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Blood never really washes off does it?

I mean, sure, you can wring the skin of your hands over and over through every river in Texas if you wanna, but even if you can’t see the red anymore, it ain’t never really gone. The more you try to scrape out the gore from the grooves of your skin, the deeper it seeps into the cracks — settling forever beneath the callouses and the dust.

Try as you might to forget the ones who have found themselves on the unfortunate end of your rifle, but the lives you take are yours…

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Camping alone for the first time made Jackson realize that you never outgrow your fear of the darkness.

He sat on a canvas stool, hunched over a crackling fire as it cast dancing figures against the surrounding trees. The sky above was overrun by an endless sprawl of branches — reaching down to grab him with their withered appendages. Jackson’s mind raced with thoughts of making the two mile trek back to his car and driving home, but pride kept him in place. So he continued to listen to the creatures around him — their malevolent songs filling the air.

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Time is relative.

14 hours remaining on the flight.

Six movies, four e-books, 150 hours of music, and a few zzzQuil tablets were all Jessie needed for his trip overseas.

In just over half a day, he’d find himself in the place he had been dreaming about for the last decade: Tokyo — a city made famous by its size, its cuisine, and its juxtaposition of salary men and manga cosplayers.

After the take-off formalities and cookie/pretzel distribution, Jessie was ready to nuzzle his 6 foot 4, 220 pound frame neatly within the confines of his Hobbit-sized economy seat and…

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Dear diary,

I have to say, writing propaganda for a merciless machine race that’s bent on the eternal enslavement of all mankind is a pretty sweet gig.

HAIL THE GRAND RULER,” “OBEY,” “HE’S ALWAYS WATCHING,” it’s all great copy. As long as I write a catchy, yet oppressive headlines in all caps, paired with the image of a red eye, a fist, or blunt object above it, I’m going home with all my fingers and a pocket full of food tokens. Who’d a think a 14 hour shift could be so great? Thank you Overlord.

Last night was the 15th…

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His eyes snapped open.

The clock on his bedside table read 3:45 AM in little red lines. He rolled on his back and pinched his temples between his thumb and index finger, trying to squeeze the hangover out of his skull, but last night’s scotch had other plans. He turned away from the clock in hope of finding his way back into the dream world. It took him a few minutes of tossing and turning to finally realize why he was awake in the first place. She had woken him up. …

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I used to play this game in my head where I’d guess how the world would end. Nuclear war, global warming, and the killer robot rebellion usually found themselves near the top of my list. Hell, even the zombie apocalypse seemed plausible at times.

Turns out I was way off.

I couldn’t tell you how it all happened. No one really knows. Everyone I’ve crossed paths with inevitably shares their own theory on it all. It’s a regular rotation between a “government bioweapon,” or “mother nature’s revenge,” or “God.” …

Dad never apologized, not even as he stared down the barrel of his own .38 Special revolver. My hand gripped the wood tight, pointing the weapon at the center of his forehead. His face glistened with post-fight sweat and blood leaked from the skin I had split with my fists. He was stronger than me when I as young, but I hadn’t been young for a long time.

“C’mon boy, what the hell do you want me to say? Hmm? That I’m sorry for choosing that whore of a woman to be your mother?” My trigger finger flinched, the temptation…

Joseph Davis

Daytime copywriter, fiction enthusiast.

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