How Horror Movies Start

J.C.D. Kerwin

I stared at the fluorescent light tube nestled in the panels and furled my brow. It blinked and buzzed electric, and I pissed alcohol. The dank bathroom reflected back dirty tile in-between the grey light, white light flickers. The tap was running. This was how horror movies started.

I had offended the pretty pair of legs I was with when I bravely suggested we go back to my loft. She “wasn’t that type of girl.” Well, I wasn’t that type of guy, but she was the one wearing fish nets and a skirt so high I could see her ass. Besides, I just left Lisa. Or rather, Lisa just left me. So I was lonely; I needed someone to tell me I was still worth a damn.

The bar was half-empty and it was only eleven. Some crappy country song was blasting through the speakers and I frowned. I dropped bills onto the scuffed wood before waving goodnight to Jim and pulling my collar up around my neck. (Rain falls heavier when you have nowhere to go and no one to see.) I lit a cigarette and slopped five blocks to my broken hole in the world…


The beginnings of another short story. I don’t know where this guy is taking me. I hope it’s somewhere good…


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