Faulty Advice Friday | UnfocusedFrUsTrAtIoN

Welcome to Faulty Advice Friday! This is the place to get your toughest questions answered.


Lydia,

How can I get out of a conversation with a coworker that I can’t stand?

UnfocusedFrUsTrAtIoN, Utah

Happy Friday UnfocusedFrUsTrAtIoN!

This is a great question, one everyone has had to figure out at least once. It’s typically those poorly timed situations where we get cornered in the break room by that one person who effortlessly makes our skin crawl! The amount of material they seem to contain is, honestly, pretty astounding. Their superb banter about belly button lint, favorite candidates, strange rashes they just have to show you—it’s a wormhole of never ending discomfort. You may not hate this coworker, but, you still don’t want to hear about the horse shoe crab measuring contest and how the guy down the hall forgot to remind them to go…

One of the best ways out is through. YES, you heard me right! I’m saying you need to participate in this trainwreck of a conversation, and I don’t just mean actively listening until an escape route presents itself. You’re going to have to out weird that fantastically absurd beast.

If they’re telling you (in excruciating detail) about mumsie’s bunions peeling crusty skin bits after bath time—gag—your very next statement must be an offer to provide them with a mason jar to collect the flakes and bring them on for you. The more enthusiasm, the better. Don’t fret, you needn’t offer a reason for such a request, in fact, managing to keep up a mysterious caginess should work in your favor. Few and far between will your creep be a person who delights from such a request, ready and willing to appease. Almost 90% of the time they’ll start hunting for an escape route from you!

However, if you do happen to be unlucky enough to work with one of those super intense 10 percenters, we have ways to get away from with them too. MUAHAHHAHAHA *cough, cough* Ahem. So sorry. Anyway—

One tried and true method is to entrap someone near you. Somewhat more of a temporary solution, (as you may not always be able to beckon someone over) this is when you introduce the intern/new guy/unfortunate passer-by to your esteemed colleague and twirl your evil mustache while you gleefully walk away. It’s a right of passage for every employee, so who are you to deny this unsuspecting victim—uh—new comer, of their turn? Besides, you’ve paid your dues! Scurry away and find some old burned coffee to celebrate.

In today’s world, many of us have been working from home, navigating the waters of video chat meetings and marathon phone calls. You know that mug that says, “This meeting could’ve been an email?” Yeah…

The thing about all our fancy gadgets is: they don’t always work properly. From dropped calls, to frozen web cams—a little creativity goes a long way.

Don’t be afraid to hurt someone’s feelings, go for the jugular if you must. What’s the worst that can happen? You create the world’s next serial killer? Ehhh. You’ll be fine.

Oh, there is actually one other option. Slowly, (and I mean like slugs in molasses riding turtle back on a package you ordered from a sketchy website when drunk kind of slow) start removing bits and pieces from their space. Unnoticeable things at first, things they would just scratch their heads about and carry on. Work your way up to the big stuff. I once received a call from a colleague asking where their water cooler went… So… The slower you move, the more amusing it’ll be when they do notice.

Now, go out there armed with your newly acquired avoidance strategies. Escape the halitosis humbug, emerge as the blissfully cocooned caterpillar you always wanted to be. Social butterflies are overrated anyways.

Enjoy your coworker free weekend (hopefully) UnfocusedFrUsTrAtIoN!😍


Advice given in this post should not be followed and is purely for comedic value.
Lydia Prime shall is not responsible for any person(s) who choose to do so and/or any damages incurred.
© Copyright Lydia Prime. All Rights Reserved.

Faulty Advice Friday | NewlyNeurotic

Welcome to Faulty Advice Friday! This is the place to get your toughest questions answered.


Lydia,

My anniversary is coming up, what should we do to celebrate?

NewlyNeurotic, Pennsylvania

Well, congratulations for the anniversary you’re celebrating, NewlyNeurotic! I’m sorry to say, however, that we won’t be doing much of anything… as we’ve only just met, but I think I can help you come up with something memorable anyway. No matter what you’re celebrating or who you’re with, you can pretty much break out this bad boy for any occasion.

Let’s start with the basics: you’re going to need some food, refreshments, decorations, and of course your closest friends and family (without going over this week’s max COVID occupancy limit). Take a stroll over to the local dollar store and snag whatever catches your eye.
Pro tip: you can’t go wrong with dollar store cheese slices. You can hold a flame directly on ’em and they’ll never melt ;). Thank me later.

An absolute MUST are those teeny tiny spongy pill things, that when dropped into water grow into big ol’ dinosaurs. (They’ll definitely make sense later, now’s not the time for more questions, Neurotic!)

If you’ve never investigated what’s available here, start by walking through the aisle of misfit toys for some creative ideas. Even if you don’t get anything from that aisle, at least the knock off amputee version of those popular pony toys will give you a chuckle.

Anywho, since you’ve got your Chernobyl proof cheese, you’re finally ready to get home and decorate. Hang the streamers, clean the room, spike the drinks if that’s what you’re into-cyanide or booze, dealers choice-and anxiously await your guests!

Once everyone has arrived, grab your drink and make a toast of gratitude. One thanking everyone for not only coming, but for being with you to witness this momentous event. With everyone on the edge of their seats, here’s where you inform them that you’ve finally gotten up the nerve to start this amazing journey. Drop down to one knee, take your partner by the hand, and look deeply into their eyes. If you can see the look of absolute shock and happiness on their face – you’re ready.

Hold out your hand, revealing the spongy pill and ask if they would grow some dinos with you.

One of two things will happen, you’ll get a dino growing partner, OR you’ll get to grow ’em all on your own and enjoy your social status of extinction with your real friends.

Fingers crossed for ya, NewlyNeurotic! Be sure to let me know how it goes 😍!


Advice given in this post should not be followed and is purely for comedic value.
Lydia Prime shall is not responsible for any person(s) who choose to do so and/or any damages incurred.
© Copyright Lydia Prime. All Rights Reserved.

Damned Words 44

Five-fingered Footprints
Lee Andrew Forman

Blood draws my story on the agate floor. Fresh ink covers dried layers with the repetition of time. My five-fingered footprints scatter across my canvas, for within the cold box there is no room to stand. My freedom, nothing more than an arm’s length in any direction. Slight rumbles shiver the enclosure; new paint will be added soon. I’ve never seen the thing that keeps me here. Only felt its scathing, intimate touch on my naked flesh. The floor tells me it will soon be time. My body trembles as I await the inevitable approach of the stippler.


Witness
Nina D’Arcangela

As he adjusted the range, the minute clicks were barely distinguishable from the constant drone. I could see the look of shock and something akin to terror on his face as he stepped back and stared at me as if to question his own understanding. He picked up another tool; resumed his examination. A rush of air whirled through the cavity and sent them into a maddened frenzy. The pounding became relentless, nearly unbearable as the thrum increased to a deafening level. Overwhelmed by what he’d witnessed, he nearly fell to the floor missing the stool that stood just inches away.

He began to speak, paused to clear his throat and opened his mouth again; no words issued from his dry, swollen tongue. I understood. They’d been there for as long as I could remember. I rose from my seat, asked if what he saw were faces. He blanched even further and replied that no, they were not faces, they were hands–hands that pushed against the tympanic membrane. I nodded, gathered my belongings to leave. A gentle pressure on my arm caused a momentary pause. His face reflected the pain he knew would accompany the tear when the tissue gave way. He looked into my eyes as if he couldn’t comprehend my calm acceptance. My reply to his unasked question was a bare mumble.

“I’ve lived with voices in my head my entire life, Doc. I just didn’t realize that one day, they would demand to be let out.”


A Handy Tale
Marge Simon

“Dammit, Martha! We just got our new cement wall up and smoothed. Now look at the mess some neighbors’ kids have made of it! Hand-prints all over everywhere –up and down and sideways. Disreputable, malicious destruction!”

“Something is going to have to be done,” Martha said. “Every time we move, sooner or later, some malicious little devils show up to make our lives miserable. I’m tired of moving, Herbert. We checked out the area really well before buying this house. There’s just one little brat in the neighborhood this time.”

“Yes, I know. Name’s Billy Harlow” said Herbert. He pinned her with a frown. “You know the cure, Martha.

“I do,” said Martha reluctantly.  Off she went to her kitchen to dig out Mamancita’s commodious book of Haitian spells & recipes. The punishment must fit the deed.

Lunchtime the next day, Billy Harlow sat at their kitchen table. Before him was a plate of Mamancita’s special Bon Bon Amidon cookies, still warm from the oven, and a foaming glass of fresh milk. He made annoying sounds when he drank, and chewed with his mouth open.

“Disgusting wastrel!”

“Shhh, he’ll hear you, Herbert. it’s almost over,” Martha reminded him.

The next morning, Billy Harlow’s screams alarmed the neighborhood. His mother rushed to his bedroom to find him crouched on the floor sobbing, arms around his chest in an odd way. “Mama! In my bed!!” She reached over to shake out a loose sheet. There was no blood, but two fat little hands with dirty fingernails fell out of the covers.


Storm Surge
Charles Gramlich

In pitch black, I awoke—on the couch with a hurricane pummeling my house. The TV was off. It had been on when I fell asleep, but the electricity must have failed. Feeling around for my phone, I activated the flashlight app. The room brightened around me but everywhere else the shadows congealed and clung.

I loved my little shack in the woods but at night it could be scary. Needing more light, I went into the kitchen for candles. The rain had stopped. I couldn’t hear it on the roof. But the wind hadn’t faded. It pressed and rubbed at the house like an unwanted caress.

After firing up my biggest candle, I turned off my cell to preserve the battery and walked over to the glass doors opening onto my deck. No wind moved the trees in the backyard. The hurricane had passed. Then what made the sounds I heard?

Sliding the back door open, I stepped outside. I lived near the Gulf of Mexico, with my house elevated against storm surge. That’s the water pushed inland by hurricane winds. Wooden steps led up to the deck from the ground below. On that ground, in the mud, stood hundreds of dead children. All were rotted, with seaweed in their hair as if carried onto my lawn by the surge. Their hands scratched and scritched at the wooden stilts supporting my home.

Screaming, I leapt back inside, slamming and locking the door. But the children heard. They came single file up onto my deck to press their faces and little hands against the glass. They pressed harder, harder, harder. The glass spiderwebbed with cracks.

I blew out the candle. Better not to see. Better to let them find me in the dark.


Burned Out
Lydia Prime

Flesh sizzles upon touching the hematic shale. Dainty hands ignite dancing flames across the arms of the conditionally pre-deceased. Prophesied terms embossed in stone detail the arrival of a beast who won’t feel heat. General consensus is unanimous: they await its birth. No one ever thinks it might have always lived among them. Its existence couldn’t be copacetic—couldn’t manage to stay undetected… Could it?

Shared ignorance protects the man who discovered the slab and lead the charge to find the predicted creature. Blanket delusions curtail questions as he watches over every trial, every tearful family parting. He glows while their skin chars to nothing but ashy outlines. His head bobbing minutely to the screams as they warble to unintelligible echoes. He bites his cheeks—an act required to conceal delight—then calls to the town’s unwittingly damned participants to bring about the next.


Handprints
RJ Meldrum

He’d hated her for years, had carefully planned the perfect murder so many times, but never had the courage to go through with it. In the end, he simply lost his temper. He slashed out at her with a kitchen knife; the first cuts landed on her hands and arms. She escaped and staggered down the hallway, leaving bloody handprints on the pristine white walls. She collapsed by the door where he finished her off.

He spent a whole day carefully cleaning and repainting the wall, removing the last traces of her. Once the walls were restored to their original white, he was content. She was gone and no-one would ever suspect she was dead.

But of course, he was wrong. Her family and friends suspected foul play; they knew the history between the two. The police were called. An officer interviewed him in the front hallway. He was smug, confident; he brushed off the questions.

Just over the detective shoulder, a bloody handprint appeared on the white wall. Then a second and a third. He suddenly stuttered, his cockiness gone. A fourth and fifth handprint appeared; they followed the stumbling route his wife had taken.

The cop noticed he wasn’t making eye contact and instead stared past him. The officer turned. A row of bloody handprints ended at the front door mat, where a pool of blood had formed.


The Wall
A.F. Stewart

The imprints remain on the wall; years of rain and sun could not remove them. The red chalk outlines burned into stone, reflecting the colours of bone and blood. The echo of a human civilization gone mad.

I watch them, the new citizens, as they pass the wall. Some ignore it; others touch it for luck. No one understands. No one knows the truth. They will soon. They will know the fate of those razed into the wall.

We are back. Ready to purge the filth from our city, to take back what they stole. We come to cleanse, to sweep clean with our machines. We will rain fire from the skies and burn away the contamination.

We will add more outlines to the wall.

Until every brick is burned with the death of those who oppose us.


Choiceless
Mark Steinwachs

Colored sunlight from stained glass windows bathes the room around me. I stand in the grand foyer, designed to hold the multitude of people that make their weekly pilgrimage to this house of worship. Its on display, lit perfectly from the lights above. Almost as if it was hiding from and trying to stand above the natural world all at once. Even if it wasn’t here, this place would still make my skin crawl. But it sits on its custom frame, stretched taught, a giant piece at six feet by four feet. I can feel the hands that made it pressing against the thin canvas, as if it were skin. A modern masterpiece of horror held up in honor.

Choiceless. Pastor Jonathan Neils.

I scoff. They have the ability to choose. They were given that. And yet they constantly try to take it away from one another.

“Beautiful isn’t it,” a man says as he steps alongside me. “While I’m honored you’re enjoying my work, this building is closed to visitors right now.”

Closed to visitors? I cringe. “I will always champion those who bring honor to my name. This,” I motion to the painting, “do you truly believe you trying to force your choices on others is what I want?”

“You want? I don’t know what you want, or who you are,” he replies. “It’s what God wants, protect his unborn flock.”

“I want people to praise my name not weaponize it. You’ve made your choices and they were wrong. Nahum 1:2, The Lord is vengeful against his foes; he rages against his enemies.”

I snap my fingers and the pastor’s eyes go wide as in his death he sees me for who I am and realizes where he is going.


Prints
Scarlett R. Algee

I can’t help but think you’re fascinated by that wall, the way you keep staring. No, no need to struggle; you won’t be spitting that gag out. Scream? There’s no one out here to hear you if you did.

I do admit it’s a little bit strange, all those hand-shaped negative spaces outlined in red and black and brown, but I think it looks good against the plaster. I tell the kinfolks it’s a mural, ‘cause I was always a little creative. Amazing what you can do with just some paint and a sponge stick.

Hands are unique, you know. Hands are intimate. Recognizable. So this is what I do with ‘em before they have to go. A little press against the wall, a little dab of color around, and then it’s bonemeal for the roses and flesh for the tomatoes. My roses are the envy of the county garden club, and my tomatoes have won blue ribbons at the fair for five straight years.

It’s the only part I take, too. The part that’s special, that identifies you. The rest I leave here and there; the local wildlife has to eat, after all. But think of it this way—at least I’ll remember you.

Twenty-nine pairs on this wall. I like how they’re starting to overlap. How the colors blend into each other. But my mural needs to grow, and thirty’s a good round number.

Now. Let me see those hands.


Held to Account
Ian Sputnik – Guest Author

The moaning and giggling from the next room made him laugh. It amused Carl that his landlady seemed to entertain ‘guests’ on a regular basis; especially as she appeared to be such a prim and proper lady of a certain age.

He waited for her to leave for her weekly game of bridge before breaking into her apartment. The lock on the old safe clicked and its hinges creaked as the door opened. He routed around inside and removed anything of value. He stuffed jewellery and cash into his pockets. Suddenly, he was pulled backwards with incredible force. He spun around, fists clenched, but no one was there. His legs were then grabbed in a vice-like grip and his arms stretched out so that he resembled a church painting of the crucifixion. Out of the darkness, ghostly hands appeared. They tore at his clothes pulling them from his body as they clawed at his skin, ripped through it and tore the flesh from his bones. Cold fingers forced themselves into his mouth and down the back of his throat muffling his screams. When the ghostly apparitions had finished their work, all that was left of Carl was a pile of gore.

The landlady returned. She gasped at the scene which lay before her; then the phantoms returned. They swarmed around her like bats in a cave before they gently caressed her face and worked down the rest of her body as they stripped her bare. She giggled and groaned in delight as they gently massaged blood into her skin. As they did so the slight traces of wrinkles on her face began to fade away. “My, you have been busy tonight,” she cooed as they lifted her over to the bed and continued their work.


*Originally posted on Penofthedamned.com

Each piece of fiction is the copyright of its respective author and may not be reproduced without prior consent. © Copyright 2020

Faulty Advice Friday | BORiNGhorsePARADE

Welcome to Faulty Advice Friday! This is the place to get your toughest questions answered.


Lydia,

What’s a good hobby to get into?

BORiNGhorsePARADE, Oklahoma

Hey there BORiNGhorsePARADE!

First of all… What the hell is a boring horse parade, and where have you seen such a thing? Is it like a horse race where they’re all trapped in a k-hole, trying to hide from a T-Rex? Do tell. Do, tell.

Although, I kinda feel like that actually might not be boring to watch…

Anyways, let’s get to it: a hobby by definition is something you do in your free time for pleasure. Honestly, this question is a little on the subjective side, that being said, I’ll do my best.

Sometimes hobbies are most fun when done in groups. A lot of people find their missing pieces when they come together with people who enjoy the same things they do. If that sounds like you, perhaps you would prefer chanting a passive aggressive mantra while dancing naked around a fire, sacrificing small children and selling your soul to they who must not be named. Finding the right commune for you might be a bit of a struggle, but you always know once you find your shepard. Your people are waiting my friend, consider looking into former pop punk frontmen and going from there. Maybe watch a few documentaries first though…

Group activities aren’t for everyone though, which is completely understandable. If you’re more of an independent type of pastime, maybe something that won’t cost much and welcomes any skill level, give parkour a try.

No need to work your way up to build strength, stamina, agility, or even balance: go all in. You know what they say: go big or go home! Take a look around, find the tallest building in your area and head to the roof.

Since this is probably about to be the most wickedly awesome thing you’ve ever done, invite everyone you know to watch AND stream it live through various social media platforms, of course.

Your adrenaline will go into overdrive, palms might be a tad sweaty, but don’t worry—unless you just had some of your mom’s spaghetti… No, no, still no need to worry. This, this is your moment. Wipe those hands off on your skinny jeans and take a deep relaxing breath.

It’s so, SO, important that you get a running start. Better to back up as far as you can, then sprint to the end of the roof. Just before you run off the edge, kick off and spring across the gap toward the roof of the building next door. I’m sure you’ve seen videos on the internet, cartoons, movies; the absolute rule here, is don’t look down. You’ll stay in the air as long as you don’t look down.

Whatever you decide to do; be it communal activities with new friends who dress alike and sing songs about the end of days, or learning why man was never meant to fly—do it with a smile.

Hope you find your thing, BORiNGhorsePARADE! 😍


Advice given in this post should not be followed and is purely for comedic value.
Lydia Prime shall is not responsible for any person(s) who choose to do so and/or any damages incurred.
© Copyright Lydia Prime. All Rights Reserved.

September 2020 Ladies of Horror Picture Prompt Challenge: When the Skies Turn Black | @LydiaPrime

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

IMG_20200927_083029_345

When the Skies Turn Black
by Lydia Prime

When the skies turn black,
I won’t look back
to see the stampeding hordes.

I’ll raise up my arms
and sound the alarms,
while the blood of humanity pours.

I won’t just give in
to mortal sin,
as the world crumbles to ash.

I’ll keep out of sight,
from celestial light—
paranoia spills out with a splash.

The smell of decay,
as they stumble away,
will do nothing to calm my nerves…

Alive, but just barely—
I will try to carry
the enchanted tome of lost words.

Hands to the sky,
I’ll look out and cry;
a witness to all it consumes.

It feasts and it lurks,
yet my magical quirks,
won’t slow the creeping doom.

So, when the sky’s torn,
the planet will mourn;
my hands will weave through the air—

I’ll mumble goodbyes,
while everything dies,
trying to vainly escape my despair.

Fiction © Copyright Lydia Prime
Image courtesy of Christina Sng

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More from author Lydia Prime:

GSanthoebook

Graveyard Smash:
Women of Horror Anthology Vol. 2

Step through the prettiest cemetery gates you’ve ever seen and experience tombstone raves and widow’s dances, Japanese snow-spirits, Aztec bruja and temple goddesses, vengeful ghosts, djinn and cannibals, vampire hunters, plague bearers, graverobbers, and terrors beyond reason. Read through the night as the dead rise from boneyards all around the world!

#FRIGHTGIRLSUMMER recommended reading!

Featuring chilling tales from:
Christy Aldridge
Carmen BacaDemi-Louise Blackburn
R.A. Busby
V. Castro
Dawn DeBraal
Ellie Douglas
Tracy Fahey
Dona Fox
Cassidy Frost
Michelle Renee Lane
Beverley Lee
J.A.W. McCarthy
Catherine McCarthy
Susan McCauley
Ksenia Murray
Ally Peirse
Janine Pipe
Lydia Prime
Paula R.C. Readman
Yolanda Sfetsos
Sonora Taylor

Edited by Jill Girardi
With foreword by Doc Holocausto (Evilspeak Magazine, Harvest Ritual, Creepy Crawls)

Available on Amazon!

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Faulty Advice Friday | BatteredNBroke

Welcome to Faulty Advice Friday! This is the first installment of (hopefully) many, where I take some time to answer your toughest questions.


Lydia,

What can I do today to put myself in a better financial position a year from now?

BatteredNBroke, New Hampshire

Hey there BatteredNBroke!

This is a great question, everyone could use some extra dough right? Well, here’s the most important key: invest in your future.

Start by heading to your local arms dealer, this can be on the street or more likely, within the nearest massive chain store. Assuming it’s the latter, you’re going to have to wear traditional dress in order to achieve your task: a double canned beer hat, and a neon colored unitard. This unitard should be at least 3 sizes too small, this will help to accentuate what ever else you might be packin’, if you catch my drift. Shoes are entirely optional, although I believe mismatched ones bring you into the upper class ranking. Once you’ve got the outfit down – you’re more than half way there.

You should be able to simply walk up to the counter and request the bang-banger of your choice. Snatch that puppy outta the clerk’s hands, load up on extra bullets (you can never have too many), and grab a pair of women’s tights on your way out.

Return to your car, and place the tights over your face, making sure to obscure any particularly memorable features. Drive several towns out of the way and enter the first bank you see. The patrons WILL look at you strangely, but honestly it’s just because they’re jealous.

If you haven’t been tackled by a security guard at this point, you’ll want to let the teller know that you’re there to make a withdrawal. Once you’ve completed this transaction, most likely they’ll have triggered a silent alarm… Don’t panic. Just thank them, let one round rip into the ceiling, then turn around and head for the door.

No matter what happens next, you’ll be in a better financial position this time next year, as you’ll either have: (a) no worries anymore 👻, (b) no bills, three meals, a place to sleep, and a slimming uniform, or (c) figured out how to make it to Switzerland and live the high life!

Good luck BatteredNBroke! 😍


Advice given in this post should not be followed and is purely for comedic value.
Lydia Prime shall is not responsible for any person(s) who choose to do so and/or any damages incurred.
© Copyright Lydia Prime. All Rights Reserved.

Under Her Black Wings: 2020 Women of Horror Anthology

Amazing Review of Under Her Black Wings from Angie on her blog, Mediadrome!

Mediadrome

Edition:
E-book

*I purchased this on my own back when it came out, but in the interest of full disclosure, I was actually offered an e-book copy by the publisher in addition to an e-book copy the follow up book, Graveyard Smash, which I haven’t read yet. I did take them up on the offer for book two, but since I already had this one sitting on my e-reader, I just read my own.*

View original post 1,230 more words

The Ladies of Horror Picture Prompt Challenge August 2020 {[All Authors]}

This amazing Picture Prompt challenge has been hosted for the last 3 years by our lovely, Nina D’Arcangela. She selects four pictures and distributes them out to all the women authors who sign up to play along. Check out everyone’s work here:

Aug2020_Image01

August 20th – Snapshots by A.F. Stewart

August 22nd – Tourist Trappers by Marge Simon

August 24th – Locus Obscurus by Scarlett R. Algee

August 26th – Paper Cuts by Angelo Yuriko Smith

August 28th – Beyond the Lens by Linda Lee Rice

August 30th – Pictures or it Didn’t Happen by Bailey Hunter

September 1st – His Terrible Anatomy by Tiffany Michelle Brown

Aug2020_Image02

August 20th – Denial by Ela Lourenco

August 22nd – Revelation by Nina D’Arcangela

August 24th – Revenge of the Vampire Mollusc by Alex Grey

August 26th – Widow’s Verse by Tawny Kipphorn

August 28th – Merfolk by Holli Walker

August 30th – Recommendation by Kendra Hale

September 1st – green-eyed crows by Sheikha A.

Aug2020_Image03

August 21st – Scratch by Naching T. Kassa

August 23rd – American Girl by Elaine Pascale

August 25th – A Mile in My Shoes by Suzanne Madron

August 27th – Memory by Kathleen McCluskey

August 29th – Laces Out by Sonora Taylor

August 31st – Road Kill by Kim Richards

September 3rd – Fading Days by Asena Lourenco

Aug2020_Image04

August 21st – Rebirth by Michelle Joy Gallagher

August 23rd – We all Know What We’ve Done in the End by Melissa R. Mendelson

August 25th – Final Sunset by Rie Sheridan Rose

August 27th – Sunrise by Christina Sng

August 29th – Rendezvous by D.M. Slate

August 31st – The Truth of Sunset Island by Terrie Leigh Relf

September 2nd – Forever by Chelle Storey-Daniel

Pop, Pop, Pop!

Pop, pop, pop!
I love to get inside your head
And spin my silver spider webs
Until your brain cells cease to fire
And your mind goes –
Pop, pop, pop!

All those bright red painful hives
Clawing through your skin with knives
Leading to your itchy eyes
As blood trickles from the skies
So you can: pop, pop, pop!

Tumble down and fall away
You won’t see another day
Wasted time almost up
Garish bitter cover-up
It’s now or never –
Pop, pop, pop!

All the bones crack like aged rolling stones
Innards sizzle from dying fires of your own
The ones you tried to snuff out long ago
Those embers that you barely know
Slowly going: pop, pop, pop!

Say goodbye
Don’t even try
Raspberry gashes overflow
With crawler insects that glow
Scratching you from deep within
Because you are wrought with sin –
Pop, pop, pop!

Monstrous face in deep decay
As the wormies wriggle away
And the gases expanding your eyes
Release you from your mortal ties
That is when they: pop, pop, pop!

∼ Lydia Prime

*Originally posted on Pen of the Damned.
© Copyright Lydia Prime. All Rights Reserved.

The Ladies of Horror Picture Prompt Challenge July 2020 {[All Authors]}

This amazing Picture Prompt challenge has been hosted for the last 3 years by our lovely, Nina D’Arcangela. She selects four pictures and distributes them out to all the women authors who sign up to play along. Check out everyone’s work here:

001_JULY_IMG

July 20th – Ellie by Kendra Hale

July 22nd – John by Kathleen McCluskey

July 24th – Head’s Swimming by Sonora Taylor

July 26th – Odokuro by Tawny Kipphorn

July 28th – Last Meal by Angela Yuriko Smith

July 30th – Death’s Head Fall by Naching T. Kassa

August 1st – Phasing by Sheikha A.

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July 20th – Journey Out of Time by Rie Sheridan Rose

July 22nd – NPC by Michelle Joy Gallagher

July 24th – Incantation by Christina Sng

July 26th – Deeper Shade of Dark by Terrie Leigh Relf

July 28th – The Sea Nymphs of Furthest Reach by K.R. Morrison

July 30th – Miscreation by Tiffany Michelle Brown

August 1st – The Temple by Holli Walker

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July 21st – The Bet by Elaine Pascale

July 23rd – The Road Taken by Marge Simon

July 25th – Perpetual Peace by Ela Lourenco

July 27th – Beyond the Fog by Linda Lee Rice

July 29th – Sparks Like Stars by Scarlett R. Algee

July 31st – Absent of Me by Melissa R. Mendelson

August 2nd – The Buried by Asena Lourenco

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July 21st – Where the Ghosts Lie by A.F. Stewart

July 23rd – The Outside by Bailey Hunter

July 25th – The Fear by Alex Grey

July 27th – Grave Discussion by Kim Richards

July 29th – Niran by Lydia Prime