Tuesday, March 11, 2008

Birthday wishes, and a murderer inside my mind.

Happy birthday to you

“Hush.” I admonish the singing rogue thought as my fingers fly over the keyboard. I’m in a foul mood over missing my deadline - twice - on having my story finished.

Come now, aren’t you happy that it’s your birthday? The voice keeps humming the grating tune.

“No. Why would I want to be reminded about the countdown to my death?”

Wow. You’re in a surly mood today. The voice raises my eyebrows in surprise, but I don’t pay any attention. So long as it doesn’t do anything with my typing hands then we won’t have any problems.

“I need to get this done,” I growl. “I added another chapter to my story.”

Busy you, the voice muses. Maybe I can help with something. Call it a birthday present from me to you.

Always suspicious of the bothersome thought, I frown. “And what could you possible do to help me?”

Why, I’ll give you the next big idea for a spanking new story.

I ignore the voice’s words, for about a minute. Curiosity will always betray me during the times when I’m supposed to be working. “Okay, you have two seconds to get me interested.”

The voice chuckles evilly. There is a foul smell and blood coming from your memory vault that’s locked from the inside. Also, we have not seen the slacker guard in over a month.

My mouth drops open. I stop typing. The last pages remain blank on my computer screen with no hope of being finished now.

Yeah, that was my reaction too. The rogue thought admits as I hear a spritz of an air freshener inside my head while the smell of country flowers fills my noise. Happy birthday. Enjoy it while it lasts. Because once we get that vault open, we’re going to have one awful surprise on our hands.


  1. Back at it again Michelle?

    LOL I loved "Wow you're in a surly mood today."

    Twas a good read my dear.

  2. It's not my fault! I was sitting there staring at my laptop ready to write a synopsis for my WIP along with the last six (now seven) chapters when suddenly, BAM, this story was on the page.

    Ah, me. Would you believe I spent my whole birthday editing the first 17 chapters of my MS? Then, per usual on my b-day, a moment of epiphany came concerning my life:

    I really had a dysfunctional childhood. What else could explain the fact that, when I was eight years old, my father allowed me to watch a headless chicken run around our yard? He and his drinking buddy wanted to make chicken soup and it was my job to inform them of when the chicken stopped moving. Then they went into the house to have another beer.

    Perhaps that's why I was in a weird mood yesterday . . .

  3. Ha! Awesome. I would believe you. I simlarly spent my 21st birthday last October working on a WIP on campus in between class.


    Omg. You're lucky you turned out relatively normal. Don't turn into a serial headless chicken reaper!

  4. I will survive, I will survive. So long as I know how to love, I know I'll stay alive.

    Sorry, the tune just popped into my head. I was only thinking about my childhood because I'm still debating on the next MS story with the fictional character living out my past life.

    Serial headless chicken reaper? I call dibs on that idea for my four book! Na-na-na!!!

    I'm off to listen to some Cypress Hill, Insane in the Membrane. Just kidding!!!!

  5. Happy birthday!! hey you're not the only one who has that chicken memory to deal with...My folks thought they'd save a little money and raise some fryers -- penny wise pound foolish -- I think the childhood trauma has caused me and all my sisters numerous trips to the shrink LOL.

  6. HAHAHAHAH,LOL!!! Okay, okay! Breathe, girl, breathe! Thanks *snicker* for the birthday wishes, Pat.

    I'm sorry. Hold on. HAHAHAHAHA!!!!

    Oh, I don't feel so lonely in this world anymore. Thank you!

  7. I give you permission to use the 'serial headless chicken reaper' word. It's all a part of our plan to take over the world you see.

    Oh God I love that saying "penny wise, pound foolish." It never goes out of style. It's right along side fist, meet face.


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