Danny Machal.com

Short Story – Letters (GreatHites entry)

This is my entry for GreatHites #63.  Lot of good authors over there I’m competing with – extremely pleased with the turn out for this topic.  There is a bit of extra at the end of the recording so if you don’t normally listen you might check it out this one time.

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Download PDF of Silver Bullets (Letters) GH63 Entry

July 21st 1897

To my dearest friend and mentor Father Daniel,

I write to you with desperate haste.  I do hope the mail courier is able to procure this letter in a timely fashion for I require your knowledge and insight.  As you know, Bishop Crane bequeathed to me his post in the town of Fairview New Mexico.  The inhabitants here are finding themselves drawn to God and I find myself his living incarnation fighting for their salvation.  Silver fever has polluted the many souls here and they look to me to make it right.  We are also without a reputable physician so we have become reliant on the trite medical knowledge I acquired under Father Casper during my Monastery days.

The daughter of a prosperous business man Frank Winston, was brutally attacked.  The poor dear was taken from her bed while she slept by something awful.  She found herself clutching to life in their stable with a deep gash in her back.  Daniel, it was unlike anything I have seen in all my forty years.  No known animal or blade did that to her.  Towns folk here formed a lynch mob that did little more than prowl the out-land ranches and scare a few sleeping farmers.  These people are untamed and quick to band together, it makes me nervous.

I write to you because I fear something ungodly might be upon us.  Your work with the young Doctor Van Helsing will hopefully be able instruct me and guide me in this dark hour.

May the mighty shepherd keep you and bless you,
Father Thomas
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Give Blood and Thanks: Chapter 14 and 15

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Give Blood and Thanks: Chapter 14 and 15 – Download PDF

Chapter 14: Brotherly Love

Arthur closed the door behind him and stepped into the darkness of jack off room.  John was sitting in a cheap folding chair watching Remy on a closed circuit TV monitor.  They were alone.

“You need to keep your cool with this guy,” Arthur locked eyes with his brother.

“For what? He’s street walking scum,” John said.

“Serve and protect.  Not be an asshole and judge.  You don’t know anything about him.  A file full of records only tells you so much about a person.  That’s the problem with our line of work.  We see all the bad shit and let ourselves judge too quickly.  Let people surprise you once and a while.  If Dad would have learned that about me, maybe he could have been a real father.”

“Don’t even go there Art,” John interrupted and quickly changed the subject back to Remy.

“So what do you know about him that I don’t?” John said.

Arthur sighed at his brother.  He knew it wasn’t right to bring up Dad in a bad light around John but sometimes he couldn’t help it.  It was the part of himself that he shared with all little boys who hated their fathers.  The deep parts of yourself can’t be contained all the time.  Sometimes, you’ll slip out a little bit of evidence about how you truly feel.

“I know that deep down Brody is a good man and deserves our respect.  I know that he has seen a lot of really bad shit in his day.  The world doesn’t appear the same to him as it does you and me.”

“How do you mean?” John asked.

“We still have a bit of rose colored tint to our glasses John.  We can still see beauty and have hope for the future, shit like that.  Remy sees life and death, always.  He’s a survivor.  You play god long enough like he has, and you become the walking grim reaper.”

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100 Words – The Games We Play

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I drove my silver 1932 Roadster down to the Boardwalk.

This car was a real panty dropper, but I preferred to pay for the good stuff.

I blew my wad on the hooker and hotel.

Didn’t matter.

Payday was right around the corner.

I cruised around town to Marvin Gardens to get some blow, the good stuff.

Not the third rate shit they cut with baking soda over on Baltic Ave.

Live fast, die young.

I drove the panty dropper toward my house on Pacific to get high and die.

Didn’t see that damn cop until it was too late.

Character Sketch to Flash Fic – Brandon Garcia

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I pulled another cassette from the old box.  Things were beginning to go in slow motion for me now during these listening sessions.  I imagined the classical ambient musical score at the end of a war film.  The brave solider you fell in love with getting killed in a hail of gunfire.  Red mist exploding from each new bullet hole as the actor convulses from the supposed inertia of it all and you living that split second of life in minutes on film.

Bach’s Cello Suite One in G major suites me just fine.  I hear it, as my hand clutches the plastic  tape of the blind man.  Each quick pull of the cello’s bow resonates within me and I slow my breathing.  I rub my thumb on  the pattern of scratches in the plastic.  None of these tapes have numbers, just a series of scored  hash marks to indicate their order in the sequence.  I put on my headphones and push play.  Bach fades out and the black curtain descends as the blind man once again narrates our life.

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100 Words – That’s not thunder, it’s …

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Little Jacob took cover under his Blankey to hide from the scary noise.

“Dad?” he squeaked out.

Nothing.

A massive boom and crackle forced him to put his hands over his little ears.

‘Just a bad dream. Mom says they can hurt me,’ he thought.

His eyes began to burn and water. Was something on fire?

He left Blankey’s protection and crawled on his knees to see if the door was hot.

He dropped to the floor at the sound again and wept.

Jacob heard Mommy’s muffled voice, “Go sleep downstairs, that is disgusting. No more chili night.”