AUTHOR'S OTHER TITLES (16) 1 To 3 Turns (Short Stories) inspired by Bruce Coville's the monster's ring. It is a little more dark, and slightly more ominous. [1,254 words] A Kid Named Eddie (Short Stories) Tale of a twisted boy. [716 words] Ain't Love Grand? (Short Stories) short horror story,in my opinion, my best. [876 words] Bon Appetit (Short Stories) A chilling meal for three. [821 words] Death's Embrace (Short Stories) An old woman is paid a visit from death. [597 words] Giving, An American Tradition (Short Stories) - [749 words] I Bid You Adieu And Fuck You! (Short Stories) Some more copy cat horror dedicated to you RICHARD. I sincerely hope you enjoy it. [527 words] Life After Death? (Short Stories) thought provoking short. [681 words] Lose Or Win, It's All The Same In The End. (Short Stories) post-apocalyptic America story. It's short, so do me a favor and read it. Let me know if you like it. [269 words] Mail (Short Stories) a man receives a horrifying letter. [382 words] Moving In (Short Stories) An homage to "The new house" by Randall Barfield. I hope I did it justice. [598 words] My Lady In White (Short Stories) different direction than my other stories. [768 words] Paranoia(Have I Told You This?) (Short Stories) Insight into a man slowly losing his mind due to paranoia. [396 words] Return Mail(Mail Part 2) (Short Stories) - [318 words] The Doctor Is In. (Short Stories) short horror story [538 words] The Elephant In The Room (Short Stories) short horror story [852 words]
She Only Got Flowers From Him Once. Emory L Griffin
There is a group of woman, almost a sort of club. Only these woman don't know one another, but when one of the women spot another, they know what the woman is going through. They are going through the same thing themselves. You may not be a part of this group, but you can recognize them by their clothing. Some sport long sleeved blouses on warm, dry days. Others wear sunglasses even if the day is overcast and there is no sun in sight. They have their mottos, "He is a good guy without the bottle" or "It was my fault, really" or the famous "He promised not to do it again". Rhonda Johnson was a member of this particular clique and had been since her wedding night over 5 years ago.
Rhonda heard the front door slam and her husbands loud stomps echoed throughout the house. She knew from the sound of his walk that he was angry and that she was in for a long night. He walked by her without a glance, even though she had put on his favorite lacy nightie, he grabbed a beer out of the fridge and plopped down on the sofa to watch television. She went to bed and cried herself to sleep as she had done many times before.
As she lay sleeping and snoring lightly, Rhonda was awakened by a huge fist plowing into her nose and as blood gushed over the freshly laundered sheets her husband said, in an almost conversational voice, "cut out that damn snoring and you made a mess on the sheets, they better be clean tomorrow."
Rhonda's life was a series of punches, kicks, and sometimes bites. The bites were always the worse. They would always get red and inflamed where the crescent shape of his teeth could be seen indented in her skin for days. After every beating she would lay crying silently in the corner vomiting into her apron, because she had learned, first hand, a mess meant more pain. She told herself the same excuses every abused woman in history has told themselves, "she would just have to try harder" or "he really does love me, he just doesn't know how to show me".
One day, after a brutal beating the day before, Rhonda was cooking and suddenly consciousness slipped away from her and she sank to the floor bumping her head in the process. She came to moments later but the dinner was burnt to a crisp, just as she got out some new ingredients the front door slammed and her husband came in the kitchen with his fists up and started swinging. He pounded his fists into her face an hour after her life force slipped away from her. With each punch he would exclaim, "how dare you burn my supper you numb cunt!"
The cops came along with paramedics and after awhile the autopsy results came back and showed that the cause of death was from the bump on her head. Rhonda's husband never saw a day in jail and he bought her flowers for her casket, they were the only flowers he had ever gotten her.
Woman don't let flowers for your funeral be the only flowers you ever get from your man.
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"Sad & pitiful. It's been a long time since I've seen one of these cases, but I don't miss that. In my view, the laws have always been too lenient on those assholes." -- barfield.
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