For the last fifteen or so years I've been living with a bunch of dead guys at a motel in West Texas. Like the characters in my stories, I'd really like to move on, see the world, go places. But I'm just like them. Anchored by love, worn down by circumstances and fascinated by how much there really is underneath it all. So I keep writing their stories and tell myself that someday, when I've got this all out of my system, I'll write deep, meaningful literature about... something else. In the meantime, this is a place for the short attention spanned. I'm making a commitment to keep it small here. Flash fiction and scenes from the life inspired by, The Bella Vista Motel.
Romeo squinted at the guest book, read the name at the bottom of the list - Clark Mannish - but it didn't ring a bell, did he know this guy yet? That bloody metallic taste flooded the back of his tongue and set his teeth on edge, the hair on the back of his neck prickled and an electric tremor ran up his spine. He looked at the big, black phone on the desk as it began to vibrate with the force of its warning bell and thought of air raid sirens, fire alarms, parochial school, death, disaster, confinement. He answered it before it could finish ripping open the silence and said, "Bella Vista Motel, how can I help you?" even though he knew it was Mr. G. "Romeo, ever at the ready..." Mr. G said, his black skull grin evident in his voice, "good thing I caught you before you did your shopping, you'll need to set another place at the table tonight." Romeo listened to Mr. G's instructions, trying his best not to clench his jaw, unsurprised when he was told the new guest's name and got a sudden picture in his mind - a man of gigantic proportions with eyes by turns needy and cruel, a man with a deep voice and a high, girlish giggle.