boo

The cemetery spread along the area known as Devils Abode.

The Devil’s Abode was special cemetery where only those who were particularly nasty while living could be buried.

I know what you are thinking. It isn’t just criminals that inhabit this hallowed ground.

Some criminals can be down right pleasant in comparison to these monsters.

This Cemetery is for the worst offenders of societal order.

The woman who insists on paying with a written check for a pack of gum, does nothing but infuriate the self righteous road rage maniac next to her plot.

Astral channels buzz to life at night with long debates, between organic anti-vaxxers and a pack of old ‘Right Wingers,’ who have so much passion for their political opinion, they would die twice just to see those hippies wiped from the planet.

I sit here watching it all, leaving notes on the front of their caskets.

No one knows who the passive aggressive one is here, but they ALL hate their dead guts.

Mondays Finish the Story – August 31st, 2015

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© 2015, Barbara W. Beacham

© 2015, Barbara W. Beacham

September 4th, 2015

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ufo-788746_1280

The music was loud and thumped through every rivet of the hull. A party at sea meant you could make as much noise as you wanted.

“Where are we?” the young party goer shouted as she leaned into the Captain’s ear. Her body bopped and swayed with the music.

“About fifty miles off the coast of San Diego,” he shouted back.

“Cool!” she took a sip of her mixed drink as the Captain beckoned her ear back with a wave of his finger.

“Gotta be careful out there though,” his beard tickled her ear.

“Why?” she giggled as the Captain pointed his finger skyward.

Her drunken gaze struggled to follow it but her wide eyes told him she was sober enough to see them.

A big circular object twice as wide as the ship was spinning very fast above them. The other party goers were quickly ascending skyward in bright beams of light. Each body seemed to shoot up in rhythm with the beats.

He took her hand gently and kissed it smiling at her.

“Pleasure,” he said as her drink fell to the ground and her grip snapped away.

One by one they were all taken until just the Captain remained. His swift salute dismissed the giant craft and it disappeared in the blink of an eye.

He gathered a fresh box of black trash bags and started to clean up, bobbing his head to the music as it still blared. Human trafficking has gone interstellar.

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Sunday Photo Fiction – August 9th 2015

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Docked sail cruise ship at night

spf

August 12th, 2015

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moon-and-sky1

A sinister cosmic force wanted to end our species. 5000 years ago Asteroid 376GH was gently nudged toward planet Earth’s orbit.

A slow death.

We would know it.

We could see it coming.

If only 376GH had the courtesy to hit directly and not at an angle we would have had a chance.

Angular touchdown in the Siberian Tundra gave us all a week of pause to enjoy the Sun one last time.

The Sun.

In its last moments looking like a full moon peeking through a cloudy night sky we were suffocating.

Appreciate the gift 376GH gave to you.

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PHOTO PROMPT -© Madison Woods

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Friday Fictioneers August 7th 2015

 

August 7th, 2015

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enjoythegoathead

The petroglyphs told the story of an unusual event.

Troy looked up from his phone, “What is it?”

This was George’s chance to finally connect with his tween Grandson. He wasn’t enjoying this outing to the Natural History Museum as much as he hoped.

Troy looked backed down to Facebook.

George began, “Long ago, ancient coming of age boys would run naked through the forest with soda cans tied around their waist.”

Still looking down -flicking that thumb.

He continued, “Goats have a natural affinity for eating aluminum so they would release hundreds of them to give chase to the boys.”

Nothing. Flick, flick.

“The first one to get a chunk bitten out of his ass became the Tribal Elder.”

“See?”

With that Troy looked up to see his Grandpa’s weathered butt cheek. A piece was missing that had been used as a skin graft from an accident in his twenties.

“Ah! Grandpa that is so gross,” but he couldn’t contain his laughter. He quickly slipped his phone back into his pocket.

Connected at last.

2015-07-20-bw-beacham

© 2015, Barbara W. Beacham

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Mondays Finish the Story – July 20th, 2015

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July 24th, 2015

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ghostship

Jonas concentrated on his lunch trying desperately to block out the noisy lunch room. He read that if you could just imagine yourself vibrating faster and faster, you could leave your body. You could travel -to the astral plane.

“Jonas, stop being an idiot,” an apple followed the voice and crashed into the middle of his soup spraying beef broth all over his clothes. He looked up. His concentration, broken.

He wanted to leave his body. This small, weak and ugly body.

Jonas was approached by a strange man last summer and a conversation ensued that changed his life forever. He learned that the ethereal plane was real and that many real world objects were tied to things beyond the veil if only one could steady the soul long enough to see.

He took the same route home from school every day passing two massive old ship anchors where he saw the stranger. There was no sign of the man all school year.

One such day the school bully cornered Jonas and knocked his head hard into the ground. Jonas lay there for a long time, long enough for the blood on his smiling lips to dry.

“You okay boy? What you smiling for?” the pastor from the local church knelt next to him. Jonas pointed a finger to the sky.

There, in the birth of twilight, the belly of a ghostly ship floated in the clouds tethered to the two old anchors. From the deck he could see the stranger, waving and smiling.


106-05-may-24th-2015

A pair of Anchors

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spf

May 26th, 2015

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