%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
Rooms Within The Asylum
 1463670 ۩ The Asylum ۩ |  [13+] This is my world! MY WORLD! by L. D. Dailey  1464132 Engineer's Storage Room | [E] A collection of my short stories! by L. D. Dailey 1464146 Conjugal Visitation Suite | [XGC] My daring attempt(s) at erotica by L. D. Dailey 1464147 Recreational Facilities | [E] The extracurricular activities of The Asylum by L. D. Dailey 1464149 Experimental Surgery午馬 | [18+] My journey, my life by L. D. Dailey |   The Writer's Cramp is an interesting contest. You take a daily prompt and try to come up with a story in less than a thousand words with a twenty-four hour time limit. I cruise through the CRAMP from time to time and wade in as the muse suits me. One of the greatest benefits, for me anyway, is the chance to spread my wings outside the fantasy genre.
Joe leaned forward. In his peripheral, Andy manipulated a joystick that zoomed in on the figure. Joe shook his head. "Sonofabitch." All doubt fled as the monochrome image of Andy's brother dominated the view shed. Joe put his head in hands as the dilemma twisted his guts. I should call this in. But- He glanced at Andy and uttered another sigh at the youngster's crestfallen demeanor. They boy's brother will go to jail. He'll never be a cop with that rep.
The young man struggled to find his seat after leaving the filthy co-ed restroom. He found a sixth shot glass full of the local specialty, sake, waiting for him. The old teenager uttered a small whimper and was grateful for the Matchbox Twenty songs exploding out of the jukebox, keeping his fellow Marines from hearing his groan.
The husband smiled from the enclosed deck as he watched the children play on the new trampoline while removing another cold one from the cooler. Friends of his wife brought their kids over to enjoy the Thanksgiving feast with his family. Kids, from the newborn on his lap to the teenagers hogging the Play-station inside, packed the small ranch home.
I parked the old silver Crown Victoria near the curb and turned the lights off. The officers had finished roping the area off and were now escorting half a dozen reporters away from the premises. A fire truck lit up the evening sky with flashing lights as a handful of volunteers repacked their gear. I shook my head at the pathetic scene. Sardis, Mississippi was nothing like L.A.
The large dining hall seemed cramped as the thirteen guests began to stand behind their assigned seats. Orson's agent stretched and whispered into his ear with a harsh edge in his voice. "If you want to win this job I suggest you brace yourself. This is your last shot." Orson Lexington Keyes IV gazed upon the setup in disgust. Their short sides connected two rectangular dinner tables in order to make room for the Thanksgiving spread. People he did not know occupied every chair.
Diane sat back in her wooden chair, fighting the inevitable drowsiness that comes from gorging. Delicate fingers, made nimble from constant use, worked the toothpick with methodical fashion as she glanced around the oak table. Her mind referenced King Arthur and his round table of knights. Perhaps I will get the same loyalty. The senior partner glanced to her right. "A wonderful meal, Darkin."
Gilead smiled up at his ageless mother as she served a simple breakfast of sliced fruits decorated with assorted rose petals. A comfortable silence sheltered them as they ate, interrupted by the soft song of young lovebirds reluctant to begin their southern migration. The rising sun, shining through the maze of elms, at the adolescent's back shimmered within azure orbs of his mother's that matched his own. The boy's annoying father interrupted the tranquility of their breakfast as he descended from the stairs of the comfortable cottage. Without a word or glance of greeting, the former knight left them to their breakfast, choosing the company of December's first snow instead.
I slammed the bedroom door, vanquishing my first opponent of the day. What a horrible gift. The tick-tock of the classic alarm clock my Secret Santa bought still resounded in my head. My ears continued to throb from the ringing of the unexpected alarm. I named myself nine kinds of fool for agreeing to go to work today. What was I thinking. The combination of the sounds still stuck in my head and my regrets did not mix well with the pain pulsating between my eyes.
I attempt to see who is making the ruckus through the keyhole. A gray blur distorts the view. Bernard rubs against my polyester pajama pants with his coarse fur. Beatrice, feeling left out, purrs into the darkness, blowing my cover. I wince as the voices cease, then frown as nervous breathing penetrates the cheap door. The interloper's seem nervous. I step from the door yet remain crouched, resolving to keep the element of surprise. The Louisville Slugger rests atop my knees and I fell a strange tranquility descend over me. The calm before the storm. I sense that the sibling feline's feel the same way. Their constant rivalry for attention paused, a silent truce brokered between them. A fist tapping the cheap wood penetrates our sanctuary. The intruders are knocking.
The bean counter began the arduous task of logging out from the secure link. He entered the authorization code. An oddity flashing across the screen gave him pause. His pinky paused over the final key. The Harris account dwindled before his eyes. Twenty million dollars in virtual assets trickled to nineteen million, eighteen and three quarters, seventeen-
Levi turned the ebony Dodge onto a driveway ravaged by time. The full moonrise reflected in the rearview mirror caused a heart flutter as the desolate barn appeared before him, resembling a fairytale villain with a sinister smile as the floodlights hit it. Turning to his sister, her flawless features belying their relation, he nodded once. "It's time, Shelly," the fear in his voice startled him. "Lock and load."
Onward he climbed. Thoughts drifted to the fortuneteller's prophecy, giving him strength. Revenge, the old crone promised. The duality of her words haunted the intruder once more. You will trade one doom for another. His death for vengeance seemed a fair trade. Vengeance for his mother, a wizard in her own right before falling to an assassin's arrow. Vengeance for his country, a nation besieged by the necromancer's undead hordes. Vengeance for his love, slain because she loved him. Onward he climbed.
The morning sun shimmered through the cracks within the blinds with such intensity that I scrunched my eyes tighter against it. The unseen light caused instant regret for my adventures on the previous night. Filled with disdain, I turned my back to the pervasive rays and pulled the ebony blanket above my head. | My Favorite Reads"The People's Musician" |
