Poison Tongue Tales

***POISON TONGUE TALES***

The last time I published a book was in February of this year and it was a collection of dark poetry called Necrograph. I think I’m about due to publish another book. The next one on the assembly line will be Poison Tongue Tales, a collection of short stories from the science fiction, fantasy, and horror varieties. It’s currently going through another round of editing from my overly awesome beta reader Marie Krepps. I specifically told her to look for places where I can show instead of tell and she’s done a phenomenal job of pinpointing those areas for me. What can I say? She does a lot for me and I try to repay her as much as possible.

So far she has given me notes on 17 out of all 50 stories in the collection. If you want to be alphabetical about it, it starts with Acid O’clock and ends with Gates of Hell. Ordinarily, I could polish 17 stories standing on my fucking head. I could do all 50 stories while doing the splits over an alligator swamp. I could do Poison Tongue Tales and American Darkness while sitting on a bed of thumb tacks. If all of these obscene analogies aren’t getting to you, what I’m trying to say is that editing a short story isn’t that hard to do. It’s not like editing a novel, like Occupy Wrestling, where I had to constantly change plot mechanics on my way to the final chapter. These 50 stories are all standalone in nature and only add up to three single-spaced 11 X 8 pages per story.

That’s why it pains me to say that I haven’t edited a single solitary story since Marie Krepps did her most recent round of critiques. No Acid O’clock, no nothing. Not yet. My reason for this has nothing to do with real life obligations or even mental exhaustion. It has everything to do with fear. That’s right. Something as simple and irrational as fear has stopped me from getting started on making these changes to Poison Tongue Tales. If I had to take a guess as to what this fear is over, I’d say it’s a fear of having a huge task in front of me. These new changes are going to radically transform the way each story looks, but it’s still the same kind of labor as before, so what’s all the fuss about?

I have no reason to fear critique as much as I used to. In my younger years, I had an over-inflated ego that would burst at the smallest suggestions. Now that I’ve surrounded myself with people who give a damn and are with me for the long haul, my sensitivity to critique has gone down quite a bit. I might even say that I’m immune to it now. So again, what’s all the fuss about? If I actually enjoy listening to Marie and her advice (because she’s hilarious and thoughtful at the same time), where’s all this fear coming from?

For far too long, Poison Tongue Tales has been considered a backburner project, meaning the WSS, Demon Axe, and everything else took precedence over it, even the Dark Fantasy Warriors, for shit’s sake. I have all the time and energy in the world to complete this simple task of editing the shit out of these 17 stories that Marie has compiled for me. If you want to talk about energy, I somehow found the energy to read 30-40 pages of my Carl Hiaasen book per day. The last time I showed that much dedication to a book was when I read “The Absolute True Diary of a Part-Time Indian” by Sherman Alexie (I hope the movie adaptation will be good). If I have the energy to blitz through a Carl Hiaasen novel, I should have the same energy to blitz through Poison Tongue Tales. The energy is there, but so is the trepidation. What the fuck, brain?

I know that an unexplained fear seems like small potatoes to you, my readers. Hell, you’ll probably want to flood my Face Book page with R. Lee Ermey memes after reading something like this. But I assure you, I can get over this fear in due time. I have four books to show for my worked up courage, why not have five? And then after Poison Tongue Tales, I have five different ideas for what I’ll send Marie next:

• Filter Feeder (environmental urban fantasy)
• Watch You Burn (psychological urban fantasy)
• Demon Axe (unfinished heavy metal urban fantasy)
• American Darkness 2: Black State (unfinished collection of modern day drama short stories)
• Poison Tongue Tales 2: Warrior Spirit (unfinished collection of science fiction, fantasy, and horror stories)

On a side note, Marie once told me that I use the word “warrior” a lot in my stories. She even joked that if my characters took a huge dump in the middle of the road, they would be called “shit warriors”. Not only did I laugh my ass off at that remark, but it’s also one step closer to me actually editing Poison Tongue Tales and not letting some bullshit fear get to me. If it’s finally time for me to “cowboy up”, then I’m shooting from the hip. Adios, amigos! Thanks for reading!

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

As you guys can see, Sonya Demonic is now posted online. I showed my drawing of her to my mom and she said that Sonya looked strikingly like my ex-girlfriend Brianna. I can’t say she’s wrong. Hehe! What’s next you ask? How about Ronis Wakizashi from my most recent WSS entry “Fire and Fury”? Sounds about right. I’ve always wanted to draw a half-Japanese redneck sheriff with a big ass shotgun and fuzzy beard. Actually, this might be more daunting than editing Poison Tongue Tales. Wish me luck!

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“This is the point from which I could never return and if I back down now then forever I burn. This is the point from which I could never retreat, ‘cause if I turn back now there can never be peace. This is the point from which I will die or succeed. Living the struggle, I know I'm alive when I bleed. From now on it can never be the same as before, ‘cause the place I'm from doesn't exist anymore.”

-Immortal Technique rapping “The Point of No Return”-

Chaos

The forest road seemed to be dragging on forever, like traveling on an endless conveyor belt. With the trees on the side of the road flexing back and forth in this windy weather, this seemed like the wrong night to take such a route. Officers Kenny Ryder and Robin Cage seemed to agree on that point, but they weren’t going to complain…publicly. They had a much bigger concern on their minds than potentially falling trees. In the back of their paddy wagon was Derrick O’Brien, the nation’s most dangerous domestic terrorist.

Derrick didn’t prefer bombs. He didn’t need guns. All he needed to get his message across were the blades on the tips of his powerful fingers, the flesh and bone-chewing fangs in his mouth, and the vocal cords of a bloodthirsty monster. The brown fur all over his body reeked of death and decay, like somebody who hadn’t showered in months while slashing victims to chunky pieces. The man wolf slept peacefully in his steel chain cocoon, but not without snoring like an AK-47 every time he breathed in.

Kenny and Robin kept looking over their shoulders and out at the road in short bursts before the chocolate haired Officer Cage broke the ice. “You know, I’ve seen a lot of crazy shit in my career, but a fucking werewolf? If I don’t see a big fat paycheck at the end of this assignment, I might turn into a werewolf and go ape shit myself.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” said the baldheaded male with the scraggly beard Officer Ryder. “You should have seen all the manpower it took just to chain that bastard up. And now they’re sending you and me to transport his big ass to some goddamn lab.”

“Lab? You mean they’re going to put makeup on him and squirt shampoo in his eyes?” asked Robin jokingly as she drummed her fingers on the dashboard.

“Hey, if I ever find out they’re testing Head and Shoulders on that big furry thing, I’ll gladly do commercials for those guys.”

“You don’t even have hair, Kenny.”

“So?”

The brief moment of comedy put weak smiles on Kenny and Robin’s faces. They hadn’t lost sight of how risky this assignment really was. One steel link snaps and Robin could lose her head. One pad lock breaks and Kenny could have his intestines spread all over the windshield. As quickly as the windstorm blew that night, the humorous mood faded.

“Oh, what the hell is this shit?” asked Kenny when he stepped on the brakes and slowly brought the paddy wagon to a halt. The halogen headlights did so little to make out the hooded and robed figure in the middle of the road. It was just standing there frozen in place when Kenny blasted the horn three times. He rolled down the window on his side and stuck his head out before shouting, “Hey! Move your ass! We’ve got a prisoner in tow and you’re holding us up!”

No response from the hooded figure, which prompted an even longer horn blast from Kenny followed by another shout. “Hey! I said move your ass off the road! Are you deaf or something?!”

“You want me to take care of this asshole?” asked Robin with her taser armed. Her partner gave a nod before she got out of the paddy wagon and slowly approached the hooded figure with her taser locked and loaded. “Sir? Ma’am? Whatever the hell you are, I suggest you get out of the road before I…”

“Before you what?” asked the feminine voice from behind the hood. She raised her bladed finger and continued her question with, “Shoot me with that little toy? Go ahead. See what happens, cupcake!”

Robin fired the electrical prongs, but not without the woman grabbing them and smiling at her with creepily seductive red lips. Officer Cage shivered and watched with wide eyes as the woman removed her hood and revealed herself to be a purple-haired vampire complete with bloody fangs. Before Officer Cage could let out a whispery swear word, the vampire rushed up to her and forearmed her in the cheek, knocking her to the ground and exposing her neck.

The vampire licked her lusty lips with anticipation as she knelt down to take a juicy bite. And then she heard, “Hey! Don’t even think about it, you circus freak!” Kenny stood at the opposite side of the paddy wagon with his shotgun pointed right at her. He even pumped it for intimidation, but instead got a voracious growl from the mysterious woman.

Officer Ryder squeezed off a shot, but hit nothing as the woman quickly ducked down and rushed toward the back of the vehicle. The shotgun wielder darted over to the fallen Robin Cage and put two fingers on her neck for a pulse. She had one, but it was fading. The entire right side of her face was swollen and purple.

Kenny watched his partner fade to black in front of him and said in a comforting voice, “Please, don’t die on me. I’ll find that bitch and put one in her chest for you.”

Robin painfully lifted her head off the ground and spoke in a raspy voice, “Kenny…forget about me…what about the prisoner?!”

The sounds of wet lips smacking together romantically could be heard from the back of the paddy wagon. “Oh no, no, not this!” shouted Kenny when he saw the back door swinging wide open. He patted Robin’s chocolate brown hair and said, “Don’t worry. I’m not leaving your side. Those two are probably long gone by now. They’re someone else’s problem.”

“Such dedication to your craft, Officer,” said the lusty vampire, who stepped out from behind the opened door with her arm wrapped around a thin blond haired stud muffin in an orange jumpsuit, quite the contrast from the beast previously in lockup. She smiled at the man and said, “Derrick O’Brien, scourge of the werewolf clan.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, the ultra-sexy vampire queen, Sonya Demonic,” said Derrick, who was engaged in an intense lip lock with his blood sucking girlfriend, complete with ass grabbing and breast squeezing. Sonya took off her robes to reveal a stunning silk black dress underneath. “Excellent choice, my sweets!” They kissed some more.

“You two scumbags make me sick!” shouted Kenny as he pumped the handle on his shotgun and squeezed off another round into the couple’s vicinity. The blast hit Derrick in the chest, but the human-staged werewolf no-sold his pain with sarcastic clutches at his “wound”. Sonya Demonic held her mouth in mock horror and let out a few orgasmic screams.

The couple laughed off the “pain” together and hugged it out. Derrick wagged his finger at the shock-eyed Kenny and said, “Now, now, Officer. Didn’t I hear you say yourself that it took a lot of manpower to chain me up? What do you think happened to that manpower?” Derrick broke his embrace from Sonya and patted his tummy with both hands before snickering evilly.

“You sick bastard! You sick, sick bastard!” shouted Kenny.

“Sick? Sick? Who’s the sick one, Officer?” asked Sonya. “My beautiful werewolf boyfriend here, or the one person who keeps feeding able-bodied cops to the two of us for dinner? Did you two really think this was a transport mission to some god-awful laboratory? Come on, now. There’s nothing out here except for trees and windstorms. Go ahead. Call for help. I dare you!”

Kenny’s breathing was getting heavier and angrier with each passing second. He leaned down and picked up the wounded Robin baby style before sitting her in the passenger seat. She was still breathing, but shallowly. She sat upright, but with her neck at a forty-five degree angle. She let out a small cough to let Kenny know she was still alive.

Meanwhile, the shotgun-wielding cop was in the driver’s seat trying to work the radio buttons. He spoke into the microphone, “I need backup! Officer down! Repeat! Officer Robin Cage is down! I need extra units and an ambulance for her!”

There was a heavy crackling at the other end of the radio before an ominous voice said, “I’m sorry, Officer Ryder, but Miss Demonic and Mr. O’Brien are going to be full with just you two as their meal. It was the only way I could keep the creatures of the night from taking over this city. I’m sorry, Kenny. The sacrifice has to be made.”

Officer Ryder’s heavy breathing turned to silent weeping. The silence was broken when he pounded on the steering wheel and blew the horn while swearing his head off. The fit of rage ended when Sonya and Derrick were on opposite sides of the vehicle’s cab banging on the glass windows. The creatures smiled at them with bloodshot eyes, blood filled mouths, and plenty of hoarse laughs. Derrick had transformed back into his werewolf stage and was chewing on the door handle for special effects.

Kenny slammed his own head against the steering wheel until his forehead bled buckets. His vision was getting hazy and his body was relaxing. He didn’t even feel the storm of broken glass that nearly slashed his face up even more. His last vision before passing out from the pain of Sonya’s vampire bite was Robin Cage being dragged out of the vehicle with Derrick’s wolf teeth gnashing her skull.

The entire “dining experience” took little more than fifteen minutes of chewing, sucking, and chugging. Meaty morsels sliding down the creature’s throats while the bones were being cast aside. Blood oozing from their mouths like a waterfall of violence. They were full from their meals, but still had room for dessert, which they would eat in the privacy of the paddy wagon’s prisoner hold. Red velvet kisses with a few small drops of Pina Colata. Such a lovely meal for a lovely couple, who held hands afterwards and watched the night sky together. They had to do date night again sometime.