Copyright 2017 Sha’Kerea Holliman
Table of Contents
The Post Card
I didn’t know how to start this letter but I should probably say I’m sorry, I know how bad you wanted to come with me. I made it to the Kincemave Island and it’s quite beautiful, white sandy beaches, crystal blue waters, it’s just like how dad said it would be! The people in town are kind of strange though, but nothing out of the ordinary. Oh! I was wondering if you could look up the word “Camtina?” There isn’t any Internet here and it’s driving me insane.
Yesterday I decided to hike up the mountain and ran into the local priest, quite the believer (Dude is a total nutcase). I talked with him for a few minutes and it turns out he knew dad, I tried to ask him more question and he blew me off.
Anyway, did you happen to take some of my clothes? I can’t seem to find any of my shorts and I know a packed them. The town’s people are having a bonfire tonight and I’ll try to send you some of the Kalli’Mu flowers you wanted so badly. Fun Fact: On the island, they burn the flowers to let the gods know they have found a worthy sacrifice or something. I’m sorry you couldn’t be here.
I’ll write to you when I can.
Kenya shuffled through the kitchen, the gash above her eye leaking blood and blurring her vision. She held the knife in her hand tightly as she felt her way through the dark kitchen, not noticing her opponent only a few inches behind her. Weston walked with a smile on his face, holding his breath as he got closer.
She stops and brings her arms to her side.
“Tobi,” Weston whispered.
Kenya twirls the knife in her hand and quickly turns around, she swings the blade wildly hoping to catch his skin at least once.
“That’s not my fucking name!” Kenya said.
She swings the knife again, and Weston takes a step back, his face scrunched in confusion.
“I don’t understand?” He said, “I thought letting you out would make it better?”
“Nothing will make this better,” She yelled.
Weston frowns and slowly approaches Kenya, his hands sliding across the counter. Kenya stands her ground with the knife held tightly in her trembling hands. Weston smiles and wraps his hand around a vase.
“Do you know the hardest part of this, Tobi?” He asked.
Kenya doesn’t reply, her face set in anger and slight fear. She’s ready to kill him.
“The hardest part.” He said, his hand gripping the vase. “Is hiding the body.”
Kenya charges him, and Weston smiles, he picks up the vase and brings it down on the side of her head. She falls to the floor unmoving and bleeding. Weston shakes his head and squats in front of the unconscious girl, he pokes her a few times and laughs.
“Therapy is really hard, Huh?”
He stands and dusts off his coat, he looks at Kenya and steps over her then grabs her feet. He pulls her towards a door on the far side of the kitchen and sets her down, Weston digs into his pockets and pulls out a key. He jams it into the lock and waits for the ‘click.’
Kenya groans and Weston looks down at her, he nudges her with his foot.
“I’m not in the mood for any more games,” He said.
Kenya is quiet but awake. She waits till she hears the door open, the hinges squeak, and she smiles. Weston bends to grabs Kenya’s legs and is kicked into the darkness of the open door. Quickly, she stands and slams it shut.
“Tobi,” He screams. “Open this fucking door! Now.”
Weston beats on the door and Kenya stumbles away, she glances at the key in the lock. “I swear when I get out of here-”
Kenya laughs, “You’ll do what?”
There is silence and then a chuckle from the other side of the door.
“They won’t believe you,” Weston said, his voice quiet and deadly. “I’ve seen your records. They’ll think you were just on another acid trip, girly.”
Kenya frowns and turns away, she stumbles over to the oven and opens it.
“It’s best if you just let me out and then we’ll start all over again, Okay?”
Kenya twisted the knobs on the stove and glanced back at the door, she smiles and makes her way towards the porch door.
“Goodnight, Officer.” She chuckles and staggers into the night.
Death’s A Dick
Shattered glass and blood scattered across the asphalt. Hot metal seared flesh and the sound of screeching tires sliding across the wet pavement was now the tragic melody for a lost soul. The rain poured, the night sky empty of stars, but full of lightning and faint thunder.
“Oh God,” she whispered.
Sirens whined in the distance. She walked towards the wreckage, the lightning her only source of light. She walked towards the twisted corpse pieces of burnt metal and bloody cotton covered the face. Lightning flashed, the sirens were closer. She kneeled, hands trembling and eyes filled with tears she reached to remove the smoking rubble.
“I wouldn’t do that,” a voice hissed.
She turned quickly only to see the red and blue lights. Paramedics and police officers blocked off the road, the rain mingled with the ever-flowing red liquid of the mangled corpse. The young girl watched as the paramedics rushed over the crushed vehicle, slowly they removed another body, deep gashes covered his childish face and thin arms, blood dribbled from his mouth as he tried to speak.
“Tax,” she whispered.
The girl gave a small smile and jogged towards one of the paramedics.
“The boy said his sister was driving,” a dark-haired officer said.
“Yes, he said they were talking and then skidded off the road,” the paramedic said, handing the officer a piece of paper appearing to ignore the young girl.
“I found this in his hands, he wouldn’t let it go.”
The officer balanced his umbrella on his shoulders and silently read the damp bloody paper.
“Excuse me, sir…”
“This sister got a name,” the officer said, folding the note.
The paramedic nodded, the rain had started to lighten. The girl opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a sharp pain in her chest.
“Uh, he said her name was Toni.”
The officer pulled a small notepad from his pocket and scribbled down the name, the young girl held her chest and attempted to place a hand on the officer’s shoulder. Her fingers misted and phased through his body, the officer shuddered and turned toward the wrecked vehicle.
“Wha-what,” she mumbled, staring at her hands.
The officer rubbed his shoulder and walked towards the wreckage, the young girl followed.
“Sir, I don’t understand wha-”
“He can’t hear you,” a voice interrupted.
A cold wind blew, small pieces of glass rolled towards the girl’s dirty white sneakers and leaves flew towards her face.
“They can’t see you either,” the voice said.
The young girl placed her hands over her face and groaned, a cold pale hand grabbed her wrist and pulled.
The young girl stared at the stranger and frowned, the stranger smiled and stepped closer.
“You were the boy in the road,” the girl said.
The stranger nodded and wrapped his hands around her shoulder, the smile on his face widen.
“You wanna see something weird,” the boy said, pulling her towards the wreckage.
The paramedics had placed the body into a black bag and were slowly zipping it up. The young girl placed her hand on her chest and frowned, the pain had returned.
“Don’t worry about the pain,” the boy said, gripping her shoulder. “It’ll leave once I show you.”
The boy snapped his fingers and whispered a few words, for a split second the two paramedics had stopped moving.
“Show me,” the boy said, holding tight to the young girl’s shoulder.
One of the paramedics nodded and slowly unzipped the black body bag. The pain pulsated throughout her chest. The boy chuckled and tugged her towards the remains, placing a hand on the bag he slowly lifted the body.
“Doesn’t she look familiar,” the boy said, smiling.
The young girl stared in disbelief at the body. The boy unzipped the black bag all the way and pointed to the bloody white sneakers on the corpse’s feet.
“I-I don’t understand,” she said, still staring at the broken body.
“Oh, It’s pretty simple.”
The boy laid the corpse back in the bag and zipped it back up, taking two pale fingers he tapped lightly on her chest.
“You’re dead,” he said.
“Oh hush, the pain stopped, didn’t it?”
The girl nodded, her brown hands trembling in his cold ones. The rain had stop, but the thunder still stayed. The boy tightened his grip on her hand and shook lightly, her dull brown eyes never leaving the black bag.
“Hey,” he said, tugging her arm. “You wanna get some coffee? Or maybe even some of those little donuts?”
The girl turned her head from the bag, her face wet with tears. She sniffed and wiped her nose on the pale boy’s sleeve, he flinched.
“I just want to go home,” she said.
“And I want a clear PlayStation,” the boy said, frantically wiping his sleeve on his pants.
Thunder rumbled and lightning flashed, the boy flinched and looked at the night sky. Scratching his neck, he sighed and stuck up his middle finger.
A gust of wind blew ruffling the pale boy’s blonde hair, he frowned and shook his head. The girl turned and watched as the paramedics loaded her body into the black coroner’s van and drive down the dimly lit road.
“So … Yes, on the coffee,” he said, grabbing the back of her yellow hoodie.
She glanced over her shoulder and sneered, the boy smiled and swiftly yanked on the dingy yellow hoodie.
“I’m taking that as a yes,” he said, wrapping his arms around her waist.
“Wait. Can I say goodbye to him?”
She watched as Tax was placed on a stretcher. The dark-haired officer was standing next to him, notepad in hand scribbling away.
The leaves swirled at their feet and the cold wind blew a tragic lullaby, the whining sirens of the ambulance drifted away and the swirling leaves dropped to the damp pavement.
He sniffed the steaming mug and smiled, humming to the low tune of playing in the background.
“You sure you don’t want a cup,” he said, taking a drink from the brown mug.
“Why didn’t let me say goodbye,” she replied.
The boy sighed and placed his brown mug on the oval table, leaning back in the chair he motioned his hand around the room.
“What do you see?”
She glanced around the crowded room and whispered, “People.”
“Hmmm, People. Live people,” he placed elbows on the table and rested his chin on his laced fingers. “Now, what are you? Oh! That’s right you’re dead.”
He smiled and lifted the mug to his lips, she sighed and glanced around the room watching as people sipped on their coffee and smile. These people were alive and she was dead, she was gone.
“Hey, don’t do that,” the boy said, grabbing her wrist.
She winced at the coldness of his palms and stared at his pale hands.
“What are you,” she said.
“Me? Oh, I’m a boy.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
He chuckled, one of the employees walked over to the table with tight smile. The thick glasses on her pimpled face slowly slid down her nose.
“Sir, I don’t mean to be rude, but could you keep it down,” the waitress said, pulling at the ends of her ponytail.
He smiled and grasped the waitress’s scrawny hand, standing up he placed a pale hand on her temple.
“Joi-Niska,” he whispered.
The waitress smiled and nodded, turning around she headed towards the misty glass door. It was still night out, but the city lights gave the illusion of daylight.
“What did you do to her,” the girl said, staring out the foggy window.
He took a sip of his coffee and frowned.
“Ugh, it’s cold,” he said, sticking out his tongue.
“Are you going to answer my question?”
He nodded and put two-fingers in the air, one the waiters saw him and grabbed a coffee pot and two mugs.
“Okay, what do you want to know?”
“Who are you,” she said, staring into his blue eyes.
“My name is Troy, I’m Capricorn and I’m the youngest son of death.”
The waiter placed the mugs in front Troy and poured the steaming liquid into the pale stoneware.
“Thank you,” he said, taking a mug.
“Would you like any cream or sugar,” the waiter said.
Troy waved his hand and said, “No.”
“So … You’re the son of the devil,” the girl said, leaning back in her chair.
“No. I’m the son of an Angel and the divine shadow.”
Troy sighed and inhaled the steam from the mug. The girl stared at the pale boy rubbing her temples.
“This is a dream,” she said.
“Not a dream,” he replied.
“This isn’t real.”
“Very much real,” he said, taking a sip of the warm coffee.
She slammed her head on the table and groaned, Troy chuckled and slid the mug to her. “If I’m dead how come I haven’t moved on yet,” she said, rubbing her face against the table. “How come I can’t see the light?”
“Because,” Troy said, grabbing her hand. “I don’t want you to go.”
He placed her hand on his chest and closed his eyes, the customers in the store had stopped moving. The lights flickered and hummed, the windows vibrated and thumped.
“What are doing,” she shouted.
Troy didn’t reply, the blinds banged against the brown stonewall and coffee mugs exploded. Troy opened his eyes and grinned, his blue eyes filled with excitement.
“You’re a celestial soul,” he said, grinning.
She frowned and squinted her eyes, “I’m a what?”
About the Author
A writer, Sha’kerea Holliman, is from a small town in Florida. An antisocial, awkward princess of all things strange, she is a writer of life stories, realistic and compelling.
At the young age of eight, she understood that happy endings did not exist, but better circumstances could. Sha’Kerea’s stories would not have happy endings, but believable ones.
Often, Sha’Kerea finds herself writing supernatural or horror realism, she turns simple situations into tragic clinging to survival encounters.
The quiet, often silent monarch, she enrolled at Full Sail University where she earned her B.F.A. in Creative Writing for Entertainment.
She now sits in the darkness of her room nervously piecing together a masterpiece in the making. With the hope that her supernatural web series, “The West of Augustine,” the tale of a demon drug dealer in a small stormy town will be her masterpiece.
Janise, a quiet young adventurous girl, receives a "POSTCARD" from her estranged sister, who has recently gone missing on a trip. Intrigued by this piece of paper, Janise makes the decision to journey out and find her sister. Hopefully. Weston, a recently widowed officer seeks to have a "THERAPY" session with his cheating wife. The only problem is ... she's dead. Toni, a recently dead teenager figures out quickly that "DEATH IS A DICK" when tries to when back her soul from Death's sadistic son.