The Flash Story Collection
Copyright © 2014 Josh Hilden
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The Rising Tide
The Last Good Day
On the Top Floor
A Run in the Rain
I love short fiction. I think it’ safe to say there is no other form of writing I love more. There is just something about a bite sized nugget, a vignette if you will, that drives my imagination and desire to create something new.
What you have here is a small collection of Flash Stories, stories of less than a thousand words for the purposes of my craft. Each of them represents a snapshot of an idea. They were all literary bolts of lightning and some of them have evolved into later longer works.
I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I enjoyed writing them,
– Josh Hilden
The last thing he saw was the moon glowing bright and fat above him. Then the icy water gripped him, squeezing the air from his chest like a giant’s fist.
The trip began with joy and frivolity. His wife had surprised him with a cruise. They would travel the sun blessed islands of the Caribbean together. No children, no cell phones, no jobs, no bills… They could just be together and in love under the sun. After so many years of working hard to provide for their future they would be able to relax and enjoy some of the fruits of their labors.
It had been amazing. The food was delicious and plentiful. The sun had been bright and inviting. The nights had been cool and comfortable. He’d never had so much fun.
But good things must come to an end.
No one was to blame. If he had been able to think about it he would have known that. The moon dipped behind a lone cloud for less than a minute, but really only a second would have been enough time. The water on the deck was hidden in the shadow and the two drinks he’d had with dinner had left him slightly off balance. One second he was talking with his beloved, the next he was flying head over feet off the ship.
His lungs burned hot and his heart hammered. The surface shimmered so far away. He’d fallen from the boat and was embraced by the icy sea before he could even cry out. Lungs ready to burst, he kicked and pulled with all of his might toward the silver moonlight dancing across the water’s surface, fear filled him.
He knew that he was finished with his ascent.
His vision dimmed and his strength left. In his last moments he was filled with calm. All he saw was her face smiling at him, young again and standing at the end of the aisle, her father by her side. She was radiant in her beauty and now, as then, it took his breath away.
Then he breathed.
“Water, water everywhere and not a drop to drink,” Steve sang to himself as he hiked the path. The wind was chilly and he pulled his coat tighter to his slightly pudgy frame. He didn’t look back. He wasn’t ready to see what was behind him. Not yet anyway.
The smell of salt in the air sent a shiver down his spine.
Shelia and the kids probably never felt a thing, Steve thought to himself for the thousandth time since leaving his car on the bridge. Forever jammed with the hundreds of other abandoned vehicles. Downtown was swamped in seconds… so they couldn’t have suffered for more than a minute, right?
That was the question haunting him.
One foot in front of another, his thousand dollar dress shoes not suited for the rough trail up the mountain. For seventy-two hours they’d held together but now they were failing.
I’m so fucking tired.
But Steve needed to get to the ridge. He needed that 360 degree view. He needed to see it all for himself. There had been no warning. One second the sky had been clear, a beautiful September day, the next the sea surged and the coast… all of the coasts were inundated.
This isn’t reality. This is a bad Michael Bay movie.
But Steve knew it was real, he’d seen the city center from the span of the bridge. Everything was gone. The radio, at least the stations still broadcasting, were screaming about the collapse of the ice sheets.
This shit doesn’t happen.
But it had, for three days he’d tried to reach higher ground. Everyone was heading for the continental interior. The roads were choked. There was no way to make it without air transport or the protection of hardened troops. There were stories on the road of just that, soldiers sweeping in to get highly valued people out.
Nobody cares about a high priced attorney.
Steve was hungry, Steve was tired, and Steve was scared. But once he got to the top of the ridge he would be able to rest. When he’d achieved his goal he could sleep.
I hope it was like falling asleep for Shelia and the kids.
He knew it wasn’t… he knew they’d been scared.
He didn’t know he was crying.
The sun was dropping below the horizon leaving the sky a brilliant pink and orange. The kids loved nights like this. Shelia loved nights like this. Steve loved nights like this.
I can see the top.
The bench and high powered binoculars were maintained by the park service. Steve asked Shelia to marry him here. His adult life began here.
Only right to finish it here.
Steve sat, the sun disappearing below the horizon.
“I will see you soon baby,” Steve said.
Jared never should have hit mommy.
That was what Jenny kept telling herself, it was the all consuming thought in her 10 year old head as she removed the slip case from the pillow then wrapped the fluffy feather filled lump of fabric with a black garbage bag. Tying the open end of the dark plastic closed with a knot she slid it under the kitchen table.
Nobody should ever hit mommy.
Then Jenny opened the door to the basement jamming a fork under the door to ensure it would be nearly impossible for Jared to close. The door was heavy, made of oak and stained a beautiful honey color by Jenny’s daddy the year before the car accident took him away and three years before Jared became her step daddy.
All mommy did was burn the pork chops, who deserves to be hit for that?
Once she was sure the door was stuck Jenny slid under the table with the pillow to wait. She didn’t have to wait very long, less than ten minutes later Jared came down from his “Man Cave” where Jenny’s daddy used to have his library.
Jenny missed the library and all of the old leather bound books. She hated the giant loud television and video games Jared had filled the room up with since moving into her house.
Daddy wouldn’t like that Jared hit mommy.
“What the hell?” Jared asked the seemingly empty room, “If that kid has been playing in the basement I am going to bust her ass.” He muttered setting down his half finished soda and attempting to shut the door.
Daddy wouldn’t like it if you hit me.
“What the hell?” He asked confused when the door wouldn’t budge.
Jenny exploded from beneath the table and drove the entirety of her eighty pounds into the small of Jared’s back. He was massive compared to her slight frame but he had been trying to close the door and not balanced to remain standing.
Jared made no sound as he toppled head over feet down the stairs, thumping as his body struck the risers.
There was a sickening crack as he impacted the concrete floor.
Jenny peered down the steps and saw his still form at the bottom. But he wasn’t dead and when his eyes opened and locked on her she sighed in resignation.
Why can’t this be easy?
“Jenny” he choked, “Jenny call 911 I think I’m paralyzed.” He gasped panic settling in his voice.
Jenny said nothing. Instead she went back to the table and brought out the pillow. Then she went back to the doorway and headed down the steps, one at a time never taking her cold dark eyes off of her step father.
“Jenny what are you doing?” Jared asked. It was obvious he was trying to move but was unable.
Jenny said nothing.
“Goddamnit go call for help you little bitch!” Jared screamed spittle flecked with blood flying from his mouth.
“You shouldn’t have hit mommy.” Jenny said coldly before she placed the plastic covered pillow over Jared’s face. He shook his head against the suffocating pressure.
He didn’t shake long.
Three o’clock in the morning is a bad time to decide you want ice cream. But that was what my very pregnant sister decided she wanted. I woke up to the sound of the Star Trek theme song erupting from my phone. When I picked up, my sister April was on the other end begging me to run to the grocery store and get her a quart of rocky road.
If it’d been anyone except my baby sister I would have told them to go to hell. But it was April so I told her to give me half an hour and I would have it to her.
I arrived at the corner twenty-four hour market dressed in a t-shirt, slippers, and Scooby Doo bed pants. The cashier, a fat pimply-faced kid, made a comment about my “Cool Threads” as I dug out my wallet, dropped a ten on the counter, and took my purchase out the door to my car. The little old lady behind me stepped up and asked for a pack or wraps as I crossed the threshold.
That made me smile. Good on her.
The roads were completely empty, which was the norm for central Ohio in the middle of fall on an early Wednesday morning. It was a ten minute drive to April’s house from the market and I planned on getting a shower there and then catching a nap on her couch.
At first I didn’t notice the headlights.
I cranked up the radio to that stupid “Radioactive” song. Don’t ask me why I like it, I just do. I was drumming my fingers on the steering wheel when I finally caught the glint of fast approaching lights in my rearview mirror.
“What the fuck?” I muttered. The vehicle had to be a big one because there were four sets of high intensity halogen bulbs blinding me.
And it was flying. I was already doing fifty in a forty mile an hour zone, and this machine making a beeline for my rear end was barreling down on me.
Putting my foot down on the gas I pushed my rickety old piece of crap car over the sixty mark, I became concerned when the front end began to shimmy and I needed to fight the wheel to stay balanced.
My heart was beginning to hammer.
Then the vehicle behind me began flashing its lights and honking its horn.
I put the gas pedal all of the way to the floor and was amazed when I managed to get my car to eighty. I started laughing like a loon when the engine light on my dashboard lit up and tendrils of smoke began to pour out from under the hood.
“NO! NO! NO!” I screamed as I stared to lose power and speed.
The flashing of lights and horn honking continued as I allowed my dying steed to drift to the gravel shoulder. Frantically I searched for some kind of weapon. There was nothing.
I rolled to a complete stop… my pursuer pulled up behind me.
Taking a deep breath and attempting to calm my jack hammering heart I opened the door and stepped out to confront my pursuer. I hoped that maybe if I offered to suck his dick he might not kill me.
Yeah I said that.
Standing in the chilly morning air I could now see that my antagonist was a massive custom pickup truck painted black, with tinted windows, and massive lights. The driver side door opened and I tensed to either fight or run.
A shadowy figure stepped down and to my terror they were twenty-five feet tall with horns and a tail.
“What do you want?” I demanded in a terrified squeaky voice.
“Young man, you dropped your wallet on the market floor,” the old woman said stepping in front of the headlights.
Jason was alone. The days were getting colder and the nights longer. Mr. Reynolds car was still smashed into the fire hydrant down the road but the water had been solid ice now for more than a month. Mr. Reynolds was still inside the flooded icy coffin. Now he was a two hundred and fifty pound corpsicle.
Jason still missed Jenny.
Less than six months, that was all that separated the best day of Jason’s life and today.
The sun was warm and shone on them as they ate sandwiches and drank wine on the bank of the river. It was perfect shorts and sandals weather and Jenny had never looked so lovely to Jason. He knew there would be love and heat later on, but in that moment he was happy to let the time run slow and bask in their shared happiness.
It was summer and the less clothes they wore the happier they were.
Jason carried the little velvet box in his pockets for more than a month just waiting for the perfect moment. He’d almost done it a dozen times before now, but none of them felt right.
Now was the perfect time.
She cried when he dropped to one knee and asked the question. After she’d choked out a yes she covered him in kisses. Then clothes were removed and it didn’t matter that at any moment they could be found despite the seclusion on the riverbank. They weren’t discovered and their lovemaking was magical.
That was when she became pregnant.
For four months Jason, Jenny, and their unborn child lived in a world of bliss. For them perfect happiness flowed like water from the tap. At least until that one good day, the last good day.
The government and scientists said they never saw the indications that the volcano was going to blow. That the bomb under Yellowstone was going to let loose and sucker punch the world. They said that, but Jason didn’t believe them.
The ash created the cold, which plunged the world into a new ice age. Within weeks the governments were gone and the citizens were alone. Then the sickness came.
Jenny still lay ice-cold and still in the bed upstairs. Their child forever resting within her preserved form. Jason stopped going upstairs to be with them. He wanted to remember them they way they were when the sun was warm and the river still flowed.
Jason stood and walked toward the stairs, the glow from the fireplace dimly lighting the room. Off came his coat, gloves, and hat. As he reached the steps he kicked off the boots and stripped the socks from his feet.
He winced at the nearly sub zero temperatures of the second floor.
Shirts, pants, and long underwear flowed until he stood naked and numb in front of the door he’d not opened for weeks. His hand touched the handle and the cold burned his skin.
Jason forced the frozen door open.
Inside Jenny and their baby were tucked under the massive frozen comforter. Ice crystals coated its surface. Taking pains to be quiet and not wake them, Jason slipped beneath the stiff blankets and spooned his fiancée. He just needed a little rest… as he closed his eyes he could feel the warmth of the sun and hear the running of the river.
It would be a good day.
“Why does it always have to happen less than an hour before quitting time?” Bobby asked me.
He talked without stopping as we jogged down the service corridor. We were each holding one end of the twenty-five foot extension ladder and it slapped my thigh over and over again as we hurried toward the elevator shaft. The call had blasted from our radios just as we finished fixing the broken water fountain on the twenty-second floor.
“Damn it! Gina knows I have plans tonight, why didn’t she call Alex or Jesus? Those slackers are probably up on fifty sleeping in one of the closed sections,” he grumbled just as we arrived at the access panel and set the ladder down.
That was when I smelled it.
“So instead of maybe getting out of here on time and getting some loving tonight I have to help some jackass suits trapped in the elevator.” He sighed loudly then continued, “Probably a couple of damn bankers, first they wreck the economy now they screw with my love life.”
I was only half listening to his ranting. I was more interested in the air around the sealed access hatch, which was cloaked in a thick musky scent. I’m not sure why but I was reminded of the summers I spent at my Great Grandpas place in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. For some reason images of bon fires and roasting hot dogs flooded my mind’s eye.
“So what do you say we do this thing Rick?” Bobby asked. He opened the door exposing the dimly lit shaft of the skyscraper’s north elevator.
I was snapped back to reality and smiled at my friend. “Sure thing let’s get those suits out of there and maybe you’ll make it to your date on time.”
We both laughed, then we stopped when the walls of the elevator shaft shook.
“What the fuck was that?” Bobby yelped.
After the last thud I was sure I could hear a wet squishing sound. I was about to ask Bobby if he could hear it when the musky smell hit me again. But this time instead of cloaking the area it slammed into me with the force of a gut punch.
“Christ, Ricky! What the fuck is that smell?” Bobby asked, gagging and obviously fighting down the urge to give up the massive burrito he’d eaten for lunch.
“No idea brother,” I replied choking and trying to keep down my own lunch.
The sound of rending metal filled the shaft below, followed a by a low guttural growl. I don’t know why I did it, I don’t know why Bobby followed me, fuck I don’t even remember doing it. I unclipped my flashlight, walked to the lip of the shaft, and looked down.
Next thing I knew we were running, racing for the massive fire door that separated the access hall and the thirty-fifth floor. We were screaming but there wasn’t a single intelligible word coming from either of our throats. Behind us the sound continued, getting louder as it moved up the elevator shaft.
Screaming, we ran for our lives. We slammed into the safety bar and flew into the hall screaming and so terrified I am sure neither of us sported dry shorts. All I could think of was what we saw down that shaft, for only half a second as it climbed the metal walls punching hand and footholds as it climbed. It was human, it was bloody, it looked up at us and its eyes glowed red. But that’s not the worst.
It was laughing.
Jack walked through the front doors of the North America Health Care building. His chocolate brown delivery uniform crisp and his package held forward in clear view. People parted when they saw him and smiled involuntarily at the familiar outfit. Everyone loved the UPS man, seeing them always meant a box would be opened.
Jack liked to think his customers equated him with Santa Claus.
“Morning Jack,” the security guard, an elderly former cop named James said waving him toward the checkpoint.
“Morning James,” Jack replied setting the package on the table and raising his arms. James worked the wand across Jack’s body, made sure the beeps were benign, handed him back the package, and waved him through.
“Where ya headed?” James asked waving a tall leggy blond toward the checkpoint.
“Top floor, got one for the big wigs,” Jack replied grinning and heading for the massive elevator doors. They were the doors to the express elevator, which only serviced the top four floors of the fifty story building—in other words the doors to the top floor.
“Well let me know if the air up there smells better,” James said with a chuckle.
“Oh I will,” Jack said laughing and punching the call button.
Several second later the doors opened. Jack stepped inside still grinning and laughing at James’s joke, it was the same joke he made every time Jack had a package for the top.
When the doors shut his laugh and smile died though.
Quickly Jack dropped the package and ripped it open. Inside was the vest. Jack quickly put the heavy contraption on and buckled it across his chest. It was heavy and awkward but Jack had dealt with worse in Iraq. He counted the floors as he retrieved the handgun and extra long clip from the bottom of the box. As he slammed it home and worked the slide he thought of Sally.
His sister had only been in the ground for a week.
Cancer was a bitch and it’d raged through his baby sister in less than six months. At first he’d been able to deal by constantly reminding himself that bad things happen and sometimes there was nothing that could be done. But then he’d found out about a surgery and treatment in Chicago that could have given her a few more years. The surgery and treatment her employer and health insurance company denied to her, not once but eleven times.
This insurance company.
The floors dinged away and Jack prepared himself while arming the switch in his left hand, even if he was taken down before reaching the big wigs they couldn’t stop the explosion. He’d done this dozens of times in the sandbox. Breach the room, or in this case the floor, and eliminate the opposition.
“This is for you Sally.”
The elevator came to a halt, dinged, and the doors opened.
Dead man’s switch in hand, gun cocked, Jack stepped out of the car.
Danny ran into the bright blue green Porta Potty and slammed the door behind him. He really had to go and even the fetid odor of decomposing human waste wasn’t going to stop him.
He knew the potato salad Shelly packed him for lunch didn’t taste right.
He heard what sounded like a gurgle as he unbuckled his belt and dropped his pants. But considering how badly he needed to release he paid it little mind. Slamming down on the prefab plastic seat he stopped fighting his body and let it go.
“God damn!” he yelled.
Danny’s brow exploded with beads of cold sweat and his bowels felt as if a vacuum was forming. He gulped and fought to stop himself from spewing from the top and the bottom. The stinky claustrophobic space spun and Danny was terrified he’d pass out.
“That’s all I need, to have Hector come looking for me and find me passed out bare assed in the shitter,” he grunted squeezing out copious amounts of nasty awfulness. “Fucking greaser will never let me live it down.”
This time his ears perked up when he heard the gurgling sound. He was positive he’s heard it and terrified it was coming from beneath him. The gurgling was accompanied by a series of thuds.
Then the box began to shake.
“Oh shit!” Danny squeaked as his body was assaulted by a chain of cramps and he was squeezed like a tube of toothpaste.
The gurgles were now growls and the Porta Potty was rocking from side to side with each massive thud.
“Please no,” Danny whispered unable to move from the seat.
Danny’s buttocks were seized by strong claws.
He screamed in fear and pain. Danny could feel the sharp points pierce deep into his flesh. He tried to get up but instead he was pulled tighter against the hole.
“Help! Please somebody help me!” Danny shrieked.
The plastic around the seat shattered under the force of Danny being pulled down. He felt the sharp jagged edges impale him in a dozen places but there was no time to consider the pain it caused.
His body bent at the waist and he heard a snapping as his heels touched his ears. The last thing he felt before everything went dark and quiet was teeth tearing into him.
“Danny, are you in there?” Hector asked banging his hand on the front of the smelly Porta Potty. “Man you need to come out of there, the boss is pissed. Your break was over twenty minutes ago!” he shouted, banging harder.
From the inside he heard a gurgling.
“It’s just rain,” mom said to Jimmy. She watched him as he stood at the closed screen door staring at the van, parked on the street, less than twenty yards away.
Jimmy heard his mom but didn’t answer. His backpack was behind the closed doors of the black van. In his backpack was his most treasured possession, his iPad.
Why didn’t I grab it when we got home? It wasn’t raining then. He thought morosely.
“The driver side door is unlocked,” his mom said joining him at the door.
“What?” he asked a little confused and wary not wanting to take an eye off the falling rain.
“The driver side door is open. You can just dash out there, go around the van, open the door, and get your pack,” she said placing a soft hand on his thin young shoulder.
“But the rain,” he said as if that explained everything.
“It’s not like you’re going to melt,” his mom said with a chuckle, “and it’s June, Jimmy. You’re not going to catch a cold either, man up and go get your backpack.”
Fifteen feet, I can get in the van in less than thirty seconds, he thought laying his hand on the screen door’s handle.
Knowing if he delayed any longer he’d run upstairs instead and watch TV, Jimmy threw the door open and launched himself through the portal. Breathing hard with his arms pumping, he flew off the porch and onto the lawn.
The first fat drops of water smacked his bare arms, legs, and face.
This isn’t so bad, he thought barreling toward the van.
Then it started to feel weird.
At first Jimmy was confused, then he was scared. Each drop of water produced a sensation of pain, like when him mom put rubbing alcohol on scrapes and cuts.
“Ouch!” Jimmy yelled in pain and fear as a drop landed on the tip of his nose then he saw smoke rise through the damp air in front of his face.
What the hell is going on? he thought pouring on as much speed as he could.
Desperate to reach the safety of the van Jimmy tried his best to ignore the rapid series of painful eruptions on his skin. His heart nearly stopped when he glanced at his arms and legs and saw rivulets of blood streaming down them.
Each step became an agony as his progress began to slow.
“Mommy!” he yelled but the rain had entered his mouth and had begun dissolving his tongue. It came out muffled and mushy.
Rounding the back of the van Jimmy stumbled and fell to the ground. Hidden from the view of the house but too far from the door to enter the van. He attempted to crawl to the driver’s door using his fingertips to pull himself across the wet asphalt.
With each agonizing pull more of his fingertips were sloughed off.
As his burning eyes began to cloud and turn red Jimmy passed out.
Back In the House
“He’s still out there,” Jimmy’s mom said to her husband.
Jimmy’s dad sighed then paused the football game.
“I’ll go get him,” he said getting up and walking to the door.
“Remind him it’s just rain and that he won’t melt,” Jimmy’s mom said kissing her husband on the cheek before opening the door for him.
I was heading to fix a light on the twelfth floor when I heard her.
“Billy the water is the women’s restroom toilet is running again.”
Feeling as if I’d just bitten down on tin foil I stopped halfway into the elevator and sighed. Once again I’d failed to get past Mrs. Rahn without her stopping me. This was going to be painful… it always was. Putting my best professional smile on my face I turned and looked at the old woman sitting on her scooter that cost more than my shitty Nissan.
“Mrs. Rahn the water isn’t running in the toilet, it’s the water main in the wall you’re hearing,” I said trying not to sound as irritated as I was. For the last six months it’s been the same thing. Every time I passed through the first floor lobby and Mrs. Rahn was there she would lock her eyes on me and the complaints would start.
Billy, it’s too hot in here.
Mrs. Rahn, the temperature is the same as it always is.
Billy, my laundry is late coming back.
Mrs. Rahn, I’m maintenance not housekeeping or laundry.
Billy, my television isn’t working.
Mrs. Rahn, you have to keep fresh batteries in your remote.
Billy, I don’t like the colors on these walls.
Yeah that has been my life since moving to second shift. I made the change in order to make an extra dollar an hour and get away from direct supervision. What I had not counted on was that now I was the only maintenance man for the residents of the retirement community to complain to.
Eleanor Rahn was the queen of the complainers. The ninety-two year old paper heiress was unable to walk but everything else worked just fine. Especially her vile and sarcastic mouth, which she never seemed to be able to keep closed for more than five seconds.
“It is not the god damned water main!” she screeched in response.
In the last month she’d dropped every other complaint and fixated on this one. We’d spent several hundred thousand dollars over the summer re-piping the complex. This had resulted in cleaner water and dramatically higher water pressure. The increased pressure had resulted in being able to hear the water flow behind the restroom walls.
Mrs. Rahn was convinced it was the toilet running constantly and that we were wasting money by not fixing it. She’d reported me to my supervisor seven times for failing to do anything about it. I’d been told to humor her because she was such a big contributor to the church that owned the community.
“Mrs. Rahn we’ve been through this. It’s just the water main,” I said knowing it would have no effect. I expected her to start threatening me again but instead she did something new.
“Come with me!” she ordered shifting her scooter into drive and heading for the restrooms.
“Oh fuck me,” I said a little too loud.
“And I will be reporting your potty mouth too!” she yelled back at me over her shoulder.
No problems with the bitch’s ears.
I followed her through the wheelchair sized door and to the back stall. The very one with the water main flowing behind it. My heart was racing and my hands kept clenching and unclenching.
“I know even a moron like you can hear that Billy,” she said grinning that superior, perfect denture framed smile.
“Please Eleanor, it’s just the water flowing through the main,” I pleaded with her trying hard to keep the rage swirling within me in check.
“Listen you fat idiot, if you don’t do something about this toilet I will have you fired!” she yelled back at me.
My hand was on the back of her head and holding her down in the toilet bowl before I knew what I was doing. That didn’t mean I stopped, I just didn’t know I was going to do it until I actually did it.
“You hear that you old bitch!” I screamed as her upper body thrashed and her lower body remained in her fancy scooter. “You hear the water running now?”
She stopped thrashing.
I went back to work. There was a light up on twelve to fix.
When I was born on August 3, 1976, in the great state of Michigan the hills shook and the sky was swept with fire. These were portents of the greatness for my future that was written in the stars … I’m still waiting for that greatness.
My name is Josh Hilden, and I am many things. I am a husband, father, a son, a friend. These are all important things but at my core I am an artist and the medium that I work in is words. I am a writer of Role Playing Games, short stories, essays, poetry, novellas, and novels.
In the everyday world, I can be found spending time with my family and friends. I have been married to my lovely wife Karen since September of 1996. We have six amazing children. We tend to be a family of unabashed geeks and gamers who were geek before geek was chic.
If you are interested in me, I am very active online with a personal and a writing blog along with a plethora of social media outlets. All links are available on my website (www.joshhilden.com). If you have any questions or just want to chat hit me up!
E-Mail: [email protected]
[* Twitter: @Josh_Hilden *]
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We hope you choose to join us on this journey of growth and expansion!
- Josh Hilden “Co-Head Monkey.”
In 2007, my youngest son was seven years old; a dog mauled him. While we were at the hospital waiting for the plastic surgeon to work his magic, my wife told him not to be afraid. He told her, in his morphine-induced calmness, which he wasn’t afraid of anything except gorillas and scissors. I asked him, ‘What about gorillas with scissors?’ and he replied deadpan, ‘Them too.’ I swore at that moment if I ever founded my publishing company that would be the name. So that’s how we got our name, from a stoned, seven-year-old boy who’d been savaged by a dog.
Only in America… and maybe Canada.
Five years later, and after a long and frustrating process of trying to go the traditional publishing route, I decided to found my publishing company. For two and a half years I worked a regular job and took the baby steps needed to grow the Monkey House. Along the way, I encountered Mrs. Jennifer Tovar, who changed the game forever. She started out as my editor and eventually became my equal partner. At the end of 2014, we merged our separate operations into one and made GWSP our only occupation.
So what are we?
At Gorillas With Scissors Press, we believe the creators should guide their visions and thus, should reap the rewards. We are an indie publishing house with our products spanning the gamut. No genre is off limits in the Monkey House—from Horror, Romance, Erotica, Thrillers, Science Fiction, Fantasy, and everything in between, GWSP has it!
We are the home of the indie writer looking for a safe place to create and not have to worry about having their creations stolen out from under them or being exploited by unscrupulous publishers. We are a cooperative group dedicated to nurturing writers and preparing them for long and productive careers. We believe in the New Model of publishing where the traditional gatekeepers are set aside, and creators have the freedom to create.
- Josh Hilden (Co-Head Monkey)
Website – www.gwspress.net
Twitter – https://twitter.com/GWSPress
Facebook – http://www.facebook.com/gwspress