False Starts

I don’t know what I saw that night. It was a dark time for me, in emotion, spirit, and setting. The moon hung low, but it was waning.


The dolphin swam up the orb and poked the machismo with its snout. The bubbles from its blowhole floated and popped on the surface of the ocean’s water. The orb bobbed up and down with the waves.


A giant man ate the moon one day whilst I slept. I didn’t wake from the noise, nay! But from the hunger that ate at my own body, indeed my damn old soul. Traveling this world for centuries will make a man thirst for human blood.


He reached down for the beer and gripped the cup with his hand. Spittle dripped from his beard onto the scarred, wooden table.

“Hey, um…dude,” Rick said, sitting across from him in the tavern. “There’s like, saliva. It’s coming from your mouth?”

Henry, the spit man, stared at the table with dozen eyes. He was a drone, ready to move at the slightest suggestion.

“You…do you want a drink?”

“Yes.” Henry sipped his beer. He licked his lips and twirled his fingers in the drink. “I want to kill you.”

“Dude…why?” Rick hunched his shoulders and sighed. Henry always got like this, after a night in bed together. “It’s not my fault.”

“It is.” Henry sipped his beer, and then gulped it down with a great thirst. “You don’t have to love me.”