November Writin' #5--Vigilante Hamilton

So, i've decided that instead of strictly writing scary stuff, i'm gonna try other things throughout the month as well, so here's something that I guess would be considered comedy. It gets weird, I didn't really put much time in making it make sense. It's pretty nonsensical but I think some aspects of it are pretty good;


Hamilton swiftly walked down the alleyway, the jewel thief was close. Dakota Hamilton was a top rate gumshoe, and he had been hired to catch the elusive jewel thief known as "El Condor", no particular reason for this, it just kind of stuck. The year was 2345, and the place was "Newhattan" the floating city located right above New York City. Hamilton had set up his detective agency after a failed attempt at professional cat grooming. With the help of his long time friend and infrequent intimate partner, Indigo O'Leary, he was able to take on several cases and make a name for himself.

The detective peered around a corner, he could see a shadowy figure, this had to be "El Condor." Hamilton adjusted his hat for optimum intimidation, and slowly rounded the corner, "Ok, Mr.Condor, that's as far as you're going to go." The figure turned, Hamilton could see him better, he was an older, man, his gray hair was long and almost magnificent in a way, Hamilton would later write in his journal that he wanted to grow hair like that when he got older. The man looked at Hamilton, then in a gruff smokey voice he said, "So detective you've got me cornered, now what?" Dakota had not actually thought that far ahead, he drew his laser pistol and kept it pointed at the man's head.

"First things first, put down the bucket of the those precious gold encrusted, platinum diamond gems!" Dakota motioned with the pistol for the man to place the bucket in front of him, the man begrudgingly complied. Hamilton walked closer to the man, "I read your dossier, you don't do things for profit, who wanted these?" El Condor smirked, "My boy, I believe in the next few weeks, all your questions will be answered." Hamilton grabbed the man by his Hawaiian shirt collar, he stared him in the eye. That's when the red and blue of the police cruisers brought Dakota back to reality. He heard a familiar, Boston tinged voice, "Hey Dakota, thought you'd like the help." Hamilton walked up to Indigo O'Leary, the police already hauling the thief away in a prison capsule.

Later that evening Dakota found himself sitting in Pub #1566, one of the many conveniently automated drinking establishments found in Newhattan. Sitting across from him was Indigo, she was entering her order into Bartender #2890 main function's list. He enjoyed their nights together after big cases, they usually ended in sex. After the Bartender hovered to the bar Dakota put his hand on Indigo's. She smiled softly, but than pulled her hand from his, "Dakota...We need to talk." He felt his heart sink, there were a million different ways this could end, most seeming bad.

Indigo put her hands on her chin, still smiling, and never breaking eye contact, Dakota saw this as a sign, so he mimicked her. "I need to move on, you're just not that good at...this..." Dakota was confused, "What are you talking about honey." Indigo glared at Dakota, he felt his soul leave his body for a split second. "Don't ever call me honey again, ok?" He could definitely tell this was going to end badly now. "You're not good at being a detective, I end up doing all the work." Dakota frowned, "I don't think that's very fair to say, I caught that Condor fellow." Indigo shook her head, "No, you stalled him, while I did real work and got the police." Bartender #2890 came back handing Indigo her rum and coke, and handing Dakota his fuzzy navel, he drank it very quickly.

The two sat in silence for minutes, Indigo broke it after taking several drinks, "So, i'm gonna go start my own agency, and actually do a compotent job for once." Dakota, somewhat a lightweight, was already slurring his speech, "Thish ish shtupid Indigo, we're friends." Indigo put her hand on his, "Well...," then she got up, "guess things are changing." She patted Dakota on the back, yelling, "Thanks for paying for my drink!" Dakota sat at the both feeling sad and alone, he had just lost his best friend and infrequent sex partner. He thought about all the good times they had had together. Sure she didn't talk to him in highschool, or really in college, or even during sex, but he felt that they had formed a strong bond.

Dakota stepped outside, the cold sting of the air felt as if even mother natured was mocking him. As he walked down the street he heard a noise, "Help me!" It was a woman. Running down the sidewalk Dakota came upon an alley, at the other end a woman being attacked by two burly hooligans. Dakota walked up shouting, "Hey, you burly hooligans, unhand that voluptuous beauty." In hindsight calling the woman a "voluptuous beauty" would be seen as a mistake. The two men turned, one was simian like, his greasy black hair down up in a pompodour, the other in a three piece suit, with shiny black shoes, definitely a member of the "Dapper Gentlemen's Gang." The girl appeared to be in her early twenties, her black hair soaking, clung to her friegthened face.

"Oh yeah," said the dapper gent as he pulled out their trademark billy club, "What if we don't." The ape man watched silently, Dakota imagined that he couldn't be thinking of much. "Well than this!" Dakota said as he pulled out his laser pistol, this provoked the ape man, he charged at Dakota, his mouth frothing. The detective was quick, shooting him in his right knee, he collapsed sobbing like a large baby. The dapper gentleman stepped back, "You son of a bitch, you know who we are?!" The man swung his billy club in a large helicopter motion, yelling wildly. Before he could even move Dakota shot him in the foot, he fell crying uncontrollably.

Dakota sauntered up to young woman, grabbing her by the hips. "Little lady, I reckon you owe me a kiss." She was shivering, Dakota assumed this was due to sheer sexual intimidation so he moved in to kiss her, but she did not accept his flailing tongue and instead sprayed him with mace. Dakota screamed cowering in a corner, "Geez lady, I was just trying to help you!" The young woman walked up putting her hand on his shoulder, "I'm grateful, but you were very off putting...I'm sorry." He looked at her through his extremely blood shot eyes, he managed to almost smile. "You should do that for a living" the girl said. "What, I don't like mace," Dakota said. "No, help people, you know like a vigilante," the girl said

Dakota explained his job to the young woman, she smiled. "What if you did something slightly different," She was practically beaming. "What are you talking about, I'm  already a detective, I do good now," Dakota groaned, his eyes felt like they were sizzling. "You could be a superhero," She grabbed him by the shoulders shaking him, "and I could help you!" He was excited, but had to pee, so he accompanied the girl to her apartment, which was actually quite close. She was kind enough to let him use the restroom, as he peed he yelled, "So I don't even know your name." She replied, "Melody Nightingale." Dakota smiled, "That's a nice name, I hope we make a good team." He flushed the toilet, his mind at ease, he was excited to start a new chapter in his life.

November Writin' #4--Dog

Here's piece number 3(technically 4) the other piece is just about done, so I'll be caught up on posting stuff. If you do enjoy writing, i'd strongly encourage you to try this too, it's really fun and it's a good excuse to do a little writing every day; 

Ellis ran, his chest burned, his head hurt, and he was seriously dehydrated, but he knew that if he stopped it would almost certainly mean death. He could hear the beast closely behind him, it's breathing deep and angry. He turned for only a split second, he could only make out two things, it was getting closer, and its teeth appeared to be fairly sharp. The monster pursuing Ellis was a large black dog, he couldn't really tell what kind it was, but he didn't really care what breed of dog was trying to kill him.

Ellis' day had started out normally enough, he was simply walking down a sidewalk when he heard growling coming from behind him. Since then Ellis had been running for dear life. He wasn't sure what it was about him that made his canine attacker to be so hostile, but now wasn't the time for speculation. Ellis examined his surroundings; he had ended up down an alleyway, the back yards of houses on either side. It was a risky maneuver, but Ellis saw a white fence he thought he could scale. He looked back at the dog, it was slightly farther back, just enough that he could scale the fence to safety.

Ellis leapt with all his might, most of his upper half made the jump. He pulled himself up quickly, but felt a sharp pain, along with a tug. He looked down to see his heel and ankle in the dog's mouth; its teeth were sunk in his flesh. Ellis let out a startled yelp and kicked at the monster's head, but it did not back down. He kicked and kicked and kicked, some much so that the dog formed several cuts on the side of its face. Putting all his strength into it he kicked one more time, this time, knocking the dog off its legs. Ellis took this time to scale the rest of the fence, collapsing on the lawn on the other side, face down in the grass.

He couldn't move, he was so exhausted he couldn't move an inch, that's when he heard movement on the other side. "Get up, get up, get up," Ellis said quietly to himself, he didn't know if the dog could still find him, but he didn't want to take chances. He pushed himself off the ground and slowly stood, wincing at the slight pain in his leg. He could still walk, but he had to bear a sharp sting. As Ellis walked up to the small white house he could hear the dog taking deep breaths, trying to pick up his scent. Ellis picked up his pace, his breathing getting slightly harder.

As he approached the house he could see a figure inside. Ellis waved his hand slightly smiling. The person inside, a young woman, not any older than him waved back. Ellis heard more sounds from behind, he looked, the dog was digging a tunnel underneath the fence. Ellis felt his heart pounding faster in his chest, the girl noticed the concern on his face. She opened the door, "Is something the matter sir?" Ellis tried to catch his breath; he made it halfway to the girl when he heard her scream. Ellis felt his heart sank, he turned around to face the large dog, it had made its way under the fence.

The girl looked extremely frightened, but Ellis was more scared, he noticed the dog never took its gaze off him. The girl yelled, "Mom!” Ellis looked at her wild eyed he motioned for her to be quiet. The dog never even looked at her, no matter how loud she got, it became apparent that the dog was out for him. Ellis turned to the girl and quietly said, "Go inside, please call the police..." She walked backwards slowly, but when she noticed the dog took no interest in her she turned around. Ellis watched her slide the door closed and grab the phone. He stepped to the side, the dog taking small steps toward him.

Ellis looked to the left, a tool shed, the door was open. He ran to the shed, the dog began to pick up its pace. Ellis found strength to lunge into the shed and close the door.  The dog barked loudly as it rammed into the shed's door. Ellis looked around, he was disheartened that there were no chainsaws; there weren't even heavy duty gardening sheers. Ellis grabbed the sharpest thing he could find, a screwdriver, he whimpered, the dog breached the door, teeth snapping like a ravenous piranha. Ellis backed up against the wall of the shed. The dog busted through the door, charging at him.

Ellis put his arm out to shield himself, the dog grabbed it shaking it vigorously, it growled loudly as blood filled its mouth. Ellis pulled the dog closer, stared it in the eye and quietly whispered, "Fuck you," clenching the screwdriver tighter he rammed it into the dog's throat. Despite the screwdriver piercing its neck the dog continued to bear down on his arm. Ellis looked to his right; a single brick could be his last salvation. Grabbing the brick he hit the dog in the head, it whimpered slightly. Ellis struck the beast several times, he could see white from the dog's skull showing through its bloodied head.

Ellis smashed the dog in the head until his arm got sore, his clothing covered in a deep crimson. The dog unmoving still had its teeth in his arm, even though most of its head had been reduced to mush. Ellis breathed a deep sigh of relief; he dropped the brick, chuckling. As he pulled the teeth out of his arm a policeman entered the doorway, Ellis chuckled a bit, he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, he was very very tired.

November Writin' #3--The Plan

This is the piece that I did on Tuesday, but I never got the ending to work the way I thought it should. After trying a couple things I'd say that this works best, for now at least, like I've said before these are first drafts, I'll go back and make em' better; 



Bright headlights cut through the dark of the night. Nathan Boggs had come to a very grim decision; He was going to commit murder that night. The idea had come to him one day when he let his mind wander into darker territories. He had decided that his life was much too boring. His wife constantly away on trips and he in a lucrative, but lackluster, job. Nathan spent several weeks putting his plan together, and this was the night he would carry it out.

The first step would be abduction, he would pick up a stranger, a hobo, prostitute, runaway, it didn't really matter. He would offer them a drugged bottle of water and they would be out within minutes of drinking it. From there it would be a quick drive to the summer cabin by the town lake and he could do the deed in the basement. The large furnace would be able to incinerate any evidence of the crime. Nathan could sense that tonight would be a very interesting night.

As he followed the twists and turns of the road he thought he could make out a figure in the distance, standing under a street light. It appeared to be a person in a yellow sweatshirt, and dark jeans. The hood of the sweatshirt was pulled up, Nathan couldn't see who they were as he got closer he turned off the high beams of his car, the person turned towards him. He could finally see that it was a young girl, she was very petite but Nathan could make out a girlish figure underneath the baggy sweatshirt. Her black hair, up in a pony tail, clashed with the pale color of her skin, she looked like she was very worn out.

Nathan came to a stop several feet in front of her; he motioned her to his window. "Hello there," he said, "might you be interested in a ride?" She hesitantly came closer to him, "Thank you sir, but I don't even know where I'm going..." Nathan grinned at this, "Well can't let a young girl like you wander the dark streets alone, hop in and I'll get you to town." She looked at the ground, "I don't even know your name, doesn't seem like a good idea..." before she could finish this thought Nathan extended his hand. She reached out and shook the outreached arm, and he said, "The names Nathan, how bout' you?" She pulled her hand from his shake; she looked up at him, "Margret."

Nathan watched as she walked across the front of his car, his heart was racing with excitement. She got in the car, folded her hands together and stared at the dashboard. Nathan asked, "So can I get you water? You look a little pale; you could use a little H2O." Margret shook her head and quietly replied, "No thank you." Not anticipating a conscious passenger Nathan thought up an alternate plan. "It's awfully late, nothing in town is going to be open, how bout I take you to my cabin by the lake, you can stay there and then call someone to get you in the morning." Margret darted her eyes from Nathan to the door, she looked slightly concerned, and this worried Nathan. "I really shouldn't..." she said, Nathan's heart sank, but then she continued, "But I’m very tired, I could use the sleep."

They drove in silence for the rest of the drive, after what seemed like hours, they finally reached Nathan's summer retreat. As they stopped he picked up the tainted water, "Sure you're not thirsty?" She looked at him and said, "Honestly, I’m not a big water drinker." Nathan tried to hide his frustration, so he asked her a question, "So where are you from exactly?" She opened her car door, "well I guess nowhere in particular, I’m kind of nomadic." He chuckled, "fascinating, I haven't met many nomads." They made their way into the cabin; Nathan began flicking on lights in the main room. "You can sleep on the couch," in a last attempt he asked, "I can pour you some water just to have for tonight." She shook her head no; Nathan would have to improvise more.

"I'm going to go get some pillows, just stay here okay?" Nathan walked down to the basement, there he grabbed a small metal pipe left over from renovations the year before, and he had to get her unconscious one way or the other. He quietly reentered the room, the pipe behind his back. Margret still sat on the couch, not even facing him. With one swift blow Nathan struck the back of her skull she flew forward slamming her forehead on the coffee table. Nathan frowned, she got blood on his favorite coffee table book, he'd have to replace it in the future.

He turned her over and looked at the unconscious girl, he scanned her body several times and more dark thoughts began to brew. She was light enough that he could lift her so he carried her to the bedroom. Shortly after restraining her to his bed with his old belts he saw her eyes flutter to life. She looked at him, scared and slightly delirious, "You really should have drunk that water," he said as he took off his shoes. Tears building up in her eyes she stuttered, "P-please don't." He smirked, "Well I've come too far, so I can't at this point, I can get you some of that water, and it’ll be like going to sleep, promise." Margret began to sob; she nodded and could barely say "OK" before being overcome by her crying.

Nathan strutted back to the kitchen and poured the poisoned water into a glass, he was as giddy as a child on Christmas day. As he walked back into the bedroom he thought about how after tonight he would be a different man, a stronger man. After tonight he could do whatever he wanted. Before he could continue this train of thought he was startled by the sight of an empty bed, the belt restraints broken. His last thought was, "how did this happen" before he was struck from behind with the metal pipe he'd hit Margret with.

As Nathan came back to consciousness he tried to move his arms, there was resistance, he was tied to the bed with other garments from his closet. As his vision fully restored he found Margret at the foot of the bed, staring at him. "What the fuck?!" was all Nathan could say. The petite girl walked up next to him trailing her finger up his torso.  “I was going to be nice and wait until you fell asleep, make it peaceful, you wouldn’t have felt a thing, “she said unzipping her hoodie, “but you were so damn rude, well, I guess I won’t feel that conflicted now.”

Nathan stammered, “Wh-what the fuck are you talking about?” Margret opened up her sweatshirt; on the inside was a large knife. “I just wanted to try something…crazy.” She took the knife and ran the cold blunt side lightly across his skin. She wiped the tears from her eyes, smiling all the while, Nathan realized that he’d been deceived. He yelled, Margret grabbed him by the throat, squeezing his wind pipe hard.  She released his neck; he struggled to regain his breath as she climbed up on top of him. “Now,” she said raising the knife above her head, “let’s make this an exciting evening.” Nathan could only whimper as he watched the blade descend. 

November Writin' #2--The Corpse

This is technically the third thing I wrote, but the other piece needs some fine tuning. This is just another short story I wrote, this will probably go into whatever weird short story collection I'm making. While I don't think any of these are great, i like that I'm laying ground work for bigger stories in the future; 



Cliff grunted as he climbed up the rickety ladder, up into the attic. He winced with each step, his knees were stiff. He groaned as he could already feel the immense stuffiness and heat from the attic. Time had taken his toll on him, now in his late forties, Cliff was a tired man. He was tired of his job, his car, his house, but most of all he was tired of his wife Olivia. Sure in the first years of marriage it was wonderful, the future looked bright. As time went on, however, the polish on the world had begun to fade. Now Cliff found himself an aging has been, and every time he looked at Olivia he was reminded of how mundane his life had become. 


He poked his head up into the attic, the only light coming from outside, the sunbeams shining through shutters. Cliff was not a church goer, so Olivia had decided he could clean the attic Sunday morning. Even though he argued he'd never been in the attic, she insisted, her sinus were much too sensitive to be in a dusty attic. Neither of them had ever been up there for very long, they didn't even use it for storage, but there were a lot of boxes from previous tenants. So it was Cliff's duty to sort junk from collectibles. Cliff walked over to a large box labeled "shirts." As he reached to open the box he spotted something behind the boxes, in the corner. Cliff felt a knot in his stomach, as he stared at what appeared to be a shriveled corpse, curled up in a ball. He walked closer, surely this was just a long forgotten Halloween decoration, he thought. 


Cliff touched the shoulder of the body, it was dry, almost a paper texture. He looked at the face, it was very thin, and the nose appeared to have fallen off. He stared at body for several minutes, when, without warning the body stared back. Cliff gasped, so loud it caught himself off guard, he fell to the ground. The corpse looked at him and in a raspy voice said, "hello." Cliff was at a loss for words, this thing, this dead body, was talking to him. "It has been so long since I've had the pleasure to converse, might you stay and talk with me?" Cliff did not have many friends, and he seldom was able to talk to someone other than his wife, he was very lonely. He pondered the situation and gave a very calm, "sure." 


He sat down next to the body, they sat in silence for the next few minutes, the corpse broke the silence. "My name is Roger, by the way," only his mouth moved as the skin around it cracked and flacked with every word he said. Before Cliff could respond Roger said with a grin, "You must be Clifford." He was shocked at the notion of an apparently immobile corpse would know his name. Cliff replied, "Yes...but everyone calls me Cliff, might I ask how you know this?" Roger looked around before answering, "Well as you can see I'm a bit immobile," he shook slightly to prove his point, his limbs barely moved. "But I do hear alot, and I know all about you and...Olivia?" Cliff nodded, he knew he should have been more off put, but Roger seemed like a polite enough man. 


"Well she sounds like a very pretty lady,"Roger said. Cliff shrugged, "Honestly that woman has been nothing but misery for the last twenty three years." Roger managed to make sounds that could be considered laughter, "That's women for ya, misery." Cliff grinned, he had finally found someone that understood him. Cliff sighed, "Can't live with em', can't live without, isn't that how the saying goes?" Roger looked at the floor, and slowly turned his gaze up toe Cliff, "Well know that's not entirely true." The corpse stared at Cliff, unblinking until Roger wheezily said, " Why don't you just get rid of her?" 


Cliff looked at the body wide eyed, "I...I can't kill my wife...I..." Roger was quick to cut him off, "What, you love her?" Roger began to force more laughter out of his body, dust coming out with every exhale. "Listen Cliff, I was in the same place, you know what I did?" Roger got a more sinister look on his face, "It's real easy, just do what I did." Cliff became pale in the face, Roger continued, "Just put something in her meal, arsenic or something like that, it's not like there's ever any visitors, you won't be interrupted." Cliff stammered, "That's not possible, sure I don't love her like I used to, but she's my wife." Roger frowned, or a close approximation, and said, "well you obviously don't know what goes on here when you're gone."


The corpse rolled his eyes, "She has been seeing men for years now," he chuckled, "the things I've heard." Cliff felt his heart sink, the woman he'd given everything up for was cheating on him? "How can I believe you?" Roger looked at a vent, just past his feet, he signaled with his eyes for Cliff to look as well. Through the shutters of the vent Cliff could see their bedroom, with a perfect view of their queen sized mattress. "This isn't possible...If one of us is going to cheat, it should be me..." He could feel anger well up inside his chest. "Why stop there," Roger asked, "Like I said...teach her a lesson." Cliff looked at the body, "I can just end it, get the hell out of this rinky dink town, all I have to do is kill that bitch." 


A million thoughts raced through his head. How would he do it, suffocation, posioning, drowning, what? He inventoried every sharp, blunt, or otherwise dangerous object in the house that could do the deed. As he got up he felt a surge of dizziness brought on, he didn't realize how tired he really was. He looked down at Roger to see if he would agree, to Cliff's surprise the once very animate corpse did not appear to be moving anymore. He bent down wiping the sweat from his brow, "Hello, Roger?" The body remained unmoving. Cliff felt very tired, the heat had gotten to him. He laid down next to Roger and put his arm on his shoulder, it was still tough and papery, as he looked at the shriveled man Cliff drifted off to sleep. 


Olivia walked inside her house, she had just gotten back from Sunday morning service. "Cliff, I'm home," She said, looking in the living room for her husband. She made her way upstairs, calling his name once more. When Olivia reached the top of the stairs she discovered the ladder to the attic was still down. She softly laughed to herself, her husband probably fell asleep on the job again. "One of these days you are going to do some work around here," she said as she climbed up the ladder. 


Olivia reached the top of the ladder, scanning the attic her eyes stopped on a figure lying on the floor. Several days after discovering her husband's body doctors would tell her his death was brought on by heat stroke. Olivia was also told that victims of heat stroke will sometimes hallucinate which could explain why her husband was hugging the Halloween decoration that looked like a dead body

November Writin' #1-- "Lit"

So just me and my friends have decided we're going to try to write at least 750 words, so I'm going to be posting them up on the ol' blog here. So here's the first, it's just a short story, I might make it part of an anthology, not sure yet. 

Thomas sat in the backyard of his house, the air calm and quiet, it was a Saturday morning. While he was only seven years old, his parents felt he was responsible enough to take care of himself, as long as he stayed home. He didn’t mind being alone, he had found a new game to play. He smiled as he struck the match on the box he had taken from his father’s night stand. Thomas lowered the lit stick to a piece of paper, it moved slowly down the white expanse. He loved to watch the flames twirl and flicker as if dancing, he would become hypnotized.

The red hot flames crept along the paper, leaving only blackened ash. Since he had found this wonderful toy he had spent many mornings lighting random pieces of paper on fire and watching them burn, but today Thomas decided that today he would make the biggest fire yet. The fire had devoured most of the paper, leaving only a sliver.

Thomas picked himself up and walked inside the house, he needed something before he could play. Rummaging through the kitchen he found what he was looking for in the fourth cabinet, underneath the sink. Thomas had seen his father use this before when he cooked with the grill, it made the fire bigger. It looked like water, but Thomas could tell it was different, it smelled funny. He had just begun to learn to read, and he was proud that he could make out the word “lighter”, but the other word was odd, he spelled it out, f-l-u-i-d, but he didn’t know how to pronounce it. He placed the box of matches and the strange liquid into his Spiderman backpack.

He adjusted his blue cap and tightened the Velcro of his light up shoes as he prepared to go on an adventure. Thomas had decided he wanted to go somewhere special so he left his house and began to walk down the sidewalk. The small town of Crimshaw was quiet today, and aside from the occasional car driving by Thomas didn’t see any adults. The sidewalk came to an abandoned strip mall, the windows of the stores broken, the paint on the building faded. From where he stood, something in the alleyway between what used to be a hair salon and what used to be an electronics store; it was a large green dumpster. Thomas walked up to it, he looked around, no one.

Using a milk crate, he was barely able to see over the ledge of the dumpster. He could see rags in the dumpster; he was excited to see how it would burn. He took the cap off the strange water and poured it all into the dumpster. As he struck the match he thought he heard a noise, looking around he didn’t see anyone, so he continued to light the match. He held the match in his hand and watched the flame slowly move across the stick. He dropped it, the tiny flame quickly spread across the rags. This was not the same kind of fire he had come to love. This was a ravenous, hungry creature violent lashing the sides of the dumpster. Horrible dark fumes began to rise; Thomas coughed as the smoke hit his nostrils. He fell off the milk crate; he quickly pushed himself against the other wall of the alley.

A rumbling shook the dumpster, so violently that the heavy metal lid fell down. Smoke billowed out of the every hole it could find. An orange glow from inside grew brighter and brighter, then Thomas could hear screaming. What started as panicked mumbling became incoherent screeching. The thing inside the dumpster vainly hit the lid, it barley moving. Another burst was quickly followed by a hand pushing its way through the crack. It was red and bloody, steam came off of it.

The hand pushed harder revealing an arm it was blistered and bloody. The thing in the dumpster continued to scream, Thomas couldn’t move at all. A shoulder pushed through followed by a head, it’s hair smoldering. The burnt man stared at Thomas his mouth agape; he let out a stuttered groan as he fell, unmoving. Thomas walked up to the man, halfway in the still burning dumpster. Thomas bent down and picked up his Spiderman backpack, putting the box of matches inside the bag. He ran, out of the alleyway, down the sidewalk back to his home. He quickly grabbed a piece of paper, and ran to the backyard. He sat down, wiping a tear from his cheek. He lit the paper, his heart filled with terror. Within the flame Thomas could swear he could see a pair of bloodshot eyes staring back.