The Coming Year

I wish for everyone who reads this…..a warm winter in front of a fire,

A cat curled up in your lap,

A silly smile of contentment,

loved ones sharing laughter,

and brittle hard days….few and far between….

I wish you God’s blessings.


ocean fog

Reflections (1988)

I am a voyager…
for a decade now done.
Over my shoulder are shadows…
or faces expressionless,
giving the impression,
I made no difference at all.
Will history record…
I’m written in the wind?
Will no one speak of me grandly?
Or will they brand me,
for what I was or what I am?

The world was awash in visceral colors, red, always red the primary. Fear was thick in the air and panic. The night was alive with the cries of the terrified, the hurting and the dying, the dying and the dmaned. Shrieking screams cut suddenly to gasping and gurgling of their last breaths, while people screamed and ran, pushed and shoved, like cattle in a last stampede. Dante’s Inferno would have pictured the scenes here, over six-hundred years later. Modern America wasn’t ready for the ending of days. But then, no one really is.

The world doesn’t end with a whimper. It’s loud and scary, with people screaming and blood. So much blood. When survivors would look back and they would, they would remember the color of red, dripping and the sounds of screams, horrifying and high-pitched, filled with abject terror. No one would believe it, no one could believe it. And that silly belief system got them killed.

In firm command, Countess DeLuise, bedecked in jewels, loudly tapped against her champagne glass with her spoon. The table grew silent. The countess let the silence grow for great effect, then in a rather bracing voice declared, “It’s schrecklichkeit!”

Greta searched her memory and remembered that the German word meant frightful. Her blue eyes lit with interest, and she wondered just what it was that was being described.

Countess DeLuise continued, her substantial voice growing stronger with each word. “Ja, I must speak now! I can hold the forbidden secret no longer. The news is grave, very grave. One of you…is a vampire.

From Dating Dracula Jr.

I come from a long line of body snatchers, probably the top-notch body snatchers in America. No, make that the world. Some people might think it’s gross digging up bones or corpses, but who asked them? It’s no big deal, but then I’ve been doing it since I got out of diapers.

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