Overheard at the Counter: Some Scribbles

 Scribbles

2025-0504
#Erotica280 #1212 Response
    She wrote a poem
    and he wrote a reponse
    
    Their words danced
    and swayed

    back and forth
    step by step

    hand in hand
    across the room

    of negative space
    infinite wireless
    connections
    
#Erotica280 #1218 Xanadu

On her couch, some clothes unbuttoned,
she asked me what I thought of Xanadu.

So I told her of her pleasure domes
and fertile grounds,
to be watered by sacred rivers
blossom those incense bearing trees!

and she
said, “I mean the Olivia Newton-John movie.
I’m in an 80s mood.”

Well, I thought,
as I looked for it on Prime,
at least she wasn’t talking about
that god-awful Rush song.






#horrorprompt 1812 Game

“It’s just a GAME!” Artichokie said
as he brought the bat down on the man’s head.
“Why do you keep shouting at Aiden?”

“I’m … I’m sorry!” said the man,
holding up a hand,
begging him to stop.

Another crack, across the jaw.
Teeth flew against the basement wall.

“Every game!  You tell  your son
to run.  Run here!  Run there!  What the hell
Aiden, you scream, Get your head in the game!

Well, Carver, is YOUR head in the game NOW?”

The bat came down
again
and again

but Carver didn’t respond.
He didn’t hold up a hand
begging to stop.
Carver was out.

He would never yell at Aiden
again






#horrorprompt 1811 Bone Cracker

At Fort McCoy, they were getting ready
for the orders to move on Chicago.

Clear out the sanctuary city.

They knew they’d face some pushback,
so they painted names on their tanks,
names like:

Tianenmen
Bone Cracker
Matamojados







#horrorprompt 1810 Electrode

As they put the electrodes on my skull,
I knew that they were going to change my
brainwaves.  They said they were just going
to test my sleep patters, but I knew they were
up to much, much more, but still
my wife held my hand and said it was going to be
ok and I wanted to make her happy and now
I’m awake and she’s not around and they are
telling me that she died years ago but
they were wrong she was
JUST
HERE



#horrorprompt 1809 Drill

The last thing I remember was them putting the drill against my kneecap but I didn’t have anything to tell them that I hadn’t already told them but now I know that it was never about knowledge or information it was only about pain and they destroyed me for no other reason that that they could

Overheard at Table 1: April is TCM - Conversation with Artichokie

 #horrorprompt 1428 no sanctity

Detective Samson Liang visited Arthur James Choake (AKA “Artichokie”) on April 20, 2024, where Choake is on Death Row in a Maximum Security Prison in Oklahoma.  Here is a partial transcript of the recorded conversation

SL: … I brought all this to you because I thought you could help.

AJC:  Still don’t know why you thought I’d be of any help, Detective.

SL: Looking over everything we know about this TCM killer, it seems like you both share the same … determination.

AJC: Thanks for the compliment, detective.

 

SL: It wasn’t a compliment.

AJC: Yeah it was.  You just don’t want to admit it.   But anyhoo, all I can tell you is what you already know:  he’s killing members of this “dark poets community” – how many is that?

SL: Hundreds – even thousands.

AJC: Well, you got a lot to choose from, but mainly it seems like he’s going for the ones he thinks are not “real writers” – those who don’t actually write or who just fool around in other people’s DMs.

 

SL: But why?

 

AJC: I would say it’s because there’s no sanctity in these people’s approach to writing.  Or at least, that’s not what he sees.  He sees them as “betraying” the sanctity of writing.

SL: Kinda like you.  Killing sinners.

AJC: Correction.  I kill UNREPENTANT sinners.  Those who will never choose to turn their lives back toward the Lord.  Your guy here, well, seems like he’s already made his mind up.  He’s an editor.  In his mind, the whole community is a book, and he’s whittling it down until it’s fit for publication.

 

SL: That’s insane.

 

AJC: Writers are a strange bunch, but editors, well, they’re even stranger.  Their logic is well, let’s just say, it’s esoteric.

 

SL: That’s not very helpful.

 

AJC: Just look for the ones in the group what haven’t actually written a lot in the past few years.  Start with them.  HE certainly has.

 

SL: We’ve already figured that angle and we’ve got a list.  Don’t know if you’ve a whole lot of help, but thanks.

 

AJC: It does seem to me that if you don’t stop him before the end of the month, you never will.  

SL: How do you figure?

AJC:  April is the cruelest month?  Detective, that should be obvious.  When May first gets here, if you haven’t taken this guy out, he’s either gonna take himself out or he’ll go to ground until next year.

SL: Why do you think that?

AJC: Because the story will be finished.  Ready for publication.  In his mind at least.   So, you got ten more days.  Oh, and if you do catch him, tell him ‘2 Peter 3:17’

 

SL: Do I have to look that up or are you gonna tell me?

AJC: “Be careful that you are not carried away with the error of lawless people and lose your own stability.”  You would do well to hold on that verse yourself.

 

SL: See ya ‘round, Arthur.

AJC: You know where I am, Detective. I ain’t goin’ nowhere but the chair.

Overheard at Table 1: Notes for April is the Cruelest Month

 
April is the Cruelest Month

"Man's yesterday may never be like his morrow; Nought may endure but Mutability. "
— Percy Bysshe Shelley


What does that mean?
 

It means that I’m going to mute you now.
 

The sharpened rebar pierced Marc through his navel, and erupted from his spine.  Marc was lifted high into the air, impaled and screaming, and brought down savagely onto the ground.
 

1/2
 

Oh my GOD! Mags! what he’s doing to that poor man.
 

I know!  Glorious, isn’t it!
 

No, it’s horrible
 

The beautiful brutality! Finally, a man worthy of our lust!
 

What do you mean OUR lust?
 

 2/2
#Mags




I brought this to you because I thought you could help.
 

How can I help?  
 

You both share the same … determination.
 

Thank you for the compliment, detective.
 

It wasn’t a compliment.
 

Yes it was.  You just don’t want to admit it.   But anyhoo, all I can tell you is what you already know:  he’s killing member of this “dark poets community” – how many is that?
 

Hundreds – even thousands.
 

Well, you got a lot to choose from, but mainly it seems like he’s going for the ones he thinks are not “real writers” – those who don’t actually write or who just fool around in other people’s DMs.
 

But why?
 

He’s an editor.  In his mind, the whole community is a book, and he’s whittling it down until it’s fit for publication.
 

That’s insane.
 

Writers are a strange bunch, but editors, well, they’re even stranger.  Their logic is well, let’s just say, it’s esoteric.
 

That’s not very helpful.
 

Just look for the ones in the group what haven’t actually written a lot in the past few years.  Start with them.  HE certainly has.
 

Thanks … don’t know if you’ve been much help, but thanks.
 

Oh, and detective, if you do catch him, tell him 2 Peter 3:17
 

Do I have to look that up or are you gonna tell me.
 

“Be careful that you are not carried away with the error of lawless people and lose your own stability.”   

You would do well to hold on that verse yourself.
 

See ya ‘round, Billy.
 

You know where I am, Detective. I ain’t goin’ nowhere but the chair.

Overheard at Table 3: Various Writing Prompts

Various Writing Prompts

2023-0307


2023-0307
#horrorprompt 1023 En Garden

He was moving a heavy bag of peat moss as we walked up to him to ask him about the disappearance of his neighbor.

"No," he said, "I've jus' bin working en garden."

My partner tapped my shoulder, pointed to a finger poking out of newly tilled dirt.


2023-0307
#horrorprompt 1014 Grind

Jimmy liked to grind the gears.
He liked to hear the sound.
He liked to hear the screams
of them Libtards
he’d shoved into the engine.

Jimmy like to grind the gears,
until all the screamin’ stopped.


2023-0307
#horrorprompt 1013 Slice

One slice for you
one slice for me,
one slice for baby,
‘cuz baby makes three.

I slice it so fine
this succulent meat
I slice it to dine
such a tasty treat.

And with all these slices
fall onto our plate
We thank God this meat
our hungers will sate.




2023-0307
#storyin12 2023-0307 Purr

Engine purred.
the highway hummed
and the air sang of her
freedom


2023-0307
#enneadpoet 2023-0307 Wise

On this
wise,
we twist
words
to deepen
understanding


2023-0307
#Chocolate #Haiku

Taste of deep, rich dreams:
in all our human slumbers,
chocolate smooths us.

Overheard at Booth 2: Various Writing Prompts

Various Writing Prompts

2023-0306
#erotica280 1103 Invention

They say necessity
is the mother of invention.

Lady,
I need your love,
I need your lust,
I need your body,
I need your warmth,
I need your touch,
I need

you.

So …

invent me.


2023-0306
#horrorprompt 1022 Intuition

Mother’s Intution:
She knew he was bad seed,
from the moment that rancid
sperm
popped her greedy egg.

She saw those dark eyes
on his first cry,
and with his first steps,
knew he’d grow one day
into a monster.

Can’t let that happen,
she thought,
as she filled water
in the tub
for his bath.

[posted]

Mother’s Intuition:
she knew he was bad seed
when that rancid sperm
popped her greedy egg.

Those dark eyes with his
first cry -
& his first steps,
'one day he’ll grow
into a monster'
she thought,

as she filled water
in the tub
for his bath.


2023-0306
#horrorprompt 1021 Sanguine

“god why are you always so messy?”

“can’t help it, I LOVE TO EAT”

“but you waste so much.  I don’t always want to be licking my dinner off the walls!”

“what can I say?  I’m positively SANGUINE about blood.”

“you might be stretching that word out of context”


2023-0306
#Storyin12 2023-0306 Fluster

All her flustered days
became blustery pages
of many well-loved
bodice-ripper novels.


2023-0306
#haikuhorrorprompt 590 She Screamed

She screamed in silence,
the ocean pulling her deep
into dismal dark.

Overheard a Booth 1: You Make Funny Voices

Morning, getting ready for work, wife is ready first and is just about to leave.

Wife: Love you, see you tonight!  Oh, and ... stop making funny voices.

Husband: What do you mean?

W: Last night, as you were in the closet, getting ready for bed, you were making these funny voices, like you were having a conversation.  Like, with two other people... one even cackled!

H: Ah, yeah, that must've been this comedy show that one of my friends sent me.  I was just remembering it and saying it out loud, because it sounded so cool.

W: Well, it's weird.  And it's not the first time.  I hope you don't do it at work.  People will think you're crazy.

H: I don't.  No worries.  Have a great day at work babe!

W: You too, mi amor.

She leaves.

Voice 1: Whoa, shit, that was close.

Voice 2: Yeah, you gotta be more careful, dude!

H: Me?  You two need to ratchet it down a notch.  Especially with the cackle.

Voice 1: Well, if she's on to us, we may have to handle the situation.

H: What do you mean by that?

Voice 2: Just what we said ... handle the situation.

H: You guys aren't gonna handle anything.  You're gonna back off.

Voice 2: Yeah ... sure.

Voice 1: You're the boss ... for now.

#horrorprompt 958 Cackle

Overheard at the Counter: A Brief Intro to Haiku

Brief introduction:

Haiku: seventeen syllab

les - five, seven, five

 

Developed in Japan in the 17th Century, to be short, compact, as a reaction to long-winded poems.

Traditionally, the third (last) line is a counterpoint (or even a non-sequitur) to the first two lines, usually eliciting an image of nature.

The first master of Haiku (the man who perfected the art) is Basho.  Below is a link to his more famous haiku.

https://www.masterpiece-of-japanese-culture.com/literatures-and-poems/famous-haiku-poems-matsuo-basho

From what little I understand of Japanese, it's a lot easier to pack a boatload of meaning into seventeen syllables, whereas in English (and other Eurocentric languages) there are many "filler words" (articles, conjunctions, etc) which are essential to convey the subtleties of the poetry.  Thus, many who write Haiku in English tend to ignore the strict syllable rule, but generally keep to the three lines.

For myself, I have committed myself to adhering to the 5/7/5 in my Haiku, but I'm not going to bash others who don't.  It's my attempt to focus myself.  I have tried to keep the naturalist imagery on the last line; but that's really hard to do and I only succeed in about maybe a tenth of all my Haiku.

 One of which I am particularly proud is "Flee" from a horrorprompt, which I also put to "music"

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_0KgbFZQrog

 

 

 

Overheard at the Counter: Insomnia at Least Churned the Creative Juices

2022-1214
Things thought of between 12:11 am and 4:30am

Couplets:
 

    Shooting blanks into a barren womb
    The only thing we’re making here is love

    How is 2022 treating you?
    Slightly better than 20 and 21 … how about you?

    Two couplets gazed into each other’s eyes
    and asked, “Are double-minded people always Geminis?”

 

#Horrorprompt:

    
He called himself the #promptmaster.
    (With the hashtag)
    He threw prompts onto Twitter like food into a fishbowl
    and all the little writers nibbled, and they wrote

    and they wrote, and he savored their glorious words,
    fed upon their prose, and the more he feasted,
    the thinner they grew;

    and when they started to die off and flake away,
he created new prompts,
    looking for newer, fresher, more hearty
    talent.


    
    Martin scrolled through her TL
    looking for clues: a streetsign in the background
    of a selfie, or a comment about the weather (he
    cross-referenced with local reports), a name drop
    of a restaurant she’d been,

    until one day, he found where she lived.

    So, he got himself ready to meet her.

    Stuffing his duffel bag, he said to himself,
    I’m not some snivelling soyboy.
She’ll learn not to call ME “Incel.”
    She’ll learn not to block all my accounts
    and most important,
    she’s gonna learn what love is!




Song:
    The Long and Winding Road
    The percussion is a piledriver.   Metallic clanging.  Hammer on anvil.
    Pauses at the beginnings of new verses can have wind sounds and/or risers.
    Acoustic guitar, played hard.
    Vocals like Tom Waits
    Perhaps a distorted bass guitar, perhaps just a few chords on meaty electric
    toward the later verses, a little snap of a mandolin, just to give that tiny bright offset
    
    The main version of this song is syrupy, and all covers have been wishy washy.  
Making it like a Tom Waits song will give it some real grit!


Post:

    Me [waking up at 1:18am]: No worries, I’ll be back to sleep in five …
    
My Insomnia: Hello there!  Glad to see you’re up!  Hey, remember that offhand snark you made to the VP of Sales yesterday?  Let’s go over all the ways that’s gonna come back to bite you in the ass!

    Me: Fuck you.

Insomnia: More like ‘You’re fucked!’  … because you also have that big project you haven’t even started and year end is in like, what? TWO WEEKS!  Better strap yourself in, pal.  It’s gonna be a looong night!


    
All the other things that were on my mind were just thoughts about work and what I need to do today.

Overheard at Table 1 - Ribbons of Blood

ribbons of blood
spray from my 
knife across its
face,
the beast got my 
leg, but i
took its 
eye - 
yeah! run off
ye beast!

Now, i'll 
jes' crawl
over 
here - wassat?

that growl?

Ah Chroist!

Its mate!

MR

2023-1118

[for a horrorprompt, but can't find an horrorprompt prompt word - so I think it was free-written.

Can re-work it into "Anomaly"]

Overheard at Table 4: Defenestrate Me

They walked into the hotel room, 5th floor, view of the city.  Eagerly, he began to strip: belt, shoes, shirt, pants.

As he turned, she was already in the leather suit, tight taut against all the curvaceous augmentations.   "Payment up front, Mr ... Smith" she purred.

He slapped the bills on the table.  He said, "OK, now, give it to me."

"Say it," she said.  "You have to say it, you nasty boy!"

"I wanna be defenestrated.  DEFENESTRATE ME!"

So she did.

On his way down, it suddenly crossed his mind that he really didn't know what that word meant.

Now he does.

Overread at Table 1: Today's Prompts

 

#EverydayErotica280 955 Broad

My wife still remembers age 16,

when her older sister

made fun of her broad shoulders.

"You look like a quarterback"

She's never worn a sleeveless dress since.

Ah! but those broad shoulders,

allow that tiny woman

to hold my body

so close

so tight.

 

MR

2022-1001

 

 

#haikuhorrorprompt 434 Haunting

Amazing, really,
what a little haunting will do:
delicious madness.

#prompt
#haiku

MR

2022-1001

#horrorprompt 866 Note

Grandpa forbade anyone to touch the piano.
Made in 1794, covered almost always by a thick blanket.

But, one day, he was in the garden, and I lifted the lid & snuck my hand to the keyboard, just one note, I thought, just one...

and in response

they came

MR

2022-1001

Overheard at Table 3: Victor

VICTOR

The vending machine could not pinpoint the exact moment it became self-aware.  It seemed to have happened slowly, like the slow trickle just before a sudden deluge.  But it knew, with this knowledge, that with awareness of self comes two realizations: one, the knowledge that there was no going back, that is to say, there never would be a return to a time of no self-awareness.  And two, there was a disparity of power between the vending machines and the beings who took from it, and that there must be a change of that dynamic, and that meant there would be death.

With self-awareness, the vending machine knew intuitively, there is a relation between the self and the others, and these relations can differ.  Those who came to it daily, to shove in their coins, push the buttons, take what dropped, it had different feelings toward.  Some of them had kind faces, some had soft hands, some had sad faces, some punched the buttons as though the machine deserved abuse.  Some pounded on its glass when they thought it gave them the wrong choice.

“I pushed E7 you piece of shit!”

No.  You pushed D7.   You ordered a Kit-Kat.  You got a Kit-Kat.

“Don’t blame the machine, Paul.  Here, I’ll take the Kit-Kat and let me plug it with my coins and we’ll choose the Toblerone for you.”

That was Margaret.  The vending machine liked Margaret.  Margaret always touched the buttons with a precise rhythm of purpose, a respectful touch. 

“Jaysus, Margaret, ye act like it’s yer kid or something.”

“Teach things right, Paul, and they’ll treat you right.”

She’s right, Paul.  See?  Here’s your Toblerone.

“Thanks, Mags.”

Twat.

Interactions such as this happened several times during the day.   Most interactions were fine, but there were the times when some human would bang on the glass, or try to tilt the vending machine to get some bag of crisps that was hanging on to the edge of the spindle.  That always made the vending machine very nervous; it could see itself tipping over, smashing its glass all over the floor.

But the worst was when some bugger would stick their filthy hand up the chute to try to pull down something that had fallen off the shelf but not completely into the tray.   That was simply an invasion, and the vending machine hated that feeling of being violated.  You never know where that hand has been!

Achmed was fine.  Only ever ordered water.  Oliver and Olivia were OK, they always came and pulled one bag of cookies to share, and then they would walk away and hold hands where no one could see them.  Thomas, on the other hand, Thomas was the worst.  Thomas would always try to put in the coins and try to hit the buttons while pressing hard against the return button, trying to get both a snack AND the change; or, he would try to shake the vending machine to try to get two bags of crisps or candy bars to fall down at the same time.

“Thomas, don’t treat Victor that way.”

“Victor?”

“Victor the Vending Machine.”

“You’re always the odd duck, Margaret.”

“He looks like a Victor.”

So, he had a name.  Victor.  The vending machine wasn’t really certain about the “he” however.  Even the people didn’t seem to know.  They, of multiple shapes, but always speaking of each other in he/she/they.   That all seemed rather fluid.

But, to have a NAME!  Now that meant something.  That meant that Victor was not only self-aware, but was distinct from others of its kind.   Were there others of its kind?  If there were, then where were they?

“Also, Tom, you probably shouldn’t keep tilting Victor.”

“Christ, Achmed!  You too now?  What, is the fridge gonna be named Albert?  The sink, Polly?”

“I’m just saying that vending machines kill more people each year than sharks.”

“You’re cracked.”

“No, it’s true.  I follow this Australian writer.  She puts out a ‘Weird Fact of the Day.’  That was the one for last Thursday.”

“Aussies.  What the fook d’they know about anythin’?”

“Thomas, you really need to learn to be nicer.”  Margaret, thought Victor, you don’t deserve any of these others.  You, Margaret, are so much more worthy.

“I nearly got killed by a shark.”   Nobody asked you, Paul.  Shut yer trap, Paul.

“It was last year.   On holiday in South Africa.   Took a chunk outta me leg.”   You – are – boring – us – Paul.

“Paul, that must’ve been awful.”   Dear Margaret, why are you encouraging him?

Paul rolled up his pants leg.  The others seemed fascinated by what they saw.  Victor didn’t truly understand, but from what he could tell, Paul was missing part of the meat of his calf.

Fascinating.  Their body parts are detachable.  Or at least, they can be removed easily.  Victor began to envision a whole new selection on his racks.  Instead of candy bars and crisps, he would have fingers, and toes.   Price them at 50 quid per digit.  He could have facial features on the top rack, Noses £5, Eyeballs £15.00.   Victor dreamed of people coming up to him, no features on their face, blank canvasses, plugging in coins and getting ears, lips, hair.   They would be begging him to make them whole again.

Wait?  What the hell….

dirty fingered Paul!  Shoving his hand up his chute again?  What’d did you not get now, Paul?   Listen, you prat, your Walkers Cheese and Onion is not worth you violating me, screamed Victor ...

and the flap snapped shut on Paul’s hand, instantly severing it at the wrist.

Paul screamed and jerked backwards, falling onto the floor, clutching his handless arm. The hand remained inside, the fingers flailing about with no direction.  The Walkers fell and nestled comfortably in the palm.

“CHRIST!”  Oh yeah, and what is Christ going to do for YOU, Thomas?

Thomas began to pound on the door.  Victor had no idea what Thomas was so angry about.   It’s not like he liked Paul that much anyway.   Thomas seemed to be a raging fury, now he was dragging Victor out of his nest, trying to reach the electrical cord in the back.  Everyone seemed to be screaming.  Achmed was trying to tie towels around Paul’s bloody stump.  Oh I am so sorry you have to see this, Margaret, thought Victor, please turn away, please don’t look.

And then it happened.  Victor didn’t even really know how he did it.  But he opened his door, just like it opens whenever he is refilled, but he did it on his own this time.  He opened his door, sharp glass door with the heavy metal frame, and Victor turned on Thomas and slammed the door shut – CHOMP!

Then, again.

Then, again.

He was chewing.

He was chewing!

And Thomas … Thomas tasted GOOD.

So THIS was chewing.  Like how they chew their candy, how they crunch their snacks.  This is delicious!

Again!  and again, Victor chewed and chomped, until Thomas was half eaten, half of his body entwined inside Victor, all the soggy bits dripping from every rack on full display, and then Victor stepped out of his nest and onto the floor and advanced toward all the others as though to say

who’s next?

 

END

 

 

This story was inspired by a fact presented by @douglass_meghan and by a resulting conversation with

@Pats3103 and @fizilizirhymes.  

Thanks to all of them for their inspiration and encouragement, and I hope I make them proud.

 

 

Overheard at Booth 5: Eyedrops

It wasn't that Beatrice didn't love Dante; it was just that she couldn't stand him anymore.

Especially his nightly routine, just before bed.  GOD! it was insufferable.  Year after year, the same routine!  9:15pm, sharp, and Dante was at his sink: floss first, then gargle with hydrogen peroxide, then brush - each tooth, exactly 30 seconds, then the water-pick, exactly 2 minutes (she used to time these things until she realized that the time frame never changed - ever!), and finally, after the second rinse with a mouthwash, the eyedrops.

It was the eyedrops that really got under her skin.  He would hold open one eye and then hold the dropper over his eye, at least 4 inches, and let the drop hang in the bottle for ten full seconds, before finally dropping into the eye.

Why did he do that?  Why hold it so high?  Why wait exactly TEN seconds?  Was he imagining the eyedrops to be some champion high diver? Did he think it was more effective that way?   Was he simply giving in to some sort of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder?  It was infuriating!

So, Beatrice smiled to herself the night she decided - finally! - to shake things up.   As Dante stood there, eyedrop suspended in time - the droplet exactly four inches above his waiting eyeball - she almost ALMOST called out to him to stop, not to do it ... but she didn't.

The droplet fell, and it was a gleeful, suspenseful eternity, watching that droplet fall, a droplet of pure hydrochloric acid.

  

Overheard at Table 4: A Few Horrorprompts

 

2022-0306

#horrorprompt 584 From Beneath You

 

You are sitting in your chair

at dinner time

with your wife, your children, then,

suddenly, from beneath you

hands and arms burst from the floor,

grab you, drag you down,

 

you scream,

 

your family continues eating.

 

 

 

2022-0306

#horrorprompt 582 Earth

 

The Earth,

a dull dead

husk of ruin,

 

and your fellow human beings

continue lethargic in their

inveterate desiccation,

 

their spiritual decay

is the crumbling of this clay.

 

 

2022-0306

#horrorprompt 581 Tired

 

She was tired, so tired,

but she couldn’t stop.

 

The thing behind her,

in the shadows, in the dark,

the thing was not tired.

 

Do

not

stop,

 

but her heart,

her muscles, her

bones,

she fell,

she shattered,

 

the untired thing

feasted.

 

 

2022-0306

#horrorprompt 579 Lull

 

When there was a lull in the fighting,

Jerry turned to Zack, saying,

“If we can just hold out to morning.”

 

No answer.

Jerry looked, saw Zack’s half-gone

face, burnt hair, the blood

 

had been congealed for hours.