http://slow.writerscafe.org/The%20Lonely%20Stranger The original writings of author Creepy Swine Guy en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776183208 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 Just a blast to announce that The Hanley Chronicles is now a novel. So all of you who followed my little story from the beginning can now see how it ends ... Find it @ ghmonroe(dot)com/index001.html http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/The-Lonely-Stranger/2795700/         Tess Yancy stepped onto thecrosstown bus, tossed four quarters in the fare box, and headedtowards the middle of the bus where there were empty seats to befound. As the bus lurched forward, the voice coming from its radiospeakers read the sports he.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/The-Lonely-Stranger/2785409/     At seven-thirty Tuesday morning, the bell above the front door at Something's Brewing signaled the arrival of Mark Orosco at his regular weekday time.     “Good morning Mark. How are you today?”    “Hi Trisha,” Mark said as he .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/The-Lonely-Stranger/2489865/     The man was tall and thin, maybe six-four and a hundred-eighty pounds. He was moderately handsome, but that had nothing to do with Kate's trance. She knew him. Well, she didn't exactly know him, but she knew his face. She'd never forget his face. You don't forget the face of a man.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/The-Lonely-Stranger/2487236/     By now, there were more than a half dozen officers on the scene and one more car was easing to a stop. The officer who'd been making life-saving efforts peeled his gloves off and shouted to the one who'd been first on the scene with him. “Carson, can you bring me a sheet?&rd.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/The-Lonely-Stranger/2487228/     Kate turned and sprinted back to the front door, and jerked it open.    “Casey, call 911 now! Someone's been shot.”    Kate ran back around the corner to the man who was face down at the bottom of a long, shimmering crimson stain smeared d.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/The-Lonely-Stranger/2487227/     “That's a wrap,” said Kate Overton as she took off her glasses and rubbed her temples. “Send it to press.”    “Thank God,” said Joe, as he left to get the presses started.    Everyone hated nights like this, they ha.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/The-Lonely-Stranger/2487219/ One night, when Kate Overton stops to pick up a few things on her way home from work, she experiences a life-altering event. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/The-Lonely-Stranger/2487217/ The Hanley ChroniclesThose of you who read and enjoyed my first cluster of chapters of The Hanley Chronicles will be pleased to know that I have completed the first draft of the story and am 86% of the way through my first pass edit. The Hanley Chronicles will have it's Launch Day sometime in 2019 o.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/The-Lonely-Stranger/2111104/ Sometimes you hear that introand you gulp back the memories.It starts, and it's that song.Some songs remind you of a time,Some songs remind you of a place,and some songs remind you of a person.Some songs remind you of all three.Those are the songs that make youwant to stop the music, or changethe st.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/The-Lonely-Stranger/2053592/ I fear that the audio clip of what went on in that school will haunt me forever ... and I wasn't even THERE. I wish I'd never heard it. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/The-Lonely-Stranger/2006900/ A night of catfishing takes a bit of a turn. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/The-Lonely-Stranger/1988943/ http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/The-Lonely-Stranger/1901225/ http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/The-Lonely-Stranger/1901047/ http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/The-Lonely-Stranger/1901044/ Somewheres today, someones died and someones will die.Red-eyed spouses will look at houses that are full of childrenand gaping holes, and wonder, “What am .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/The-Lonely-Stranger/1897118/ http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/The-Lonely-Stranger/1884004/ With the passing of each daythe chasm yawns farther agape,as if some ravenous thingin search of its next feed.From my side, you are but aspeck atop the far off cliff.I turn away, and for a while ...I suffer your absence well.Yet even with my back to youthere is no escape, for you arethe whispered ec.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/The-Lonely-Stranger/1881242/ I am not “the body”.The body is onlywhere I used to live.My name is Jessica,or David, or Amy orone of the multitudeswho just don't livewhere we used to.I have just moved.I now live in thememories and inthe hearts of all ofthe people I love.I am still alive.If you want proof,look for me i.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/The-Lonely-Stranger/1870186/ http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/The-Lonely-Stranger/1850321/ I often think about you, and how it might be to live in your gravitational pull.I think about how the air must bepermeated with the smell of you. I wonder what parts of my worldare arranged wrong, and what you'dmove where, to set things in order.Most of all, despite a life you may.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/The-Lonely-Stranger/1796461/ The wavering summer air teems with amoisture that it is loathe torelinquish.It knows how its beloved plants adoretheheat and humidity that buckles humanknees.Nature doesn't always bend to thecoercionof humanity. Sometimes she is obdurate.Sometimes she takes care of her .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/The-Lonely-Stranger/1796456/ Do not stare at me, your jaw hung agapewhen I tell you I don’t particularly like you.I understand, this is something that jars you,something you are unaccustomed to hearing.But in truth, it makes perfect sense. Imaginewalking past a skin and bones Ethiopian,the snarling of her swollen belly ch.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/The-Lonely-Stranger/1770162/ My walls are sturdy, they are tall.Tirelessly, I add more stones each day.Yet every day you peek over the top... and I hate you for that.I plan to coldly ignore you, and thenyou speak to me, you smile at me andmy heart pounds at the inside of mychest like a man trapped in a coffin.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/The-Lonely-Stranger/1751740/ Once upon a lifetime camea comet, crashing into myatmosphere and blazing acrackling path across myonce quiet midnight skies.As I gazed up to the firmament,your breathtaking arc erasedthe gloom of my reality for abrief moment. For that one,brief moment, I was not alonein this dark wilderness, butjust.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/The-Lonely-Stranger/1750475/ It's a poem. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/The-Lonely-Stranger/1728475/ Luminol reveals the unseen, evidence of past mayhem. One spray, can tell a story of carnage from days gone by. But what of the soul? What could I have sprayed to give me some clue to the emotional crime scenes that you had left? How could I have seen the spatter from the expunged souls left strewn .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/The-Lonely-Stranger/1724460/ It crackled throughme just as surely asif it had been somesort of unseen boltfrom the cosmos.I tilted my headfloorward, closedmy eyes and waitedfor for it to pass, formy breath to return.Logically, I knew itcouldn't have been.No science would verifywhat just jolted methrough to my soles.I drew in a .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/The-Lonely-Stranger/1714630/ I keep a collection of your smiles, our fleeting moments of eye contact, and your "Hellos" in my safest place. These little treasures have been woven into a tapestry that warms me even when banished to my darkest, dankest, loneliest places http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/The-Lonely-Stranger/1699903/ There is a thin, yet to be discoveredlayer of atmospherethat only you and I share.A smile, a dozen littlekindnesses, you breathelife into what is my layer of pure sustenance.I breathe it, and I live.Grow weary of me, andI die a protracted death. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/The-Lonely-Stranger/1693376/ I will not be your obligation.Do not re-open my wounds withyour guilt laden offerings ofawkwardly congenial conversation.You’ll find no absolution here.There is only the jagged smokingcrater where once I kept my soul. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/The-Lonely-Stranger/1672824/ Open to title suggestions. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/The-Lonely-Stranger/1653724/ A dull, throbbing acheunsettles my spirit muchlike an angry stomachgnaws at the physical.A ‘white noise’ hisses in thebackground of my consciousthought, a subtle obstruction,impeding rational thought.These are symptoms, notof some evil or infectiouspresence, but of an absence.You are the.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/The-Lonely-Stranger/1652611/ All at once, I love youand I resent you.Though you do bring astorm of color to mygray existence, the endof you is the sword ofDamocles that menacesfrom above my neck.You are the barb thathas furtively burieditself in the softunderbelly of my soul,which I know must oneday be torn out. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/The-Lonely-Stranger/1646787/ I sat to write a poem but I did not have the words. I meant to write about the contrast between those huge, searching, innocent eyes, and a body built to torment souls … but I did not have the words. I meant to write about you standing unaware, at the mirror letting down all that glossy blac.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/The-Lonely-Stranger/1642994/ Pretty self explanatory. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/The-Lonely-Stranger/1596912/ Read it and see. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/The-Lonely-Stranger/1594563/ Not all blood is red, sometimes we bleed in heinous, beautiful spatterings of gruesome black, splashing our disgorged emotions onto once sterile pages. ... some wounds, simply will not heal. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/The-Lonely-Stranger/1584662/ There's a woman who's out there looking for me, She is beautiful, funny and smart as can be. I need only be patient, I'm sure she'll soon show. My beautiful maiden, the young Miss Godot. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/The-Lonely-Stranger/1580616/ Use me. I'm your fool,keeping safe your confidence.Then ... expendable. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/The-Lonely-Stranger/1558086/ Not what you might think. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/The-Lonely-Stranger/1547612/ Just messin' with words http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/The-Lonely-Stranger/1545780/ A silly scribbling on a piece ofpaper that says, "I was with her.I breathed his air."One look at the longing in my eyes,at the little sigh I let out whenI think no one is watching.That hint of sadness in my voice.All of these things are the signs ofthe autograph you've etched on my soul.I was with y.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/The-Lonely-Stranger/1521292/ From the tumbling cascade ofshimmering, raven tresses thatsplash onto your shoulders,to your sparkling green eyes,wide with mischief, curiosityand perhaps some sort of longing,to that maddening, crooked littlesmile, that seems to say thatyou know something I do not,or that I amuse you, or thatyou kn.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/The-Lonely-Stranger/1497276/ Though we have all beenin the center of it,we never understand itfrom the outside.We say foolish thingslike "Forget about her,"or "Just let him go."These things are saidas if there is choice,as if we are not in thegrasp of an avalanche,being swept down, notknowing which way is up,hardly able to brea.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/The-Lonely-Stranger/1492314/ The nation is sadly turning black and blue. What can we do? http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/The-Lonely-Stranger/1459427/ Tinkering with words. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/The-Lonely-Stranger/1453597/ Tinkering with words is all http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/The-Lonely-Stranger/1438173/ Relationships are like an automobile. When we are young, we are drawn by the sleek lines and polished finish. By the time we are old enough to realize that we have rubbish beneath the hood, we've sunk too much into it, and we have to ride that son of a b***h until it breaks down and leaves us alone.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/The-Lonely-Stranger/1399672/ We sit at our desks andwatch them squeeze out.Tick ... tick ...tick ...come the seconds, likebrownish drops, clingingto, then tearing free from, a rusted faucet.These plodding secondsbuild our minutes, whichcomprise our hours, thenour days, months and years.If the seconds meanderpast so letharg.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/The-Lonely-Stranger/1391223/