out of all three of them, all over the walls, the floor, each other’s hair, the carpet, the couch. It was absolutely everywhere.” “Oh, dear god man. why would you say that?” “I don’t know, it just sorta slipped out. Either way, Doris threatened divorce yet again, and they all retired to bed and I spent the first half of the evening cleaning it all up because…” Cutting across him Derek adds in. “Because you had to sleep on the couch, ok got it! Great, thanks bud.” With a loud chime the elevator signals its descent to the main floor lobby, and Derek pushes beyond the little man, and leaves him to wait for the next one. As the door closes Derek points his finger guns at the man and gives him a thumbs up.
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