Tag Archives: Revenge

Zealous O’er the Seas: Nightmares from an Unbleached Mind, AtoZ Blog Challenge





There was a ship tore o'er the sea
Zealous she was in name and in deed
We caught with ease all of our prey, 
Nary a one gave us a slip
The bounty was always plenty
Filling out hold to the deck.

Fill up our ale mugs and raise them high 
Give our Captain Bones a cheer
Stalwart and brave, a rogue to his core
Captain Billy Jack Bones

Billy Jack led the Zealous on many a wild chase
She was a fearsome sight to behold
With raised colors most tried to flee
As we came upon them
All the crews fought valiantly
But for them it came to naught

Fill up our ale mugs and raise them high
Give our Captain a cheer
Stalwart and brave, a rogue to his core
Captain Billy Jack Bones

Billy Jack entranced the women on each pirate isle
From St. Mary's Island came Jaquotte; Clew Bay gave up Sadie
Tortuga brought his Bonny; Ching Shih was from Port royal
At Barataria Bay he fell for Mary Read
His met his fate on New Providence, Anne Bonny

Fill up our ale mugs and raise them high
Give our Captain a cheer
Stalwart and brave, a rogue to his core
Captain Billy Jack Bones

The six hellions thought they his only bride
Given the news from the massive Black Ghost Ship 
Sailing out aboard the ship, the six brides did plan
To give Billy his comeuppance for once and evermore

Fill up our ale mugs and raise them high
Give our Captain a cheer
Stalwart and brave, a rogue to his core
Captain Billy Jack Bones

Captain Bones was surrounded, ale wenches four
All headed to his den, for pleasure and more
A blow to his noggin ended that display
Tethered to a mast he awoke to six deadly glares

Each bride flogged our Billy in turn, unmercifully
Anne Bonny approached him at the last, no whip in sight
Proud was our Captain, he stared into her eyes
Anne Bonny aimed her pistol; Billy Jack Bones was gone

So heed this tale when considering to wed
Be extra cautious with who you take to bed
Marriage vows are sacred; Offer no contempt
Or you'll live in agony beyond what was ever dreamt
Fill up our ale mugs and raise them high
Give our Captain some cheers
Hey! Hey!
Stalwart and brave, a rogue to his core
Was Captain Billy Jack Bones

Captain Billy Jack Bones


**The female pirates, the pirate safe havens, the Zealous, are all part of Pirate history.  The HMS Zealous lived on in three different vessels. I moved the female pirates around for this story-song. The pirate havens were real. Plundering was real. 

Everything else was my creation.  Hey Hey!

Nightmares from an Unbleached Soul theme is at its end. 26 lyrical poems written daily during the month of April (no Sundays). It began on April 1st and ended Thursday, April 30th. There is still one more piece to this year’s AtoZ Blog Challenge: we are asked to write our Reflections on the process, successes, thoughts, and any changes you might like to make. All the blogs that survived this Apri’s challenge will post their Reflections between May 4th to May 16th.

I will post my Reflections on either May 4th or 5th. I’ll let you know.

I hope you find new blogs that draw you in. If you wish to, go to The Master List.

I’ve asked a few questions along the way: what genre of music you think suits the lyrics best? Who or what style of music was in my head when I wrote these? My last one for the end:

  1. Why Nightmares From An Unbleached Soul?  
  2. I’m curious.: How do you interpret it
    1. for yourself?
    2. why do you think I chose that as my theme title?


Comments are always welcome.


A to Z: The Complete Swan Rise Series


Open House: Trespassers Welcome

Swan Rise Apartments went out like an exploding lamb; it came in like a sleeping lion… but the building, and its inhabitants, did not always remain so. They lived lives that were hungry, playful, sleepy, lusty, fearful, agitated and on the prowl; they reared their young, and did what they needed to survive in this vertical village.

Welcome to… Swan Rise Apartments


…and so, the story unfolds. 26 interlocking stories set in the world of Swan Rise Apartments, all written for the A to Z Challenge that ran throughout April 2012.

You’ll find links to all the stories below; each one stands alone, but many have roots and connections in other chapters.  As a whole, it tells a story of the lives that swirl around apartment building life.

Each Sunday, I’ll re-post these links in case you missed any and for your ease in finding them.

The stories will remain up only for the month of May. As of June 1st, I will be taking all of the stories down from Tale Spinning so I can work on a larger second draft of the work. Some of the earlier pieces need fleshing out, and discoveries I made along the way need their roots dug deeply in the beginnings.

May 30th will be your last chance to read, and comment, on these stories. Hopefully, you’ll eventually hold an expanded version in your hands.

Comments are always welcome no matter when you read the story.

Week #1: A to G

All, Tumbling Down

Basement Boogie

Children in the Hall

Doggie Doings

Equivocation Elite


Ground, Breaking


Week #2: H to M

Holidays, Haunts and Hearts

Imaginings of Love

Jung, @Heart

Kindred Spheres

Laundry Room Mafia

Mrs. Beatty


Week #3: N to S

Not What They Seem

One Man’s Ceiling…

Pollination in the Parking Lot

Quack, Quack

Retraction of Gravity

Super, My Super


Week #4: T to Z

Thieving Ways

Underneath It All

Vertically Challenged

Weather Man, Oh


Yeah…Life Goes On…

Zenith: Arising

(not so much) Fun with Dick and Jane


Bright as it was from the acorn streetlight, Dick still fumbled with his keys. “Fucking Daylight Savings Time!” he cursed under his breath. It was still early, time wise, but the sun and the “damn Earth rotation” didn’t seem to notice. On the third try, he got the key into the  lock and opened up the front door to his parent’s house. His and Jane’s house. His house, now.

Dick stepped inside and immediately felt something was…off. Flicking on the front hall light, he looked around. He stood still and listened. Nothing. He was about to close the door when he thought he heard something. Nothing again, but then there was a car cruising by. The radio from the car was booming “She don’t even love me like she did when I was younger, Suckin’ on her chest just to stop my fuckin’ hunger I wonder if I died, would tears come to her eyes?….” trailed off as the car trolled down the street.

Dick cursed the driver and slammed the door.  Dropping his jacket on the floor and kicking  off his shoes, Dick went into the living. He found the remote and turned on the TV, going into the kitchen to get a beer. Dick hit every light switch on his way: living room dining room, kitchen hall (with built in pantry), and kitchen. Opening up the fridge, he grabbed his Lite. Twisting off the top and tossing it in sink, Dick took a big gulp of the frothy beer and trudged back to watch Oprah. He plopped himself onto the padded recliner and reclined. Feet up, Dick settled in.

He raised his bottle to Oprah as she greeted her guests. “Thank you, Nell, for having a half day at school and thank YOU, Debbie’s mom, for inviting her over for a play date! Thank your nice rack too, while you’re at it!”

The show was going along, all the applause and laughter just barely sinking in as Dick killed the bottle and got another. He had just gotten comfy again when a news flash broke into Oprah’s greeting her first guest.

“Hours ago, a daring daylight escape and murder occurred at the Eloise Memorial Asylum in southeastern Michigan. The body of a nude female nurse was found by a door that led to the outside, her keys missing. Her name is withheld until her family can be notified.  Two of the escapees were caught within a half hour of their bid for freedom: a Ms. Bridget “Biddy” Hughes and Mrs. Felicia  Ibbotson. The third, unnamed at this time, is still at large and is considered dangerous. As soon as we get a photo and a name, we will announce it. Be on the lookout for a Caucasian woman, chalk white skin, red shoulder length hair, last seen wearing green hospital scrubs. Do not approach her and please use extreme caution. This woman allegedly is the one who killed the guard. More information will be coming as it breaks. We now return you to your..” Click.

Dick sweated. Dick gulped. Dick had not turned off the TV. The click came from the back hall, where the breaker box was.

He got up. Click. The light in the hallway went off.

Dick started to walk to the kitchen. Click. Off went the dining room lights.

He started to run. Click. The kitchen hallway went.

Click went the kitchen light. He stumbled around the small breakfast table that he hated so much. A little streetlight peeked in by the sink window, enough for Dick to make it to the counter. He stared at an empty Ex-Unique Knifeblock, the one he ordered from ThinkGeek. The red plastic body was stab free, leaning back and looking right at him.

Dick scrambled for the silverware drawer. Empty. Under the sink for his tools. Gone.

He tried to make it to the back door, but he slipped and fell hard. He landed on tacks and nails and he screamed “MOTHERFUCKER!” as he was punctured in a variety of unpleasant places. There was a smell here, as he tried to get up,  that he finally took note of.

“Vitalis hair-tonic, DICK,” she said from the darkness. “I bought it just for you. Remember?” Jane advanced from the pantry door, slightly ajar now. “Remember how much you loved it, when you had hair. I liked your hair, I really did. Now it’s gone, gone, gone. Ha. Poof.” She threw a paring knife at him, the wood end hitting him in the head.

“Damn. I better practice. Will you be my practice..dummy!” and she laughed at her own joke, while Dick finally got to his feet. “Nuh uh… back off buckaroo. This is not June Cleaver I have in my hand. She slices” Swing. “And dices.” Swing. “…and blows your house down, DICK!”

“Haven’t you done enough you crazy bitch. I had five years of your toxic fumes. You put me in the hospital. You killed the dog. You almost killed Nell.” Dick was backing up, as far away from her as he could. His back ached and he felt warm liquid drip down his his hind quarters and legs. Some of the Vitalis soaked into his clothes, and when it touched an open wound…

Wincing, Dick looked for a way out. Jane was blocking the doorway to the rest of the house. The back door was his only choice.

“Nuh uh, DICK. DICK! Watch, DICK!” She tossed a carving knife at him. This time the throw was good, sinking into his right calf. Dick went down on one knee, yowling to the heavens. While he was panting and screaming and crying, trying to pull the knife out, Jane picked up a can she had left on the far counter, behind the effigy of her. “See, DICK. You love barbeques. I HATED barbeques. You knew it,’ squirt,” yet you kept on” squirt, “fucking barbequing.” She drizzled the charcoal lighter fluid, which had been in the pantry, all over back door and surrounding area.

“Whoosh!” she said, as she flipped a match she just lit onto the flammable. It echoed “WHOOSH!” back to her.

Knife out, blood seeping, Dick held the knife that had recently impaled him in an unsteady hand. “You crazy bitch. WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS!!??? Didn’t you hurt me enough, all those years? Wasn’t I enough of your punching bag?”

Jane dropped the other knives, but held onto the cleaver. She smiled. “Nuh uh, DICK! Can never hurt you enough. Never, never, never ENOUGH!” She waited for a moment. Dick’s nerves were shot. He heard something in the distance. “Not that fucking rap again,” he thought.

His distraction was her toss of the cleaver. It went sailing at his head, perfectly aimed for right between his eyes. THUNK!

Except the pain in his leg twisted him down, and the cleaver took off part of his ear instead of giving him a splitting headache.  Screaming, he rushed her. The heat from the flames as his back was beating into him, propelling him forward. Jane ran laughing, past the pantry hallway. Dick followed, knife in hand.

Jane slid over the dining room table, knocking over two chairs, one which went into the breakfront. “DICK..I just smashed precious mommy’s fine chinnnnnnaaaaaa!” and out she went, into the living room

Dick threw a vase at the shadow that was her head and connected. It smashed into tiny bits as it sent her ass over the comfy chair. Before he could jump on her, Jane kicked out and caught him in the gut. She turned to run for the front door.

Reaching out, Dick grabbed her red locks and yanked, sending her screeching to a halt. He threw her against the wall and held the knife towards her, keeping a few feet in between them.

The sound from outside got louder. Sirens. Dick smiled. “The fire. You did this yourself, setting the fire. They’ll take you back and you’ll NEVER get out. You’ll NEVER see Nell. NEVER FUCKING EVER!”

Jane ran into the knife..backed up slightly, and then again. She held his hand, which was on the hilt, and pushed it in one more time.

“Wha..whu..what the fuck? WHAT THE FUCK! JANE…” he looked into her fading eyes.

Gasping, she said “See, Dick? You’re a.. dick. See? Mine to play with. Always min..mine to play with….DICK DICk dick dickdickdick….”

The firemen burst through the front and back doors at the same time. See Dick, not run.


So you know where this came from. I have been wrestling with the “What quality of writer am I?” question. This blog is big fun, but I have to wonder do I start taking it more seriously (the mechanics, not the mechanicals  from Midsummer) or do I just plod along, pleasing myself and the few who stumble over my work.

I’ve been getting some great critique from a number of people. Damyanti of Daily (w)rite was the one who took some of my work apart, pointed out the weak links, and then suggested things I should look at/read. One of the books is “On Writing” by Stephen King. Some of you may have heard of him. I got the book, was reading it (almost finished, actually), when I came across a challenge BY Mr. King: starting on pg.  170 to pg. 173, a very large interesting writing prompt was laid out. Check it out for yourself.

The result is the above story. Just about 1,500 words. I’m going to see if he is still accepting this writing exercise, which he so graciously offered eleven years ago. Can’t believe I never read the book before this. Either way, Thank You Mr. King, and Damyanti, and all my critiquers, for giving me the nudges I need at times.

So..what do you think of this?

Little Animal


“c’mere, ‘Animakul.’ c’mon… ” Sally whispered, trying to coax him out from hiding. “Billy and Angel are gone. They won’t hurt us, they’re just meanies.” A cool beginning of Fall light wind blew Sally’s dark brown hair into her face. She “pfffdd” it out of the way.

An answering, tiny huffing came from her jacket pocket. Lint was shoved aside and shaken off as her Animalcule poked his very small head out and “wiffed” at her. Sally, grin wide, held her hand out by the pocket, and ‘Animakul’ jumped on it and plopped it’s very tiny behind in her palm. Blowing him a kiss, she lifted ‘Animakul’ to her shoulder, where he settled into the epaulet that her brother had sewn to the jacket. Just for her, and ‘Animakul’.

Brandon was the one who introduced her to ‘Animakul’ a couple of weeks ago.  He was almost five years older then she was, and at six years old an eleven year old brother who did things with her was heaven. Usually.  Their parents were busy around the house that Saturday, and Sally was “getting in the way” (“I just wanna help!”).

“Brandon,” their Dad yelled out from the basement. “Could you PLEASE take Sally outside and watch her?” Brandon had already heard the rumblings and had tried to make it to his room, but his mother eyed him from the living room as he tried to get upstairs. She shook her head and gave him The Look. He turned around, got Sally from the stairs to the basement, and walked/pulled her out of the house.

Twenty-one minutes later, Brandon had had enough. “Let’s take a walk,” was all he had to say. She ran behind him, swatted him in the tush, and ran giggling away towards the back woods. “Hey, Sally..not there…,” he moaned, but he was already giving chase. He just hoped no one was watching where they were  going. They had both been warned not to go there without an adult.

It wasn’t too long before he caught up to her, caught her, and they tumbled down tickling and being tickled. Rolling on the uneven ground, they careened into a small mound of rocks and dirt by a Rooty Tree. That was Sally’s naming, one day she and her Mom went for a walk. She had almost tripped over a tree with a lot of roots wending this way and that above ground. “Rooty Tree, don’t you trip me!” All older trees were now a Rooty Tree.

“Ow! Something bit me,” Brandon exclaimed, reaching around and then through the small outcropping. He stood up and held something in his hand, something small and just a tiny bit fuzzy. It had four legs, and kinda looked like a tinier gerbil (they had them at school as class pets), but it’s face was flat,  it’s ears flopped over, it had TWO straight tails (which was weird itself)…and it was BLUE. Well, bluish patterned. Sky Blue mixed with Purple, crayon wise.

It had tiny claws that dug into Brandon’s hands, which hurt a bit, but it was making the loudest tiny angry sounds he’d ever heard. He was just going to put it down and back, when Sally, who had been screeching “LETMESEELETMESEE” grabbed the creature from him.

Before Brandon could issue a warning of any kind, the little thing quieted right down, and made a small, very contended sounding, “wiffle.” The next half hour was spent arguing with Sally, Sally with Brandon, the thing wiffling, over why she should, shouldn’t, can’t, will, NO, YES…until Sally won, and took the thing back to the house, reallllly quietly up the stairs, and into Brandon’s room.

He got online and Googled and Binged and Yahooed, but he couldn’t find any picture or reference of what that thing was. Sally had run downstairs to the kitchen, got a carrot, and ran back up as fast as she could (her Mom noticed and smiled, then frowned, went up to check if either of them brought home another wild animal, and, seeing nothing, went back downstairs) while Brandon did his interwebby thing.

One word, in his search, struck Brandon: Animalcule, “a minute or microscopic animal, nearly or quite invisible to the naked eye.” Well, it wasn’t that small, but he thought it was a cool word. He told it to Sally, after she bugged him to tell her what he found, and she thought it was cool too.

“Hi, ‘Animakul’,” she said as she petted it, and ‘Animakul’ wiffled. Brandon tried to correct her, but ‘Animakul’ it was.

The two weeks into Fall went fast, from warm like weather to needing a jacket, which was perfect for sneaking ‘Animakul’ out of the house in her jacket pocket. ‘Animakul’ stayed by her at all times, especially when they were outside. Sally talked to it (still not knowing or caring if it was a boy or a girl ‘Animakul’), fed it, stroked it, sang songs with it, tried to play games (but, that was hard to do, not knowing the type of games an ‘Animakul’ would like to play) with it, and was overjoyed in her own pet. Her ‘Animakul’.

Billy and Angel had surprised her, first coming to retrieve their ball which came rolling into her back yard. Neighbors and not friends of either Brandon or Sally, they teased her, called her names (seeing that Brandon wasn’t around) and threatened to take her hat. ‘Animakul’ had been shoved into Sally’s pocket real fast when she saw the ball, having an idea whose ball it was. “MOOOOommmmmmMMMMMMMMMYYYY!” she bellowed.

Before any action occurred from the house, the two ran off, ball in hand. Angel was laughing, but Sally did not like that laugh.

‘Animakul’, from his (yes, his) perch on Sally’s shoulder, under the epaulet, honed in on the sound of the running feet, and nasty laugh. His teeth vibrated, and his mind was set. He would pay a visit to the boys, tonight, after Sally went to sleep. No one threatened what was his.

The Splenetic Tango



She performed a caminada, coming up to me, and when she was in slapping distance, she did, in the face. Burning cheek, my head ratcheted to my right, and then sighted back in on her. She stared at me, into me, her mouth a succinct line of daring. I noticed nothing but her face, the glare, the straight on look. We were of the same height, the high heels she wore (which I had noticed as she approached, as they were attached to long sensuous legs, encased in lace stockings, that led up to a clinging thigh high black dress, containing a slender cut glass figure of perfect curvature, to the off the shoulder expanse of pure white skin that was framed by red flowing hair) being the perfect adjustment.

My heart beat fast. The music inside began.


I experienced her aura, a sphere of light playing with my senses. She was beauty. My milonguita. She raised her hand to stroke the not so burning cheek, and running her hand smoothly down my cheek, to the jawline, down the side of my throat-but pausing, fingers with nails of blood read roses, and her thumb slowly pressing into my windpipe-and then down, until her hand was on my chest, over my heart. She left it there, pressing in harder with each passing heart beat.


Standing still, unsure if it was my turn, or if I even had a turn, she slinked around me in a pattern of eternity, first forward then back. I eyed her fully when I could, and followed her with soft focus as she moved around. I did not turn my head. Parada. Behind me. Standing still, her breaths coming short, hard and quickly. I felt her nails through my shirt back, tracing the contours of muscle and bone.


I turned quickly, unexpectantly, and caught her hand in mine, her claw like hand in mid trace. She smiled just a touch, more with her eyes than her mouth. Pulling her hand away, slowly, she inclined her head down and to the right. Her ocho cortado: rushing into me, arms flung around my neck in a reverse strangle hold, she pressed her beating body into mine.


I pivoted, using my hips and feet to throw her off balance. She slide down me, resting on one knee as she again pierced me with her look. She was a cut of smoothness as she rose, standing, boleo: her leg shooting out, around my knee, and felling me. She smiled fully now.


I half raised myself, waiting. Turning to her left, I thought she would walk away. My milonguita, she swung her leg around so fast. The side her very hard, very sharp high heel shoe caught my jawline, sending blood shooting forward as I danced backward, throwing me prostate on the ground.


“You killed my father, Mr. Tempest. Bad or good man, I do not care. You killed him. Good or bad, I will kill you. Just…not now,” she said, as she stood next to the guard, by the only door to the room. A  Heckler and Koch MP7  was aimed in my direction, daring me to say anything more, let alone move.

“This is not an empty threat. I have a use for you. One use. When that is done, you will be the dead man you already are.” She turned and left me alone with the guard. I bled more on the floor, staunching what I could.

My cheek burned again. “milonguita...,” I whispered.

Tango Silhouette, a lexicon of Tango Terms




ep-i-GAM-ik \  , adjective;  Attracting the opposite sex.

Jake had never had any problems with women. Getting them, that is. Keeping them for any real length of time..that was a continuous problem for him. It was one of the great things about Leeza. She was there when he needed her, he was there when she needed him, and that helped make them a great team on their flights. When they got back to base, they could go troll where they wanted, with whoever, and once a job came in, they clicked again..and again..and…

no more. He floated in a recovery tank, hooked up, tagged in, injected and pumped in and out, and Jake was aware most of the time. He was so full of pain suppressors that he floated much more then he as actually floating in the healing fluids. Jake knew one thing, remembered one key thing: Leeza would no longer be his partner, in any way. He didn’t get to keep Leeza anymore.

The Epigamic was almost blown to hell when the star blast went off. The only thing that was lucky was that the ship was on the other side of the Collector, the side away from the nuke induced Nova. The Collector ate the majority of the energy blast, but enough of the residual shock sent the ship into spasms, crushing part of the Epigamic, shearing off any external parts.

The hull was breached in a number of places. His ship..their ship immediately kicked in the LifeFoam(c) Suspension, injecting both of them first with sleep inducing comaphine. The LifeFoam enveloped the two of them, protecting as best as it can.

It was too late for Leeza. The blast blasted a hole next to her head, into and out of her head, and she was gone before anything happened in the pit. Jake was gone into that no dream land, suffering damages as well before it all kicked in. The damages were extensive, but fixable. He lost his left eye. They grew one back for him. The fingers on his hands had been roasted, the skin peeled away to the bone. They grew new skin for him. Whatever was punctured, or broken, or missing, was not that way by the time Jake was allowed to leave the tank and take to a bed in the ICU ward. Everything was back to normal, that is, except for how guilty he felt. He never felt guilty..not like this.

The crippled ship was pulled back by the recovery team that went after the Collector. He was more out then in, but he heard the accusations, heard about Leeza, heard about the damage to the Epigamic. Jake also heard a voice that no one else heard: “You killed her, you bastard. You killed Leeza,” he went over and over in his mind.

He could rebuild the Epigamic with the credit he’d get from the Energy Control. Jake and Leeza always pulled in good solid rads, and this was no exception, so he could rebuild the ship, his credit, himself physically. He could not rebuild the one thing, he realized with more sickening to himself truth, that meant more then he ever would have admitted to himself before.

“I’m sorry,” he said staring up at the ceiling when any of the Meds came to talk to him. The staff began to call him that instead of Jake, or Captain Todd, or Patient #56902.

Two weeks after he was out of the tank, a visitor came to see Jake. “Oh, you want I’m Sorry,” the duty nurse said with a smirk. “He’s in the third room on the left, second bed in.” Jake’s visitor gave the nurse a confused then dark look and continued down the hall, into the room and stopped at the second bed, looking down on Jake.

“Wake up, you son of a bitch,” Mr. Waymahr said, kicking the bed frame. Jake, already awake, opened his eyes and looked at Leeza’s father, who was glaring at him. “Good. You’re getting out of here soon, Jake. I’ve got a job for you as soon as the repairs on the damned ship of yours is ready to go. You’re not going to like this one little bit, and I don’t give a rats ass. You understand me?”

Jake just shook his head yes, then said “I’m sorry.”

“You bet whatever nine lives you’ve already used up you’re going to be sorry!” he murmured, then turned and left without looking back.

Jake took in a deep rush of air, and let it out slowly, hoping to deflate himself in the process. “I’m sorry,” he said again, and “Shit!”


Word of the Day

Felicia loaded the Winchester 1873 carbine lever-action rifle while blood dripped into her eyes. She wiped  off what she could, hurrying in the process. The blood was thin running, mixing with her fear and heat sweat, fear of what lay outside and inside this burning hole of damnation that was on fire. She was not a cursing, blasphemous woman,  but at this moment every one of those words she ever heard her daddy utter in his drunken stupors came to her lips.

Jacob and his men had been waiting for them. Hank had fought off Jacob’s advances for the land as long as Felicia fought off Jacob’s attention, well, actually longer. It had been unwanted attention all the way back since they were kids. Slimy sonofa’ then, more so as her grew up. She knew he wanted her, and she knew it was the only reason she was alive now. Hank..”damn…Hank..” she sobbed, wasn’t.

“Felicia, y’all come out. Now Felicia. Your home is burnin’, and I’m not comin’ in to git ya. I’d rather ya didn’t burn up and join Hank… in a real unpleasant way.”

She heard his men laugh at that. Two left, plus Jacob. Hank had killed two of them before the others killed him, and she was sure Jacob finished the job. There was that one last shot as Hank pushed her through the door of their home. She bolted it immediately as shots hit the wall, the door, and broke one of the window panes, the glass flying fast and cutting into her forehead. She did the locking without knowing she did it, blood and sweat and tears all one. As she found the Winchester and bullets, one of their torches came bursting through the side window, and started the inside inferno.

The chamber filled with the .32-20 cartridges, Felicia was finally glad her daddy taught her how to hunt. Drunk or not, he was a hunter, and he showed his only child how to take care of the table. Hank was a mite unsettled by that, in the beginning, her being a better hunter then he was, but that passed soon enough. Now, not much of that mattered anymore.

Coughing from the smoke, Felicia yelled out “I’m coming out. Let me be, Jacob.”

There was no answer, just the crackling of the flames, eating away at everything she and Hank had owned. She unbolted the door, hid the 20 inch barrel carbine down and to the back of her skirt, opened it up, and stepped out and to the side.

One of Jacob’s men, the one with the scar down his ruined face, was off to that side and got the scar blown off.  The other man raced over towards her and took two in the gut, going down, and then a third put him out of her misery. Felicia looked around for Jacob and saw him racing through the horses (who started to panic a mite) and try for the trees.

He didn’t make it. On the ground, holding his leg where Felicia got him, he turned over and shot at her as she advanced. One of his bullets passed through her skirt, off side, and did nothing more then create a hole she would never repair. She kicked the gun out of his hand with that last bullet, and raised the rifle towards his head.

Begging, with snot sliding out of his nose as he whimpered, “Felicia..please. I just wanted..”

“I don’t care what the hell you wanted Jacob. This is what you are getting!” With that, she emptied the rifle into the slimy sonofa’, and clicked and clicked way after the bullets had left the barrel and found their new home inside of what was left of Jacob.

Felicia ran back into the house, getting what little she could,  a cloak, more ammo, a hat, the little bit of money they had hidden by the door, and ran back out. The house was too far gone at that point to get anything else.

A shovel was off to the side, by the plantings that would have been ready in a few months. No more. She spent the next while digging a hole by the tree in the back, and buried Hank as best she could. She’d already done such a service for her daddy, so…

She took what she wanted from the saddlebags of the slime who attacked her and killed her husband, and their weapons and ammo. Putting on the cloak and the hat, and reloading the Winchester, she got her horse and collected the others. She could sell them along the way if there was time, or leave them if she had to.

No matter what, she wasn’t going to wait around for Jacob’s father, Dylan,  to find her here. Being the hot headed louse of a Sheriff that he was, moving on was her only solution to living.

She intended to live.

Revenant Revenge (A to Z Challenge)


To read the whole story thus far...

Part 16: Revenant  Revenge

“Who the hell is it? It’s 2:47 in the morning!” Jennifer Rose slammed out of bed, almost forgetting to put something on. The bozo in her bed slept through the racket. Snoring, no less!  “There it is again!” she yelled out loud inside her head. Two sets of three loud knocks, followed by four tinnier raps…and what sounded like a couple of swishes, against the apartment door.

“Hold on..hol…STOP THAT NOW! I”M COMING!'” she yelled out loud for real this time. She mauled the three locks on her door, leaving the fairly useless chain attached, and cracked open the door. She started to say….she started to…What the hell?

Standing outside her door was a slightly..well,  overweight, really tall redhead, who looked like she had just crawled out of a car wreck. Her hands were mangled, two curled in C’s, and her wrists were bent at a weird angle. That wasn’t the strangest thing, because there were two squirrels with her, one on each shoulder. One had it’s back to the door and was just in the process of wagging it (presumably the swishing noise) so she caught some tail in her face, which promptly began the process of sneezing. Very loudly, when it culminated. 

The squirrels jumped, doing somersaults and back-flips over and behind Mangled Hands head. Mangled one visually flinched, then said: “Hi..are you Ms. Hemple?” ZsaZsa knew it was her, but George insisted she be polite as polite can be, especially first thing. He promised her too much for her to shoot back the comment she was biting back, not liking being yelled at at all. 

“Yeah. What do you want at this hour? Who are you? Wha…” and then it hit her. She had seen this woman, well, her pic online when she was screwing around at Winnie’s desk. Figuratively. She had opened up his “secret” files. Thought he was so smart. It didn’t’ take her too long to get the password. He always went on and on about how he made the perfect soft boiled eggs. 277secondsboiled. What a password!

“Can I come in? We need to talk, about your boss, Mr. Wynne.”

Jennifer Rose opened the chain and let ZsaZsa in. The squirrels zipped past her before she could slam the door shut. “Don’t worry,” ZsaZsa said as they ran to her, “they are with me, kinda my bodyguards, or something.” ZsaZsa sat down.

“S’ok if I sit?” she asked. Jennifer Rose said nothing, just crossed her arms over her chest, stuck  out the left hip, supported it all by her right leg and foot, and nodded. She waited. She was good at that. A loud snore from the bedroom broke her glaring for a millisecond.

ZsaZsa then went on, in as much detail as she could muster, and told Jennifer Rose all she knew (which was not all that much) and all that George the Squirrel told her, which was in more detail and she got mostly right. A little flourish here and there, but the tale got told: the emails from Winston (she called him “Wynne, Mr. Wynne.”), the phone call that was just a bit off, the meeting, the almost dying…and that it was him..uh..he..umm..that is was that bastard..who drugged her and almost killed  her.  She told of the meeting with his royal squirrelness, and then she told Jennifer Rose the big secret, the whole big plan of Wynne’s.

Jennifer Rose listened carefully. In the middle of this girls ranting she really started to listen, then she sat down, then put put her chin on her hands and bored a hole of listening into the story, and she thought and plotted. Then, when she was done, Jennifer Rose smiled, a very Winston constant smile, but even more intense. ZsaZsa shivered a bit when she saw it.

“What’s your name? ZsaZsa?” she pronounced it like the Green Acres actress, which got a big frown out of ZsaZsa, with an AH. She promptly corrected Jennifer Rose.

“My apologies. ZsaZsa, I have to get dressed and get rid of some unsightly noise from my bedroom. Then..you and I…we’re going to pay Winston a little visit.”

Some loud chirping growls came from ZsaZsa’s lap. Their tails were poised for attack.

“Yes..you two too. This should be…interesting.”

A to Z Challenge: P(assed Over)


To read the whole story thus far…

Part 14: Passed Over

ZsaZsa (for those who forgot, it’s ZahZah..smh) found herself not really anywhere. She wasn’t feeling anything, and there was this complete sensation of unbeing…IF ZahZah was any type of deep thinker..um..thinker..well…she would have been puzzled, bemused, anxious, curious, afraid, mildly perturbed, and maybe a couple hundred other things. She wasn’t. As it was, she was royally miffed, irked, ticked off, po’d, unamused, and generally not a happy camper. Not too far from  how she always felt, but…well, this was a bit different.

Floating, but not really floating; grounded, but not really grounded either. Her head began to hurt. “This is too much thinking going on, and no ‘splainin’ ” she thought out loud. Her voice fell flat, going nowhere, for nothing there was to see to bounce it off of. The words just floated around her, and it caused ZahZah to look around. If she could have felt any pain at this moment, her neck turning would have caused spasmodic unconsciousness. That is, to say, if she also had anything inside her noggin to really grasp onto as well.

“Cheers, Darling. Nice to see you again,” came a voice beside/behind/over/under/up/down/around her.

Narrowing her eyes to a wrinkle producing squint, ZsaZsa looked in all the directions previously mentioned and saw no one. Hissing out a “hisssss,” she yelled in her all too squeaky voice: “Who the..Where the..Who the F are you?!!!”

Right in front of her nose, about an even 6.6 inches from said shnozz, was a squirrel. One very dead looking, tire tracked smashed squirrel. “I..I killed you!” she whispered quite loudly.

“Yes, you did. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I was putting you out of your pain.” she whined.

“Um..who put me in that pain in the first place, hmm?”

“It was an..accident. I sw..” she was cut off.

“Zsa, I was crossing the road. Saw you coming, started to get out of the way and YOU AIMED THE CAR at me. The last thing I saw before your car overcame me was the glint in your eyes, and you were laughing!”

“No, no..I..um..I had something in my eye..the sun..it was in my eye..and..”

“It was overcast the whole day. No beams of sunlight were happening.”

ZsaZsa said nothing. She was still not happy about being called Zsa, with the S. She looked at the road kill in front of her. An actual non-emotional thought came to her: “What are you? Squirrels don’t talk. Am I the big D?”

“Not yet. I’m George. Thanks for asking,” George the Squirrel said snidely. “I AM dead, thanks to you, and I’ve been dragged out of Nut Haven-yes, don’t look at me like that-to tell you you have a chance to redeem yourself, and live awhile longer. Totally up to you. Me? I could care less.”

“Why?” she asked in really..really..complete innocence.

George the Squirrel, gaping in buck toothed awe at such chutzpah, said: “Are you really THAT stupid?”

She just nodded her head, a couple of times. She heard that one often enough to hold onto it as her constant.

“Here is what is going to happen. You will wake up in a hospital room. Did you know that?”

ZsaZsa nodded her head back and forth instead of up and down.

“Ok..well, you are in one, in a bed, with a sheet over you and an Endotra…sigh..a tube taped into your mouth. Once you wake up, this is what you must do…” and George the Squirrel, one with his squirrelness now, told her the thing she must do to truly make amends, in a lot more small words and phrases so she’d understand. He had her repeat it back to her, and then revise and repeat again until she got it. That took a long, long time.

“OK..phew..you’re a nag. I got it!” she said.

“One last thing, ZsaZsa.”


“My cousins are outside the window to your hospital room. Tell them George forgives them for raiding his nut pile, and that they should watch out for you.”

“Talk to squirrels? I..oh..yeah..heh..ok.”

ZsaZsa closed her eyes (well, she thought she did that)…and went to wake her body up.

George the Squirrel was alone. “Can I come back now?” he asked, to nothing/no one in particular.

A very large mound of Macadamia nuts were instantly all around him.

“Oh..very nice. Very nice indeed!” he squeed, as he jumped into the middle of the pile and did his best Scrooge McDuck impersonation.