Wilma, Chapter One.

Posted: August 21, 2015 in Horror, Literature, Short Stories
Tags: , , , , , ,

It’s been too long since I let my imagination free, burdened by the weight of another man’s legacy I have been forced to live a life of non-existence, meandering in a world that wasn’t made for me, craving and craving a moments reprieve, an opportunity to return to doing what I love. After a year of being a workhorse, I’ve been given that chance, to finally make something remarkable, to do something worthwhile, to leave a legacy of my own for my son to cherish. I’ll be honest it was slow going getting to this point, actually sitting in front of the keyboard had become an alien thing to me, a pastime that some other man had once enjoyed in some other life. It’s refreshing to say that man has returned as easily as oxygen to my lungs, natural, necessary and today I have some new words to share with you, er- rather new old words, a redraft of sorts from the novella I’m submitting for publication over the next few months.

Some of you are familiar with Wilma, a tale of an elderly man suffering from the scars his abusive wife inflicted on him while managing the business she left behind, struggling to move on with his life while the horrors from his past are quietly growing and growing beneath him, thirsty for his blood. It’s a bit campy, and a bit tragic, but that’s life isn’t it? A little bit of pain to go with our pleasure. For those of you who are not familiar with the story I’ve been working on for a little more than I year I urge you to take a moment and give this excerpt a read, I promise it won’t take you too long, a couple puffs of a cigarette, or a few eager sips of coffee. That’s all, not much really.

Thank you to my lost ones, my dearest darklings who’ve had faith in me all these years. Your ongoing interest in my work has not been forgotten and hopefully this will be the year I have something to give back for all your continued support.

Enjoy my darklings, perhaps there will be a little more to share, should you crave a bigger taste of horror.

WILMA - Chapter One. - Dean Sexton

I’d like to tell you about the day I saved the world . . . Well, maybe not so much the world as it was the small community of Smithville- and Smithville really isn’t so much of a community as it is a small shit-heap with a population no bigger than four or five thousand. To be honest, it wasn’t worth saving, it’s a greasy place, full of liars, bigots and cheapskates, a place that in all my years of living there did less for me than I did for it. I’m not going to brag about how big of a hero I was- or am for that matter, and to tell you the truth I’d have just as soon fled if it weren’t for the boy, and other, more personal reasons, leaving its citizens to the fate the cheap bastards deserved.
A hero is defined as someone who fights to protect those who cannot protect themselves, someone who looks beyond humanities shortcomings and strives to save them despite their flaws and stands tall in the face of evil. If that’s the case then I can no more be called a hero then a villain, for it was partially my fault the whole mess started in the first place. I think you’d be more apt to call me a janitor because all I really did was help clean up the damned mess. The boy was the real hero and I guess this is his story rather than mine. I’m just the supporting character, a crotchety old bastard who had a wife once, a vile succubus of a woman that left me with the burden of running her wretched flower shop, a flower shop that was nothing more than a festering boil on the tip of my cock, both itchy and irritating. At least I’m free of it now, free to move along, to find somewhere else in the world to live out my remaining days as a bitter old man with a fantastical tale to tell, but that doesn’t make the stinging sensation in my prick go away every time I think about her, every time I hear her name.
Wilma, what a thorny skinned bitch she was. right until the end she was a pricker bush lodged inside my asshole, a living breathing case of colon cancer. We won’t start with Wilma though, partly because I don’t want my bitching to scare you off, and partly because I’m not feeling too particularly masochistic at this very moment. We’ll start with the boy, mainly because it seems like the most innocent route to take.
-Christ I hope he turns out all right. He was a good kid, kind of surprising considering the shitty hand he’d been dealt. I hope that after what happened he’ll be able to screw his head back on straight. I also hope he finds a more fulfilling hobby that botany, although I don’t think I need to do much hoping, after what happened I’m sure it’ll be a long time before he sets foot in another flower shop.


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