http://slow.writerscafe.org/dom414 The original writings of author Doc Macabre en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776047094 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 A great brushfire arose in the field where a scarecrow stood. All the tiny varmints and snakes scurried to the outlying forest. Even the scarcrow, taking note of the disturbance, uprooted himself, stalked off, and was never seen again by provincial eyes, nor indeed, ever thought of except maybe on.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dom414/990396/ quirky quasi-pedantic weirdness http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dom414/990394/ Funny. More in my comfort zone than The Vampire Hunters. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dom414/990307/ You've never resented him more than you do now, as you gradually brake onto the shoulder. Lefty hums the same note circuitously like a mantra. After throwing the van in park and a moment’s indecision, you leave the engine run. Lefty is loath to hold a postceremonious debate about right or wron.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dom414/952418/ 　The hand throws you to the road so hard you shred your palms and upper wrists trying to brace yourself. So this is karma. Karma for strolling off while Lefty terrorized that Pistol River woman. People don't believe in karma until they're stranded on a barren road with four belligerent .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dom414/952047/ "Do you smoke?" She asks. "Oh duh. That's right, yes you do." Her words vaporize in a puff of breath, squashed by the great quietude that reigns over this abscess of buildings called Port Angeles with a dark, wet fist.Like a softboiled egg nestled with sadistic grace into a vise-grip, so the town si.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dom414/952042/  At the top of the stairs lay a quiet residential patch of moonlit lawns and white plastic houses. Nobody stirs. The night is ruled by inanimate chatter. A few flags clank elsewhere on poles, prouder this time of year. Blue swaths of light spill out picture windows across sidewalks, and the s.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dom414/952041/ On the way back up Main Street--a redundant sight by now but effectively shielding from the abrasive winds--you spot a convenience store tucked below the outcropping of a three-story business complex, its shadowy entrance hidden in part by a wide support pillar. A neon light in the window glows OPEN.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dom414/952038/   ". . . the gods of the heathen are stone and brass, and any attempt to deal with them otherwise is justly condemned."--Rudyard Kipling　　　　　From where you stand, all that's visible of Lefty are two grungy corduroy leggings and a pair of red Chuck .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dom414/952034/ There's no telling how long you stand there. All you know, with express gratitude, is Maddie doesn't ask why. She can hear it enumerated in your breathing. Matching her inhales to your exhales. Her exhales produce a softer smudge on the smudge of night, while your body temperature stays uncannily nu.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dom414/950980/ Reinstated behind the wheel, that undue sensation of being a stalked animal is gone. You're back in willful domain. If you wanted, you could whisk Maddie all the way to Capital Hill and never have to see any of these people or their Twilight or their Barney Fifes ever again. The Astro's V6 greets yo.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dom414/950977/ "Who Spilled Coffee On The Moon?" That's what Lefty lets the three of you know is the title of his newest composition he's tonguing down the torpid boulevard ahead, effectively snapping on porchlights and drawing strange bleary phantoms to their flower-silled windows. Florid people with too much fle.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dom414/950976/ The Astro's right where you left it, taking a well deserved rest along the quiet, downtown curbside. It's only been your steed a few hundred miles, ever since you traded the sleek-yet-claustrophobic Hyundai in for it around Crescent City, but those miles were, for the most part, seamless. There is n.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dom414/950973/ Second-Person, Dark Humor, Mind Bender. An experimental piece for me. Still linear but . . . oh, what's the word? Ambient. Go on, give 'er a shot. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/dom414/950564/