by Rod Drake
How it happened, no one knows; it just occurred one nice autumn day. We all knew the old saying, something as rare as “a month of Sundays,” but we never expected it to actually appear. But for 30 days, we experienced one Sunday after another, much to the pleasure of all us kids in school. Our parents didn’t have to go to work, so they got to spend extended relaxing time with each other, and us as well, plus accomplishing all those little tasks around the house that never seem to get done. Church attendance really soared, as did football games, the World Series played for 22 days (plus travel time) and golf courses & amusement parks did bang-up business. When it was finally over, everyone was thoroughly rested and ready to start a new week (wondering what would happen when the next Sunday came...).
6S
Rod Drake is still in sunny Las Vegas, still writing and still wondering what it is all about (dangling preposition notwithstanding).
Showing posts sorted by date for query Rod Drake. Sort by relevance Show all posts
Showing posts sorted by date for query Rod Drake. Sort by relevance Show all posts
20230929
20230915
Ozone in the Air
by Rod Drake
The rain started slowly, then quickly turned into a heavy downpour. The singer/guitarist on the outdoor stage continued playing despite it. We, standing, packed together tightly in the audience, were getting soaked as well, but we were mesmerized by how he just kept on playing and singing, defying the weather to stop him and his music. We cheered him on, as this musical moment was simply electric. Indeed, it was, as a massive bolt of lightning struck his electric guitar and microphone full force, blowing him, and the equipment, to pieces. Still, it was a great, final concert.
6S
Rod Drake is still writing away, in Las Vegas, still being published and posted, and is happy to be back on Six Sentences.
The rain started slowly, then quickly turned into a heavy downpour. The singer/guitarist on the outdoor stage continued playing despite it. We, standing, packed together tightly in the audience, were getting soaked as well, but we were mesmerized by how he just kept on playing and singing, defying the weather to stop him and his music. We cheered him on, as this musical moment was simply electric. Indeed, it was, as a massive bolt of lightning struck his electric guitar and microphone full force, blowing him, and the equipment, to pieces. Still, it was a great, final concert.
6S
Rod Drake is still writing away, in Las Vegas, still being published and posted, and is happy to be back on Six Sentences.
Posted by
Robert McEvily
20210818
The Melted Bicycle
by Rod Drake
So I watched my bicycle melt, like it was made out of wax, into a multi-colored puddle on the sidewalk. I would have said I was tripping on LSD or something, but at 10, I didn’t do drugs. Then, I heard laughing, and in the upstairs window of our bedroom, my brother, only 8, but brilliant, leaned out with the heat-ray gun he had apparently finally perfected (he had long worked on it). “That’s for not defending me on the playground yesterday,” he shouted down to me. Instead of getting angry, I sat on the step, wondering how I could use it, and him, to my advantage. “Hey, Mikey,” I called out, “come on down; I’m not mad and bring the gun - I’ve got some ideas.”
6S
Rod Drake writes to live, lives to write, so the relationship works out well.
So I watched my bicycle melt, like it was made out of wax, into a multi-colored puddle on the sidewalk. I would have said I was tripping on LSD or something, but at 10, I didn’t do drugs. Then, I heard laughing, and in the upstairs window of our bedroom, my brother, only 8, but brilliant, leaned out with the heat-ray gun he had apparently finally perfected (he had long worked on it). “That’s for not defending me on the playground yesterday,” he shouted down to me. Instead of getting angry, I sat on the step, wondering how I could use it, and him, to my advantage. “Hey, Mikey,” I called out, “come on down; I’m not mad and bring the gun - I’ve got some ideas.”
6S
Rod Drake writes to live, lives to write, so the relationship works out well.
Posted by
Robert McEvily
20210328
Tahitian Life
by Rod Drake
Paul Gauguin awoke at dawn and wandered out of his comfortable bamboo shack, greeting the sun over the Pacific. He set up his easel, put a canvas on it, squeezed out some oil paint, chose a soft brush. The young topless Tahitian girls were making baskets and whispering to each other in the shade of the palm trees nearby. He began to paint them; they ignored the funny Frenchman while he worked. Gauguin’s art was inspired by this island paradise, and a triumphant artistic success back in Europe. Just his advancing syphilis flawed the otherwise perfect life.
6S
Rod Drake has written lots of flash fiction stories; see some short ones here.
Paul Gauguin awoke at dawn and wandered out of his comfortable bamboo shack, greeting the sun over the Pacific. He set up his easel, put a canvas on it, squeezed out some oil paint, chose a soft brush. The young topless Tahitian girls were making baskets and whispering to each other in the shade of the palm trees nearby. He began to paint them; they ignored the funny Frenchman while he worked. Gauguin’s art was inspired by this island paradise, and a triumphant artistic success back in Europe. Just his advancing syphilis flawed the otherwise perfect life.
6S
Rod Drake has written lots of flash fiction stories; see some short ones here.
Posted by
Robert McEvily
20210301
Clockwork
by Rod Drake
A distant constellation was burning itself out in a corner of the sky. No one noticed or cared; they just continued their routine, workday life, hoping for something fun or at least interesting to happen. I sat on the end of my weathered Minnesota dock, strumming my acoustic guitar, singing old Paul Simon songs. Fish came up to the surface under my feet, hoping the shadows on the water meant food. Somewhere in the cabin up the slope my girlfriend Amy lay in bed and wondered what it all meant. I looked back at our cabin, then up at the sky and knew what it all meant.
6S
Rod Drake has some other 100-word flash fiction here. Check them out!
A distant constellation was burning itself out in a corner of the sky. No one noticed or cared; they just continued their routine, workday life, hoping for something fun or at least interesting to happen. I sat on the end of my weathered Minnesota dock, strumming my acoustic guitar, singing old Paul Simon songs. Fish came up to the surface under my feet, hoping the shadows on the water meant food. Somewhere in the cabin up the slope my girlfriend Amy lay in bed and wondered what it all meant. I looked back at our cabin, then up at the sky and knew what it all meant.
6S
Rod Drake has some other 100-word flash fiction here. Check them out!
Posted by
Robert McEvily
20200628
Endgame
by Rod Drake
So, get this, on a typical Tuesday afternoon, a black hole singularity suddenly pops into existence in my apartment. Its diameter was no more than the size of a pencil eraser, and it floated casually, about chest-high, in my otherwise normal living room. I watched it for a while, just hovering there in the air, pulsating quietly, noticing that it was pulling random dust motes inside its event horizon to who-knows-where. Eventually I decided that I should probably capture this tiny pocket universe. So I trapped and sealed it in an old Rubbermaid container and put it on a shelf in my bedroom between tattered copies of Stranger in a Strange Land and Something Wicked This Way Comes. Who could have known that such a simple act would cause all that it did to the universe (multiverse?) when the great multitude of miniature black holes came searching for their missing companion.
6S
Rod Drake has some other 100-word flash fiction here.
So, get this, on a typical Tuesday afternoon, a black hole singularity suddenly pops into existence in my apartment. Its diameter was no more than the size of a pencil eraser, and it floated casually, about chest-high, in my otherwise normal living room. I watched it for a while, just hovering there in the air, pulsating quietly, noticing that it was pulling random dust motes inside its event horizon to who-knows-where. Eventually I decided that I should probably capture this tiny pocket universe. So I trapped and sealed it in an old Rubbermaid container and put it on a shelf in my bedroom between tattered copies of Stranger in a Strange Land and Something Wicked This Way Comes. Who could have known that such a simple act would cause all that it did to the universe (multiverse?) when the great multitude of miniature black holes came searching for their missing companion.
6S
Rod Drake has some other 100-word flash fiction here.
Posted by
Robert McEvily
20200608
Tiny Life
by Rod Drake
I don’t know what I am or where I am, just something lying here on this glass slide. The protoplasm next to me says that I’m bacteria; well, that’s a start I guess. What kind of bacteria, I wonder? Apparently I’m asexual, as I tried to make a move on that cute germ next to me, and she divided into two germs, both of them telling me to shove off, pervert. I get the feeling that some giant eye is looking at me and probably judging me. Other floaters around me are starting to divide, so this might become one wild party, alright!
6S
Rod Drake keeps writing until he gets it right.
I don’t know what I am or where I am, just something lying here on this glass slide. The protoplasm next to me says that I’m bacteria; well, that’s a start I guess. What kind of bacteria, I wonder? Apparently I’m asexual, as I tried to make a move on that cute germ next to me, and she divided into two germs, both of them telling me to shove off, pervert. I get the feeling that some giant eye is looking at me and probably judging me. Other floaters around me are starting to divide, so this might become one wild party, alright!
6S
Rod Drake keeps writing until he gets it right.
Posted by
Robert McEvily
20200602
The Furry Black Plague
by Rod Drake
We panicked, thinking Swine Flu would be the planet-cleansing pandemic everyone secretly feared. But it wasn’t, we survived it, and then the Cow Flu came, a devastating and disgusting plague, but again, humanity somehow survived and thumbed its collective nose at Nature’s attempt to reduce the population and restore some balance to the globe. Nature, however, wasn’t through with us, and she likes to win; next came the Horse Flu, the Sheep Flu, the Duck Flu, but it was the last one, the current one, which has legs, albeit hairy ones, and looks like the real deal. The Donkey Flu. Oh, people don’t get flu symptoms from it like all the other types of ever-more-deadly flu viruses; no, this strange malady is a whole different kind of disease, one that appears to be sweeping the world, because I can already see its impact, to say nothing of vanishing people. Once inflected with the Donkey Flu (and there is no cure) one’s ears start growing and becoming furry, then the face elongates and buck teeth protrude, followed by hands and feet slowly devolving into hoofs, and before you know it, you’re transformed into a real donkey, a whole planet full of them, and my only hope is that I can ride this out before – HEEHAW HEEHAW.
6S
Rod Drake is wearing a surgical mask, washing his hands frequently and staying safely isolated in his house.
We panicked, thinking Swine Flu would be the planet-cleansing pandemic everyone secretly feared. But it wasn’t, we survived it, and then the Cow Flu came, a devastating and disgusting plague, but again, humanity somehow survived and thumbed its collective nose at Nature’s attempt to reduce the population and restore some balance to the globe. Nature, however, wasn’t through with us, and she likes to win; next came the Horse Flu, the Sheep Flu, the Duck Flu, but it was the last one, the current one, which has legs, albeit hairy ones, and looks like the real deal. The Donkey Flu. Oh, people don’t get flu symptoms from it like all the other types of ever-more-deadly flu viruses; no, this strange malady is a whole different kind of disease, one that appears to be sweeping the world, because I can already see its impact, to say nothing of vanishing people. Once inflected with the Donkey Flu (and there is no cure) one’s ears start growing and becoming furry, then the face elongates and buck teeth protrude, followed by hands and feet slowly devolving into hoofs, and before you know it, you’re transformed into a real donkey, a whole planet full of them, and my only hope is that I can ride this out before – HEEHAW HEEHAW.
6S
Rod Drake is wearing a surgical mask, washing his hands frequently and staying safely isolated in his house.
Posted by
Robert McEvily
20190416
Notes
by Rod Drake
Jack Kerouac's ghost has been leaving me hastily scrawled notes each night for a week. They're on my nightstand when I wake up, next to my alarm clock and glasses. Nothing truly literary or earth-shaking about them, just what changes he would like to make to his novels. Sometimes a catty comment or two about Ginsburg, Rexroth or Burroughs. And asking after Neal Cassady, like I would know where he was (I would assume they are in the same place - the Beatnik Afterlife). On my nightstand this morning I found a new note, written on a greasy 1950s paper hamburger wrapper, this time from Cassady, telling me not to let Jack know where he is and that Ken Kesey says hi.
6S
Rod Drake used to think he was a fictional character in a story, but he turned out to be the author instead - life is funny that way.
Jack Kerouac's ghost has been leaving me hastily scrawled notes each night for a week. They're on my nightstand when I wake up, next to my alarm clock and glasses. Nothing truly literary or earth-shaking about them, just what changes he would like to make to his novels. Sometimes a catty comment or two about Ginsburg, Rexroth or Burroughs. And asking after Neal Cassady, like I would know where he was (I would assume they are in the same place - the Beatnik Afterlife). On my nightstand this morning I found a new note, written on a greasy 1950s paper hamburger wrapper, this time from Cassady, telling me not to let Jack know where he is and that Ken Kesey says hi.
6S
Rod Drake used to think he was a fictional character in a story, but he turned out to be the author instead - life is funny that way.
Posted by
Robert McEvily
20190227
To an Atheist Dying Young
by Rod Drake
Wilfred (he was neither Will or Fred; everyone called him Harry) was close to his mother, but she died when he was just 14, an experience that turned him into a lifelong atheist. After attending a good university as a lackluster, but gifted, student, he became a poet, writing plain, terse and bitter verse. Then he was lauded as a literary genius, a cutting voice of stark, lonely reality, the tragic voice of his generation. Harry tried to drink himself to death, but it took too long, so instead he hanged himself. Imagine his surprise when he came face-to-face with God. And his mother.
6S
Rod Drake thinks about a lot of different things, and some of those thoughts get turned into stories.
Wilfred (he was neither Will or Fred; everyone called him Harry) was close to his mother, but she died when he was just 14, an experience that turned him into a lifelong atheist. After attending a good university as a lackluster, but gifted, student, he became a poet, writing plain, terse and bitter verse. Then he was lauded as a literary genius, a cutting voice of stark, lonely reality, the tragic voice of his generation. Harry tried to drink himself to death, but it took too long, so instead he hanged himself. Imagine his surprise when he came face-to-face with God. And his mother.
6S
Rod Drake thinks about a lot of different things, and some of those thoughts get turned into stories.
Posted by
Robert McEvily
20190120
Confused Time Loop
by Rod Drake
Ernest Hemingway arrived early at the bullfighting ring in Barcelona. Groundskeepers were still raking the dirt in the ring to be more even; others hung various pennants and flags around the corrida del toros while a third group of Spanish peasants packed small bags with peanuts to sell. The crowd of spectators was not here yet, but Dos Passos and Fitzgerald should be along soon, Hemingway thought. The sun was warm on this early autumn day in 1927. Bored, Hemingway took out his Apple iPhone and looked for missing calls, none, and then scrolled through Twitter, also nothing, and finally opened Google to check out news on the Internet. At that point, Hemingway realized that the cellphone wouldn't exist for another 80 years, and then it quickly faded from his hand.
6S
Rod Drake hangs his fedora in the Neon City known as Las Vegas.
Ernest Hemingway arrived early at the bullfighting ring in Barcelona. Groundskeepers were still raking the dirt in the ring to be more even; others hung various pennants and flags around the corrida del toros while a third group of Spanish peasants packed small bags with peanuts to sell. The crowd of spectators was not here yet, but Dos Passos and Fitzgerald should be along soon, Hemingway thought. The sun was warm on this early autumn day in 1927. Bored, Hemingway took out his Apple iPhone and looked for missing calls, none, and then scrolled through Twitter, also nothing, and finally opened Google to check out news on the Internet. At that point, Hemingway realized that the cellphone wouldn't exist for another 80 years, and then it quickly faded from his hand.
6S
Rod Drake hangs his fedora in the Neon City known as Las Vegas.
Posted by
Robert McEvily
20190103
Odds
by Rod Drake
It was raining pretty hard last night when I stopped to pick up a soaked young hitchhiker; he got in quickly and thanked me so much for rescuing him on such a miserable night. After he warmed up a little, he asked me how did I know that he wasn't a criminal, or even a serial killer? I just smiled and said that the odds of two serial killers being in the same car were, well, astronomical. He laughed at the joke; it was no joke. Then I killed him. He was never missed or found.
6S
Rod Drake thinks about a lot of different things, and some of those things get turned into tiny stories.
It was raining pretty hard last night when I stopped to pick up a soaked young hitchhiker; he got in quickly and thanked me so much for rescuing him on such a miserable night. After he warmed up a little, he asked me how did I know that he wasn't a criminal, or even a serial killer? I just smiled and said that the odds of two serial killers being in the same car were, well, astronomical. He laughed at the joke; it was no joke. Then I killed him. He was never missed or found.
6S
Rod Drake thinks about a lot of different things, and some of those things get turned into tiny stories.
Posted by
Robert McEvily
20120113
Murderous Eggs
by Rod Drake
Aldous was frightened of eggs; not allergic to them, but frightened of them, with their smooth, opaque eggshells sitting in uniform rows, never alone, gleaming up at him behind an invisible veil of refrigeration in grocery and convenience stores everywhere. Fiendish, terrifying; he knew that eggs were out to get him. So it was with great trepidation that he stayed over at Marcie’s, his new girlfriend, apartment, when she asked him to one night (since sex overwhelmed, but did not erase, the fear of eggs in her refrigerator). After Marcie was in bed and waiting for him, he took a couple of minutes and using some masking tape he found, Aldous securely latched the refrigerator door—let those thin-shelled demons try to escape now, he thought smugly. Early the next morning, Aldous quietly got up and headed into the kitchen for a drink, only to discovered that the tape was ripped loose from the refrigerator door; had Marcie done it in the night, he wondered, or... He walked through the dark apartment to the bathroom, suddenly feeling the crack of several eggs under his feet, which caused him to slip on the wet yolks smearing the tile, losing his balance, and careen forward to bash his head fatally on the tub—Aldous’ last thought was hearing the silent telepathic laughter of eggs everywhere.
6S
Rod Drake is the Official 6S Author for Friday the 13th and Halloween.
Aldous was frightened of eggs; not allergic to them, but frightened of them, with their smooth, opaque eggshells sitting in uniform rows, never alone, gleaming up at him behind an invisible veil of refrigeration in grocery and convenience stores everywhere. Fiendish, terrifying; he knew that eggs were out to get him. So it was with great trepidation that he stayed over at Marcie’s, his new girlfriend, apartment, when she asked him to one night (since sex overwhelmed, but did not erase, the fear of eggs in her refrigerator). After Marcie was in bed and waiting for him, he took a couple of minutes and using some masking tape he found, Aldous securely latched the refrigerator door—let those thin-shelled demons try to escape now, he thought smugly. Early the next morning, Aldous quietly got up and headed into the kitchen for a drink, only to discovered that the tape was ripped loose from the refrigerator door; had Marcie done it in the night, he wondered, or... He walked through the dark apartment to the bathroom, suddenly feeling the crack of several eggs under his feet, which caused him to slip on the wet yolks smearing the tile, losing his balance, and careen forward to bash his head fatally on the tub—Aldous’ last thought was hearing the silent telepathic laughter of eggs everywhere.
6S
Rod Drake is the Official 6S Author for Friday the 13th and Halloween.
Posted by
Robert McEvily
20111113
Dark Imagination
by Rod Drake
She said she had lost her husband. She didn’t seem that upset by it. Maybe he was sick for a long time, so it wasn’t unexpected, almost a relief in a way. Or maybe she didn’t really love him, or had fallen out of love with him, and didn’t care all that much that he was gone now. Or... perhaps she had killed him. She could have made it look like an accident, people do it all the time, and the authorities wouldn’t investigate a common, ordinary death like this; it wasn’t a page one story (he was nobody famous or infamous), there was no great amount of money to be inherited and the death wasn’t bloody or extreme – just a seemingly normal passing that might hide a dark secret.
6S
Rod Drake is the Official 6S Author of Halloween and Friday the 13th. (Beware a black cat crossing your path today!)
She said she had lost her husband. She didn’t seem that upset by it. Maybe he was sick for a long time, so it wasn’t unexpected, almost a relief in a way. Or maybe she didn’t really love him, or had fallen out of love with him, and didn’t care all that much that he was gone now. Or... perhaps she had killed him. She could have made it look like an accident, people do it all the time, and the authorities wouldn’t investigate a common, ordinary death like this; it wasn’t a page one story (he was nobody famous or infamous), there was no great amount of money to be inherited and the death wasn’t bloody or extreme – just a seemingly normal passing that might hide a dark secret.
6S
Rod Drake is the Official 6S Author of Halloween and Friday the 13th. (Beware a black cat crossing your path today!)
Posted by
Robert McEvily
20111031
Soft Earth
by Rod Drake
I thought I had ended my relationship very clearly and very definitely with Lucy. Things had gone well between us for the first couple of months, and Lucy had her charms, don’t misunderstand me. No one is all bad, except perhaps me, and I am working on my own problems, but I think I can deal with difficult situations and personalities pretty effectively, Lucy being just another case in point. Lucy fought, of course, but she wasn’t the first girl that I had to end it with; that’s how breakups go usually, at least mine do. Then came that drizzly, rainy Tuesday, shrouding everything in a soggy haze. I believed Lucy was out of my life forever, so imagine my surprise when she appeared at my door, disheveled, dirty and bloody, when I was sure that I had killed and buried her a week ago.
6S
Rod Drake is the Official 6S Author for Friday the 13th and Halloween. Boo!
I thought I had ended my relationship very clearly and very definitely with Lucy. Things had gone well between us for the first couple of months, and Lucy had her charms, don’t misunderstand me. No one is all bad, except perhaps me, and I am working on my own problems, but I think I can deal with difficult situations and personalities pretty effectively, Lucy being just another case in point. Lucy fought, of course, but she wasn’t the first girl that I had to end it with; that’s how breakups go usually, at least mine do. Then came that drizzly, rainy Tuesday, shrouding everything in a soggy haze. I believed Lucy was out of my life forever, so imagine my surprise when she appeared at my door, disheveled, dirty and bloody, when I was sure that I had killed and buried her a week ago.
6S
Rod Drake is the Official 6S Author for Friday the 13th and Halloween. Boo!
Posted by
Robert McEvily
20110614
If Looks Could Kill
by Rod Drake
The Bette Davis robot turned her head mechanically and fired crimson laser beams from her inhuman eyes. The Joan Crawford robot followed Bette’s lead and blasted optical laser beams at me as I scurried to avoid being vaporized. In this ersatz movie set dressing room from the 1940s, I had one chance for survival; tossing a jar of makeup forced the robots to track and shoot it, which gave me the break that I needed. Grabbing the large hand mirror from the dressing table, I pointed it at Bette, angling it slightly so that her laser beams reflected off the mirror and blew Joan’s head to smithereens. Then the Barbara Stanwyck robot entered the dressing room, analyzed the situation in a millionth of a second, tilted her head and laser blasted Bette Davis into a pile of wires, circuits and rubble, some of which shattered my hand mirror. With a quick roll, grab, aim and manual fire, I used Joan’s loose eyeball as a laser gun to punch a hole through Barbara, hoping she was the last of the evil movie queen robots.
6S
Rod Drake is a time traveler, who is currently enjoying 1940s Hollywood. (And today is his birthday! Happy Birthday Rod!)
The Bette Davis robot turned her head mechanically and fired crimson laser beams from her inhuman eyes. The Joan Crawford robot followed Bette’s lead and blasted optical laser beams at me as I scurried to avoid being vaporized. In this ersatz movie set dressing room from the 1940s, I had one chance for survival; tossing a jar of makeup forced the robots to track and shoot it, which gave me the break that I needed. Grabbing the large hand mirror from the dressing table, I pointed it at Bette, angling it slightly so that her laser beams reflected off the mirror and blew Joan’s head to smithereens. Then the Barbara Stanwyck robot entered the dressing room, analyzed the situation in a millionth of a second, tilted her head and laser blasted Bette Davis into a pile of wires, circuits and rubble, some of which shattered my hand mirror. With a quick roll, grab, aim and manual fire, I used Joan’s loose eyeball as a laser gun to punch a hole through Barbara, hoping she was the last of the evil movie queen robots.
6S
Rod Drake is a time traveler, who is currently enjoying 1940s Hollywood. (And today is his birthday! Happy Birthday Rod!)
Posted by
Robert McEvily
20110528
The Furry Black Plague
by Rod Drake
We panicked, thinking Swine Flu would be the planet-cleansing pandemic everyone secretly feared. But it wasn’t, we survived it, and then the Cow Flu came, a devastating and disgusting plague, but again, humanity somehow survived and thumbed its collective nose at Nature’s attempt to reduce the population and restore some balance to the globe. Nature, however, wasn’t through with us, and she likes to win; next came the Horse Flu, the Sheep Flu, the Duck Flu, but it was the last one, the current one, which has legs, albeit hairy ones, and looks like the real deal. The Donkey Flu. Oh, people don’t get flu symptoms from it like all the other types of ever-more-deadly flu viruses; no, this strange malady is a whole different kind of disease, one that appears to be sweeping the world, because I can already see its impact, to say nothing of vanishing people. Once inflected with the Donkey Flu (and there is no cure) one’s ears start growing and becoming furry, then the face elongates and buck teeth protrude, followed by hands and feet slowly devolving into hoofs, and before you know it, you’re transformed into a real donkey, a whole planet full of them, and my only hope is that I can ride this out before – HEEHAW HEEHAW.
6S
Rod Drake is wearing a surgical mask, washing his hands frequently and staying safely isolated in his house.
We panicked, thinking Swine Flu would be the planet-cleansing pandemic everyone secretly feared. But it wasn’t, we survived it, and then the Cow Flu came, a devastating and disgusting plague, but again, humanity somehow survived and thumbed its collective nose at Nature’s attempt to reduce the population and restore some balance to the globe. Nature, however, wasn’t through with us, and she likes to win; next came the Horse Flu, the Sheep Flu, the Duck Flu, but it was the last one, the current one, which has legs, albeit hairy ones, and looks like the real deal. The Donkey Flu. Oh, people don’t get flu symptoms from it like all the other types of ever-more-deadly flu viruses; no, this strange malady is a whole different kind of disease, one that appears to be sweeping the world, because I can already see its impact, to say nothing of vanishing people. Once inflected with the Donkey Flu (and there is no cure) one’s ears start growing and becoming furry, then the face elongates and buck teeth protrude, followed by hands and feet slowly devolving into hoofs, and before you know it, you’re transformed into a real donkey, a whole planet full of them, and my only hope is that I can ride this out before – HEEHAW HEEHAW.
6S
Rod Drake is wearing a surgical mask, washing his hands frequently and staying safely isolated in his house.
Posted by
Robert McEvily
20110210
Cab Ride from Hell
by Rod Drake
Life is indeed full of surprises, and sometimes they aren’t good ones. I’m getting into a cab on a rainy day in Seattle (like that’s a surprise), and my cabdriver turns out to be a zombie, even stranger, someone that I’d killed when he was human a year ago. Ever since zombies got protected class status, they turn up in all sorts of menial, aka, mindless, jobs. Mookie wasn’t the sharpest tack in the box when he was alive, working as one of Big Mickey’s hired thugs, and being a zombie dropped his IQ even lower (if that was possible). But eventually Mookie figured out I was his killer, so we ended up fighting in the cab until finally his reckless driving crashed us through the side of the Eaton Brain Disease Research Facility (ironic, I know). Seeing all those brains floating in specimen jars paralyzed Mookie with mouth-watering joy, such that he forgot all about me, giving me the time to douse him with rubbing alcohol and torch him, killing him for a second time (good riddance again).
6S
Rod Drake feels it's better to see a zombie than be one.
Life is indeed full of surprises, and sometimes they aren’t good ones. I’m getting into a cab on a rainy day in Seattle (like that’s a surprise), and my cabdriver turns out to be a zombie, even stranger, someone that I’d killed when he was human a year ago. Ever since zombies got protected class status, they turn up in all sorts of menial, aka, mindless, jobs. Mookie wasn’t the sharpest tack in the box when he was alive, working as one of Big Mickey’s hired thugs, and being a zombie dropped his IQ even lower (if that was possible). But eventually Mookie figured out I was his killer, so we ended up fighting in the cab until finally his reckless driving crashed us through the side of the Eaton Brain Disease Research Facility (ironic, I know). Seeing all those brains floating in specimen jars paralyzed Mookie with mouth-watering joy, such that he forgot all about me, giving me the time to douse him with rubbing alcohol and torch him, killing him for a second time (good riddance again).
6S
Rod Drake feels it's better to see a zombie than be one.
Posted by
Robert McEvily
20101031
Soft Earth
by Rod Drake
I thought I had ended my relationship very clearly and very definitely with Lucy. Things had gone well between us for the first couple of months, and Lucy had her charms, don’t misunderstand me. No one is all bad, except perhaps me, and I am working on my own problems, but I think I can deal with difficult situations and personalities pretty effectively, Lucy being just another case in point. Lucy fought, of course, but she wasn’t the first girl that I had to end it with; that’s how breakups go usually, at least mine do. Then came that drizzly, rainy Tuesday, shrouding everything in a soggy haze. I believed Lucy was out of my life forever, so imagine my surprise when she appeared at my door, disheveled, dirty and bloody, when I was sure that I had killed and buried her a week ago.
6S
Rod Drake is the Official 6S Author for Friday the 13th and Halloween. Boo!
I thought I had ended my relationship very clearly and very definitely with Lucy. Things had gone well between us for the first couple of months, and Lucy had her charms, don’t misunderstand me. No one is all bad, except perhaps me, and I am working on my own problems, but I think I can deal with difficult situations and personalities pretty effectively, Lucy being just another case in point. Lucy fought, of course, but she wasn’t the first girl that I had to end it with; that’s how breakups go usually, at least mine do. Then came that drizzly, rainy Tuesday, shrouding everything in a soggy haze. I believed Lucy was out of my life forever, so imagine my surprise when she appeared at my door, disheveled, dirty and bloody, when I was sure that I had killed and buried her a week ago.
6S
Rod Drake is the Official 6S Author for Friday the 13th and Halloween. Boo!
Posted by
Robert McEvily
20100813
Miserable Day
by Rod Drake
My God, it was a miserable day; a cold, drizzling rain washed everything into a dreary gray mess. Obviously the girl standing under the leaky awning of the abandoned used record store had been forgotten, and now she was soaked, her pretty outfit drenched, her hair plastered to her head like it had been shellacked. Her Alice Cooper eyes looked so hurt, as she wondered, I’m sure, where that worthless boyfriend of hers was, what had happened to make him forget her here. She was so pitiful, fragile, wet and alone, that I pulled over to the curb, rolled down my window, and against my better judgment, asked, “Need a lift somewhere?” She didn’t know me, but something about the situation and her misery caused her to throw caution to the wind (which was both cold and wet), and she said in a shaky voice, “Yeah, take me home, please.” She never made it home; they found her body three months later.
6S
Rod Drake is the Official 6S Author for Friday the 13th and Halloween. Don’t walk under a ladder or let a black cat cross your path today!
My God, it was a miserable day; a cold, drizzling rain washed everything into a dreary gray mess. Obviously the girl standing under the leaky awning of the abandoned used record store had been forgotten, and now she was soaked, her pretty outfit drenched, her hair plastered to her head like it had been shellacked. Her Alice Cooper eyes looked so hurt, as she wondered, I’m sure, where that worthless boyfriend of hers was, what had happened to make him forget her here. She was so pitiful, fragile, wet and alone, that I pulled over to the curb, rolled down my window, and against my better judgment, asked, “Need a lift somewhere?” She didn’t know me, but something about the situation and her misery caused her to throw caution to the wind (which was both cold and wet), and she said in a shaky voice, “Yeah, take me home, please.” She never made it home; they found her body three months later.
6S
Rod Drake is the Official 6S Author for Friday the 13th and Halloween. Don’t walk under a ladder or let a black cat cross your path today!
Posted by
Robert McEvily
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