The Dead Hear Our Thoughts

     There are many different thoughts about communicating with the dead. Some say that it is impossible. Others say that the dead can hear you when you talk to them or can even hear your thoughts. Current scientific advances have determined that the dead can in fact hear your thoughts. This can be a great comfort to those who have lost a loved one. Now the living can be assured that the loving thoughts that they have of their loved ones go straight to them.

            However, there is a downside. The dead receive all thoughts of the living. The newly dead find this overwhelming at first. They often find themselves inundated with thoughts their loved ones have while on the toilet, especially. With time, the newly dead can learn to edit out thoughts, much like with hearing. This ability does not apply to thoughts that are about, or somehow invoke the dead.

            Medium, Sylvia Tanner, says that unwanted thoughts are a problem of the afterlife.

            “Often, in sessions, the beloved deceased will send a message to their living loved ones to please not think of them so much. I usually don’t pass those messages on to my clients, it affects how much I get tipped after the session. The most common request I receive is from grandmothers of young adult males. Apparently, thoughts of Grandma have a certain cooling effect for young men during intense moments of intimacy. Grandmothers hate that. Stopping orgasms makes it difficult to enjoy the afterlife.”

            The takeaway here is to think responsibly. Keep your loved ones in your heart and minds, but not when you are doing something you wouldn’t want them to know about when they were alive. The dead will thank you for it. 

heidi

written: 1/4/20

This is a rough draft. The idea I had was funnier than the execution, I think. 

Found Diary

So I found this diary recently. I thought it was pretty interesting. Maybe this person should take a nap.  The text is transcribed below without edits.

                                                                                                         3/29/16 [cut off in photo]

Dear Fucking Diary,

    The world is so mean. Here I am, trying to do everyone a favor, and they dump on me. And I don't know why? I mean, I know all the greatest words, right? The best words. The best fucking words EVER and all they do is mock me. And it shouldn't matter, it really shouldn't matter what mean people or the liberal-biased media says, after all, I have a young and beautiful piece of ass, but still. It hurts. It hurts way bad. I promise to build a great wall- because nobody builds walls better than me, believe me- that is inexpensive AND paid for by Mexico- and do they appreciate it? NOOOOOOOO! I try to tell them about my "extremely credible source that can prove that birth certificate is fake-and they ignore me. This is why politics is such a disgrace- why good people don't go into government. Because of the bullies and meanyfaces who don't recognize my awesomamilitude!
     You think they never watched TV before. Like they don't know who I AM. And you know all of the women on The Apprentice flirted with me-consciously or unconsciously (so expected) and still all people want to do is drag me down.
     Pigs.
     Filthy pigs.
     And it is sooooo not TRUE.
     LOOK HERE
     [see picture above of drawing of hand]

     My fingers are long and beautiful, as, it has been well documented, are various other parts of my body.

     Just watch. They'll beg me. Please be our boss. We neeed you so much to make America unsuck. And I'll just be like NOPE!!! 


     Sorry America. Sorry uneducated people. It's okay. My IQ is one of the highest-and you all know it! Please don't feel stupid or insecure; it's not your fault.
     But you won't let me be president. So I'm not gonna play with you ANYMORE AMERICA!

     Sorry, there is no STAR on the stage tonight.



heidi
transcribed 6/11/16

I wonder what else I can find laying around Alabama? 

The Devoted Plumber

Harv walked up the sidewalk. It was a fine, sunny Sunday, and he felt damn good. He had a great life with a great job. He was one of God's chosen; he was a plumber. It was a responsibility that he took very seriously. The modern world depended upon him, and his brothers and sisters, to keep the fresh water running in and the shit moving out.  He anticipated the familiar squeak of wood as he stepped on old Mrs. Howell's front porch. He gave a happy three raps to the front door.

"Mrs. Howell? I am back like I promised. I have that piece for you."

The door was unlocked and he walked into the the front parlor. He stood in the entrance as the sun warmed his face and breathed in the old lady smell of the house, which was laced with a trace of cigarillo smoke. He smiled with the wonder of it all.

Mrs. Howell's teacup poodle, Prissy, ran up to him, wagging her tail. She was  a friendly little critter and seemed to join him in celebrating the day.

"A plumber's work is never done, Prissy." He bent down and pet the curly, white head.

He walked upstairs to the bathroom that was next to the master bedroom.  He placed his big toolbox on the floor and took out the necessary tool to finish his work.  Mr. Howell hung limply from the shower rod where he had tied him yesterday, unconscious, but still alive.  Mrs. Howell peeked in the door.

"Hi Harv! I just got back from church. Don't let me interrupt you, but would you like some tea? I made it this morning, and some cookies."

"Maybe when I'm done, m'am."

"Oh! I do apologize dear. I'll run along."

Harv picked up the ceremonial dagger and recited the prayer. Mr. Howell moaned lightly. Yep, a plumber's job was to get rid of the crap, and Harv was a very devoted plumber.

heidi
12/16/14

I participated in NaNoWriMo this year, which you probably already knew, if you  read the The Protector of Hartley  post. While writing, I decided to join my local group, which was the awesomeist (Roll Tide Druid City Wrimos!) Now that NaNo is over, I have joined a weekly writing group and it has been great. (I have been twice.) There was a posted prompt for the month called An Unexpected Gift, which I wrote a response to and will post and you can get to it by clicking the title above. I haven't shared it with the group yet, and I'm not sure if I will (I'll explain why in a minute). Tonight, I was given a title and I had to write a story for it. This post is what I wrote. The group had a positive reaction to it, if a little shocked. People who meet me in real life before they read my writing tend to be a little surprised by what I write.

I am worried, however, that I may be a little stuck when it comes to my horror writing, though. I really love a twist, and I am worried that it's all getting to be a little one note. An Unexpected Gift reminds me a lot of  Charity. This story seems to be a little derivative of Stephen King's The Lawnmower Man and the Milkman One and Two stories; Morning Deliveries and Big Wheels:A Tale of the Laundry Game. (Although, I am probably flattering myself with the comparison.)And I would actually be okay with rewriting King stuff, if that was my intent when I started writing. I did not start this story, though, thinking that I would like to write a reworking or even a fanfic of those stories. So, the similarities are a bit frustrating. I am interested in seeing how participating in the writing group will affect my writing. Maybe you will see more short stories here. Maybe I'll even get a third No Sleep story written. But for now, I may just flow with the group, see what happens, and work on the NaNo story I started. Plus, I want to get back into poetry prompts and NaPoWriMo is coming up fast!  Maybe (don't hold me to this) I can even be a little more regular about posting. I have so many drafts that are just waiting for me to hit the "publish" button. I guess we'll see.

An Unexpected Gift

In front of her apartment door, there was a small, exquisitely wrapped box.  Michelle looked down at the package and then up and down the hallway of her apartment building.  She was all alone. She held her bags closer to her body, so that she could unlock her front door and carefully shooed the box in with her foot. She left it by the door as she went to the kitchen to leave her groceries and then went into the living room to drop off the extra couple of hours' work she had brought home.  Michelle always brought home work. She had a very demanding boss.

The box stayed on the floor while Michelle prepared supper. She had had another hard day and was grateful for the chili that had been slowly cooking in her Crockpot since this morning. She stared at the box while she sat in her comfy chair and ate. She thought that she knew what may be in the box, but it would be too wonderful to hope for. After all of the years of hard work, all of his careless, hurtful words, had he finally relented? Had her boss finally given her what she had longed for all of these hard years?

Michelle thought back to lunch  two days ago with Berenice. Michelle had taken a couple of hours personal leave in order to spend time with her life-long friend.

"If only he knew what he did to me, I'm sure things would change." Michelle had spent the last hour chronicling her relationship with her boss, Jerry.

"Does he know how you feel?" Berenice took advantage of the hitch in Michelle's voice as  Michelle turned her head to wipe a tear.

Michelle, overcome with the depth of her emotion, nodded, ever so slightly, while holding her hands to her mouth.

With a faint inhale, Michelle said, "He just laughed at me. He..." Her soft voice broke and she shook her head, repressing a slight sob.

"How about I have a little chat with him? After all, what are best friends for?"

Michelle smiled and nodded, happily, tears rolling down her dewy cheeks. Berenice was a wonderful friend.

Michelle was jolted out of her reverie when her phone rang. She smiled sweetly when she saw her friend's picture on her phone.  "Hello, Berenice," she answered.

"Hello, Sunshine! Have you received any interesting packages today? I think that Jerry gave you something very precious."

"I have been looking at it all evening. I was going to do some work now before I opened it."

"Open it first. Call me back when you can. Ta!" Michelle heard the smile in Berenice's voice. She pressed the phone to her lips in an almost kiss and then walked across the room. She sat on the floor and opened the beautiful box. What was inside took her breath away.

There was a card underneath her gift. She picked it up, opened it and read Berenice's script.

With love, from Jerry. He wanted you to have this before his little trip.

 Michelle picked up Jerry's ring finger with his ring still on it.  He had finally made her dreams come true. The lying, grabby, sexist, bully of a boss was finally fucking dead.

Michelle was so happy.

heidi

12/9/14

Response to writing group prompt.