Stacy Archives

July 12, 2007

Stacy: Detectives in Love

“Well, that’s quite the personal question, don’t you think?”

“No, ma’am. It’s an effort to ascertain if you do, indeed, patronize this establishment on a regular basis.”

“’Patronize this establishment’? Who talks like that?”

“I’m afraid I do, ma’am. It’s an unfortunate side effect of my chosen vocation.”

“’Chosen vocation…’ Riiiight. Well, what is it you do do?”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, that’s not something I’m comfortable discussing with a lady I’ve just met. In fact, that’s not even something I’m comfortable discussing with my proctologist.”

“Wha..? Um, you know, I think it’s time for me to stop talking. Bye.”


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July 17, 2007

Stacy: The Leader

The last election was held back in ’08. After that, they just quit having them.

Nobody seemed to mind much. The country was prosperous, the rest of the world was basically quiet. Just the usual god-wars.

Then the broadcasts quit coming. When the banks closed, some folks worried. Usually just the ones with money, though. The rest of us just started trading for stuff we needed. If nobody had it, then we didn’t need it.

Nobody ever went to see what happened. Didn’t care much. Life was simple and good, and it was enough.

At least until he showed up.

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July 19, 2007

Stacy: All You Need Is Love?

“You know what, John? I am tired. Tired of this stupid relationship. It is not the magical mystery tour you seem to think it is, and I want out.”

“Babe, come on… we can work it out. Can’t we?”

“No, John, I have seriously had it. You go out every night, I never know where you are or who you’re with. And now… this. What am I supposed to think about this? Those shoes do not match that dress. And that hat, I swear, John. Your mother should know you’re raiding her closet.”

John sighed resignedly and removed his wig.

1. Magical Mystery Tour
2. We Can Work It Out
3. Your Mother Should Know

Extra points for the title?? :)

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August 8, 2007

Stacy: Secrets

She always sat alone, in as near to a corner as anyone could find in a room carved out of the interior of an asteroid by a ball borer.

The bartenders knew to keep ‘em coming until last call, when they drew straws to see who would lift her back to her boat.

It was finally Pinky’s turn one Saturday night. He had a powerful curiosity about her, was actually looking forward to the duty, despite her godawful stench. Well, that is until he saw the inside of her boat.

We had to ship Pinky back Mars-side in a box

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August 31, 2007

Stacy: Rebuttal

Bitch? Upon my honor, I never raised her to have such a cruel tongue. I had to lock her in the tower! She wouldn’t, to put it delicately, keep her skirts down, if you take my meaning. A girl without virtue is a girl without a husband, in this day and age. And I only enspelled her after she escaped for the fifth time...

Wicked? ME? I tried to warn him, I did, but he was so full of himself. Young men are impossible to reason with, especially penniless third sons.

I do so love visiting with the grandchildren, though.

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September 6, 2007

Stacy: The End

Dear Doctor,

Did you not know that to create me would be to curse me? Never again to know the warmth of human kindness, the delicate touch of another. We need that, Doctor, lest we shrivel and die inside.

These long years have taken their toll. I tire, and long for surcease, whatever the consequences to be faced in my afterlife. Yes, despite the horror of both of my lives, I do still believe in God. What remains to be discovered, is whether He believes in me.

I left my heart where no man will ever venture.

Fare thee well.

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October 17, 2007

Stacy: Endure

His grunting breath sounded harshly in her ear. She kept her head turned as far away as she could to avoid the stench. He thrust against her harder, and she bit her tongue until she tasted blood to keep from crying out. He would only hurt her more if she made noise.

She let her mind wander as he continued slamming into her. How badly she wanted to dig what remained of her nails into the soft flesh of his throat, ripping and gouging until the blood gushed out.

But until she knew where Amy was she could only wait.

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November 1, 2007

Stacy: Autobiographical. Or Not.

Apparently a teacher of mine somewhere in the mists of grade school informed my parents that I would likely grow up to be a writer. As I survey the scattered chaos that is my life, I often wonder if that old bitch still lives. So I can kill her.

Then the Muse sets her spurs to my ass once again and I’m off, keyboard chattering like the Nazis are coming over the hill and I’m all that stands between Good and Evil. It’s a goddamned nightmare, I tell you, having all this STUFF inside me, welling out all over the…

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December 14, 2007

Stacy: Biological Imperative

It slides through the pipes, seeking warmth, the heat of living things. It leaves a trail of viscous slime behind, a warning of its presence were there any to see.

It has been without a host for some time, a time of pain and cold. It needs the warmth and life of organisms to thrive, to multiply. And it needs to multiply. That drive is a rippling pain across its primitive nervous system. Feed, grow, divide.

It stops as a warm draft crosses its path. Faintly, from above, “Mooom, where’s the toothpaste?”

It slides up the pipe, towards the warmth.

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December 26, 2007

Stacy: Citizen's Divorce

She arose early, careful not to wake him. She dressed quickly, then crept downstairs to retrieve the suitcase hidden under the stairwell. She pulled on her coat and…the brightly wrapped present sitting on the hall table drew her up short. They hadn’t bothered to decorate for Christmas. What was the point, really…they had no kids, thank god.

He came downstairs a while later to find the body in the hallway, her face set in a rictus of agony, bloody furrows gouged in the parquet flooring. He’d have to call the floor guys tomorrow. Oh, and that snake guy, whatsisname.

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