Tapioca Pudding: Introduction

He sits next to her and admires her light skin. She’s as lightly toned as a vampire and dressed in black; it only celebrates her demonic stature.
Her blonde hair is bleached white and falls to gently cover the wings of her eyeliner.

Jenny is perfect.

Jenny is an angel.

Jenny is everything Jeremy wants to be.

The classroom full of jaundice. The alcohol poisoning in this school. Its strong in this one, if you will. Mathematics is boring and useless. Trigonometry. I’ll use this tomorrow while I’m using Boolean algebra to write my grocery list.


I look all over the grocery store and I couldn’t find ‘Y’. Daydreaming is a bitch. My teacher Mr. Whiles writes the answers on the chalkboard as we pretend to listen. He would never have a pop quiz. His grade average would sink below the national standard and the school would lose funding for slutty cheerleader uniforms. Oh no.

Continue reading “Tapioca Pudding: Introduction”

Tapioca Pudding

When writers block ensues sometimes it’s nice to put aside the work you’re struggling with and write a completely new project. Sometimes what you write becomes mindless dribble and sometimes it becomes Tapioca Pudding.

Check out this new story on WattPad: https://my.w.tt/UiNb/rCvpZlFyRJ

The High Desert Sun.

I dedicate this story to my friends Sara, Mike & Alyssa and my family. Thank you all for supporting me.

The desert is and always has been a mighty fine place to run out of water when you want a cigarette. You simply cannot smoke with a dry mouth. The flavor of tobacco sticks and resonates in the most unpleasant way. That’s what I’ve learned from my last drag and the last cigarette I’ll be smoking in this God forsaken land.

When the methamphetamine kicks in we’ll start to sweat and surely that will cool us down before dehydration ensues and overcomes our moist bodies. You think you’ve dried out from crystal meth before but wait until your pores begin to drip in the hell hole or vacant sand lot that seems to stretch for miles. I’m not sure which this is but I can tell you that my body rivals only a Gods in the sense that I’ve built a tolerance or immunity if you will to every poison available this side of arsenic.

Bates is tripping. The poor bastard isn’t going to make it through this trip. I could have told you when we left the porch he would be overcome by the elements in no time and surely I’ll be left to carry his lifeless body out of the devil’s pit. That’s if the vultures and I haven’t begun to feed on the poor fool. Bates does have an aroma one could almost savor but maybe that’s my mission. Save Bates. Operation Save Bates. I was a fool not to see it before.

My tongue tastes the way ashtrays smell. I’m not sure I can take it much longer and taking a bite of Bates becomes even more or all the more imperative.

“Ouch!!!!” Bates exclaims! “What’s wrong with you?”

“Only a flesh wound!” I smile to ease the tension I can feel growing between us but Bates, a man of obsession and grudge holding can’t seem to let go of his arm.

I expected more of a copper taste from a man of your sort, Bates.

“I expected less of an iron taste from a man of your caliber, Bates!”

“Would you shut up and keep walking?” Bates appears to be angry and I can tell he’s become delusional as he’s now only responding to half of what I say. No mention of the copper.

The man tastes fowl as an ashtray but I was not the one to tell a man on the brink of losing it all he tastes of such! So for all intents and purposes today Bates tastes of the usual copper and I’ll not argue with him should that be what he wishes… wait? That’s me that tastes of copper. I’ve bitten my tongue while taking a small amount of Bates flesh for survival. I knew I was a God among men. Now, to make Bates taste my tongue, but how? surely, he’ll want to know what a God tastes like.

This triangle sure is in an awkward spot as if placed by our forefathers or extraterrestrial beings from a different universe or planetary system of our own and I continue to pace around it. The center is clearly where their ship was to land all of those thousands of years ago. I’m glad Bates and I are here to stop this scrutiny before it begins.

Bates? a strong man. Still bleeding and not a medic in sight. I wonder what happened to the poor bastard’s arm? Whatever got him took a bite out of my tongue as well and now the meth is really beginning to take hold.

“Bates, Have you got any more meth left?”

“The last thing you need is more meth!” Bates says as if he’s in pain.

“Bates! You’re bleeding!” I can’t believe my eyes as it looks as though one of the cowards, bastard extraterrestrial travelers has taken a bite out of Bates.

“Face us now you cowards!” I yell as I taste blood. It’s become apparent now that the radiation left residually from their intergalactic transportation has given me stage five lung cancer. I always knew this is how I would go, the bastards.

It’s true that humanity is surely doomed. In only a moment they’ve discovered my one true weakness. Lung cancer. Now I taste my mouth fill with an iron similar to what Bates tastes like. I’ll bite my tongue to distract myself from the pain of the slow cancer death I’m about to embark upon but still, operation save Bates must go on.

But.. Where has Bates gone?

“Bates! Bates you foul tasting bastard where have you gone?”

I can see Bates in the distance but surely I’ll swallow too much blood to reach him. “Bates you fool! I’ve got lung cancer. The bastards infected me with their powerful technology! Run to me, Bates!” I yell with the awful taste of copper and iron in my mouth. My mouth is turning into a lost item on the periodic table!

I’ll be dissected by scientists when I’m found despite not being an organ donor. These bastards aren’t taking my liver!

I run to Bates in haste when suddenly the bastard aliens red and blue rays of discovery shine down upon me blinding me with their flashing technology.

This entire damn wasteland is lit up! Surely, I must be living a dream. Quickly I put my last hit of acid under my tongue. If these bastards wish to take me they aren’t taking me without a trip.
If only I’d huffed more gasoline before we went on this dreadful journey.

Suddenly the wasteland is green and surrounded by a pyramid and chain link fence. Bates is a dead man. He’s much to close.

“Freeze!” The bastards yell and my body does just that. Overcome by anxiety I freeze in my tracks.

“Get on your knees with your hands at your sides!” They continue to instruct me in a much too hostile mannor. The bastards have Bates in their death machine. He’s a dead man I tell you.

I get to my knees and suddenly I snap out of my insanity. We’ve been saved! “Bates, we’ve been saved!” I yell but the foul tasting bastard doesn’t respond. “They sent the government for us, Bates!”

“They sent the government!” I yell. I suspect the army is on its way to take care of the bastards that bit Bates and gave me this black death, lung cancer.

“You have a right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can and will be used against you in a court of law.” The official says.

“I’m the hero! I’m the survivor you bastard. They’ve bitten Bates.” I yell with my face pressed to the grassland.

“He’s delirious. Sir, what did you take?” The official asks.

“Everything, you fool! We needed to commit suicide. It was our only escape from murderous torture or slow black death!” I tell them.

“We’re going to need paramedics fast. He’s a mess.” The official says to his superior.

“You must save Bates! This is operation save…” I gurgle as I become very tired; overcome by the officials secret technology. My face presses against the once desert sand now covered in earthly grass and I fall to a slumber. The bastards have won.

The End.

Sorry About The Bang: Introduction

– Feeling distress, especially through sympathy with someone else’s misfortune.

– A sudden loud noise.

I’d love to tell you that my heart and soul went into writing the note left on my bedside table but the truth is its very hard to write a suicide note without writing an autobiography. I wanted to keep it short and sweet much like my life.

Before you blow your brains out in your mothers basement you spend days, weeks, months? Contemplating whether or not you’ll blow your brains out in your mothers basement despite her telling you not to kill yourself in her house. It will affect the resale value. Personally I think murder and suicide houses are on the up and up considering everyone fascination with the strange and unusual.

You envision your funeral. How many people will be in attendance to celebrate your life and what would you say to them all if you could be there. You can’t. Your brains and skull fragments are scattered along the wall behind your bed. You don’t have to clean up the mess. You can’t.

At three A.M when I put my stepfathers twelve gauge shotgun in my mouth the only thing I could think to say to everyone I love residing in my house was ‘Sorry about the bang.’ As I enter eternal slumber I didn’t want to wake my loved ones. I wanted everyone to get a good nights rest before finding my lifeless body in my childhood bedroom.

I wasn’t filled with misery and despair. I suppose leading up to the hole in my head I did feel hopeless. I felt hopeless but also happy. I felt relieved for the first time in a very long time.

Have you ever woken from a nightmare, a bad dream and tried to fall back asleep as soon as possible to continue the dream or relive the vivid terror once more because it was more entertaining than anything you’ve ever seen in your mundane and melancholy life?

I didn’t want my life to be repetition. I wasn’t ready for the quick onset of reality and what it held for me but listen to me complaining to you, a total stranger. I suppose if more people had listened as you are I may not be laying in a pool of my own blood. They say once your heart stops beating you’ll stop bleeding. I must have had a strong heart because after I blew my brains out of the back of my head my blood continued to soak through my twin size mattress.

You might think I’m selfish or a coward for leaving this world so quickly and you may be right. The truth is I have no idea what life could have had in store for me and now we’ll never know, but I was bored. I think that may be why my skull is in pieces. Boredom. I wasn’t bored as in I had nothing to do but rather I’d done everything there was to do and I didn’t want to do it again.

They say a fatal gunshot to the head is painless but I have to tell you that they’re wrong. It’s painless in the sense that you don’t feel anything physical but for one moment you feel every single painful emotion a human being can feel.

I am dead. I am dead as a door nail and once again I’d like to tell you that I’m sorry about the bang.