Journals of a Psychopath

315
  0%
  0

Tags

Blackclaw Woodlands an eerie place to be taken to.

Work

      “My daughter was born last night.”
      “How are Elaina and the baby keeping?”
      “She is alright and the baby is acceptable.”
Perry reached out for the whiskey and we drank to Jolenson my daughter. Jayne dashed up the steps and her boots created not a sound, Perry elevated the glass, she accepted it.
      “You are a work of art,” Perry said.
Jayne sat on the desk and her eyes trained onto mine the desire for her revived.
      “How is Rhea taking the news about the baby?”
      “She does not know yet.”
      “I can understand your reluctance to tell her, but it will make things worse if she sees Jolenson.”
Jayne swung her foot as if she did not care one way or the other, but I knew her thoughts. Perry looked at Jayne and for some reason he did not desire Jayne he was weird. Harry came up the stairs, his face was red, and he fiddled with the chart on the wall.
“What do you want Harry?” Perry asked.
      “I saw Rhea go by the gas station and she did not look very happy.”
Later Rheanna came up the steps and she glared at Jayne sitting on the desk.
      “Elaina has had the baby it is a girl,” Jayne said.
      “No, it cannot be happening,” Rheanna cried.
      “Oh yes it is and Clarkson is besotted with the little girl,” Jayne replied.
Rheanna ran out of the Pit Stop blanched with fury.

The Isolation Chamber

On the table, the soup was layered by a glutinous greasy film, and she had made no effort to eat. Unlike earlier times, she was ravaged by misery. She was supposed to stay unruffled in spite of the circumstances.
      “Eat up there are fine nutrients in it Smithson fixed it for you.”
Lady Flarice sniffed and twitched her nose and the stink was repugnant.
      “Sup the broth it is part of your penance.”
Obediently sipping, she retched, and the sick released on the floor, the grease contributed to Lady Flarice’s vomit.
      “Wipe the puke up.”
The Lady Flarice turned her back, but she complied. Shambling to the kitchen, she filled the bucket with scalding water, and she added bleach. Returning she began to mop the floor.
      “Father she is not doing it correctly.”
Clumps of spew were strewn across the floor.
      “You must know something pertaining to cleanliness you should have eliminated the lumps first,” I said.
Lady Flarice removed the blobs of puke and she resumed to mop the floor.

Global Scriggler.DomainModel.Publication.Visibility
There's more where that came from!