A Better Life – 3


A Better Life

A Better Life – 2

A Better Life – 3

Exiting the flash of overwhelming light, Jack hurried out of the rancid alley. He walked past a UPS driver who removed packages from his brown truck.

Jack stepped into the vehicle and turned the ignition.

“Hey, that’s my truck.”

Flooring the accelerator, he navigated the van through heavy traffic. “Come on. Get out of the way.”

Glancing into the rearview mirror, he noticed packages fall out the open back door, leaving a long trail. Two minutes later, he steered the truck up the stairs leading to the entrance. He had no concern for his own safety.

Jack raced out of the truck into the elementary school. Arriving at the security desk, he found the pudgy guard with two bullet wounds in his chest.

A loud pop sent arctic chills up his spine.

Around the corner he discovered the lone gunman stepping over the sprawled principal; reaching for the door to her classroom.

Running as fast as he could, Jack hurled his body at the crazed killer. They crashed to the floor. Wrestling for control of the weapon, several shots rang out.

Jack banged the gunman’s hand against the floor. The weapon fired before coming loose. Still struggling with the assassin, he kicked the gun.

It slid along the polished floor.

The sounds of loud footsteps approaching advised him the police had arrived.

Breaking free, Jack staggered. He slipped into an empty classroom as the gunman hurried after his weapon.

Several shots rang out. The murderer cried out.

Pressing a button on a black wrist band, a flash of brightness appeared. Relieved, he stepped through the time portal.

Entering the lab, Jack found Josephine and his assistant Scott waiting for him. He relaxed, mission accomplished.

A bout of dizziness sent him falling onto his back.

Gazing at his hand which pressed against his trembling abdomen, he noticed the blood stain on his white shirt growing like a spilled glass of wine on a table cloth.

“Scott, call 911.” Josephine rushed to his side.

Staring into her loving eyes, Jack opened his mouth to speak.

Everything turned black.


To be continued.

Photo taken from Google Images.


Tonight I’m Loving You



Tonight I’m Loving You

Why should I care who came first
When I dream of being your last
Faceless spirits of dead romance
Those ghosts could never haunt me
There is no promise for tomorrow
So forget the demons of yesterday
 I will make your darkness light
Because tonight I’m loving you 

Photo of Allie on Halloween2014 taken by me.

The Sorcerer’s Wife


The Sorcerer’s Wife

Our writhing bodies glistened with perspiration when her husband stormed in on us. Most betrayed husbands would savagely behead the passionate lovers with a sword.

Not the evil Sorcerer. No, he denied me the most exquisite finale of all; death in her wanting arms.

Sorcerer tossed a sparkling mystic powder. A dust cloud of his evil potion instantly transformed his wife into a doe. Frightened, Isabella sprang from the bed and leapt out an open window.

A wave of his magic wand and he transformed me as well.

Now, the Sorcerer’s wife grazes in the serene forest. Isabella moves with a familiar elegance, sleek and forever graceful. More enticing than before.

Here I lurk, forever watching; still desiring her.

Sorcerer converted me into a cold calculating predator; the most loathsome of creatures. The hyena. Now, I am a merciless scavenger longing to devour my prey.

There she is, here I am.

Beauty and the heartless beast.

For years I coveted the Sorcerer’s wife. I longed to be one with her, to possess her, to make her mine.

Oh, the bittersweet irony.

As foul spittle drips from my restless fangs, I crave her even more.



Photo from Pinterest.

Happy International Day For the Elimination of Violence Against Women


Yes, I know what you are thinking. Lonely Author is not playing with a full deck.

Well, this Chimp may have misplaced a few of his picture cards, but there is a method to his madness. Please bear with me.

Yes, I realize this is nine months early (November 25th).

Friends asked why I ignored International Woman’s Day on March 8th. Honesty, these days fail to excite me.

For those of you who have followed me closely, you know where this is coming from.

Why do we need these days?

Here we are in the 21st century and women are still abused, underpaid, and unappreciated. And I’m not even talking about the atrocities against women or the exploitation of young girls happening in many countries around the world.

That is why I don’t get excited about these days. I don’t think they are helping. Not the way I wish they would.

I will leave you with this thought.

Shouldn’t everyday be International Day for the Elimination of Violence Against Women?

Or better yet…

Shouldn’t we live in a world where we don’t need an International Day for the Elimination of Violence Against Women?

Be well butterflies.




Yesterday, I had the pleasure of reading “bad ass” posts from three female bloggers. Those of you who have read my Devil Girl Diaries already know I have a weakness for bad girls.

These ladies (and I won’t say their names to be sure I don’t offend) have inspired me to write a bad boy piece.  This is out of my usual writing comfort zone, but here it goes.  A taste of bad boy Chimp.



This New Yorker is not like other dudes
definitely, not like this latest generation
young punks who can’t pay a restaurant check
cowards looking for courage behind a cell text
I am good and bad and everything in between
I drink my Johnnie Walker straight with no ice
don’t want anything watered down
not my drinks, my words, definitely not my sex

I won’t ask you for a kiss, I will take it
don’t misinterpret me, there will be tenderness
this gentleman will hold the door open for you
and slap your ass as you walk by
don’t like making love, but I love making out
forget beds, don’t need cushion when I’m pushing
I’d introduce you to the floor, shower, and every wall
as we make perspiring memories with a sigh

I love the ladies, have enjoyed quite a few
Superman had kryptonite, I have my weakness too
love legs, feet, lingerie, breasts, and bad ass girls
yeah, I adore the ladies full of badassery
no I won’t flinch like other cowards
love creative women who challenge my brain
if a confident bad ass woman can blow my mind
well then, she may be able to handle the rest of me


Photo of my wife Allie taken Halloween 2014

A Better Life – 2


Drained by his journey through the time portal, Jack stumbled across the lab. How have I altered her past?

Scott, a scarecrow of a man entered. “You know unauthorized trips are unacceptable.”

Jack hurried past his assistant, “Josephine in her office?”


Jack dashed down the hallway leading to his office. He settled behind his desk.

Scott whispered, “These excursions have a dangerous ripple effect.”

Jack speed dialed her number.

An unexpected voice mail answered.

Looking around, his office appeared different. The framed photograph of Josephine no longer occupied the credenza. “My wife?”

“What wife?” Scott’s voice contained traces of concern.

Jack eyed his cell; the screen no longer displayed his wedding photo.

Something had gone terribly wrong.

He jotted down ideas of how to trace her past; school records, municipal records. A sudden thought plunged him into the darkest recesses of fear.

Jack bolted from his seat, pushing Scott away. He raced down the hall, running past security, and out into the pouring rain.

Turning the ignition to his Infiniti QX80, his hands trembled. His mind raced through the endless possibilities. He crushed the accelerator.

Two hours later, he sped through the heavy black gates. He prayed he wouldn’t find the answer here. Please let it be anywhere but here.

The SUV screeched to a halt. Leaving the engine running, he raced out of the car, dashing over the wet grass.

Heavy rains drenched him until his white shirt clung to him like wet wall paper.

Please don’t let me find her here.

Arriving at his destination, he fell to his knees, sinking into the wet dirt. “What have I done?”

Kneeling in his wife’s family plot; Jack read the expiration date on her tombstone. One year after he stopped the child molester.

He had one opportunity to correct his error or she would be lost forever.

Crawling over her grave, he embraced the slick tombstone. “Oh God, I never meant for this to happen. Please, forgive me.”

Refusing to release the gravestone, Jack wept.

Cold rain and his burning tears failed to cleanse the regret that plagued him.


To be continued.

A Better Life