Writing Excerpts
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"When he reached the top stair, he immediately did see something wrong – something very, very wrong. A beam of fluorescent fell into the hallway, lying on the rug there like a dead thing. The light was coming from a room with its door open. He saw it was his own.
“Oh, shit,” Wayne said, a feeling of intense dread building in his belly. “Oh shit oh shit oh shit.”
He dropped his briefcase. The clasps broke open, spilling papers everywhere. He broke into a run, and though it was only three running steps, it felt like the longest sprint he’d ever made.
Wayne reached the doorway, then clutched the frame to keep from falling over. His knees felt watery, his stomach a tight knot. His mouth worked, and a sound like a dull moan escaped.
His lock had been smashed open. It lay separated in the entryway. That wasn’t what drove Wayne to his present sate however. Not that. It was his notebooks; his notebooks had been scattered everywhere. Black marker names stood out on their covers like accusations: WALLY, PETER, ADAM, DONALD, MARSHALL, more. Everyone that had come in and gone out of Maverick House since the time of Wayne’s tenancy. All seemed unharmed and, besides the fact that they no longer sat on his closet shelf, untouched. Except two..."
--from Uncut Gems: A SKEMERs Anthology, Volume 1
I don't want to go off on a psychological thing here, because I'm not much for psychology. But I will say this: those other serial killers have something going on upstairs that's just a little off. I'm not saying that they're all insane, but a good bunch of them are, and the rest are skewed just enough so that it amounts to the same. Not me. I'm as sane as the next guy, providing the next guy doesn't happen to be Charles Manson.
I do it because I love it. It makes me happy. It's not as often as I'd like, but no one gets what they want as often as they'd like. You just have to what you can to balance off your life so as to accommodate your fun. It's the way I live, anyway...
--from Uncut Gems: A SKEMERs Anthology, Volume 1
"It’s the end of the show, and Fabulous Frank seems to be having a great old time with his freaks on stage. You keep asking yourself why this crowd of people would pay money to see the Zodiac Freaks – you see them everyday and they turn your stomach. Let one of these rich bitches or bastards with their seven figure incomes and their BMWs or Saabs clean up the blood after one of the “performances” for once. Or clean out the Port-A-Sans after one of the freaks take a leak – Aquarius always overflows the damn thing and you have to clean it up. Or watch them eat while they’re cleaning the trailers; yeah, that’s always fun. Leo pounces on the chickens you toss into his cage – live chickens, of course. Frank would have it no other way. Yeah, it must be fun to watch Leo tear the head off of a chicken for a night, but let any of those fu**ers watch it day in and day out, chicken guts you have to clean up, and puke, and blood, and you just can’t take it anymore, can you?"
--from A SKEMERs Anthology, Volume 2