Wednesday, February 23, 2011


The topic this week was romance. The prompt was to construct a love letter to the object of unrequited love and affection or compose a Dear John letter to the crusher (let them down easy or not…your choice). Whether my character actually let her fella down easy is a matter of perception, I guess. What do you think?


My Dearest Darren,

No doubt you’ve already sampled the champagne I set out for you. I know how much you enjoy a glass of something soothing after a hard day at the office. I hope it was chilled to your liking. I know how particular you can be. I’ll bet you think this little gift and this letter are from that woman Angela, don’t you? Well, they’re not. They’re from me. Remember me? We went out that one time three months ago last Thursday for dinner, and you never called me again. When you dropped me off at home, you said you didn’t think there was any chemistry between us, but I felt a real connection--like we were soul mates, you know? I knew if I gave you some time and some space that you’d come around.

I’ve been watching and waiting, my love, day in and day out, and you’ve been just the cutest ever. Leaving every day for your job at the exact same time and returning home at the exact same time every evening. I knew the second we met that you were punctual and responsible and you have proved my impression of you to be 100% accurate. I did tell you on our date, if you will recall, that my impressions of people usually are totally correct; although unfortunately, there are always exceptions to every rule. My regret is that I was sadly mistaken about you.

You were always upbeat and cheerful as you went through your days and I knew it was only a matter of time before you picked up that phone and admitted your error where I was concerned. The air was filled with so much electricity when we met and shook hands--I know you felt it too, so that’s why I had such a difficult time understanding why you made the choice to ignore what your heart was certainly telling you. Instead of continuing your life’s journey with the one who completes you, you crossed the line and took up with that other woman.

Last week, when I first saw you two sitting at our table at our restaurant sipping our cocktails, I was so confused and hurt. Yes, Darren, I was hurt by your display of affection for that person. I watched you two holding hands, laughing, your arm around her as you escorted her to and from your car; it was absolutely vulgar and so completely inappropriate. I mean, who is she after all? Some crude and uneducated street person, masquerading as a potential client of your firm, determined to pull you down into the gutter in which she resides? I always believed you had more sense than to fall for a ploy like that. But you let her lead you on, down that dark road, toward her depravity and away from your destiny with me.

I want you to know that I tried very hard to forgive you, my pet. I kept telling myself to just let you sow your wild oats--they all do it--and once you had your fill of the wrong side of the tracks, you would come home to where you knew you belonged. Patience has always been one of my greatest virtues, as have tolerance and faith in the human spirit, but even I have my breaking point, my limits if you will, and sadly, you have pushed me past mine with your cruel antics. You leave me no alternative but to say goodbye.

I realize it appears as if I am trying to be vengeful, but I assure you, that trait is not part of my make-up. I am giving this all I have to give to simply make it as clear as I can to you that there is no hope for us after all. I never thought I would have to turn my back on fate, but I know now in my heart that you are unwilling to accept the eternal love and devotion I have offered. It is with deep regret that I must inform you that we are finished, heart of my heart, forever.

In case you are wondering how I gained access to your charming apartment to leave my last gift, I intercepted that woman Angela on her way in. It was yet another knife in my heart dearest when I discovered you had provided her with keys to your sanctuary. But I know you are lost and wandering and that I must protect you from yourself and your irrational decisions. There was no way I could allow that filth to pollute the air you breathe, so I put her down right there in the hallway in front of your door. I left her lying there on the dirty floor where she belonged while I let myself in and placed my gifts inside. She was woozy from the injection so there was no scene as we exited the building and caught a taxi. We went somewhere quiet and I put her out of her misery. She didn’t go easy, my ray of light, but that was as it should be. That creature couldn’t pull you away from your intended and expect the end to be akin to kneeling on a bed of roses. She will not destroy any more lives, I assure you.

And you, my sweet? You deserve so much better, and that will be my last gift to you. I know your heart is breaking knowing our lives cannot reconnect, but there is simply too much water under that proverbial bridge. You should be starting to feel a bit slower and my words might be starting to blur by now since I’m certain you’ve already had several glasses. What I put in the bottle isn’t relevant since by the time you call anyone and hang up the phone, you will be gone. It won’t be painful for you, dearest, you’ll simply fade away. I know you wouldn’t be able to go on through your life without me at your side, but perhaps might lack the courage to end your suffering, so I have done it for you. My last gift. I am not one to be bitter.

I am certain it is becoming more and more difficult for you to hold this and focus on my words so I’ll close. Please do not despise me for ending our relationship, but you must see how deeply you’ve wounded me. Darren, you cannot play with a person’s affections and then simply toss them aside. You see that now, don’t you? A bit of good news before I sign off though. You’ll be happy to know I’ve already found another. We’re going to dinner on our first date this evening and I am already sensing a bond between us beginning to form.

Just relax. Perhaps lie down on the couch if you can make it that far. On my way to meet my future husband, I’ll be stopping by to collect this, the bottle, ice bucket and glass. I’ll wipe down any spills too because I wouldn’t want you to be found in disarray. You don’t deserve that. After all, as I believe I have already made crystal clear, I am not one to be bitter.

Yours always,

Wednesday, February 16, 2011


This week's prompt was a picture of a guitar. The possibilities are endless basing a story on a photo, and this little slice of life is what revealed itself to me. Please enjoy.


I don’t know why we do that. We look back, we second guess, we ‘what if’… I’m no different. I remember when it all began.

Walking home from school, I made sure I went by there, hoping that nobody had bought it. I had never seen anything so wonderful in my whole 13 years of living. As I got closer, I mumbled a prayer that it would still be there in the window, all shiny and golden and new. When I got within a few yards, I broke into a dead run. I had to know. My prayers had been answered. This time. It was there. Waiting for me. The guitar.

The first time I saw it, I knew I had to have it. It isn’t like I was some musical genius or anything. Hell, I probably couldn’t even keep a tune with a pair of spoons. But, I knew I had to have that guitar. It was to be my destiny--my ticket out. It was $45.00, so it was also unattainable.

It was at that very moment, on that warm Friday April afternoon, that my choice was made. Jake’s Emporium was the end of my journey and that day was my last in Woodreyville. Pop would have to find something besides me to use as a punching bag, and Mom would have to find someone else to clean her up and put her to bed after she finished her bottle. I knew that guitar needed me and I think maybe I needed it too.

Some boys at school talked about a movie they had seen about some guy who spent the night in a building so he could take something out of an office. His plan worked, so I figured mine would too. I went into Jake’s and slowly made my way to the storeroom. I looked behind me, but no one had noticed me. It used to bother me that folks never knew I was around until they needed something. This time I was glad I was invisible.

I worked my way behind a stack of boxes and waited. I knew Mr. Harcourt would be closing early because it was Friday and he hated getting to the buffet late after a lot of folks had picked through all the food in the line and made a big mess out of it all. When the place went dark and I heard the latch on the front door snap, I made my move. I went to the front, took the guitar, and went out the back door. I have to admit I took the candy bars Mr. Harcourt kept behind the counter for his low sugar attacks, but I needed them to get by and I was sure he could get more. I left him a note on some paper I found at the front. I told him I took the candy bars and the guitar, but someday I would pay him back. I meant it too. Come to think of it, I believe I forgot to sign my name.

Once I got going, I kept going. I did odd jobs when I could and stole when I couldn’t. I was sorry when I took things that belonged to other folks, but that guitar and me, we had to get somewhere and we had to be something. Funny what seems important sometimes. Food, shelter, good health? For me back then, it was just a simple day-to-day thing, and that was enough. Worries aren’t so big at that age either. You get or you don’t. Nothing else matters.

It’s been ten years since that April afternoon, and while I’m still waiting for my first Grammy nomination, I manage to work enough to keep from getting hungry. I met three fellows during my travels and we call ourselves a band. Georgie plays the drums, Tommy plays his bass, I play what they call lead guitar, and Sammie stands up front and does the singing. He’s really good and sort of pretty and the girls like him a whole lot. I’ve changed guitars and the strings on them lots of times over the years, but that first one--the one--is always with me. I bought a nice case for it to keep it from getting scratched up and I made sure I told everybody I know that when my time comes, I want it right next to me in the ground. That shiny gold friend saved my life and I want it with me all the way to the Pearly Gates.

Now that I’m making a little bit of money, I figured it was time to pay back. Our latest gig put us just a few miles from my home town so I headed to Jake’s first. I was told Mr. Harcourt passed not long after I had left and the Emporium was now one of those rent-a-movie places. I decided to send $45.00 worth of flowers to his grave, and then maybe that might square it. Mom and Pop were still at the house, and they let me in and showed me around to try to sell me the place. They told me they used to have a boy, but he wasn’t around anymore so they didn’t need all that extra room. I told them I’d let them know. I didn’t see the need to tell them who I really was either.

We played that bar and did well. Everyone said we should be recording our music and maybe we’ll look into doing that sometime. That old guitar and me are on our way to Ohio to play an arena. Sometimes I still think about Mom and Pop, living in that run-down shack just outside of town and I try to convince myself they came looking for me that evening I didn’t come home for supper. Funny what seems important sometimes.

Monday, February 14, 2011


As promised, here is the link to all the stories from Yvette's Short Story Challenge, including mine (Sanctuary). I highly recommend reading the original article (link included in intro to my story), then read the stories that were submitted. Everyone 'solved' the mystery in their own way, and they are all superb pieces. Enjoy.

Sunday, February 13, 2011


This is a story I’ve written in response to Yvette’s Short Story Challenge. Once they are all posted, I’ll include a link here for them too. I’ve included a link to the story that triggered this. It’s a fascinating article concerning a flat in Paris that was abandoned and untouched for 70 years and all the wondrous items found within, which included a painting of a beautiful and mysterious lady. The challenge was to put our own spin on it and mine is entitled Sanctuary. Please enjoy, and make sure you check out the article too.


“I’m telling you I am going in there, Brigston. Now that the old bat is out of the picture, I’m calling the shots from now on. Meet me there in one hour with the key or you will be looking for another meal ticket. Understand?”

When Geoffrey Brigston heard the dial tone confirming Brian Avery had hung up, he sat back in his chair and heaved a deep sigh. What a despicable creature this young man was. He wondered how a woman of such grace and kindness could have had a son so completely alien. Ellenoir Avery had been faithful to her family’s tradition her entire life, as had her mother and her grandmother. And now this sorry excuse for a man was planning to violate a sacred oath and break the trust that had survived three generations. While he would do all he could to prevent it, failing changing the young heir’s mind, he was powerless to stop him. The estate in its entirety was his to do with as he saw fit. The recommendation was clearly there in the will, but it was only that. A plea, really. If only Ellenoir had been able to see that her son would never honor her wishes and assume his duty. Honor was not part of his character.

Brian was pissed. He had arrived at the precise time, yet Brigston still wasn’t there. He’s too old, Brian thought, and I’m going to have to speak to one of my friends about getting this reassigned to a different law firm. My family’s been dealing with these jokers for way too long. Time for a change. The whole situation has gone on way too long. His nutty great-grandmother started this wacky business and no one has ever been able to provide him with an explanation as to why. The apartment is a piece of prime real estate and great-grandmother, grandmother and mother all made sure the rent was paid and that it was kept locked up tight. Since Ellenoir had a son, the duty fell to him. She told him that the lawyers will pay the rent each year, and it was his responsibility to make sure there was always enough money available. His obligation included informing his wife and children of all the facts to enable them to carry on in the event of his death or inability to continue as caretaker. Caretaker? Of? He was determined to find out.

Geoffrey arrived a few minutes late and apologized repeatedly for keeping his client waiting. He despised the young leech, but knew if the estate was assigned to another firm, everything the Avery family had worked to hard to maintain would be lost. He was determined to try to reason with Brian to protect that which he knew was of the utmost importance even though he had no knowledge of what it was he was supposed to safeguard.

As the lawyer turned the key in the lock, the tension in the air was palpable. Brian pushed him back and flung the door open. He tasted dust and stumbled in the darkness to find a window or light switch. He located heavy curtains and pulled them apart to reveal a large front room devoid of any furniture, but full to overflowing with an assortment of items. There was a collection of a dozen or so porcelain dolls in a circle in one corner, vase after vase overflowing with artificial flowers, stacks of books, many of which Brian recognized as first editions by well-known authors, and countless odd trinkets from eras unknown. Colorful parasols, stubs of carnival admission tickets, cocktail stirrers with umbrellas on them--all carefully laid out on the carpet. Geoffrey hardly knew what to make of it all.

Brian went charging into the various rooms and found them all to be empty, with the exception of what was most likely the master bedroom. There he came upon a luxurious four poster bed covered with fine lace, and a writing table in the corner covered with letters written on scented stationary--there was still the faint scent of lilac. More trash, he thought, letters are worth nothing. The books, dolls and the bed though, they might be worth some money. Then, as Geoffrey stepped into the bedroom, they both saw the painting on the wall.

She was young, dressed all in pink, ribbons adorning her golden ringlets, sitting in a field of multi-colored flowers, her empty hands open, reaching, seeking something not seen, her eyes tearful, her smile quite forced. Both men were quite shocked at the sight of her. Geoffrey was unsure of her identity and the sorrow depicted tugged at his heart. Brian, however, was trying to decide which appraiser to contact since this water-color of a sad-sack broad might be worth a fortune, even though no artist’s name was present.

“Well, that’s it then,” Brian said coldly. “A couple of pieces I can unload, dump the rest and sub-let this joint. Location like this? No limit to what we can charge. Get on that, Brigston, and I’ll call you in a couple of days to set up cleaning day. Bring trash bags and a dust mop, and we’ll have this place ship-shape in no time. One question though. Why in the hell is all this garbage in here and why was it kept so long and locked up like a bank vault? Makes no sense.”

Geoffrey had no answer, but in his heart, he knew there had to be a good reason. On his way out, he noticed Brian taking a gold letter opener from the desk and slip it into his pocket. It had jewels inlaid on the handle and was probably quite valuable. Probably take it to the nearest pawn shop, Geoffrey thought with disgust. He took one last look at the lady and told her he was so sorry, but he couldn’t protect her any longer. He scooped up the pile of letters from the writing table, determined to learn the identity of this poor creature and the reason for all the secrecy and seclusion. He returned to his office and awaited Brian’s call. If only his mind could be changed. The apartment lost in time must remain intact. He still didn’t know why. He just knew it must remain untouched.

That evening after dinner, he took the letters to his study. Each was dated, which revealed they were indeed from Brian’s great-grandmother Andrea’s time. They were all written by the young lady, whose name turned out to be Penelope. They were all written to Andrea and told a tale of love lost and the desire to simply disappear. Reading them revealed that Penelope had been the daughter of one of Andrea’s servants, who had died after a short illness. Andrea took the child into her home and cared for her until her 19th year, for which Penelope was forever grateful. Apparently, Penelope was to marry a gentleman in the spring, but he was killed by a band of robbers in the area and Penelope never recovered from the loss. She respectfully requested of her adoptive mother that she be allowed to take an apartment in the city, where she would be allowed to live her days out in seclusion. A tragic future for a beautiful and bright girl, but her request was granted.

The letters seemed a sort of journal the young girl kept, recording her thoughts and feelings to share them with her mother, even though she intended never to be in her company again. Geoffrey reasoned that following Penelope’s death, Andrea returned the letters to the writing desk out of respect, placed the girl’s favorite treasures carefully around the place, and made sure the apartment remained in the family. Out of her strong love for the girl, she instructed all that followed that none were to enter--ever. The memories were too painful. Geoffrey planned on returning the letters to their rightful place on the writing desk, and made up his mind to say nothing of what he had discovered. Geoffrey knew Brian would try to cash in somehow on the history of the place and all the mementos therein, and he could not allow this young lady’s name and heartache to be used that way.

Several days passed with no call and Geoffrey hoped against hope that Brian’s attention had been drawn elsewhere. After almost two weeks went by with no word however, Geoffrey became concerned. When he arrived at the Avery home, there were police cars everywhere and an ambulance stood, its doors wide open, waiting. He was stopped at the door by a detective, and after identifying himself as the family attorney, was told that the housekeeper discovered the owner’s body when she arrived for work. She was scheduled to clean weekly, but had been ill and came today to make up her time. Apparently, Mr. Brian Avery had been dead for some time, murdered actually. His throat had been savagely slashed from ear to ear. No weapon had been found at the scene and the detective said he would keep Geoffrey apprised of the status of the investigation. Geoffrey knew where he now needed to go.

When he entered the apartment, everything was as it was on their first visit. Evidently, Brian had not come on his own to remove anything. He felt a chill, but knew he must go to the master bedroom and look upon the lady in the painting one last time. As he entered the bedroom, he felt light-headed and sickened, but no actual fear. It was just as he had somehow known. The lady’s previously empty and open hands now grasped a bloody letter opener with jewels inlaid on the handle. Her tears were gone and her smile was warm and inviting.

“Everything will be alright now, Miss Penelope,” he said softly. “You will not be bothered again. Promise.”

He pulled the curtains closed and the place was enveloped once again in total darkness. He locked the door and returned to his office, planning to place the key once again in his safe. Brian had been the last of the line. Geoffrey would take the duty now as his own. Somehow, he knew the lady would want it that way.

Wednesday, February 9, 2011


The prompt this time was such a super idea. We were told to grab the closest book at hand, go to Page 56, pick out the 5th sentence, and that was to be our starter sentence. How wild is that? My starter sentence, as you can guess, was ‘Very dead’. Right up my alley. What this came from was a book I’ve just recently finished and must recommend it highly. It is a thrill ride and a half from beginning to end. Definitely make sure you read this one. It’s called Fever Dream, from 2010, and it’s by Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child. Without further ado, I offer you Committed.


Very dead. Yep. I guarantee it, so no worries. I know what you’re thinking--that dead is dead. I used to believe that too, but now, I know better. You can’t just make them sort of dead. You have to make sure they are very dead. You think I’m crazy, don’t you? Well, I am. Like a fox. Let me explain.

The first time I ran across one of them was eight years ago while I was living in Detroit. I had always known I was special in that way, you know what I mean. That I was a man who could see below the surface. That I could see behind the mask, as it were. You still don’t get it, do you? Okay. I’ll be blunt. I can recognize them anywhere, any time, in whatever form they’re using. Surprised?

Not being gifted in the way I have been, I’ll bet you’re wondering who they are. Whatever you do, hear me out because I don’t want you to get all caught up in stereotypes. We’ve all seen the movies, watched the TV shows, read the books, and developed images in our minds of, well, the things that they are. They are not from Venus or some other outer space region. They are not flesh-eating zombies or howl-at-the-moon werewolves you’ve seen on the late, late show. I’ll admit that I’m not positive about where they originally came from, but I think it’s probably from underground somewhere. Maybe.

All I know is they’re evil to the core and they’re here. They put themselves inside humans--I’m not exactly sure how they do that yet--but I always know when they’re in there. It’s the eyes, you see. I read in a book once that the eyes are the window to the soul or something like that. Now, I don’t know about all that soul stuff, but when I look into the eyes, I can see the evil and I know it’s one of them. Then I have to kill them. But, don’t be scared about it or of me either. It has to be done. Otherwise, they’ll just take us all over. See?

Going back to what I was saying before, about that first one in Detroit, I had just left work and one of them came up to me right there in the street. I was walking to the drug store for some smokes, and it was kind of late and there weren’t too many folks out at the time. It stepped out from one of the alleys and grabbed my arm. When I looked into its eyes, I knew. I took my knife out, the one that I’ve carried since I was a Cub Scout, and I stuck him good. I noticed right away that they make weird noises when you’re taking them out, so I promised myself that in the future, I‘d go for the throat first. Wouldn’t want them calling out to others of their kind to come and help or anything. I stuck him a few more times just for good measure so he wouldn’t get up. You can’t let them get back up because they know how to fix themselves if they’re not all the way dead. So, I make sure.

I ran into a few more of them while I was living there, but I took care of them real good. There was some talk at work about people finding the bodies around the city, but I couldn’t let on what I knew. I couldn’t let it get out that I was the one who could identify them and wasn’t afraid to take them on. Some of the guys at work started looking at me kind of funny after awhile, like I knew more than what I was telling, but I figured maybe they were starting to get taken over. The problem was, they were my friends, my brothers, you see. No matter what ended up being inside of them, it would always be that way. The only right thing I could do at that time was just to leave town.

I spent some time in Frisco, the Windy City, the Texas Panhandle, and it was always the same. After I would take a few of them out, those things would set their sights on those closest to me, knowing I couldn’t gut a friend, even to remove the evil within. The only thing I could do was just to keep moving on.

I’m currently living in Miami, the land of beautiful people and sunshine. There are so many people here, and of course, I know exactly what that means. Then again, now so do you. Right? With all the constant coming and going, I must be hyper-vigilant, but I haven’t run into any of them just yet, but I know it’s only a matter of time. They’re here. Somewhere. They’re everywhere.

I did get hired on real quick, which is always a good thing, so I was able to find myself a nice quiet place on the beach. The view is wide open on all sides, so none of them can ever sneak up on me. You have to be careful; they’re known for that. In spite of my previous bosses acting kind of strange around me, they still always refer me well to my new bosses, and they should, really. I’m very good at what I do. Of course, I’m talking about my job here, not the locating ‘them’ thing, although now, you know I’m good at that too. I love my day job. I always have. Especially our motto. Protect and Serve. That’s what I do.

Wednesday, February 2, 2011


This time the prompt was a starter sentence. “I stepped out into the frigid cold, instinctively I cowered into the depths of my heavy coat, shoving bare hands deep into its pockets.” The word length was to be under 1500 words and the topic was Possession. Having things that belong to us is important, but is it possible to give that too high a priority in our lives?


I stepped out into the frigid cold, instinctively I cowered into the depths of my heavy coat, shoving bare hands deep into its pockets. I couldn’t remember if I wiped down with my sleeve whatever I had touched, but there couldn’t have been that much. After all, I was only inside a minute or two. I was sure no one saw me, especially with this near-blizzard snowfall going on. Most people are safe and warm at home on this dreadful night. I would have been too if the evil man hadn’t taken it from me. It was supposed to be mine. I needed it to be mine. But, he wouldn’t give it up, so I took it. And now it is. Mine. It wasn’t my fault, but I’m sure you know that. If he had just given to me what was rightfully mine, I wouldn’t have had to follow him home to confront him about it. He kept trying to push me back outside and saying he was going to call the police and have me arrested. Arrested? Me? For what? Taking what was meant to be mine to begin with? No. I tried to reason with him, but he wouldn’t listen. He pushed me really hard against the wall by the door, and so I hit him in the head with the ashtray on the small table by his front door three---one, two, three times. It was all his fault though, but I’m sure you know that. When I got back to my flat, I took one last peek over my shoulder, but I hadn’t been followed. I took it from my pants pocket, where it had been brought safely to its new home, and I placed it with the other two. Then, they were three---one, two, three.

I should be calmer now, but I am not certain how to work my way through the events of today. All should have been complete this evening, but the evil man almost ruined everything. When I went out to the grocery this morning and I passed the novelty shop on the corner, I saw them and knew they had to be mine. One was red, one was blue and one was green. I went into the shop and I asked the man behind the counter how much he wanted for them all. There were three---one, two three of them, you see. He told me they were the last of their kind and once he sold them, there would be no more. He wanted $10 for the whole set because he told me that they play a little tune when you use them. I told him I didn’t care about any little tune. I just needed to have them all, but I didn’t have all of the $10. I asked the man if I could get two of them and come back this evening for the other and he said that would be fine. I was so excited. I took the red one and the blue one home and put them on a stand I made for them and it was so sad because there was one empty place. But not for long.

It had already begun to snow, but I needed to get the rest of the $10, so I locked up my flat with all three---one, two, three locks because you just never knew about people. My landlady is the only one I ever allow in my flat to see all my sets, and she promised she wouldn’t tell anyone that I had them. They are all such beautiful and perfect things. Three---one, two, three in all of them. I have china dolls, I have pens and pencils, I have mugs, I have drinking glasses (although I would never drink out of them), and so many others. All the same---all the last of their kind---all sets of three---one, two, three---all mine. And one empty space. So sad.

By the time I got outside, it was already hard to see with the snow coming down so heavily. Even though it was so cold, I decided to walk to the train station to get the rest of the money that I needed. The train station was a long walk for me, but I was certain I would be able to get the rest of the money I needed there, especially today. When the weather was bad, a lot more people were in the train station and they were all in such a hurry and not calm and it was easy for me to get some money. Sometimes people would just give me money if I asked them for it after I explained that I needed it to complete a set of three---one, two, three. Other times though, I had to take it from them because I needed it to complete my sets and they didn’t. When I got there this time, there was so many people, and they were all in such a hurry and running around. No one was being very nice and I didn’t want to take the time to explain why I needed it, so I decided to just take it. There was a woman on Track 9 standing by herself talking on one of those phones you can take out of your house and still talk. I walked up behind her, pulled her purse off her arm and stabbed her three---one, two, three times with the nice sharp knife I take with me when I go out because you just never know about people. When you do it from behind them, you don’t get any of their blood on your clothes, which is a good thing because then you’d have to take your coat off before you could go anywhere else, and I couldn’t do that. I only had three---one, two, three coats on and there was no way I could have taken one off, but you already knew that. I pushed her down onto the tracks and no one even noticed. People never do when they are in such a hurry and running around.

I took her wallet and dropped her purse onto the tracks and went outside and saw that there would be enough money for me to get it. I practically ran to the novelty shop and I was ready to get it so I could complete my set, but the evil man was in there and he already had it in his hand. I told him he couldn’t have it and that it belonged to me and that the man behind the counter said he would keep it just for me. But they both laughed at me, and the man behind the counter said whoever had the money could buy whatever he had. I told him it wasn’t right. I told him I already had the other two and now I had the money to get number three---one, two, three and he couldn’t let someone else take it. The evil man told me he had already paid for it and I couldn’t have it and put it in his pocket and walked out of the store. The man behind the counter came around to where I was standing and told me to get out of his store and not to bother him anymore. I stabbed him three---one, two, three times with the same knife I stabbed the woman at the train station, but it wasn’t my fault, but you already know that. I got some blood on me that time, but it was snowing so hard, you couldn‘t really see it. Besides, I had to go after the evil man. He still had it.

I saw him walking and that was good because I always walk. He turned down the next street and went up to one of the houses and I was right behind him. After he unlocked the door and started to go inside, I went in right after him. You already know what happened after I went in, but it wasn’t my fault, but you already knew that.

The longer the green one is where it belongs with the other two, the calmer I am beginning to feel. All is never right with the world until there are three---one, two, three. I am truly enjoying looking at my new yo-yo’s. I wonder if someone else will be taking over the novelty shop soon. I didn’t have to wait too long after the last time this happened…