Look Away

Sometimes you just have to look the other way. I learned that my rookie year on the force. I'm putting it in effect right now. I was just getting some coffee and watched a man blow the convenience store clerk away with a shotgun blast to the chest. I called 911, it was all I could do. I'm not a trained medic. I'm not even a cop anymore.

I got a clear look at the man's face, but I get out before the cops can arrive. I'm not about to be involved. I've still got warrants. I don't want any parts of this. It's fucked up, but I'm looking the other way. The ambulance speeds past me going the opposite direction as I get away from the scene as fast as possible.

Fuck, I bust a U-Turn and head back to the scene. I can't make sure this guy goes without punishment. He committed murder. He was on foot, I can catch him before the cops get a description if I'm fast. If I was him I'd try to hide out in a dark place that's not crowded. The better option would be hide in a bar and act wasted. People would think they remember you.

I spot him, still running. I hit another U-Turn and pull alongside him. I open the driver side door and level him with the car, then pop the trunk. Before he can get up, I've already landed a big kick to his gut, pushing all the air out of his body. I quickly toss him in the trunk and drive off. I'll keep him there until news hits with a description of him. Then I'll drop him at the nearest police station. I should have just looked away.



You can't spot a red flag through rose tinted glasses, something my dentist used to say all the time. I don't know why my dentist told me that. But I should have listened. It was the first thing that came to my mind as I woke up this morning. I knew from the banging headache that I had been drugged. Some bird I met at the bar last night. I should have been home with my wife, but I thought going to a motel with her was a good idea. Hardly the first time I've made that mistake.

This isn't the first time I've been slipped a roofie and had my gun stolen either. I know the set up. She's going to pass it off to some thug who is going to frame me for murder. Problem is, I won't go down that easy. I know where she's headed. Homer Griffen, I put him away a while ago for some murders. I wouldn't have been able to do it without a witness. He had a little accident a while back and is still in the hospital. They're probably going to kill him.


I make my way through the hospital until I get to the room. She's there, with my gun.  She couldn't pull the trigger. She's not a killer. I wonder what her relation is to Griffin.

"Hey doll, I need my gun back," I say placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Take it, I can't do it anyway."

We sit and talk for a while. Griffin is her boyfriend. He wanted her to kill the witness. Thought it would mean that his case would be dropped. Crazy what a woman will do for a man she loves. I could turn her in, but I won't. There's no real harm done here. I suppose we both fell for the rose tinted glasses.


Good Vibrations

My phone vibrates on the nightstand beside my bed. I don't budge to answer it. I want to, but I can't. I know my friends just want to hang out or play some games. But, I'm not feeling it. I'm not feeling much these days. Mostly anger, a little sadness. The phone starts to vibrate again. I really want to pick it up, but I can't.

Third time is the charm, I reach for the phone, but it's too heavy to lift. Maybe it's for the best. I don't want to drag my problems into whatever fun is being had. I rollover into my favorite position and close my eyes. I just wait for sleep to come. I'm not sure it will or not. The phone rings again, taking away any chances I had of sleep.

This time I make the effort to grab it and lift it. I just turn it off. They don't want the problems I inevitably bring them. I'm just saving them the trouble. Still the phone rings again. How the fuck is this thing ringing? It's turned off. I fling it across the room as hard as I can. I heart it smash against a wall.

Yet it vibrates still, this time a blue light fills the room. The vibrating doesn't stop and the glow only grows brighter. I pull myself from the bed and make my way over to the phone.

"Are you tired of being sad," a simple message on the screen with options for yes or no.

Everything bone in my body told me I was dreaming. Still I make my choice. I feel the phone instantly burn my finger and I pull back. My entire body starts to burn I try to run. Too late, I'm being sucked into the phone. This is unreal. I have to be dreaming. I try to punch myself and wake up but my arm is gone.

The whole world goes blue and I loose myself. My thoughts it's all gone. When I awaken there's nothing around me. Just darkness, except above me. The ceiling of my room is still there, but it seems so far away. I'm not in my room anymore. I'm inside the phone. What the hell is going on here?



Enoch bolted out of bed, a scream caught in his throat. Gasped for breath. Drenched in sweat. Again, the nightmare: Dank smell of dungeon. Clank of chains. Leg irons. Rats. It had haunted him for years. He hadn't had the nightmare for almost three months, but tonight it struck again. It had been almost thirty years since he escaped that hell. Still it was with him every day.

Questions of why he trusted the woman he had just met often crossed his mind. He was a prince, and had many suitors lined up for him since his return home. Still he had not touched a woman, nor allowed one to touch him. The company of other men did not please him in the slightest.

He had been a prisoner of war for eight months. In that time he was beaten and tortured daily. In hopes that he would tell the secrets of his kingdom. He had been a child at the time, he knew not of any secrets. He was beaten for withholding secrets. His fingernails pulled out when he made up secrets. The first time he tried to escape his leg was broken. It never healed correctly and he still walks with a limp all these years later.

He'd be haunted until his death. The pain would remain with him. He would never be able to shake it. For now he splashes some water on his face and stares out into the night. For now the moon would give him some level of calm.



"You should take her home," the doctor said in a hushed tone. Sympathetic, but still knowing the outcome.

"Why would we do that? You're helping her right," the woman asked. Confused on the surface but deep down she knew.

Her sister was going home for the last time. She wouldn't be making any trips back and forth to the hospital much longer.  The end was near. Cancer had riddled her body. Taken organs and left her a shell of the woman she once was. The doctor was doing his best to be compassionate. It didn't matter. Whatever he told the family would sound cold and heartless. He had just sentenced their loved one to death. Not by any choice of his own, but because there were no longer any options.

"Hey, Abby, just stop," she wheezed from her bed. "I can't do this anymore. I'm ice skating up hill with this," she cracked a joke.

That had been their favorite inside joke from when they were kids. Motherfuckers always trying to ice skate up hill. That's what Wesley Snipes said. It made them giggle for hours when they were younger. The phrase stayed with them, even now as adults. Abby didn't want to believe it, but if this was what her sister had decided then so be it.

A calm death at home, maybe after watching on of her favorite movies. That was all she wanted now. She had been robbed of so much time from illness and the constant surgeries and treatments. She just wanted the final days to be hers. If there were days. There may only be hours. But, they would be her hours. That's all she could ask for now. It had been an okay life, a good life. She would have liked more time with her kids. She wanted to go to a few more concerts and she never got to drive a Corvette. Still, she had lots of time of with a family that loved her. She got to see all of her favorites live in concert. She was even in a movie once, she was just a background character, but she was there. 

Cancer might take her life away. She may miss some milestones, a few weddings and retirements. But she was there. Cancer can never take away the memory of her, the photos, the videos. She was there, that's what matters.


Running Out Of Time

An endless hallway neon lit
The ceiling spirals like your eyes
I’m trapped in a maze of your love
Spinning like a basketball played by kitten
I’m running out of time
Running out of time
To make you love me
Ice dripping from my nostrils
As I walk barefoot
My soles screaming your name
Each step I’m running out
Of spells to get you
Living in pretend like a
Fool but still
I’m runnin out of time

- Garser T. Dismuke


Can you taste my thoughts
I wonder if it tastes like buttercream
It slides on my tongue
Loose like air moves its molecules
I wonder if you could feel the consistency
Of my emotions
How raging words fill my soul like the devil
Cooked it for dinner
This buttercream wishes you loved you
As much as you yearn for someone to hold you
But you fight me like a stranger
I’m your enemy laced with black horns
I might as well be spoiled as milk

- Garser T. Dismuke


"Don't cry. It's just a little scrape," the father said lifting the boy off the ground and dusting him off.

The boy saw his father smile. Still dirty and dressed in his work clothes. He smelled like the tar he used to pave roofs. To most it was a disgusting smell, like old boots being burned up. It smelled like love to the boy, he got excited when that smell would waft into the home. He wiped his tears and put on his best mean mug. He walked over to grass and picked up his bike. A quick and stern nod to his father.

This time he pushed off and his father held him as he pedaled. The boy was focused on the sidewalk ahead of him. He wouldn't let his dad down. He noticed his father's hands were holding on to him anymore and panicked. Terrified, the boy looked behind him to see is father three houses back. He had let go a long time ago. The boy rode with confidence from there. He could do it, he knew he could. He had just done it.

There was one problem, the boy didn't know how to stop yet. He did the only thing that could come to mind. He rode into the grass to slow down. It was working great until he hit a hole and fell again. He didn't cry this time, and he didn't wait for his dad to pick him up. Instead he was back on his bike and headed for home before his dad could reach him.

"Pedal backwards," the dad yelled out to his son.

This time the boy didn't have to dive into the grass to stop. The bike came to a quick stop, back wheels lifting off the ground briefly, but no falling this time. The boy had mastered riding a bike. At least, the most he could. He had spent the whole day trying to teach himself to ride. All it took was a few minutes with dad and he was a pro.