Carla’s foot jammed hard on the brake pedal as the BMW in front of her suddenly stopped, the lukewarm Cafe Verona sluicing across her sweater. ‘A signal might have been nice’, she muttered, brushing ineffectually at the mocha stains now decorating the front of the previously spotless cashmere. This jerk owed her a cleaning, although she doubted even a professional could restore the garment to its’ original soft rose perfection. She glared through the windshield at the now stopped ‘Beemer’. The vehicle remained, if not totally motionless, at least lacking in forward motion despite the absence of anything to impede its’ progress. Carla’s foul mood depened. ‘What the…..’, she whispered. She was right up on the other car’s bumper, no way to go around him and a glance in her rear view mirror told her that the predictable back up of cars behind her made it impossible to back up. A horn somewhere in the increasingly long line of trailing vehicles blared. Soon, it would be joined by others. Honking horns where just like potato chips, you could never have just one. The resulting symphony of sound would eventually be accompanied by waving fists and jeering insults. It was the nature of the beast. Carla massaged her temples against the inevitable headache she could already feel forming. Welcome to Brooklyn. Not that it would have been any different in any other major city. Certainly not in downtown San Francisco and definiteely not in the insanity that was downtown Los Angeles.

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The interior of the Santa Fe Station looked much the same as any Trailways Bus Terminal in the Southwestern United States, a poorly lit cavernous area tiled in a dingy black and white checkerboard pattern and festooned with overflowing trash receptacles. Scattered throughout the area was the usual gallery of rogues, small groups of sleepy eyed college students in their bell-bottoms and quasi-Native American headbands, the occasional wino complete with brown paper bag clad bottle of cheap wine raised in perpetual toast to a society that had long since ceased to acknowledge their existance. Some of the students were asleep on their backpacks, others rocking out to a cacophony of discordant sound blaring from their transistor radios, each seemingly tuned to a different station, while the winos, mercifully insulated from the chaos by vast quantities of Thunderbird and Ripple, ignored their surroundings perferring instead to converse with the voices that only they could hear.

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During the years 1968-1974 there was a string of brutal homicides in New Mexico’s 4 corners area. During this period there were 18 killings and the residents, particularly the female residents, were terrified. State Troopers, County Sheriff’s Departments and other local law enforcement authorities banded together to make catching the killer top priority. Then, as suddenly as they had started, the killings abruptly stopped.

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The rabbit stared placidly, its’ silvery fur an effective camouflage against the new fallen snow. Rina Sandoval shivered inside her down parka and raised a hand to her head.

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During the years 1968-1974 there was a string of brutal homicides in New Mexico’s 4 corners area. During this period there were 18 killings and the residents, particularly the female residents, were terrified. State Troopers, County Sheriff’s Departments and other local law enforcement authorities banded together to make catching the killer top priority. Then, as suddenly as they had started, the killings abruptly stopped.

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Xavier’s School for the Gifted – 2 weeks ago.

The sound of laughter echoed down the oak paneled hallway. It died away after a moment only to spring forth anew a few minutes later. Logan, the mutant known as Wolverine, paused for a moment to listen. Continue reading the post…

Gavelston, Tx 1978

Charlie hated rainbows. The decent into Hell began with a rainbow. First with an aura of multicolored light that formed around everything he looked at, and no one else could see. Then would come the blinding headaches, more brutal in their pain and intensity than any beating. Finally, when the pain made it impossible to sit up, much less move, would come the nausea. Almost anything could set it off, but tonight he knew, beyond all certainty, that it had been that smell. It was a smell unique to hospital emergency rooms everywhere, a mixture of chemicals, antiseptics, blood, desperation and fear. Charlie knew that smell would cling to his memory as tenaciously as it now clung to clothing, skin and hair.

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There once was a young boy who dreamed of Eagles. When the other boys were off playing or learning the bow with their uncles, he could usually be found under a tree, lying on his back staring up at the sky. Continue reading the post…

And there will be such intense darkness that one can feel it.
Exodus 10:21

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I don’t believe in ‘happy ever after’. I don’t believe in Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, in heaven…or hell… or any of the other garbage they spout to keep the huddled masses docile and obedient while they’re searching for their pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. That particular rainbow is not likely visit their neighborhood anytime soon, and when it does, you can bet it will terminate in a bottomless bog. Not a particularly attractive viewpoint for a woman to have, my mother would say, but there you have it for whatever it’s worth. I believe that the light at the end of the tunnel is sure to be an oncoming train and whatever hell there is, it isn’t some sword of Damocles hanging over our heads, it exists in the here and now, and it’s of our own making. If you don’t believe me, just take a look at the front page of your local newspaper. The only thing that awaits at the end of our lives is a long dark sleep and that’s as close to heaven as any of us are likely to get.

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