I hear voices all the time. My mother says to me that I can continue to grow as a person. She thought I would be a doctor, or a priest, something good, none of that happened.
My first girl Catherine says to me to stop drinking, to listen more. I wish i could shut out all the voices and the alcohol keeps the actual poisioned water from killing me.
My first pet Bernard barks at me in my dreams. Dreams of green fields and cotton candy sold at a county fair. Those lights were so bright.
I’ve been scavenging for so long I stopped worrying about what I ate. Id kill for cotton candy or anything filled with sugar. It’s all rotten now. All things perishable. Last week i found a twinkie, hidden behind a broken vending machine. My tongue long lost the taste for sweets, it tasted like pure nicotine. Felt the hair on my arms raise as it hit my mouth. I did not sleep well that night.
It’s been far too long since I saw another human, far too long since I touched anything but rust.

Why do I carry on?
Because I’m scared of the alternatives.

Excited to announce I have a short story Cackalacky Sun in the new anthology Summer Sucks by Alien Buddha Press out now. My story is loosely based on the Cherokee myth of U’tlun’ta’ or Spearfinger.
You can purchase a copy from Amazon here

The machine was so loud that they had sealed it inside a large metal silo. It helped for the village outside to deafen its constant rotations. Where it became a problem was for the maintenance crew who wore  many pieces of ear protection when entering the silo but still lost parts of their hearing upon entering. For this reason most of the technicians retired after forty. It was a most vital job for the community as the machine provided all the electricity for the town. It spun rapidly into the earth its large gears receiving power from the heat below.
For Oshie it was the job she had always wanted. Her father had been a siloman and even though she had to learn sign to communicate with him in later years it was a price worth paying. She did the job to honor him and everyone else who kept this community going long after the fall had wiped out so many towns like this one. Today’s task was not an easy one. The gears needed monthly oiling but with the constant spinning one had to be careful not to lose a finger or have the oil going into wrong spaces and destroy the machine. Oshie did her task carefully. She was always careful. 

After a few hours work she exited the Silo into the Manitoba air. She removed her safety goggles and the sun pierced her eyes. She raised her hand for cover and could seem Jim coming towards her then. His bearded smile a welcome respite. He hugged her close and she pushed back,
“Stop, I’m gross.” She said but he grabbed her and pulled her back to him.
“You’re my world saver. Like actually.” She took the embrace this time sinking into his earthen smells. She looked past his shoulder to the town they protected, a few children running free in the streets. Maybe Oshie and Jim would have a child one day. Maybe they would become a siloman. Or maybe by the time they got old, the Silo would no longer be needed. But for now she would continue to keep it running.
And her ears rang. But quiter each year. 

The chamber of the Earls was what could best be described as an old fast food restaurant. Many of the guards sat up high on the backs of what used to be dining room tables. In two plush chairs in the center sat Brick and Carter Earl, their captive audience waiting.
Brick wore a leather jacket with punk spikes, his pink mohawk matching the part. Carter was dressed in fine silk from head to toe, his black tie shiny as the metal serving bar behind him.
“State your name citizen,” came the call from one of the onlookers.
“Mike. Mike Childress.” Mike watched the two brothers as he spoke. Carter seemed disinterested. Brick stared intently at Mike when he spoke, his voice nasally and high.
“What can we do for you citizen?”
Mike didn’t consider himself a citizen of this strange world the Earls had made for themselves, but he knew Ellis needed help and he was going to try to get it.
“My son. Ellis. He needs medicine. He’s been sick for a while.”
Brick looked to his brother who waved his hand to continue.
“Medicine isn’t cheap. And important here,” as he waved to his group surrounding him.
“What skills do you have Mike? What did you do in the former?”
“I was a carpenter sir. I built cabinets.”
Brick looked to his brother who finally spoke, his voice low and stern.
“Could you build a barracks?, “ said Carter, looking out at the crowd gathered. “For our fine citizens?” They cheered at that.
Mike thought about it. He wasn’t sure he was up to the task but nodded anyway.
“With enough manpower and supplies, sure.” The crowd cheered again.
Brick came down from his pedestal then marched over to Mike.
“You will have what you need for your son. You will take it to him, with two of our men.” His breath stunk as he got closer to Mike his eyes wild but convincing.
“You will make sure your son is healed. We are not monsters. And then you shall return to repay your debt to the Earls, as a good citizen. Do you agree?”
Mike saw nothing but Ellis face in his mind as he nodded his commitment. A citizen of the Earls was born, and the crowd in the old fast food restaurant cheered. And Mikes life journey up to this point would pale in comparison.

The pain is his chest rose up quickly, just when he thought things were getting better.
Fooled again, nothing was better. When she talked the plans did not involve anyone but herself. He wondered if she heard herself? No mention of anyone else, no mention of things lined up in front of the world. The river rushed past them, and he thought perhaps he should just jump inside it.
The young boy took his hand then. A child he had raised as his own. A lie, but a worthy one. He would continue to get up, work, sometimes tirelessly, to make sure the young kid had a future worth looking towards. He gave himself small selfish things, but he needed those things to keep going.
He wanted a drink, his liver did not.
He wanted to scream, but the pain was so numb as it ate away at his insides.
No doctor to call on, no therapist to dive into. Alone in the world but he would do it with honor. A wicked recipe for life, but sometimes there were rainbows with dreams inside.
And a small childs hand, a love that couldn’t extinguish, to make a better future.

Skip, hope , jump. Hop Hop Hop, A line in the sand
Over, under, falling down, growing stronger with every arm hug,
I am a man, I was a man.
To be someone who mattered.
Alone in a swimming pool filled with my own blood.
A disease of man, a chemical trail of stained linens.
Skip, hope, jump. Sink, sink, sink. A lorry in the canal.
And the children don’t even notice as they wash their dirty feet.

Inside the sea wall there was a constant wind that pierced her ears with a ghostly howling. The wind ripped through her cloak until she entered the small door to Mickeys.
Inside the fire burned bright and people sat around their beers, some chatting, some alone in their thoughts. She headed straight for the bar. A young man stood there washing a glass, then laying it in front of her,
“What will it be, miss?”
She looked at the glass then raised her eyes to meet his, a lone piece of her purple hair falling from beneath the cloak, slightly covering one eye.
“No drink for me, but some information if you can.” She slid a gold coin his way as she spoke, the barkeep quickly accepting.
“What do you fancy?”
She grabbed a datapad from her pocket and flashed the picture. He stiffened at that and thought for a minute.
“I know where you can locate it. It is a trek though.”
Another gold coin. This one he didn’t take as quick. Then he poured her a shot of whiskey, and ventured away from the bar to a back room. She took the shot, then kept her eyes on the door he had excited, half expecting some local militia to come barging through. But instead he returned a few minutes later with a rolled map in his hands.
“What you’re looking for can be found in here. You’ll need supplies though, I know a guy.”
She looked at the map, lifted her cloak a little more, giving a slight smile.
“Of course you do”.

For Mike the only thing that mattered was that he would get the medicine home. Ellis, his two year old, had been fighting a nasty cough for weeks now. Yetserday he took a downturn and had been asleep every since. His wife Allana had brewed every home remedy she could think of but nothing was working. So Mike set out right away, kissing Allana on the forehead, whispering “Don’t Worry” and he headed out into the worst blizzard he could remember. Usually he wouldn’t dare go out into the elements like this and never to the destination he was headed to. You did not do business with The Earls unless you had to. So after three long hours of walking, when he reached the iron gates and the spotlights fell upon him in the glistening snow, he raised both arms, shivering from the cold and fright of what came next. Mike closed his eyes briefly, thought of Ellis, took a deep breath and shouted above the winter,
“I need medicine for my son. I seek an audience with the Earls.”
Time passed very slowly. No response came immediately but the bright lights trained on him. He was about to ask again when he heard the latches of the gates open. A small part of him wished they hadn’t.

In the left side of the building the sick lay, coughing, crying, sleeping away into morphine bliss.
On the right side of the building children played with old ratty soccer balls some barley keeping a circular shape, laughing, crying, sleeping away into mothers arms.
In the center the people lived lives, working the small wheels of this factory home, sweating, crying, sleeping away into fatigue dreams.
In the dreams they wished their elders a simple peace.
In the dreams they wished their children a better life.
In the dreams they wished for the next day.
Outside the factory home nature was slowly returning, the young deer mother leading their children into the field, sensing, alert and sleeping away the daytime hours.
Inside the river a few clicks west the fish had begun to swim again, fighting against the current and the pollution.
The sun went up, the sun went down, circling, heating, sleeping away into the moonlight.
Circling, over and over again.

After Part 21
Candle and Bertie sat on the bench in Rust park watching the boy throw the ball. Over and over he rolled his arm back reaching for some internal strength and over and over he threw it as fast as he could into the brick wall. If he noticed them he did not acknowledge, content in his repetition and practice.
“What do you think he is trying to accomplish?” Bertie asked Candle whose eyes never left the young man.
“I think he is trying to get better.” Candle’s eyes were intent on the kid, watching the motion with wonder, watching as his arms moved in motion with precise dedication.
“How long we going to sit here Candle?” Bertie had seen enough, but she knew her sister was slightly infactuated with the ball boy.
“Long enough” Candle looked to her sister. “I admit he has my attention,”
“The same way Robbie did last year?” Bertie teased punching her sisters arm.
Candle chuckled at that. Oh Robbie. He was three hovels down from them. And yes for a summer Candle made sure she would happen to be outside when his shift came home. A passing hello, sometimes a conversation about the weather. It was a nice break from daily life, and a dream. That all ended when Robbie got promoted to a better place to live. She didn’t get to say goodbye as the company van came and grabbed all his belongings. She wasn’t exactly heartbroken then as it was never love or some other nonsense, but her feelings still got hurt.
“No. Robbie had better hair.”
Bertie smiled at her sister, grabbed her hand as they had done many times in their life together. Two sisters living, sometimes with fantasies of boys their age.
“Come on Candle, lets go home. This kid will throw for hours more.”
Candle smiled at that, nodded, and squeezed her sisters hand.
“Just a few more pitches.”