Sunday, February 27, 2011

A Scarry Night contest

The Eye of the Beholder
by Dana C. Kabel

    Gloria Stevens stepped out of the black stretch limo and onto the red carpet to the cheers of her adoring fans.  She was thin.  Beautiful.  Glamorous.  Cameras flashed at her every move.
    She smiled and blew a kiss.  The fans roared.
    "Miss Stevens!"
    "I love you!"
    Her lithe fingers tickled the air in a half hearted wave.
    "I LOVE YOU!"
    She walked like high born royalty in the procession of elite that had been invited to the award show of the year.  Her breathing was as easy as her unfocused gaze.  Valium and vodka in the back of the limo helped.
    "Gloria...I LOVE YOU!"  The voice was ugly.  Grating.  And louder than all others.
    The crowd used to frighten her so badly that she could barely get out of the car.  The ugly voice would have sent her running for cover.  That was before she found the right combination of drugs and alcohol to give her courage.
    "I LOVE YOU!"
    Christ, she was going to need another drink just as soon as she got in her seat.  And she had better fucking well get the treatment she deserved.  Last year she had to remind the help that Gloria Stevens is an  Award Winning Actress.  She didn't buy her fucking ticket on eBay.
    Gloria stepped a little faster to get the hell away from that voice.  Suddenly she was confronted by its startling source as he appeared at the front of the crowd.  He was  hideous beyond belief and the only thing between them was a red velvet rope.
    Disfigured was an understatement.  He looked like someone had cut his face apart and set the pieces on fire and then sewed them back together again.
    Gloria Stevens, Award Winning Actress, vomited in her mouth.
    "Get that...fucking thing away from me," she whispered harshly to her bodyguard, who looked like he wanted to slap her.
    One thing that was not damaged on the disfigured man was his hearing.  He cringed from her words and dropped his head in shame.
    Gloria fought back the strong urge to spit on him.
    The man turned and pushed through the crowd to get away from the woman that he tried to profess his love to moments ago.
    Gloria managed to pace herself with the booze until the best actress award came up.  She didn't want to watch herself on the news the next day, stumbling up to the podium and slurring the words of her acceptance speech.
    When they opened the envelope and announced the winner, Gloria tried to stand up until her manager, Paul put a firm hand on her arm and pulled her back into her seat.
    "Sorry darling.  You can't win them all."
    "Fucking hell," she said.  Reality dawned.  "Vivian Hadley?"
    "Vivian is seventy-eight and has never won before.  You are twenty-eight and already have three gold statues on your mantle.  Look at it from the academy's point of view."
    "They're fucking imbeciles."
    The stops were pulled from her drinking.
    After the fifth glass of Stoli she went to the bathroom.  The bodyguard followed.  She tried her best to walk a straight line until she got past the cameras.
    Then she lost her balance trying to open the bathroom door and fell backwards.  The bodyguard caught her and steadied her on her feet.
    Gloria jerked her arm away.
    "Get your filthy hands off from me!  Do you know who the fuck I am?" 
    Having had his fill of Gloria and the rest of Hollywood, he yanked his earpiece out and threw it on the floor.
    "Fuck you, bitch," he said.
    She tried to slap him and missed.  The bodyguard walked away.  Gloria spit at his back and went into the bathroom.
    When she came out, a new bodyguard was there putting the earpiece in place.
    "I hope you're better than the last shit-head."  Gloria breathed into her open palm and sniffed it.
    The new bodyguard turned around and smiled.  The grin did nothing to improve his burned and lacerated face.
    Gloria gasped and cringed.
    He clamped a scaly hand over her perfect mouth and pushed her back into the bathroom.  She tried to scream, but the rough mitt muffled her cries.
    His other hand locked the door.  Then he took her to the ground.
    Gloria's struggles were useless.  He fell on top of her, pinning her arms down with his big legs.
    Tears streamed down her cheeks as she struggled.
    Gloria was certain that she was going to be raped by the repulsive creature, but she was suddenly faced with a new terror when she saw the glint of the razor blade.
    Cold steel.  So close that it made her eyes cross.  A sharp prick on her cheek made her wince.
    He let his paw up just a little so he could hear her beg.
    "Please...not my face."
    He bent and brushed her soft skin with his scabbed cheek.  His tongue flicked in and out of her ear like a serpent's tongue.
    "Don't worry about your face.  I really don't mind the scars," he whispered as the blade dug deeper into her flesh.


Monday, February 14, 2011

Valentine's Day

  My wife, Lisa has been asking me to write something romantic for her for a long time.  Anyone familiar with my work knows that there is little romance in it.  If you have the stomach for violence you can click on any of the stories on this site and see for yourself.
  I tried writing a love story for her once...something about a fireman saving some kittens for a damsel in distress.  I gave her the first part of that story some two or three years ago and now and then she inquires about the status of its completion.  Unfortunately my imagination just isn't geared for it.  In the unwritten conclusion, the fireman went out on a binge and those poor kittens burned to toast and the damsel put a couple of .45 slugs in the fireman's gut for revenge.
  It finally occurred to me that the only way I could write something romantic for my wife would be to recount the story of how we met.  We have often been told that our story is somewhat of a fairy tale romance and I am grateful every day that our lives have brought us to where we are today.

  Some people don't believe in love at first sight.  The thought of knowing that you want to spend the rest of your life with someone the minute you lay eyes on them does seem pretty preposterous when you think about it.  I probably wouldn't believe it myself if it didn't happen to me.
  I was seventeen years old and an awkward, scared college freshman trying to fit in with the new crowd I had been thrown into.  It was one of the first weekends of the semester and all of the cool kids were going to frat parties that they had been invited to.  My social calendar was pitifully bare.
  My group of misfit friends and I ventured out to see what kind of trouble we could find.  After being turned away from half a dozen frat parties we took a stroll down sorority row and tried making conversation with several different young ladies who were too cool to give us the time of day.
  Somebody in our group had heard of a house party being thrown by someone in the drama department.  We weren't about to climb to the top of the social ladder at a drama party, but we figured there would be beer and we really had nowhere else to go.
   I don't remember a whole lot about the party.  It seems that we entered the picture as things were winding down.  But I do remember the girl with the long dark hair and the deep brown eyes.  I remember the way she smiled at me and that I lost myself in her gaze.  And I remember feeling so strongly drawn to her that I felt like I had known her all my life.  The sound of her voice struck a chord in my soul and I stayed up half the night talking with her.
  That was twenty-four years ago.  We dated for a long time in college, and then we went our separate ways.  We were apart for about fourteen years and my love for her never died.  I knew that somehow, someday our paths would cross again and they did.
  A lot has happened in between the lines.  But the most important part is that we are together today.  My wife is my best friend and the love of my life.  I can still get lost in her gaze and I know that not only have I known her all my life, I would gladly spend several lifetimes by her side.

Thursday, February 10, 2011

Coming Soon:  

Why living in the South means being immobilized by less than an inch of snow


Naming your Blog; Why "The Non-stop Bullet" beat out "Fist Deep in Blood."  Or "Don't let your wife look over your shoulder while trying to design your website."