Badlands Passion Play

July 13, 2019 at 9:52 pm (Short Story) (, , , , , )

Badlands Passion Play

Across from the Royal Tyrrell Museum of Paleontology, a band was setting up.

Speakers, drums, plug-ins for electrical guitars.

They would be performing a concert here in the Red Deer River Badlands of Drumheller, Alberta, Canada.

Not far from the bandstand, a skeleton of a Tyrannosaurus Rex was being dug up.

The paleontologist in charge of the dig decided to call it a day.

He left in his motor vehicle and headed for downtown Drumheller.

The leading singer for the band The Gathering Moss walked over to the T-Rex dig site.

Nick Jaguar had a shooter drink called Zombie Apocalypse in his hand.

His guitarist and co-singer O’ Keefe Lionhart bumped into him.

Jaguar spilled the Zombie Apocalypse all over the t-Rex bones.

One of the concert goers an ex-voodoo high priest turned Pentecostal preacher warned, “Dem bones, dem bones going to rise again.”

Despite singing a southern gospel song inspired by verses in the Book of Ezekiel, both Nick Jaguar and O’ Keefe Lionhart ignored the warnings and walked up to the stage.

The Gathering Moss played their old songs to the delight of the geriatric crowd wanting to rekindle their lost youth.

“What a bunch of dinosaurs,” said the young sound man in his mid-20s.

The sound man was eaten by the T-Tex who had just risen from the dead.

“See, I told you, dem bones would rise again,” the Pentecostal preacher remarked to his wife.

The T-Rex looked at the geriatric crowd swaying with their artificial hips and artificial knee caps and decided to head for greener pastures.

The foot steps of the giant T-Rex caused a minor earthquake in the valley and stones were sent rolling down the hills crushing the Gathering Moss and their fans.

The T-Rex got his foot caught in a giant T-Rex trap that an eccentric farmer had left out in the Badlands.

He died in the evening’s intense hail storm that followed from the heat of the day.

But he died “unmourned and unloved”.

There was little sympathy for the devil among the Gathering Moss fans.

-A short story written by Christopher
who succumbed to a bout of insanity
after the intensely hot temperatures
of this day
Saturday July 13th 
2019.

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Reblog of MY GOOD OLD DAYS

April 21, 2019 at 9:13 pm (Short Story) ()

An excellent short story written by Priscilla.

PROLIFIC WRITERS WORLD

I took the flowers from the windowsill, grabbed a cup of coffee and trudged to the sitting room. My little angels roamed around with their tiny feet’s, i could hardly focus on the movie i was watching. My phone rang – Mum,displayed as the callers ID.

A rash eagerness engulfed me and i picked up. In glee, i screamed “hello mum!” As though it was still 2005 when i had finished my secondary school and was waiting for my JAMB results to determine if i was to go to college or not. “ah!…its me, the Gen man” the person said and i froze as though my mum could actually call me just as she did each time i stayed for prep after school. “Hello Jennifer, my daughter how are you?…may God grant you wisdom, knowledge, understanding, high intelligence, smartness…” and she would go on and on…

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Late For The Party: A New Year’s Eve Short Short Story

December 31, 2018 at 5:23 pm (Literature, News, Poetry, Short Story) ()

A New Year’s Eve short short story I wrote 3 years ago today:

Dracul Van Helsing

Late For The Party

“Aren’t you ready yet?” The wife asked her husband, “we’re going to be late for the party. I’d like to be there before the clock strikes midnight and the New Year comes.”

“I’m almost finished this poem I’m writing, dear,” the husband smiled, “hold on.”

The wife looked at the clock, “Come on. Let’s go NOW. Your poem is not so important. It’s not as if people are going to be reciting or even remembering it for the next 200-odd years.”

“All right, dear,” the husband got up to get his coat.

The poem lay on his desk,

“Should auld acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind…
… we’ll take a cup of kindness yet for auld lang syne…”

-Robert Burns, 1788.

-A short short short story
written by Christopher
Thursday December 31st
2015.

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A Young Legionary In Bethlehem: The Christmas Story Never Told

December 25, 2018 at 11:56 pm (Short Story) (, , )

The young legionary had had a bad day.

After a night of rowdy drinking, he had forgotten the standard for his regiment.

And had left it overnight in the little town of Bethlehem.

The officer in charge of the regiment was thankfully merciful.

Instead of court martialing the young legionary for his most serious offense, he just sent the young legionary back to Bethlehem to retrieve it.

Although being sent back to Bethlehem was punishment enough the young legionary figured.

For Bethlehem had to be the most god forsaken place on this earth.

“Have fun in Bethlehem, Pompey,” his fellow legionaries had said to him.

Pompey was his nickname.

Pompey of course had been the name of the Roman general who had lost to Julius Caesar in the Roman civil war.

It was an inside joke that earned the young legionary his nickname.

As Pompey set out from Jerusalem towards Bethelehem, he did have to admit that the star he saw in the sky that seemed to be hovering directly over the little town was indeed most impressive.

Probably the only impressive thing about the place, Pompey thought to himself.

He sighed as he rode his horse.

Last week he had gotten a Dear Antony letter from his girlfriend Julia the woman he expected to marry when he returned to Rome.

She had met someone else- the “man of her dreams” as she had put it and was going to be marrying him.

“Argh!” Pompey hit his forehead with his metallic gloved hand as he recalled the letter.

What was it about women and the men of their dreams?

Usually the dream always turned out to be a nightmare, his father had once told him.

And may that be the case with Julia’s “man of her dreams” Pompey cursed the couple.

He looked towards his left and noticed a small group of shepherds tending their flocks by night.

“What an exciting job that must be,” Pompey remarked to himself sarcastically as he laughed.

He brought the horse to a halt for a minute.

He thought he had heard something.

He turned and looked in every direction.

And listened.

But now nothing.

What was it? he had heard.

For one brief shining moment, it sounded like music.

Heavenly music.

Surely it must have been the “music of the spheres” that the great philosopher Aristotle had written about.

And for one moment, he had been privileged to hear it.

Pompey looked up in the sky.

It seemed like a bunch of lesser lights were now surrounding that great star.

He rode on until he came to the inn where he and his fellow legionaries had stayed last night.

“I say, innkeeper,” he addressed the man pouring wine amongst the raucous crowd of guests, “could you tell me where I ahem! left my standard last night?”.

A rather beautiful and alluring young woman giggled at the way he had asked the question and looked at him appreciatively.

“And is your standard up to mine?” She winked at him.

Pompey looked at her.

That would certainly be a dish of revenge best served hot against Julia’s betrayal the young legionary thought to himself.

But no he best get the standard and return to Jerusalem.

He looked back to the innkeeper.

“Your comrade Drusillus took it with him this morning when he left,” the innkeeper answered.

What?

Pompey was shocked.

Drusillus had taken the standard?

That bastard.

And Drusillus had never told him.

Pompey turned back to the beautiful and alluring young woman.

She might be the prize worth waiting for on this useless trip to Bethlehem.

But already her eyes and her attention were elsewhere.

“Do you love me?” She teasingly asked a man.

“What is love?” He answered back to laughs and back slaps from his male companions.

“Come on,” she pretended to pout, “do you love me?”.

“All right,” the man answered, “I do love you and that is the gods’ honest truth.”

“What is truth?” Asked one of the man’s companions to much laughter.

The woman raised her dress and beckoned him, “Then come on. Show me your truth, baby.”

Pompey winced and turned away.

As he did so, through the window, he caught sight of a stable in a cave just behind the inn.

Anyways it was time to get back to Jerusalem.

Pompey got on his horse and pointed it in the direction of Jerusalem.

The horse started to walk but with great difficulty.

“Blessed Mercury,” Pompey sighed, “he’s broken a horseshoe.”

Fortunately for Pompey, there was a blacksmith’s shop right next to the inn.

The blacksmith was rather angry at being wakened but when Pompey showed the man what he could pay him, the man set to work.

Pompey stood watching the man pound nails into the new horseshoe and then decided to buy himself some wine from the inn.

Seeing as how the night was starting to turn cold, Pompey asked for a cup of hot spiced wine.

The wine was nice and hot, Pompey thought to himself as he put hands around the cup to warm them.

“Blessed Juno, what a chilly night,” the young legionary thought to himself, “definitely not a night for men or beasts to be about. As the gods like Augustus in Rome and the Olympians on Mount Olympus keep warm in their palaces, we of a lesser breed freeze. The cold is definitely not a place for a true god to be found.”

Pompey, warmed by the wine, decided to take a walk around Bethlehem.

There was not much to see around the town the young legionary noticed.

But as he walked he noticed the bright star in the sky seemed to be directly over the stable in the cave behind the inn.

Pompey decided to walk there and take a look.

As he stood outside the cave manger, the young legionary took a sip from his cup.

“Great Bacchus,” Pompey sighed, “I really should have been drinking it as I walked around town. The wine has turned cold.”

As he stood there, the young legionary thought he could hear a baby gurgling from inside the cave.

Pompey was familiar with the sound of babies gurgling because he had been present at his older sister’s house when his nephew had been born.

Pompey entered the cave.

And the sight he saw shook him to the very core of his being.

For inside the cave was a young man standing protectively over a beautiful young woman (probably the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life) who lay on straw holding a recently born baby.

“What child is this?” Pompey thought when he looked at the babe.

No sooner had he thought that question than he thought he heard again (albeit momentarily) the beautiful heavenly music of the spheres he had heard earlier on the road into Bethlehem.

“What do you want?” Asked the young man who protectively clasped the shoulder of the beautiful young woman.

The young woman herself looked at the young legionary without fear.

Great unknown god, she was beautiful, Pompey thought to himself.

A different sort of beauty from the alluring beauty of the temptress he had encountered in the inn.

A pure beauty.

A most pure beauty.

A beauty capable of capturing a man’s soul and not just his body.

The baby gurgled again.

“I thought I heard a baby gurgling,” Pompey answered the young man’s question, “and wondered what a baby was doing inside a stable inside a cave.”

“There was no room in the inn,” the young man answered simply.

The baby seemed to beckon to the young legionary.

The legionary approached.

The child then grasped the young legionary’s cup and stuck his tiny hands inside the cup and washed them.

“I’m so sorry,” the young woman gasped.

“Quite all right,” Pompey smiled and bowed, “I wish you a wonderful evening.”

He quickly left the cave.

And as he did so, the same group of shepherds he had seen earlier this evening were now entering the cave.

Astonished, Pompey started sipping the wine again.

Good Lord, Pompey thought to himself, the wine is warm again.

The wine had turned cold from his walk around town.

Then this baby had stuck his hands in the cup and washed them.

And now the wine was warm again.

What child is this? Pompey once again thought to himself.

He was still pondering that question as he finished the wine (which also seemed to have improved in taste as a result of the child touching it), returned the cup to the inn and then walked next door to the blacksmith.

Thankfully the blacksmith had finished the horseshoe and had put it on the young legionary’s horse.

Well, the young legionary nicknamed Pompey thought to himself, at least the last days of Pompey wouldn’t be spent in Bethlehem.

He returned his thoughts again to the child inside the cave.

What child is this? The young legionary thought to himself a third time.

Oh well, probably greater things to ponder in the scheme of things, the young legionary thought to himself, after all it’s not likely I’ll ever encounter this child again.

And with that, the young legionary named Pontius Pilate got on his horse and rode out of Bethlehem.

-A short story written by Christopher
Christmas Day December 25th 2018.

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Reblog of More Devious than the Devil| حیله گرتراز شیطان

December 2, 2018 at 11:26 pm (Short stories, Short Story)

A great story written by an excellent storyteller and writer.

A Voice from Iran

A woman asked the Devil: “Do you see that man, the tailor?” and pointed to a small deprived shop.

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Devil said: “Yes.”

The woman said: “He loves his wife so much. Can you make him hate his wife?”

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Devil responded: “It would be very easy.”

The devil walked towards the shop. He tried many tricks on the tailor but couldn’t convince him to dislike his wife. He came back towards the woman and confessed that he is not able to deceive each and every human.

The woman said: “But a woman can.”

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She walked to the tailor’s shop, pointed to an expensive fabric and said: “Can I have two meters of this fine fabric? My son would like to buy a gift for his lover and asked me to help him.”

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The tailor cut two meters of the fabric and handed it to her. The woman walked towards the tailor’s…

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Reblog of Edgar Allan Poe: Swinging Like A Pendulum Do

August 26, 2018 at 8:27 pm (Culture, Entertainment, Film, History, Horror, Literature, Movies, Mystery, Mystery/horror, Short stories, Short Story, Television, The Supernatural) (, , , , , , , , , , )

Here’s a short story I wrote almost 2 years ago.

It’s a short story featuring the late great TCM Turner Classic Movies host Robert Osborne:

Dracul Van Helsing

Edgar Allan Poe: Swinging Like A Pendulum Do

It was an old movie from the 1930s on television. Johnson had heard of the film The Pit and The Pendulum based on a short story by Edgar Allan Poe.

But he wasn’t familiar with the 1930s version. He had only heard of a movie version from the 1960s with Vincent Price.

But this 1930s version was totally new to him and here he was a big classic horror movies fan. The Pit and The Pendulum from 1936 with Bela Lugosi and Boris Karloff.

Try as he might, he could not recall Karloff and Lugosi ever making such a film. Lugosi had made The Black Cat with Karloff. He had made The Raven. He had made Murders In The Rue Morgue. All based on works by Poe.

But Johnson had never heard of Lugosi doing a movie version of Poe’s The Pit…

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Velvet Screams’ THE BOSS [EL JEFE] #SHORT STORY

August 16, 2018 at 9:01 pm (Short stories, Short Story) (, , , )

An excellent short story written by an excellent short story writer.

PROLIFIC WRITERS WORLD

Come over here right now!” Vuccinio retorted irately as he pushed forward and pulled a file from Noah’s sweaty palms. “Don’t you dare touch this!”he continued and then plodded to the comfort of his office chair. Noah gazed at the file next to vuccinio,his death wish urging him to grab it once more. Noah reached out for it.

Like a careless football,Noah’s head came rolling on the floor, and there came a knock on the door.

Is everything alright in there?” ..“what broke?”. People asked from behind the door and vuccinio replied

mataré a todos..sólo el diablo puede gobernar“.

————————————————-

Hey!…don’t hold it tight…it hurts!”Stefanie shouted at the hairstylist who frowned at her through the wide mirror. Stefanie turned on the Television. The breaking news was read out on TV.
Hombre encontrado muerto en una habitación de hotel…

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Sadako Shado Tamashi

August 8, 2018 at 10:56 pm (Folklore, Geopolitics and International Relations, Ghost Story, Horror, International Intrigue, Literature, Movies, Mystery, Mystery/horror, Mythology, News, Romance, Short stories, Short Story, The Occult, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) ()

Sadako Shado Tamashi

The archivist at the British Museum was looking through a bunch of early 20th Century Japanese photographs.

He came across a photo of a very beautiful young Japanese woman wearing a long white dress.

He stopped to look at her.

In fact, he looked at her for quite a while.

To his amazement, a heart ❤️ suddenly appeared in the photograph.

The word Yokubo appeared in the heart.

What the Hell? Archivist Moreau thought to himself.

What does Yokubo mean?

Moreau turned to the next photograph which was of a Japanese print of a Japanese Christ being crucified on the Cross.

That’s interesting, Moreau thought to himself, not too many of those pictures in Japan.

The next photo was of the same beautiful woman he had looked at a few photos earlier.

But now her long black hair was covering her entire face.

And blood (the colour red) actually appeared on her dress in the black and white photograph.

She was pointing a finger at someone (almost as if she was pointing at him from the photo).

Behind her was a word on the wall written in blood (again blood red showed up in the black and white photo).

The word was KAN’IN.

The next morning they found Moreau’s body dead in the photo archives of the British Museum.

His throat had been slashed from ear to ear as if he had just revealed Freemasonic secrets.

All the photos were gone.

Save for one black and white photo showing a woman in a long white dress with long black hair over her face standing over the body and pointing an accusatory finger at him.

The woman had very long sharp fingernails on her accusatory hand.

The nails were blood red (and red actually showed up in the B and W photo).

-A short story written by
Christopher
Wednesday August 8th
2018.

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Herb Takes A Walk: A Short Short Story

June 27, 2018 at 9:20 pm (Short stories, Short Story) ()

Herb Takes A Walk: A Short Short Story

Herb decided to take a walk in the neighbourhood.

He decided to walk across a school field.

There was a sign warning him that the grass had recently been sprayed.

It didn’t bother Herb at all.

He walked across the field.

Halfway across the field, he keeled over and died.

Later the coroner explained the cause of death.

The sign had warned him Herbicide Application Applied Today.

Herb had ignored the sign at his peril.

-A short short story
Written by Christopher
Wednesday June 27th
2018.

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Cooking With Ricardo: A Short Story

May 29, 2018 at 10:59 pm (Short Story) (, , , , )

Cooking With Ricardo: A Short Story

The Food Channel on television in North America had just started a new program called Cooking With…

Each week would feature a new guest chef 👩‍🍳 👨‍🍳.

And the program for that day would be called Cooking With… whatever the guest chef’s name was.

For example, if the guest chef’s name was Carmen, the program would be called Cooking With Carmen. 👩‍🍳

If the guest chef’s name was Antoine, the program would be called Cooking With Antoine. 👨‍🍳

If the guest chef happened to be a politician of some sort or other, the program would be called Cooking With Gas.

Today’s program was called Cooking With Ricardo.

Food Channel Announcer: Welcome to today’s guest chef episode on the food channel Cooking With Ricardo. And now… here’s our guest chef… Ricardo.

Guest Chef: Today, I’m going to show you how to cook Vietnamese Style Pork Chops. Yes if you’re Donald Trump and you’ve just invited the President of the Islamic Republic of Iran 🇮🇷 over to your White House to bury the hatchet, nothing will seal friendlier relations between the Iranian and U.S. governments in the future than a delicious 😋 meal of Vietnamese style pork chops. While you’re at it, invite Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu over for dinner as well. I’m sure Vietnamese Style Pork Chops would be considered very kosher by the leading Orthodox rabbis in Israel.

(The guest chef emits a loud belch)

Guest Chef: Excuse me. That Johnnie Walker whisky 🥃 tasted as good coming up as it did going down. Now, I got this recipe for Vietnamese Style Pork Chops from my former Vietnamese girlfriend Ho Babylon Minh who broke up with me for some reason after watching her first Ron Jeremy porn film. She claimed Ron Jeremy had something I didn’t. I don’t know what that is. She also broke up later on with a house painter named Bill Campbell for the same reason.

Now for the Vietnamese Pork Chops Ho Babylon Minh style you use 4 pork chops although you can use other kinds of meat 🍖 🥩 as well as I sometimes do.

Okay,

The ingredients-

4 pork chops- bone 🍖 about 1 inch thick although Ho preferred her bones a lot thicker.
2 red bell peppers 🌶 seeded and quartered.
1/3 cup mirin.
2 tbsp rice vinegar.
1 tbsp sambal oelek or to taste (Ho told me I didn’t have any).
1 English cucumber 🥒 seeded and cut into small sticks.
2 cups thinly sliced red cabbage.
Hoisin sauce (optional).
Salt and pepper.

Directions-

1- Preheat the grill setting the burners to High. Brush oil onto the grate.

2- Oil the meat and bell peppers then season with salt and pepper.

3- Grill the meat about 5 minutes on each side or until medium rare. Set aside on a plate and let rest for 5 minutes.

4- Meanwhile grill the peppers on each side.

5- In a small bowl combine the mirin, rice vinegar and sambal oelek.

6- Place the chops on serving plates. Serve with the cucumber and roasted peppers. Add the red cabbage over the vegetables. Drizzle with the dressing. Serve with a little hoisin sauce if desired.

(The guest chef then emits a loud belch)

Guest chef: I’d like to thank my assistant Johnnie Walker for helping me get through this program. I’d like to thank the Food Channel for having me. And I’d like to thank you the television audience for inviting me into your home (I still miss Ho Babylon Minh’s place). This will probably be the first and last episode of Cooking With Ricardo that you’ll ever see.

Food Channel Announcer: You’ve got that right, Ricardo.

Guest chef: Oh, I’m not Ricardo.

Food Channel Announcer: You’re not Ricardo? Who the Hell are you then?

Guest chef: I’m Umberto his former friend.

Food Channel Announcer: Where the Hell is Ricardo?

Umberto (holding up a bone 🍖): Well, here’s a piece of him here. (Holds up another bone 🍖) And here’s another piece of him here.
(Smiles at the camera 🎥) I’m Umberto your guest chef and I’ve been cooking with… Ricardo.

-A short story written by
Christopher
Tuesday May 29th
2018.

Ho Babylon Minh: Former girl friend of today’s guest chef

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