A Fangy Valentine From Me to You


I thought he’d forgotten.  I was so sure of it that I put on my pajamas, and went to bed when the sun set, denying that I even cared one way or the other. “I’ll come to you in three days’ time,” he’d sworn to me, his soft lips tickling mine with the closeness of his words.  At the time, I’d wanted him to stop talking, and keep kissing me, but tonight I would settle for either, even though I expected neither.

So much had happened to me since he had bid me goodbye just before daybreak to seek shelter from the sun.  Maybe I was projecting my own anarchy onto his existence, when in fact, he had simply been waiting, still and complacent for our moment of reckoning.

I tossed and turned for hours, my frustrations mental and physical.  Didn’t he know I needed him here, right now?  I rolled over and into his arms, suddenly and completely enveloped in the vampire I was starting to think of as mine.  “You’re dressed,” he observed, sounding amused, as though I had challenged him with my Hello Kitty pajama’s.

“I…I didn’t think you were coming,” I told him, dropping my gaze to his stubbly chin.

“I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” he told me, and though the phrase was commonly used, somehow it sounded bigger and broader falling from his lips.

“Is being with me a danger to the world?” I asked, breathless.  I knew it was complicated, but maybe I didn’t understand know how complicated it actually was.  One of his hands tangled itself in my hair, his fingers flexing as he tugged my head back to make me look him in the eye.

“It’s a danger to my world,” he told me, repeating the warning in a kiss that took my air, and fanned my fire.  I should have worried that I was destroying him, his words had begged me to consider it, but he tasted too good to let him scamper away before I had taken everything I needed.



Happy Valentines’ Day from me to each of you. Appreciate all the special people in your life today, especially yourself!  Give yourself a hug from me!


Flash Fiction- Velvet Darkness

Flash Fiction- Velvet Darkness

Velvet Darkness

I hissed when the antiseptic flooded the wound, grunting with relief when the initial burn faded to a tolerable level. My torso was covered in dozens of deep scratches that would require stitches. I wrapped myself tightly in a bedsheet before heading to Brian’s place.

“I told you not to come back here,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest, frowning at me from behind his horn rimmed glasses.  The blood loss made me weave in his hall, and grab for the wall to hold me up. He couldn’t see the damage under my loose fitting clothing. “And you’re drunk, too? Pathetic.”

Despite his anger, he caught me on the way down to the black.  “Sorry,” I managed, meaning it in so many ways that it added to my dizziness to think of how I had hurt this man.  Kneeling on the floor of his hallway, he felt the blood soak through, and cover his hand.

“What have you done?” he asked, his anguished tone cutting me deeper than any blade ever could. I wanted to answer him, he deserved to know he was safe now, but I couldn’t find the words. You’re safe now, I thought as the black cradled me, making it all seem so distant, and unimportant in comparison to the softness surrounding me.  I can go now, I felt it in my bones, the peace of it better than anything I had ever known. I was almost through to the other side when his voice cut through the velvet darkness filling me up.

“Come back, please.  Don’t leave me.”


(c) J. A. Brown, Storyteller- February 7, 2017

Flash Fiction- Small Words

Flash Fiction- Small Words

“There’s never been a question that I loved you.  I doubt even in the measure of it.  It was more than could be counted, and still, less than you deserved.

“For years I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t know how. The words were too small, nonsensical even, when compared to the feeling.

“There was air.  There was you.  Both essential to me.  One to keep me alive, and the other to show me the value of that state.”

Voices In My Head, (c) J. A. Brown, Storyteller February 2, 2017






Word on the street was that I could escape here; on a path that belonged only to me, and it would take me anywhere I had the will and determination to go.  When I opened the door to Cafe Passé, I was surer than ever they had lied to me.  I went in anyway, unable to pass up the possibility that they might be right.

Inside, red neon tangled obscure runes on the walls, the secret language of rebirth and deliverance, that combined with the warmer than average temperature, to give the room a womblike ambiance.

There were five round tables, covered in white clothes that went all the way down to the floor. Each table had one chair, and a Rever.   Three of the tables were already occupied by Reverants, dreaming travelers, whose entire right hands were concealed inside the shiny silver Rever’s, as their current existence was being over written by the music and drugs. One look told me they were completely outside themselves, their bodies abandoned in the wake of a chemically harmonious liftoff.

Scanning the room, I studied them, and wondered if their choices had taken them to the past, the potential future, or a sideways reality that was better than this one. My fists clenched in impotent fury and doubt.  I needed this to be real!

“It’s a simple process,” the woman taking my payment, and scheduling my appointment told me.  “Just come in, sit down at the table, and put your hand in the Rever. It hurts like death, but when the music starts, and drugs are pumping, it’s all good.”

Determined to do this right, my drug of choice was 835T, commonly known as BEST.  One hit cost me a lifetime, but with BEST, one is all it took.  “If you hit the ride right, you can slide right off this world, and into the best one you could ever have.  Hell, even better, you get to stay there. A soul reborn into a better version of the life you’ve already failed.” Technically, it was suicide, but that was illegal, and so the talking heads spun Revering into a lifestyle choice; a do over, to make things right.

Revering wasn’t something done on a whim. It took money, planning and commitment. I’d thought about this for years, how old I would be, what time I would do it, right down to the minute, but for all of my life what had eluded me was the track. I had lived in this cursed existence for forty-two years before I found it.

I heard it only once, just a snippet, but I knew the Beastie Boys, Shadrach was the track I needed to take me there.  It was old, and at first that pissed me off.  I could have gone so much sooner than forty-two, but then it hit me. I needed to be ready, to get my head right, and even though the song had been written a hundred years before I was born, and fifty years before Revering existed, I wasn’t ready until now.

Clutching this this pounding gritty key in the curves of my grey matter, I would compress my essence into invisible waves of soul glide, and aimed like a bullet at an alternate universe, I would fire myself into the life of the man I should have been, in a world where I would be the fourth man in the fire, and I would find all the things lost or denied to me because once upon a time I turned left.

I approached the first empty table, and noticed a card that read, All Along the Watchtower.  Someone wanted to be a hero, a mystical knight.  That was someone else. I put the card down, trying to image who would choose such a fate? I thought of lingering to meet them, or at least see this would be hero with my own eyes, but I shook it off, refusing the distraction of a look into a world where I would never belong.

At the last empty table I saw Shadrach on the card.   I pulled the chair out, and sat down quickly, afraid even now I would change my mind after coming so far.  That cowardice and self-doubt were just two of the many reasons I wanted out. I took a deep breath, looked at the door, maybe hoping for a glimpse of the mystical knight, stuck my hand into the Rever, and started to slide.

©J.A. Brown, Storyteller-January 17, 2017


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