Tag Archives: death

Death’s a Beach

beach

PHOTO PROMPT © Peter Abbey

For everyone else, it looked like a normal December on the beach in California. Some folks still enjoyed a “too cold for me” dip in the ocean. More, like me, just wanted to walk in the semi-warm weather.

Death always haunts us since, after all, we’re mortal. However some deaths hit harder than others. Most of them are family and friends. Every once in a while, it’s a public figure that some love and others hate.

Then they seem to either get too much of one or the other, at least on social media. I’d rather be walking on sand.

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One Sweet Ride

Teds-Car-in-the-Woods

PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

Larry hurt all over. He was too old to be tramping through the woods.

His legs felt as wooden as his cane. He’d fall without the support and even if he didn’t break a hip, he might not be able to get back up.

“Made it,” he croaked.

He had no idea how the remains of the ’48 Dodge Sedan had gotten out here. He did know the first time he sat behind the driver’s seat decades ago, it took him back to the days of his youth.

He didn’t want to die in the insanity of the world today.

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Book Review of “Ghost Story” (2011), Book 13 in “The Dresden Files” Series

ghost story

© James Pyles

I’ve been systematically going through The Dresden Files series by Jim Butcher and late last night, I finished Ghost Story (2011) the thirteenth in the series.

Oh man.

Spoiler Alert!

Stop here if you haven’t read the novel and want to be surprised (and there are a lot of surprises to be had). You have been warned.

This story begins six months after the end of the preceding novel Changes. In that book, everything Harry ever possessed was taken away from him including a daughter he didn’t know he had.

In order to save her from the Red Court vampires, Harry literally sells his soul and ultimately has to murder the love of his life and his daughter’s mother to save his child and really, the whole world.

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The Last Visitor

melt

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

Another séance, another summoning, another mystery solved, or whatever. Robert lost count of all the spectral visitations he had performed in order to pay for his modest home in the suburbs (ridiculously overpriced).

The clients and spirits had all left half an hour ago, the candles were burnt out, and he sat back on the patio sipping a brandy. He could already feel tomorrow’s hangover.

Robert had hardly closed his eyes when a new voice disturbed him.

“The gateway to the beyond is closed,” he complained.

“Not for the Angel of Death.” Her words were ice. “This is your time.”

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Seeing Better

rain

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

When Benedict looked outside that morning, he thought it had rained and drops had speckled the window. But then he turned away and saw everything else looked that way. He checked, but he hadn’t put on his glasses yet. When he did, it didn’t help.

He was about to ask his wife what she thought it was, and then sadly remembered she had passed away two years ago last Tuesday.

He thought to call his doctor, but the effect was getting worse. Then he realized he wasn’t going blind, but only seeing the other side better. “I’m coming home, Marge.”

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The Year of Alan

lisa snow

PHOTO PROMPT © Lisa Fox

If you like my work, buy me a virtual cup of coffee at Ko-Fi.

The first snow. Alan was around ninety. He felt relatively robust, needing only a cane to walk. He cherished this path. He ran down it when he was three in January to build his only snowman.

It was here he had his first kiss in March and was married in April. May was the time for their only child, but by then, Jean knew the truth.

Little Dianna was only six months but he could have been be her great-great grandfather. He was born in January and would die in December. The seasons of his life were but one year.

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My Personal Ecclesiastes

miles

© Miles Rost

If you like my work, buy me a virtual cup of coffee at Ko-Fi.

There is no me. There’s just doing the laundry, paying the rent, riding the bus, going to work, going to school. You know. Nothing that’s important. So here I am feeding coins into the washers and dryers at the laundromat, trying to read a book and realizing that I don’t enjoy it. In fact, I don’t enjoy anything. Not a damn thing. I eat good food. I mean, I live in San Francisco, so there’s a lot of good food. But so what? I’ve considered suicide for a long time. I walk out of the building and into traffic.

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Free

roses

Photo credit: Dale Rogerson

“I’ve escaped. I’m outside of Sanctuary.” Dane Asher’s numb fingers caressed the brittle petals of the frozen roses. They were covered with a layer of snow, and were so beautiful, like the landscape graced by a winter that was slowly killing him.

“I don’t know why I’m free, but now I’m free only to die.” He looked to the frosted forest and the sunset at the horizon beyond. “Better dying free than living like a slave.”

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The Thirteenth Sign

ferry

Photo by Jayant Kulkarni on Pexels.com

“This is most unusual.” The ferryman, standing at the head of his riverboat, guided it steadily, pull by pull, across waters darker than pitch.

“It is allowed. I have Persephone’s blessing.” The voice from beneath the ashen robes and hood was deep, husky, even coarse, but still unmistakably female. It was the only sign of her identity besides a vague shape, for no part of her flesh was visible to him.

While the waters of the Styx were liquid obsidian, the mist surrounding them swirled white as smoke, perhaps belched out between the Underworld and the living by the furnaces of Hades.

“Sisyphus had Persephone’s ear, and you chose your timing well, what with the winter solstice coming upon the land above.” The old man took another stroke, and then listened as if someone might call. Even to the cloaked figure, he looked unkempt and foul, his stench could have been rotting fish, the breath of rats, or gangrenous flesh. His long, stringy hair and beard dripped an unsavory substance.

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Tower of the Black Prince

tower

Image of “The Tower” Tarot card found at biddytarot.com/

Sir Edward, the Black Prince, was startled to stupefaction at discovering himself suddenly removed from the cries, blood, and gore of the Battle of Crécy. Father had left the field intentionally, gambling on his son’s ability to win the day. Now sorcery had stolen victory from him and placed him where?

Her hideous screams followed her all the way down from the top of the tower as she fell, their last echo dying as she struck the earth and stone with a sickening “thump.” She bounced once, which almost made him laugh to his horror, then she ceased to move at all.

The night, for it was night here, was illuminated by flashes of lightning, rolling thunder causing him to tremble. His sturdy mount, white mane and noble stature, struggled against the bit and reins, trying to escape the macabre scene, but he was in control…barely.

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