I met the bedroom of the rising sun both sick as a dog and mad as a hatter. I lay cracked, bent, and broken from the rigors of this internal sickness. My bed hasn’t been made in a week but I have had better things to do. Important things like saving the world from attack from hostile conservative aliens from planet Sloth. How can one uphold the American Way and be trapped by the rigging of a made bed? We all seek to be whole but falter from the path.
Bright Future Beat Fiction
Wilted roses crushed into parking lot pebble stones and snow heaps marred the picture of my last Valentine and I held little hope for the “08 version. I have no valentine or a want for one and worry these are the clues to a larger ice cold soul problem. Could the bight lights and warm temperature of the Glitz and Glamor defrost a frozen heart’s hearth? The past year had yet to answer in any positive direction.
Read Beat Fiction
The Winters in L.A. are a strange event for a transplant. The wind carries the aroma of the cold months but the weather is tee shirt friendly. Citizens walk around in all manor of dress regardless of the date. 365 days a year, you can bet dollars to donuts there is a pair of fishnet stalkings somewhere in the city.
Free Beat Fiction
I tuned into a internet radio station which plays nothing but soundtracks to video games. I sit dumbfounded that a station like this even exist and more than one listener is interested. Seems a good night to get stoned and think about it all to the Mario theme.
Video Game Beat Fiction.
When nothing seems to come together. You step out of bed. The floor against your feet feels odd in a normal sort of way. Two left feet meet and you fall, walking ain’t worth it today. Check the vitals and lose a phone number. Procrastination gives way to little productivity. Hobbies feel oppressive, meditation with the new aged nanny is staggering. The house empty, the way I like it, but this days has changed the fortress of solitude into prison bars.
Read One of thoes Days
A work of prose by Wesley A. Bridle, dedicated in the memory of Hunter S. Thompson
Stuck at the crossroads, Lewis finds himself at the crossroad to sell his soul, in return he gets a woman.
More great free Flash Fiction from American NonFiction.
Read Cross Road Blues
