Chronicle 330 ~Long Story Short B~

I always imagined that I would be the Dad that would read to my kids. Most of the books I read, considering my son was 15. Which is how old in dog years? Anyway, reading about grieving didn’t help me vote. Long Story Short B.

Friday, May 27, 2022

Chronicle 330 ~Long Story Short B~

Hey Lady Sophia,
I AM a Billionaire right now, and it isn’t because of a book. I have some stories to tell. Where are they?

How was your day? My Olds always asked though they didn’t give a damn. Braxton? First, a brisk walk outside, a bag full of fries. And passing out in the bed. Then I’d be ok. I continue to think about this line, you don’t want a girlfriend; you want a therapist who’s good in bed. Um well. I had my Braxton, who loved to cuddle and then sat at the foot of the bed keeping watch. I swear I should have gotten Braxton registered as Emotional Support. He might believe everything I had to go through on the day-to-day. Hell! I don’t even know, as I’m time traveling right now. Tale as old as time, song as old as rhyme, people, always suck. Sorry Disney.

I never read B III fairytales. Most of the stories I read aren’t child friendly. I keep saying to nobody at all. He would hate what I’m reading now. For this week, I’m looking into what they call “Final Frontier” books because of Amazon. I can’t turn down a challenge. Funny right? I mean a reading challenge. Besides B guarding me, I miss him sitting on my lap as I read. The last book B might have heard while bad was BREASTESES by Maximo Montoya. The two before, A Different Alchemy and The Island. Coincidence? The Island is all about being alone. And A Different Alchemy… Father loses his child. Breasts are something both B and I agree on. The Succubus Lord 7. That series?

I told Braxton’s Aunt a while ago one of the reasons I go to B-Dubs on Saturdays is part of our story. It was the Saturday before Braxton died. I look at Succubus Lord, like that? There’s always so much more to add to “My Turn To B III.” The novel I wrote for Braxton. Only did I work on that today, Tuesday, May 24, 2022, Election Day? Talk about not reading the assignment. The only name I recognized was the guy’s name on my gun license. Don’t go there. Then there are all the books on Pet Loss I’ve been into. I’m still breathing. I’m Alive! Two words, and what would I be reading? 2021 shocked. 2022 I’m still grieving. Long Story Short B

481 Days Without B III

BLM Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Chronicle 323 ~Want To B Read~

Do you want to know what I’ve been reading this week? Chances are none of it is my own work. I sent B’s Aunt all her books. And how much does Cherry trust me? B trusted me with his life, and now I can’t even publish a title about it? “Want To B Read”

Friday, May 20, 2022

Chronicle 323 ~Want To B Read~

Hey Lady Sophia,
I AM a Billionaire right now, but that would mean I have my own feature in the Bible. I never read much.

I do mean of the Bible, of course. Revelation as I’m all about the end of the world, my Lady. There was the Gospel of John because, as I’ve said, I can’t resist book challenges. Christians blah. So that got me to Proverbs. Um, that’s nonfiction, huh? Who decided, ha? For the record. Sophia, the world ended on January 31, 2021, at approximately 3:30 PM. It’s been so long since I worked on Braxton’s book I wonder if it’s in there. Hell, I could barely get it up to talk to you today. It’s Monday, so yes, I’m time traveling. You also know that this week sucks. And did I need to dive into porno for the third day in a row? It was delivered…

Well, erotica, harem romance, a fantasy? I’m not sure what to call it. Succubus Lord Series. Before I go any further, and while it’s on my mind, I owe you an apology Lady Sophia. I thought after Braxton died, I would be telling you stories about the two of us. A father and son type of thing. Now all the voices blend these days. But yes, I’ll never forget Braxton. If I don’t tell you our stories, I at least need to publish his book, but no. I made it to the dining room table this morning. And come this afternoon. I’m trying not to. A sex joke again, apologies. Anyway, I came back to bed after the book delivery. A reason to go outside…

Hell! I would settle for a reason to make it into the den and read. I haven’t bought anything I thought of for Triple B, dammit! But I have an extensive collection of grieving and mourning books. This year has been about breaking streaks, and soon no more dog titles Sophia. Damn book challenge brought to you by Amazon. Final Frontier and Chart Topper titles are needed. I have a whole library of stuff I haven’t read. Gifts for Braxton’s Aunt, Cherry. Talk about women who love their books. The ones I read bring out even more tears by the day. The ones I’m listening to bring out other bodily fluids, or I hope not. Braxton’s book, though? Books I write. Want To B Read.

474 Days Without B III

BLM Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Chronicle 316 ~Silly To B Cryin’~

“Same things make us laugh, make us cry.” How old was I when GTA: San Andreas came out? Way before I had my son. That game didn’t make me do much of either, but B III did. I laugh, I cry. And after 467 Days? Silly To B Cryin’

Friday, May 13, 2022

Chronicle 316 ~Silly To B Cryin’~

Hey Lady Sophia,
I AM a Billionaire right now, and I don’t know whether I want to laugh or cry saying that. Both are good.

But you know me. I’m a “man” that likes to know where he stands. Everything has its place. I prefer that mine not be in this bed, but today Thursday, May 5, 2022, so yeah. Sophia, I meant to talk to you yesterday, but I decided to fool myself and crawl right back beneath the sheets. What do I keep saying about, The Comedian? Oh, not political or comedic issues. Aren’t we here to talk about Braxton. A good story about my lost B III. When I want to cry at the Day Job, I think, “my son is dead.” It happens over and over. Only you would believe me silly for crying about my Day Job. Why don’t you quit, like being a Dad?

No, never! Hell! Most people wish I would stop talking about Braxton, like my firstborn. Instead, would they have me talk about my penis; Lady Sophia, it’s like my subject. Seeing how I’m time traveling, I already fucked up my week but this next one? Well, by the time you read this, who knows. But some things never change. The way I feel right now. It’s funny the things that get me off sometimes. You know how I have my most hated words. I should have the words that make me do things… that are so good. Dick jokes to the absolute disgust I have with myself. I meant to take a nap. We’re talking now, so when the time comes… like me, naptime (sigh).

Comedy comes in three’s, THEY say. So we have my dog, the Day Job, and my dick. What else makes me burst into tears. Such silly things, to what I’ve lost forever. Me, Me, ME! Lady Sophia, I cried because I burnt through the last of Succubus Lord stories today. Tears fall every Sunday when I realize that I failed Six Impossible Things again. There are more when I look at my bank account and understand I’m nowhere close. Sophia, fuck being a family man. I look at all the tits, lips, and clits; I’ll never know in this existence. A good story about Braxton? He would make me forget everything, but I’d still cry. Inevitable, but love can be everything. Silly To B Cryin’?

467 Days Without B III

BLM Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Chronicle 309 ~Boy Meets Dog B~

I don’t have stories of me finding a dog. My grandma had two. I had a Chow Chow pup for a minute that was killed by my granddad’s dog. But B III was 15 years, eleven months. 13 days shy of 16. A story of him, finding him again. “Boy Meets Dog B”

Friday, May 6, 2022

Chronicle 309 ~Boy Meets Dog B~

Hey Lady Sophia,
I AM a Billionaire right now, so I’ll have my pick of any litter; getting another dog? With my billions of dollars?

I’m sure I’ve told the story enough about how I met my son. If I ever get off my ass and publish our story “My Turn To B III.” What do I call this, somehow getting it up to have this third conversation on a Saturday, no less? Time Travel and even more cranberries. “Zombie, zombie, zombie-ie-ie.” Yeah, I couldn’t resist. You know how I am with the zombie genre. If Braxton got bit, I understand I might not put him down. Way wrong choice of words, isn’t Lady Sophia? He’s no zombie. A ghost? Room 1408? Except he isn’t trying to kill me. Again with the doctors and the cranberries healing? Lady Sophia, is it easier finding a new furry kid ever. Don’t know

Seeing how it’s Saturday, I know it won’t happen, spending five minutes in PetSmart. There are no stories of me finding a new fur baby. And as I left today, I had a strange thought. What would Triple B do if he wanted to get my attention? Braxton was dying. He’d find a soft, comfy spot and then give me that look he did when I was up all night. “It’s time to go to bed because we have to walk in the morning.” And that was that, my Lady. Only he would want to be so very soft. As if it were an honor to pick him up. He’d find the perkiest set of boobs or the prettiest face. So not the Rebeccas, hmm?

I’ve said before that B III had ruined me pretty much. If he does come back to me, it will be as Deer Head Chihuahua. And even if it isn’t him, Braxton knows; shallow bastard. It’s what his dad has always been, except when he was dying, and I held him as long as I could. And still, I was ashamed because everyone knew he was sick and dying. Always that will be my failure and my disgrace. But I’m talking about seeing Braxton again. He could want me to adopt, to rescue as it allows me to play the hero I couldn’t be before. I’ve never found a dog ever, but this is Braxton we’re talking about; He’s My Son. Boy Meets Dog B

460 Days Without B III

BLM Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Episode 321 ~The Will To Assemble~

From Ill-Will to Iron Will and I’m hoping to work a bit of alchemy maybe or could I become like “Ironman,” no spoilers from me but if you haven’t seen that movie yet, where have you been, as for me. The Will To Assemble.

Saturday, May 18, 2019

Episode 321 ~The Will To Assemble~

Hey Lady Lu,
I AM a Millionaire right now; it’s only going to take time to assemble it. Let me repeat it, three months. Now that’s what I promised myself, and it’s something to see when the money won’t fit in my doggie bank. Still, for a man, that to this day isn’t a fan of teamwork, you know the old saying? I was rather fond of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Ronin Warriors. Few seasons of the Power Rangers.

Now, how many times have I spoken about being Prometheus? Every day it feels as though a part of me is missing, eaten away, yum. My heart, brain, penis ow, and it returns for better or worse considering the day after. For example, two heads beating one and all that. Do you know who Audrey Charlize, Linda Chase, or Izumi Tachibana are? I didn’t care until a few days ago. If there was only a way to put such a skill to use, finding a P.Y.T. and men, they turn on. If there is one thing I’ve garnered from all my motivations, it’s a need for purpose. To give all of yourself to it, like John Legend singing All Of Me. One man giving everything he is, and that’s enough, to make these women tremble.

I do the same, but for the wrong reasons Right Thing, Wrong Way. I have seen girls fall in love with vampires, werewolves, and even dead men. Only in this day and age, it’s men in general who are the worse. Dammit, am I still 3/5 a person, half a man, worse only a boy too afraid to say anything. However, I’m fighting; I gear up. I keep my lips closed, head covered, and ears full. I don’t have much faith in humanity, but I have even less in any god. People all have varying prices. Money can hide you, change you, it can reassemble.

What do people want to see? It wouldn’t matter if I were Ill-Will. I want to be Iron Will. Only with The Power of Will, I can get this done, which brings us back to money. I have the brain she’s got the looks, another has the brawn. You know what that means, the Opportunities. Ending on a happy note, I know I have everything I need if I stop shielding the best, hiding the worst, The Will To Assemble.

I Will Have No Fear

Episode 250 ~Let’s Lie Down Will~

The lie is I can’t get up, that I can’t face the world, that B III will live to meet his stepmom but the truth, I don’t want to get up, the world scares me, and Triple B is on three medications, yet I wish to create fiction. Let’s Lie Down Will.

Friday, March 8, 2019

Episode 250 ~Let’s Lie Down Will~

Hey Lady Sophia,
How To Make One Million Dollars, create the ultimate comfy spot for dogs. A product most owners won’t buy, a lie never accepted. Knowing at the end of the workday we want our fur babies with us. Sitting on our laps, furring up our couches, and bedtime.

That might be easier than writing because I’ve discovered something and that’s I’m not a good liar, and you know how I know? I’ve never convinced myself. A God that can’t convince himself of his creation; like the plot of Legion (2010). I’m not even a good thief because that goes hand in hand with lying. Only haven’t I said that fiction isn’t lying, again it’s creation. Still, everything from girls to gore, to the ground, is real. Writers have to bleed, and that’s one more thing I can’t do correctly. Like a body that lies Undiscovered and when it finally is what’s left, decay?

I haven’t gone through the majority of the Editor’s Notes on Apocalypse Rush. Though if a sea of red was any sign, damn near everything had to be separated and corrected. Not that they said it was terrible by any stretch. I wonder if the editor was a woman. I saw that it’s International Women’s Day and I did go to see Captain Marvel last night. Hell if I wasn’t sitting here with you telling me to Stop Crying Your Heart Out, what would I be doing? A pool of green from vomiting out the amount of cash I’m going to need for my novel. What about being Down With The Sickness that festers inside me. Word apps are leaving whoever I was rotting more.

Lady Sophia, if I want to write and learn how to lie, why don’t I tell you about the movie. How I strolled with confidence, paid, bought my snacks and saw a great film. No, I humiliated myself with an old ticket and agonized over it for two hours. Saw a decent movie and then felt right about a car accident because people were having a worse night. I could tell you I woke up feeling great, with a lot of energy and I plan to get so much done. Again I fell asleep till seven, my body is sore, I have to go out, and all I want to do is sleep. If my life were happy, I would go into nonfiction. Could become one of those reactors for TWD. As King Ezekiel put it “Fake It, Till You Make It,” will I go and lie down in bed or Let’s Lie Down Will.

I Will Have No Fear

Episode 243 ~Deadline, To Fill Will~

Winston Smith said; “we are the dead” you want to know what my Room 101 is… being alone, “B III” is hanging in there, and I see a couple of good people too, the problem is though, I’m not one of them. “Deadline, To Fill Will”

Friday, March 1, 2019

Episode 243 ~Deadline, To Fill Will~

Hey Lady Sophia,
How To Make One Million Dollars, create a holiday I will enjoy. As you can see, I still haven’t won PCH, but I remember those days I was heavy into it, and then they came down south. I watched them drive around and then the grand prize was for someone else sigh.

Remission, I mean no disrespect to people who suffer from illnesses. Hell, the word comes to mind because of Roman Reigns in WWE, but I imagine that’s what it feels like to have so much money. The disease known as your life is in remission. What about the pain I endure, I’ve had plenty of those moments. Something in my eye, a toothache, my weak stomach. Which of course these days as I told “Indiana Gone” every day I continue to play Prometheus. So some “bird” gives me a choice, my heart or my privates, yeah still a private day. What did I say about a “life in remission?” Yeah because I “pretty much” walk around like a zombie all day working. Subsisting off, well that’s the thing there’s nothing, I go to work and how many times do I repeat this. My wants are impossible, immoral, illegal and insane.

Revenge, people are heading for the hills but it’s like I’m Dr. Jekyll, and I want to kill Mr. Hyde, no I’m not suicidal. Hell staying up half the night writing and of course, I missed the deadline, get it, scribbling gives me life? How about being Dr. Frankenstein and making a monster. Who was the bigger monster? Now let’s go modern, take the Rage Virus for example. I’m like the mother who’s infected and with my sick lips… hell everyone wants to tear me apart. Maybe I’m bent on my destruction. Every beautiful thing I desire is like the Road Runner, and I’m like Wile E. Coyote am a subscriber to ACME products. Because I asked one girl out and she blocked me. Asked to subscribe to another, but I don’t want to risk her friendship but… she’s hot.

Renounce; the man I am, but I don’t know who that is anymore. The basics today, I’m getting sick, my throat hurts something awful, I’m still exhausted, I’m a bit warm. Only people call me sick for plenty of other reasons. I would say I get to renounce the human race, but my “father” hell do I count him as human. Like me, he pretends, and if he thinks he’s getting me as a “friend” on Facebook, geez I hate him in real life honestly. I said before that “A Comedian Died Today” and there is this idea that I have to be something else. Only who gets to choose, a dead man rises for what, Deadline, To Fill Will.

I Will Have No Fear

Episode 131 ~Your Willie Don’t Mime~

The pretend man is at it again, well that was until I was cradling “B III,” fighting an ant caravan or wondering what the hell am I becoming while writing other than a terrible writer… too late, but I am a clown. Your Willie Don’t Mine

Friday, November 9, 2018

Episode 131 ~Your Willie Don’t Mime~

Hey Lady Sophia,
How To Make One Million Dollars, you have to work every day, and today I make no excuses although I always have a million of those, another ant invasion, “B III” having to visit the vet because of his heart, and here I feel as though I took a hit in mine. Literally Lady Sophia my chest hurts right there, could be breathing in that bug spray, my exhaustion, I nearly threw up last night because I was so out of it, still am, and maybe that’s why I didn’t want to talk to you, the universe, and what’s that they say of dead men my friend…

This whole week I’ve felt like a “MIME” in everything I do, at work being the hard-working employee and still feeling so guilty when somebody writes down I’m not showing up. As a writer, talk about being an epic failure, on the one hand, shouldn’t I feel proud, I can turn off everything in this life and focus only to fall into the black of words, TV screens, or pools of ants, I swear I have no idea where any of it is coming from. What about what I can see, I’ve been fucking up as a father forever and a day and all it took was one bad night and it surely was a million times worse for my kid but sleeping in my bed, his food, going for walks, that fear Lady Sophia seeing him struggle to live.

Lady Sophia that silence would kill me; if I couldn’t write anymore and if I lost everything trying to work so hard to remain nothing more than an “UNPERSON” I don’t feel as though I exist, that I should, or that I even want to. Indiana Gone and I were talking about this, I always get called into work but if I don’t show up then so what, it doesn’t matter the day continues and if they call me terrible or people are indifferent towards me. On the other side, I’m the entertainment, I’ve said that before, the inspiration of jokes, the example of how not to do something, the monster makes the damsel relevant.

Now that is something I don’t mind or mime if you were to look up my internet history, in this world, there are never enough warning labels are there, and again last night I was so wrecked, I was like everybody else, close your eyes and ignore everything. If you can’t see a mime though, does he exist, one more reason I’m a writer, I can pretend to write, or I can do it; with desire, Your Willie Don’t Mime.

I Will Have No Fear

Episode 124 ~By One Man’s Will~

If not looking so many enemies in the face, I’m busy creating them or anything for that matter to populate my new fictional word which will probably never see the light of day but who knows. “By One Man’s Will”

Friday, November 2, 2018

Episode 124 ~By One Man’s Will~

Hey Lady Sophia,
How To Make One Million Dollars, seriously man created God, man destroys the Earth and any man that’s able to gain dominion over women well; here we go again with “dignity and respect,” but my actual point is, it shouldn’t be difficult to make a million. The second day of NaNoWriMo and I’m still trying to create a world, and please excuse me for picking your brain about this, it has been a long day, and I owe over a thousand words before I get some sleep.

“You cannot have a protagonist without desire; it doesn’t make any sense, any fucking sense.”

My plot at the moment is rather simplistic; I’m always a fan of harems, brothels, ranches, whatever name people give them these days and in my story (yet to be titled) the main protagonist owns one but not staffed by ordinary women. Now you know I have always been a fan of “Thirteen Women” so I think I will need that many monster types of women or somewhat supernatural qualities; Angels, Banshees, The Dead, Lilith, Nymphs, Possessions, Scream Queens, Sirens, Succubi, Vampires, Werewolves, Witches, and Zombies. The protagonist will also tell the story, but I think I need four more characters to balance it out, with my “love” for words, why is it I’m always worried about doing the math, five speakers four chapters each.

Twenty Chapters total with Two Thousand, Five Hundred and of course, it will get bigger, and here I haven’t even finished editing “Apocalypse Rush,” and the sad thing is I’m forgetting all of my stories and the idea of rereading them… Anyway, I think one of my characters will be a gravedigger, another one a pretty doctor, and I always need a love interest and of course the antagonist. A question I’m asking myself is always, what’s my motivation and none of my characters seem to have that though I have already completed the first chapter and still have more words to go but what about tomorrow, not like I have a deadline or the day job to contend with; probably my general laziness streak.

Seriously my biggest enemy right now is, well they say all you have to do is bleed, but most of my stories require other bodily fluids; a man has to get inspiration from somewhere and so far, that’s “Anja Juliette Laval.” Right now my goal should be to finish this story before the 30th or even better the 20th, strangely enough, I was never an overachiever in school which explains a lot; hiding in the wrong books and now writing them By One Man’s Will.

I Will Have No Fear

Love The Way You Run

It’s a disease this thing called love I once heard, but I think I’m an asymptomatic carrier when you get right down to it, or as the song goes, Love Don’t Love Me but I haven’t written any “sweet” poetry lately, or short stories. Love The Way You Run

My heart beats faster and faster, as though it can escape me, soon I almost mutter aloud and yet she sees, one of the many and if she thinks I can turn around and face the rest of them as her voice breaks through. “How about today, Mr. Berton” Ms. Everard tutted, how she surely must have gone into the wrong profession, but who better to teach a man about life and death but a woman but this was Math.

How long have I been staring at her, could I count the breaths that I missed and apparently I must be missing a brain, I must be the Tin Man, minus the ax as well… one more reason I couldn’t turn around. Her eyes as brown as the dirt I wanted to bury myself under, was I not one more dead man and yet it’s dead things that make others grow, as hard as the board I haven’t touched in ages, please let me just hack away and build a coffin. Yeah but my heart won’t allow it, or that’s what I keep telling myself, fighting to stay alive though I was already in Hell, though nobody would know it with my complexion but hers?

The dead can be monsters, lucky for her, though I could see the rivers of red run along her tanned cheeks, the small scars healing as though she met a beast long before me, though her soft pink lips called me anything but her worst nightmare. “Mr. Berton” she cried as she walked over to me, her black top barely containing her but it could be worst, if it were her heart I was after, and then men chase skirts, the tigress’s one she was wearing, no I would instead trace the black heart tattoo along her cheek or the designs along her wrist. Surely she must be crazy to approach me, killing me like this or bringing me back to life, I would choose the former rather than face the class once again in this state, I just couldn’t.

Saved by the bell, as the class began to leave, my backpack not big enough to hold me, no EMT’s or coroner’s to pronounce what I already knew, was it wrong for me to even wish for a cop, death might come that much quicker. No, I wouldn’t need that, as Ms. Everard, cautioned “see you tomorrow,” now honestly I am no track star, but I am surely going to give it a chance as I ran out of there as fast as my feet cared to carry me now.

If I didn’t see her, her, or even her, why was I still going to school if my only job prospect was looking at the ground, knowing the moment I looked up, I would be knocked off of my feet, better to find the whole now, get it over with.

Better a cabin in the woods than being eaten alive, a careless whisper, a kiss, the scent of perfume, there was no fighting this, I wanted to believe, as I scurried along, call me a coward, or worse one of the infected. Rage, at them, at myself, hell that’s what I felt, but it’s nature, even the animals that have no concept of it, knew it, and here I thought people were supposed to prefer the privacy of their own homes. That’s where I was headed, maybe I could attribute my sickness to anything but the butterflies in my stomach, though I doubted even Noah had the problems I was feeling running through my veins.

No, they will not make a monster out of me, idle hands being the devil’s playthings and all but I didn’t have anyone to call, no money to spend, and while violence was far more accepted, it could never be condoned. If I could be like the cool kids, I could probably get a drink somewhere, maybe I could smoke something, it might even make me that much braver and live or die, it wouldn’t matter in the end perhaps.
Some idiot laughing on the ground and the pretty girls’ laughter brings him back to life, and he’ll only fall down again, for her I suppose or she for him, why don’t I find more joy in my immunity to all of this? Sickness is never a good thing, and that’s what the world would make of me as I ran that much faster, I must look like a lunatic and if only they knew they would have me committed by sundown. Why couldn’t this all exist in the dark, that’s where the monsters were supposed to come out and play, but where was I headed now, there were no bright lights where I was going if I kept my computer off of my obsession.

I would make myself a sacrifice for the good of the world, the sole survivor but to what end, and her’s, had God chosen to curse me so, as I stared and in the next second wondered who put that pole there as I crashed.

Light as a feather but only a board, was written on one of the books she carried but she did not stop, perhaps I was already a ghost, and none of them could see me, even if she was attuned with the spirit world as her library would suggest. It would make sense the way I was haunting her, some might say stalking, others would make me out to be a creep, nobody ever saw me until far too late.

Not good enough for Heaven and not bad enough for Hell and yet I was surrounded by angels and the devils that would have them, if but a word from me, after all, a ghost still needed a place to haunt some nights. It would explain a lot, I didn’t eat much, nobody ever heard a word I said, well at not women and some women loved to pretend that I would jump out at them when they least expected, it’s like being an alien only that beast would be my heart crawling its way out of my chest. Just it wouldn’t be today if I could make it back to my haunting ground without any more bruises or scars.

At least that’s how the guys saw me, maybe I was surrounded by ghosts or angels, and every guy saw me as a necromancer, I was paid to bring girls to life, and those men got to “love” them, I could be the grim reaper. Only it was grim I would ever see that girl again, her burgundy hair, those greenish-brown eyes, her snow-white skin, clad in black top similar to my teacher’s and blue jeans that would have to be peeled off of her slowly. Much like my dark skin if I ever got the chance, she was probably looking into the tarot now, coming up with a million reasons why we couldn’t be together in some way maybe.

I could help her out with that, but I will be damned if I was chasing after such a beauty like the beast I could not choose to be for the life of me, or for the life of her, and that was one million and one if she could hear me. We didn’t belong together because I was already dead or would be I imagined all the more as I saw my reflection in a puddle, yes I decide what I was going to be or was, a zombie.

Some zombies were only interested in brains, others were connoisseurs of the flesh, and while I could admit there was something about brunettes, I was not picky from wanting a dark-haired single mother, to a girl interested in the next realm. Still lacking my brain, why else would I feast on or find any thought I had elsewhere and not on the tip of my tongue, I must be starving.

Werewolves would lock themselves in cages, vampires had one coffin, but what could hold a zombie, the cure would be a million times worse than the virus, the ground may not change on the path, but these people were walking obituaries. Feasting upon each other time and again, some for their whole lives, and they pitied me… maybe they were right, but I accepted what I was a long time ago, and how dare I take somebody with me, zombies have mobs, as for me… I wanted to tear her apart, but I wouldn’t turn around and follow my black magic woman, I wouldn’t taste those juicy pink lips, bite or even nibble upon her.

Too many people had taken bites from my brain already, no wonder I couldn’t remember what it was to be like them or at the very least what I pretended to be because what I was could not be allowed anywhere. Let the disease run rampant all over the globe, I would run, I would hide, better than being one of them, no never, I kept telling myself, until I turned blue in the face, but I was so close to the house now. A zombie that would not bite, because no the world did not need more of me running around and I’m sure there were enough women that wanted to blow my head off for a few reasons.

What kind of monster thinks that; not a zombie that’s for sure they fear nothing, most monsters don’t, but there is something that is full of fear as I ran faster and I saw her standing there waiting to be let in. Have I had it all wrong, as I was clad in my black hoodie with matching jeans and boots, staring at the brunette vixen, cleaning supplies in hand, not that it would be enough; am I a psycho?

I’m only a man, and there was nowhere to run and nowhere to hide now, but she was just the maid, not that I would think of her in such simplistic terms, not with a body to die for, the thought kept replaying in my mind. My would-be prey who was making sure to clean all the evidence of her arrival, she would be all that was left for me, the only picture taken in her soft brown eyes, a t-shirt, a pair of shorts, and the matching underwear I bought her for Christmas once.

A psycho was always prepared, only there were no axes, no playroom, not a respectable torture device to be had, gloves, machete, or a chainsaw, and they say that humans are made in the image of God. While I still wasn’t a believer in such the things I wanted were less than holy without a doubt and would damn me for all eternity, well damned if I do or damned if I don’t, so why was I the one backing away looking to get out. She was only a girl, but any would-be man would tell you that can be the scariest thing in the universe easily; witch, siren, succubus, and yet somehow here she was on her knees keeping me at bay easily enough.

“Is there anything else I can do?” Kaelyn asked, probably reading my darkest intentions as she hurried towards the door, but my hands were shaking as I reached out to hand her the money and she was on her way, safe and sound. As I was lying on my bed, throw in alone, and all would be well except for the knock on my door, Kaelyn forgetting something I wanted to believe but there was nothing there and everything, it was in the air. My next question should have been how did all these ladies get in my house and taking hold of me, but I didn’t need to ask who they were, Aphrodite runs deep these days; if anything I should be flattered but terrified would have to do.

“Who do you think you are,” Cupid asked me, already there was an arrow pointing straight at my heart, as the women held me down and telling them I was a Titan might be the wrong answer as I was surrounded by these gods and goddesses of love. “Now you take the time to find me” I grunted, as they moved forward hungrily, staring at everything that womankind chose to ignore forever and a day.

“Our worst nightmare” Eros chuckled, putting two fingers to my forehead and suddenly I was filled with visions, broken hearts as far as my eyes could see, I indeed was one to be despised so why bother to apologize. On the other hand, they owed me that much and a lot more but what made me think they were interested in me as a person, not when I saw those fangs and claws come out.

Finally, my hands were traveling to the loveliest of places, of course, they were ripped from my wrists, with all sympathies to the Devil, no more worries for any of these gods jobs at this point as I found my voice. I screamed as I felt their jaws, their claws tearing me apart piece by piece, ripping into me, my final love letter and it was being written in blood, or is this why they wanted me all along. Even now I couldn’t help but find the beauty in even this or at least one part of me continued to believe so despite being made into a buffet for over a dozen or so gods of old, that didn’t understand that love has now changed.

I could have even been one of them I sighed or was that my last breath as my heart was finally stolen and Aphrodite smacked her lips holding it in her hands announcing then “I Love The Way You Run.”