Happy Thursday! As any college student knows, Thirsty Thursdays are a day to live it up and leave regretting your life choices for tomorrow, so today’s Gluttony Day word is…
Hedonist: a person who dedicates his or her life completely to the pursuit of pleasure.
Mac held up a brownie, winked at Tammy, and took a bite. She still refused to try edibles, despite her overbearing sweet tooth. It’s why everyone called her Tape Worm Tammy—no matter what she ate, she stayed bone thin.
This thought began to bother him. It bothered him as much as the sudden high. Pot doesn’t come on this strong.
Tammy wriggled, crawling out of her skin, a mass of worms disguised in a sexy flesh suit. They chortled, their infinite squirming selves having added a few special ingredients to his brownie recipe, preparing their meal for the feast.
Hope you liked this drabble! If you did, be sure to check out my latest release, These Walls Don’t Talk, They Scream. It’s a novel, not a drabble, mind you.
If you’re a writer, you might also consider submitting to the sci-fi/horror anthology I’ll be editing for Blood Bound Books, titled Crash Code.
Either way, thanks for stopping by. Talk to you soon!
Here’s a free drabble for you, but I’ll give you this trigger warning upfront: if you’re a college student currently working on final papers, skip this. Just go somewhere else, finish your homework, then, I dunno, play hopscotch or something innocent and happy.
Danny screamed. The whole library turned to look, but he wouldn’t stop. Even as the librarian issued a trademarked, hundred-decible shush, he wouldn’t, couldn’t cut the noise. He dug his fingers down his face, drawing blood from trenches that soldiers might’ve hidden in.
We had two days left in the semester—two days left to turn in all our work, so nobody gave a shit why he was screaming.
“Shut up, asshole!” Somebody yelled.
He raced from the room. His screaming didn’t stop until he threw himself from the roof.
His computer screen read. Hard drive error—‘Thesis.docx’ corrupted. Deleting…
I’m really excited about this one, folks. Won’t say too much yet, though–only that it’s coming May 25th, and it’s already hearing whispers of becoming a movie…
via These Walls Don’t Talk, They Scream
Here’s a free drabble for you based on a pretty damn 12popular fashion faux pas. Hope you enjoy my story “Eyebrows.”
I thought she drew ‘em on thick because she’s an idiot.
You should’ve seen them! Big as a finger, even at the ends, so huge and dark you’d think a cat left a piece of its tail on her.
My buddies and I joked about this all the time. My girl took that teasing like a champ—just the shit a classy chick puts up with, dating a mess like me.
Last night, I peeked through the bathroom door. Saw her wipe ‘em off. Saw the wires hiding underneath. She caught me looking.
Her eyes turned a bright blood red.
Here’s a free drabble for you!
The horse died during the rockslide. None of us did.
Lord Hammersmith had gone out of his way to purchase a luxury carriage, one with many small windows, so we were sprayed with glass as boulders pushed us along the road, pinning our cabin to a tree. Both doors blocked, and no window large enough for an arm to fit through, much less a man, meant we’d been festering for two days.
“Who do we eat first?” Lady White said.
“We’re civilized,” Lord Hammersmith shook his head. “We only eat the poor.”
He laughed quite heartily, and never breathed again.
…I’m apparently on a cannibalism kick these days. Don’t read too much into that.
Tires squeal across cool pavement. It’s been raining, and cars rush around the bend too quickly to notice the dented guardrail.
Below, James scrabbles for purchase, a piece of metal in his side, big as his fist. No arteries severed, no organs shredded, but he’s bleeding out.
One foot up, two feet back. Mud slicks the incline. He tries to climb, slides on down again, finally losing grip entirely. He tumbles and lands hard against the wreck of his car.
James gasps, clutching his side. Brakes screech. A car leaps the rail. He screams as headlights plummet right toward him.
Like what you see? Click through my blog for more free fiction, or my Patreon. Also check out At the Hands of Madness on Amazon for longer work. Thanks for stopping by!
Self-published work is sometimes a gamble. This is Jim Goforth’s first foray into the self-pub world, and I assure you, he’s doing it right. Harvester’s Trade is exactly the type of succinct, hard-hitting work an author should be producing, regardless of how they publish. Read it here, or read the review below:
This story of visceral horror is an excellent debut into the world of self-publishing. Jim Goforth, a highly regarded writer of this genre, certainly doesn’t hold back, keeping the adrenaline running from start to finish. It’s a quick read–more a sprint than a marathon–but this need to keep things to the point doesn’t impact the ambiance at all.
With ten characters getting relatively equal page time, it can be hard to keep track of them, but they’re distinct enough, and leave enough of a mark on the story, that this problem goes away within the first few pages. The end has enough twists and drive to leave you wanting more about what’s really going on, powered by visuals that could easily be translated to a pretty exciting film.
This’ll keep you glued to your Kindle all evening, so be sure to pick up a copy.
That’s all for now. Stop back soon for more reviews, news, and other fun.
If you enjoy my reviews, fiction, writing advice, and other posts, or just like me in general, please check out my Patreon. In exchange for helping me afford things like insulin, you get monthly stories, an annual collection, writing advice, and many other rewards. Thanks, friends!