It's true. And it's wonderful.
Now all we need is a Priceline tie-in where you can name your price to get to Mordor.
Lem and the ReelsIt must have been daytime outside, because Melody slept. When she opened her eyes again, Lem had transformed the chaotic stack of boxes and bags and crates into a chaotic stack of whatever had been inside the boxes, bags and crates. In the light of his little Coleman lantern, Lem had assembled a collection of, well, everything. Comic books. Gas masks. Car parts. Cans of spray paint. Batteries. Clothes, men's and women's. There was a stuffed barn owl staring at Melody from atop a basket of cheap wristwatches. And that was just what Melody could see. It was a big room, and most was in darkness.Lem and the Reels by `Memnalar
Lem huddled in front of a metal box, fixing what looked like plates to the front of it, threading thin strips of something through little wheels in the front. One wire trailed from the box to immense headphones around Lem's head. Another wire led to a car battery on the floor. Lem clicked a button on the box. The plates spun. He shook his head, then clicked another button. The plates stopped. He u
Lem and House KeepingThe ivy on the walls surrounding Memorial Park was so thick that Lem could climb it. On the top of the wall, he reached down, helped Melody up, and they both jumped to the ground on the other side.Lem and House Keeping by `Memnalar
They had been here before, not long after Melody had been turned. On that night, they encountered things in this park that had kept Lem away every night since. But things were different now, and both Lem and Melody were out of options.
Stick close, Lem signed. Melody didn't respond. They picked their way through the thick brambles and overgrowth, until they found one of the paths that crisscrossed the old park. A decade ago, people walked their dogs along these paths, or jogged, or held hands under the moonlight. Now, it was an unkempt shambles, home only to things like Lem, and things worse.
Lem paused next to a huge, gnarled oak tree. He shoved aside a boulder next to the base of the tree, revealing a hole in the ground among the roots. He reached in, pulled out a waterproof duffel.
RenovationsThey will come again, and when they do, the others will hide.Renovations by `Memnalar
Mr. Brown will curl up in his hole in the eaves. The Wife in the crawlspace, and I'll be here, clutching my dear ones close. I'm wrapping my legs around them, and I can hear them fidget against the soft sac, their little tremors not unlike the desperate throes of flies, but warm, beautiful. It won't be long now. Now is the tender time. Soon I'll wear them on my back, and we can leave this place. But not yet. Not yet. Now is the time when a swift strike would kill them, and me with them. I will not leave.
I can't leave. I've hidden as well as I can. A small shadow between the braces under the mantel, where their lights don't penetrate. At least not yet.
Too much light. Too many sounds. They come with their sounds, with their fangs at the ends of their legs, shooting explosions into the walls, toppling everything. They are giants. They grumble at each other, tear up the floors, rip down the lights. Destroy everything that has
chicken bonesYou, mom. Under your blanket. Kittens and yarn on the one side, ducks on the inverse. Ducks and geese. No turkeys. You kept the Wild Turkey for yourself, didn't you?chicken bones by `Memnalar
I take another swig. That's good stuff.
Never had a kind word to say to me, did you?
I swear I hear crickets.
I was never courageous, like Tom, a doctor by thirty, retired by forty.
No, I was a piece of shit. Scared of everything. Scared of the soap when you washed me. Scared of clowns. Scared of Santa. Scared of girls, but not as much as Santa. You never let me forget that, did you?
"Hold still," you used to hiss at me as I squirmed on his lap, his red suit stinking of sweat and cigarettes. Hold still.
Still, like you. There, in that bed, with the machines beeping over you. Tsking. Waiting for what has to come.
But you just shudder.
Your skin shakes. Withered skin.
Arms like chicken bones.
Like fried chicken.
Damn, I'm hungry.
Hold still, Mom.
gridlocktober!clock strikes zero hour,gridlocktober! by `Memnalar
the world ended once again.
sigh, still no zombies.
One-Touch Choke/StopI need it to get rid of an old, gnarled treeOne-Touch Choke/Stop by `Memnalar
that I allowed to grow too tall,
with roots too deep,
and branches too wide with leaves too thick
that keep the sun from shining.
Bark too rough,
and thorns that bite
at the slightest brush of my fingers.
With webs like hair,
from hundreds of worms
that I didn't kill when I had the chance.
That's what I say
to the nice young man
when he asks if he can help me
find something here in Power Tools
just before closing.