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.
The ringing telephone pulled Romeo into the lobby, the shattering bell sending waves of sound pounding against his back and throbbing with his outraged heart. Back, away from the monstrous error, the man, the abomination, not dead, though the knife Romeo had put in him still protruded from the precise place where his beating heart could not be beating any longer, but yet, the blood coursed from around the knife in regular throbbing rhythm, so maybe, holy Christ, maybe... Clark moved slowly toward him, his huge body heaving with effort, the whites of his eyes filling with blood, as if the burst heart in his chest was squirting its contents everywhere inside him, his voice wet and gurgling as he said, "Let me tell you all about Dee Dee, the midget whore who wasn't a whore at all, who wasn't a midget, who wasn't even really a woman..." Romeo's hand reached out behind him, leading the way, pulling him back to the telephone, itching with the need to pick up the receiver, answer the phone, answer the phone, answer the phone! Clark loomed as Romeo bumped up against the front desk and wrapped his grateful hand around the, answer the phone, answer the phone, spraying Romeo's face with a fine mist of blood as he went on in that strangely calm, gurgling voice, "Let me tell you how she called those guys over and set them on that other girl, and how she laughed when they tore her open, and what was in her eyes when she turned her face and looked at me, what I saw inside those black eyes of hers, and what it did to me to know that thing saw me..." Romeo brought the receiver to his ear with teeth gritted at the metal wrenching sound of Mr. G's voice coming out of those tiny black holes, "You should always wait until you're told, Romeo," he said, as the big man's body hit the floor like a hundred pounds of lead, the click of the connection cut off like the click of a trigger pulled on an empty gun, and the silence rushed in to surround the mess on the floor that Romeo would be more than happy to clean up.