Friday, April 14, 2023

Crow's Feet Part 2

Today’s post is a writing challenge. This is how it works: participating bloggers picked 4 – 6 words or short phrases for someone else to craft into a post. All words must be used at least once and all the posts will be unique as each writer has received their own set of words. That’s the challenge, here’s a fun twist; no one who’s participating knows who got their words and in what direction the writer will take them. Until now.

My words are: donate ~ plan ~ weeks ~ change ~ senator

They were submitted by:

The continuation from last week


I sped to the nearest police station a few blocks from the spa, but it was closed whoever it was stayed on my ass until the second I whipped into the parking lot. I sat there watching and waiting for them to come back by or run up on me on foot from the shadows, but it didnt happen. I sat there in my car shaking and panicking for I don't even know how long. An hour? Two hours? 

I couldn't make myself get out. I was terrified they'd be waiting. And I knew how it would sound. I knew how they reacted already and I'd sound like an absolute lunatic. I can't even begin to stress the good reputation the owners had in town. They were rich, rich. Not "we can afford everything we need and want" rich but like "we could never spend this money" rich. 

But I had to try, right?

I got out and ran inside, heart racing. I tried explaining what I'd seen to the person at the desk in the front lobby... I thought she might really be listening when she told me to hold on a second and went and got some officers from the back. They asked me to repeat myself and nearly every single one busted out laughing. Like just cracking the fuck up at my expense. I should have known better. I think if they wouldn't have been bothered by the paperwork I probably would have ended up in a mental hospital--which in hindsight probably would have saved me at least for awhile. But as it was I left while their laughter was still ringing in my ears. I think I blushed straight down to the tips of my toes.

I needed a plan.

I didn't go home that night. Luckily I kept some spare clothes in the car I could change into and I had some money in savings--thanks to this crazy bullshit job--so I checked myself into a hotel right in the middle of town. Oh yeah I know the cliche is the outskirts but that seemed like a great way to get kidnapped away from the public eye, and if I was going to get grabbed for seeing what they were doing, I was going to make a scene. Might as well right? Make it hard for them to explain it all away especially if I was probably going to die either way. Those guys chasing me didn't look too thrilled.

Once there I ordered some takeout and locked myself in. I had to think of something.

I slept hard that night and woke into the nightmare of what I'd seen last night really settling in. Mindy and I weren't making wedding plans by any means but I loved her. Seeing her screaming at me to get out even in those circumstances...even when she was...when she was cut apart like that. What the fuck were they doing to us? Mindy, Shonda, nova, Sam, erin... Where were the rest?

I sat in my hotel room for days frantically trying to figure out who to talk to. I contacted news outlets, indie journalists, podcasters to no avail. I got the same response as the cops. I settled on calling the closest FBI office because what if it was black market organs? The feds would definitely be interested in that right?

Well, they were. Just the wrong kind of interested. Unfortunately. Well, unfortunately for us anyway.

I got a call back from the office on my cell phone pretty quickly. The guy, Agent Wilkerson, wanted to meet me at the hotel. Immediately. He didn't ask many questions over the phone after I told him my story. He didn't sound surprised. He didn't sound incredulous the way I expected, and something should have clicked for me that things weren't right but it didn't. I was so fucking naive. I think I felt so incredibly alone and afraid that I just wanted someone to tell things to who sounded like they believed me instead of laughing about how crazy I must be. And so I told him.

He arrived in minutes almost like he'd already been on the way here. He flashed his badge at the peephole so I'd open the door and pushed me inside.

"You need to be more careful. They could be looking for you."

He took a look around the room, checked the bathroom, opened the blinds and checked for who knows what. Recording devices probably? I don't know. And then he asked if I'd be willing to testify.

"I mean sure but don't you need to find proof?"

"Oh we have been on this case a long time. Your testimony could finally be the nail in the coffin for these assholes. We can get you in protective custody today. Right now if you're ready."

It really didn't take me long to make that decision. Mindy flashed across my mind and how could I refuse. I nodded, crying, and he gave me a hat and sunglasses to wear then ushered me out of the room.

I wasn't really paying attention at first but my heart sank in my chest when I looked around and realized we were almost back at the resort.

"Where are we going? Why are we in this part of town?"

He ignored me.

"Come on, man!! They're going to kill me if they see me."

"You'll live long enough to donate your body to the Senator who paid for you."

Well, anyway, that was weeks ago now. He brought me back to the spa, and I've just kind of been here in basically a small hospital room completely and totally locked in except I think i figured out a way to escape. I know they've been monitoring some blood work of mine trying to get certain numbers up to get the maximum benefits for whoever it is they've giving me too. I still don't understand the whole process because they don't talk to me, but I'm running out of time. I do know that. They talk enough to each other that Ive been able to piece a few things together. And I do know that they're going to take as much off me as they can while keeping me alive. I don't know what they do with the parts but it sounds like thry figured out a way to reverse aging by at least 10 years or some shit. Probably rich people grifting other rich people and we got to die for it. yay.

I don't know what Im going to do if I make it out. I can't use my money. The police will find me for sure if I do. I can't go home. I don't even have clothes... But I have to try right? Surely someone out there will help me, right?


Friday, April 7, 2023

But, Above All Else, He Is A Reliable Narrator

Welcome to a Secret Subject Swap. This month 2 brave bloggers picked a secret subject for someone else and were assigned a secret subject to interpret in their own style. Today we are all simultaneously divulging our topics and submitting our posts.

My prompt: If you could just blink your eyes, right now, and be anywhere, where would you be?

It was submitted by:


"and...well...if she had known the outcome of that fateful balmy, southern afternoon, she might have allowed herself that one last slice of banana bread. After all, what could it hurt? But as it stood, she would end up wishing she could blink her eyes and be anywhere else on a terribly empty stomach. Or so the contents of her stomach would later tell us."

I was just brushing my teeth, man. That was it. I was brushing my teeth when I heard Keith Morrison--YES THAT KEITH MORRISON OF DATELINE AND MURDER FAME--narrating my day. Who else could get away with remarks so closely balanced on the border between rather morbid and nightmarishly macabre? It's that damn voice. Keith Morrison lulls us into accepting this elderly distinguished gent in his little blazers while black eyeliner, sleeping in a coffin, and teased hair goth are at his very core. The man has The Cure running in his veins. He looks like the nice neighbor who waters his flowers every morning at 7 am and gives out full size bars at Halloween but sounds like a man in spikes and doom boots who drives a hearse to work. Vincent Price in soul and dapper, gentle Grandpa in form. And now I could hear him discussing every step of my day.

When I was choosing what I might wear that day he talked about very weird details of my childhood. My mom apparently said I loved catching bugs and studying them, but I'm pretty sure that was only 2 weeks in the summer between 2nd and 3rd grade. My dad called me the light of his life which is rich considering just last year he asked me why I had to make him look bad with all his friends when I got a tattoo of Benson from Regular Show in that old Burt Reynolds Playgirl pose. But listen that thing was amazing. Either way I was the queer Black Sheep™ of the family, and my brother was definitely the golden child, so this all from my dad came as news to me. I mean, at some points I found myself listening in like I'd done with true crime podcasts over and again including the one with audio of old couldn't be about me but it was. The details were just enough for me to recognize the truth while also wondering what the fuck these people who criticized and hurt and bullied thought they were up to talking about me like this. I could hear Keith talking about my best friend while I made my lunch for the day and got everything together for work and wouldn't you know this bitch I hadn't talked to since school after she called me fat and ugly and weird pushed me down and made me break my thumb was CRYING. crying! I was completely unaware I was so important in her life considering we hadn't talked for like 20 years.

Fucking people.

And then I think maybe the coffee hit and I realized either I had completely lost touch with reality and I needed to see someone or I was about to get murdered. And I really needed to figure that out urgently because I did absolutely not want to blink and wish I was anywhere else but there on an empty stomach later that afternoon as Keith, yes we're on a first name basis now, had so described.

I went back at the last minute and ate 2 slices of banana bread. Fuck fate. Or, well, fuck dateline. Same difference here really. And it was the best banana bread I've ever made.

So I'm here at work. No one can here Keith narrating my life story. But apparently I'm also not acting weird enough for anyone to be concerned, so it must not be a hallucination entirely? I don't know. Maybe it's Keith's calming voice keeping me straight. Would people be reacting to me differently if this was like Nancy Grace or those loud assholes from Last Podcast on the Left? It makes good sense that my brain would pick Keith for a hallucination though you know? But hallucinations generally aren't logical choices right? I dont know. I just know that Keith keeps saying I don't know that this is my last day at work and wouldn't I, if I knew, want to blink my eyes and wish myself anywhere else. And I mean yes but that's not helpful really since I now know this might be my last day on earth, and I can't actually blink my eyes and wish myself anywhere but here. It's like rubbing rock salt in a very open wound, Keith.

The end of the work day is coming up and since apparently I never make it back home to the banana bread I wasn't supposed to eat, whatever happens must be happening soon. I had no plans but going straight home once I clock out here. So I don't know. Do I leave? Do I stay and try to circumvent this, this thing murder?

If Im honest I think if I actually could blink my eyes and wish myself anywhere else I'd just want to go hang out with my little sister and watch golden girls...but what if that's what I'm supposed to do and then we both die? So what I'm gonna do instead is hang out here at work. I know the night janitor. He's a pretty nice guy, and he said he wouldn't mind if I just stayed. He even said he had a cot down in the basement I could use if I wanted to go down there later, so that's what I'm going to do. That'll probably be fine, right?

Here are links to all the sites now featuring Secret Subject Swap posts. Sit back, grab a cup, and check them all out. See you there:

Baking In A Tornado