LIVEONNOEVIL book cover, hand drawn by j.israel

MASTERRESET! excerpt

This is an excerpt for MasterReset! the fourth book in the LIVEONNOEVIL series. The first four LIVEONNOEVIL books are done. As always, email me if you want to read more.

masterreset!
by j.israel

Ollie loved the strange food and ate more in one sitting than he ever had. The drink and dessert were also amazing and the more he consumed, the stronger he felt. Life had changed dramatically when he’d returned home. There was no action for him to take immediately. Everything he had to do would happen in eight months anyway, but the pieces appeared from the start. On his walk to school he saw the flatbed truck he’d jumped into. He recognized the super cat lady’s house after passing it and spying one climb in through a basement window. That night he found an old mattress, the same one, in the basement of his own house and then a can of blue spray paint in the garage.
He couldn’t sleep again that night or the night after and soon stopped even trying. He didn’t eat unless others were watching and his body passed the food without even really digesting it. Liquids were the same color going in as coming out and no matter what he did, he felt no fatigue. Emotionally, his body had changed as well. Before in school he felt bad at the jibes of his classmates, but now their words were silly and without sense. He was no longer frustrated when he didn’t understand of know the answer to things, but he found this not to be a problem because his mind
retained everything. His teacher requested a parent/teacher conference to praise his mother for his improvement, but she never showed and Backpack didn’t care.
He still loved his mother and nothing had changed in her behavior. She was always flaky, but she worked hard to keep up the rent on the house with two jobs. He loved her, but now her absence was welcome because he knew he no longer needed her.
Not only for that reason though. His mother like most of his classmates and others he’d see in Spectrum were afflicted. Just like the super cat lady had been. It was like ghost gremlins that attached to them always like parasites. Some were small, humanlike, and climbed over their heads and shoulders to whisper in their ears. Some were like spiders and crawled all over their faces, going in and out of all orifices. Others were like bats that circled them endlessly and others like birds that pecked steadily at their temples. He’d watch them and noticed them staring, but
they never spoke to him and even seemed afraid, sometimes crawling back in to their ears, nose or mouth when spotted. It was interesting seeing fear in them. Before it would have been terrifying, but now with this new power from the Neon Three, nothing scared him.
Eventually the nights of lying in bed awake were replaced with learning the ins and outs of Spectrum City. He hadn’t known then that his mother would die, but he did know that eventually he wouldn’t be living at home with her and so searched for potential safe havens he could bide his time in for the meanwhile.
As he fit himself out his second story window for the first time, he remembered how his thirty two week older self had leapt off the lion’s fence, over the steep mote with a backpack full of bricks. It had amazed him then and the memory of the event he would one day have to make happen hadn’t dulled. He had moved with super speed, strength and agility, conquering the policemen easily. It’d stuck in his mind since then and he figured it better sooner than later to test his true physical limit.
From the window he dropped to his feet and felt no sting. He hopped the neighbor’s fence without touching it. Their dog only raised its head as he sprinted too fast for it to see over the next one. That night, Backpack hopped rooftops across city streets. He sprinted through the upper canopy of the river side trees. He lifted cars until they rested on only two wheels. He ran side by side with cars breaking the speed limit on the highway.
Downtown, he climbed the tallest skyscraper that Spectrum had and let himself freefall. When his speed of descent was governed by gravity, he noticed what he hadn’t before. When he was controlling his speed, he knew he was moving fast, but it was like an illusion and didn’t completely register that he was actually seeing at a faster rate as well. His eyes moved rapidly and the wind and seemingly slow moving upside down stories that coasted by were so nice as he fell head first. He evened out midair like a cat and landed on hand and feet, cracking the pavement like an
earthquake.
Most of his nights didn’t call for any use of his new found power. So he laid low as long as he could, until he knew it would come. Time went by slow. He had to guard himself and fit in the best he could. This was the hardest. Pretending to still have difficulty in gym class. Walking away from playground bullies. Stopping himself from staring at the demons that rode people with reigns. He held it together well and let out his frustrations only in cover of night where he moved quicker than shadows.
When winter break finally came he was relieved. Just a few days to Christmas and there was still no sign of decoration in the house. He hadn’t seen his mother in a week. Their work and school schedules were opposite and the notes she used to leave had dwindled to none in the past few days. The last hadn’t included lunch money and though he’d been saving any money she gave him since he didn’t eat anyway, it was his first clue to something being wrong.
When she came home that night he was sitting in the living room pretending to watch TV. He could tell immediately by the way she moved that she wasn’t right.
“Ollie! What are you doing awake?” She dropped her purse, but kept her long trench coat on. “It’s almost four.”
“I wanted to see you,” he said observing her awkward movements.
She stumbled over to the couch, catching her balance on an end table and plopped down on the couch next to him. She pulled him in uncomfortably close and he cringed, not wanting to be touched. “Oh I’ve missed you too, hun, but you have to get to bed. You have school tomorrow.”
“No I don’t. It’s Christmas break.”
She shuddered and he could feel her holding back a crying fit. “Ollie, hunny, Mommy’s having a little problem with money this year and…” she paused to sniffle up her drippy nose, “we might have to wait to celebrate Christmas this year.”
Ollie sat up to see her better. “I have some money,” he said staring at his mother’s face. It was pain stricken and she sniffed again.
“Oh no, we’ll be fine. You save your money.”
Ollie got up anyway and ran up to his room to bring her the stash that came up to ten and some change. “You can have it. I don’t need it.”
As she stared into his hands, teeny black arms pulled a scaled body with spiky back and legs out of her right nostril. It crawled around her face to over her ear and began to whisper. “No I can’t,” she said, tears welling up. “You keep it.” The black spidery creature pulled on her ear and stuck its head inside.
“No. You need it.” He dropped it on her lap and the demon quickly found its way back to her nostril. She sniffed and it disappeared. And then she was sobbing and Ollie just watched. He knew that before he would’ve been crying with her, but his time with her was limited and already she didn’t feel like any one he cared for.
“I can get you more if we really need it.”
She laughed through the tears and the demon peeked its head from her nostril. She wiped her wet eyes and her eye shadow streaked to her temples. “Go to bed Ollie. We’ll be fine. Mommy just needs a better job is all.”
He started to walk away, but stopped. “If I get money will you go to the doctor?”
“Doctor? No, hunny, Mommy is fine. I don’t need a doctor.”
“You’re sick. I can see it and I want you to go to a doctor.”
She was speechless and from her open mouth it crawled up to the top of her head where it laid in her hair staring. She stood and came to him with open arms, but he held his out to keep the distance.
“I will get you money and you’ll go to a doctor. Say you promise.”
The tears came back and he stared at her face without heart. “I promise,” she said and lost it to the sobs again. The demon watched from within her hair as she went to her bedroom, closing the door with her long jacket full of her only son’s unused lunch money.
From his room he could still hear her sniffles, long and hard. He left out the window to decide where he’d get the cash from. He’d have to steal it. That was for sure. Also, he’d have to steal a lot of it. If he was going to be gone than she would need enough to stay well for a long time. Long enough to get a new job. The only places he figured he could get that much money from was either a rich person’s house or a bank, but he didn’t want to steal from someone that would miss it that much, so he opted for the latter. The problem with the bank though was cameras. Sure, he’d be quick, but not quick enough to slide in and out between frames. But companies made large deposits to banks through GuardSmith armored vehicles. He’d seen them at Eye-Serv before carrying out duffel bags full of money. Stealing from Eye-Serv wouldn’t matter and so his mind was made.
After scouting it out, Ollie decided the best day would be Monday. Banks were closed Sunday and the weekends were the busiest so they’d be carrying the most. Not only that, but with Christmas, the take would be huge. His mom might never have to work again and if it was work that was making her so sick she wouldn’t even have to pay for a doctor. She could be happy and find another husband and start a new family. One where the dad would work and she could make more kids. Then she wouldn’t have to be sad when he left.
When he saw his chance he went for it. No hesitation. Wearing a rain parka he’d found in his mom’s closet, bright blue and fit to his liking, he charged into the busy street at super speed. He rammed the moving GuardSmith vehicle shoulder and head first hitting its back tire. The van burst, crunched in from the impact and flipped over swinging into oncoming traffic on its side. For a second he was stuck in the indentation he’d made, but it bended with ease as he pulled himself from the wreckage.
There was screaming and people approached that he ignored as he went to the backdoors. He ripped the handle off and had to peel back the doors with his fingers. In the back a crumpled body, its neck twisted and limbs crinkled, dripped blood from beneath its uniform. Backpack took the five duffel bags looking like an overworked paper boy and bulleted back out toward home, knocking over the would be heroes peering in after him. He stopped at the park before to search the bags and methodically leafed through the stacks to remove the tracking devices he’d seen them hide on TV shows, but they weren’t there and he settled considering they probably
wouldn’t be for money that hadn’t yet reached the bank.
He stayed up all night again waiting for her in front of the TV again and when she walked in, he had it all stacked up on the kitchen table for her.
From then on the demon didn’t hide within her any longer.
If he’d known that his mother wouldn’t go to the doctor or that she’d squander the money on massive amounts of the Trap, he’d never have taken it for her. If he knew that it would lead to murder at his hands, or that it would make the following months that more difficult for him, he wouldn’t have taken it. But after it happened he accepted it and even if he could go back, he wouldn’t change a thing. Where guilt would have plagued him instead sat a welcome feeling of resolution.
Every day that passed was one day closer to a life with Blue in the Neon Three’s mansion. He thought about that as he waited sleepless and with hope for the future as his only nourishment.
The celebration went well into the morning. The food was revitalizing, its makeup specifically designed for his altered body. On the stage in front of him two clowns bounced on trampolines as they juggled flaming swords between each other. And towards the end, Ollie felt creeping up on him what he hadn’t in thirty two weeks.
“I feel weird,” he told Blue as they left the banquet hall.
Blue smiled, stopped him by the shoulder and kneeled to look him in the eyes straight on.
“It’s the food, isn’t it? Another test? I’m ready-”
“You’ve gone so long without sleep that you’ve forgotten what it feels like to be tired.”
He was right and Ollie realized how heavy his head had become.
“Our food will help you sleep.”
“But I don’t want to sleep! I just got here. We have…” His words trailed as his legs wobbled beneath him and Blue picked him up to cradle him in his arms.
“Even I sleep. You have the rest of your life to do our work. Be still and you will find your dreams to be full and great.”
And Ollie did as he dozed off despite his attempt not to. Blue carried him to his room and smiled at the thought of the boy waking in the next month or two. He closed the door and teleported outside to the veranda overlooking the ocean to meet his waiting NinjAngels.

-Thanks for reading and if you want LIVEONNOEVIL emailed to you I'd be happy to receive any kind of criticism, especially of the destructive variety.

BAD INTELLIGENCE excerpt

This is an excerpt from Bad Intelligence, the third in the LIVEONNOEVIL series which I will be connecting into a novel once complete. Enjoy the terror and always remember: See All Hear All Speak All evil!

BAD INTELLIGENCE by j.israel
No dreams was how Manson Feverjean slept, but the noises in his severely trashed hotel penthouse suite fooled him into thinking they were as they barely rose him above unconsciousness. The drugs quickly pulled him back below until there were hands pulling at him. His head outweighed the strength of his neck, of his whole body. The speaking was there, but far, like underwater whale moans. Even if he could move his head, his eyes wouldn’t open and so he left himself like a beached jellyfish all out of sting for the hands that kept at him and the sounds he’d never make sense of.

Giving up, the hands wrapped him in the sheet, piss and whiskey soaked, and carried him out that way, like in a sealed hammock or a cocoon coffin. It had been one hell of a binge. When Lucas had never shown up, Manson got to drinking. It wasn’t enough and since Lucas had all the good stuff, never letting Manson administer anything himself, he went to the hotel phone to call his old hook up. Not remembering a name, let alone a number. He put on a pair of shorts, actually just boxers though he didn’t know the difference, cowboy boots made of real alligator and a fox fur coat, also real with skulls for shoulder pads. Behind sunglasses, necessary under the serious Luminaut City sun, he walked away knowing his will would find him. And it did. A troop of fans began to follow the superstar, normally reclusive, and as they walked joints were passed and pills were swallowed between scribbled and illegible autographs that reopened the stitches in his bandaged hand. They led him to a club where his flaccid dick was sucked by multiple females that interchanged once their jaws grew tired from a line longer than the one outside to be let in. He snorted mounds of Trap off the tips of switchblades that were raised to his nostrils. Needles punctured his skin sending his veins and then brain into an insane rollercoaster rush.

This temporary revival sent him into a violent fury of destruction, flipping tables, throwing glasses and punching women. He was escorted out from there and went on to the next, repeating the process and leaving a wake of thankful bar and club owners who felt blessed with his presence and the impending publicity, sure to make the damages all well worth it. This lasted through the morning and next day until the sun went down and he was dragged back to his hotel where it continued. The drugs, sex and violence raged on and with the help of more uppers, Manson pushed through, never really sleeping, just mentally checking out until he noticed someone else fallen into unconsciousness and he personally kicked them back out of it.

“No sleep,” was all he’d say, all he did say, communicating otherwise by pointing or throwing whatever was close.

He chased the last of the departing crowd down the hall with silverware, stabbing a naked ass, not sure whether guy or girl, with a fork and returned to find his door locked. He kicked his scaly boots against it until someone came up with a key and he pulled them in too and ripped off her hotel work uniform only to find a dick in the place of the pussy he was going to rape and so just kicked and kicked at it until it was so bloody and smushed and split that it kind of did look like a pussy, sideways though it was, and so he did rape it and laughed as he kept yelling, “No sleep! No sleep!” at the crying and dying hotel bag boy who was employed illegally, having been driven across the border in a box, but also because he was thirteen and paid only in room and board, working all of his waking hours in Luminaut City and dying with arguably the most famous dick in the world inside his lacerated pelvis.

Once he came, Manson Feverjean showered off the blood and other accumulations of filth and passed out drinking a bottle of whiskey and peeing all over himself.

He wasn’t lucky that Tommy Motts’s people found him before the police could, though he came to believe that he was after they cleansed him of his addictions over the next few days and brought his mind and body back to working health. He wasn’t lucky at all to be a part of Baphom’s latest film production and was wrong in thinking it was God that had intervened to save him from himself.

-next week is MASTERRESET!

FURNITURE excerpt

This is an excerpt from Furniture, the second book in the LIVEONNOEVIL series.

Furniture by j.israel

Nicholas Gordon Stump, better known as Gordo and not yet known as ‘The Pet Threat’, closes the thick and thousand plus page book he had started thirty two weeks ago. Its soft cover would’ve been destroyed from use had he not covered it with red duct tape. This was for his mom who had internet searched the name Malfeus X once and needless to say, a list of book titles was enough to ban anything written by the author from the Stump household.

It was a sore subject between them and he talked to his mother as little as possible since.

Gordo had used a permanent marker to black out the front and back cover, just to be double sure it wouldn’t show through the tape. On the inside he had ripped out the title page and credits along with everything but the actual work itself.

Malfeus X didn’t have his name on every page of his books like most authors did. This huge red book was actually three books in one. It was the Evil trilogy. ‘See All, Hear All, Speak All’. Each book in the trilogy was preceded by a prologue so long it took up nearly two thirds of the book, which were more novellas in a trilogy than anything else.

During the ‘See All’ prologue, X talks about how your eyes enslave you. How moving pictures, images and symbols control your behavior and manipulate your mind. Movies, television, art, sports, shows, entertainment, all just tools used by a massive machine of mind control and propaganda. Everything is sex, everything is violence. Entertainment is the perfect pacifier for an enslaved society.

The story was about a group of renegades in the future that turn themselves deaf in a rebellion against a society that is ruled by the blind elite. They have seeing-eye tigers, snakes and gorillas that they bind their souls to with the circumcision of their useless eyes by their pet’s consumption and through a spiritual ceremony that allows the animals to communicate telepathically to their masters. The poor attempt to blind themselves to join the elite. The rebels destroy their hearing and use sound as a weapon to take over the blind that use light as their weapon. The ‘Hear All’ prologue has X proclaiming a vicious and violent vendetta against music:

Fuck music. The easiest way to stay stupid is to listen to music all the time. Music controls your behavior and your mood. The human mind is a sucker for repetition and music bombards your mind with loops of nonsense. And now more than ever! Companies produce this shit! These people have an agenda and we listen to their music like they’re innocent. As if they mean nothing by their lyrics propagating all that is carnal. It’s a well built and anchored in machine of misinformation we’re dealing with. Why? So you can dance to a beat layered with lyrics about violence, lust and slavery? So you can feel justified in your indulgence and greed for things that sparkle? This is planned. It’s intentional. You can’t help, but be influenced. Never before in the history of the world has mind control been so obvious and accepted.

The second novel in the trilogy is entitled, ‘Hear All’ and is about superstar Madame Copulate that sacrifices her willing fans onstage at her live shows. She has given her soul to the devil and increases her power through these rituals. GodFree, the latest Christian music sensation challenges the Madame to a concert battle where they would contest against each other song by song until a winner could be declared. The story ends after GodFree crucifies himself on stage and Madame Copulate sacrifices the entire audience with collapsing bleachers, pyrotechnics gone awry and
blocked exits. GodFree dies for Madame Copulate’s fans as they all die for her glory and praise.

The ‘Speak All’ prologue is the most scattered of the three, Gordo’s favorite and also the longest, taking up nearly seven eighths of the novel. It was desperate and honest with tangential arguments and anecdotes. The topics were never consistent and no single consensus was ever made, though many small points were. What stuck specifically for Gordo was the idea of rationalization. Any concept could be rationalized within the human mind to fit a generically accepted moral framework.

Even the rape of infants can be accepted if the assailant believes it will cure them of a fatal disease. Imagine if this was common practice within a diseased society where unwilling sex with a virgin was believed to be the only remedy to an epidemic. After all, they’d have no memory of the event and their sacrifice would cure a dying population. Is rape so taboo and terrible a society would willingly die a suffering death to avoid it? For some, but unfortunately, some never make up the majority.

The ‘Speak All’ novel portion followed a person from birth to death in a cycling caste system society. This was Gordo’s least favorite of the three, but the rambling epilogue to the trilogy by far made up for it:

And so what is evil then? Everything and nothing in a simultaneous paradox of standing misinformation. It is love and it is life and most of all it is necessary. The attempt to extinguish evil is evil. The only worthwhile response to evil is observance. You must know it, acknowledge it, but most of all you must see it, hear it and speak it. To deny evil’s existence in all is to deny life itself. Absorb it and proclaim it, for if you don’t it will absorb and claim you.

On the last page: NOEND.

-next week is BAD INTELLIGENCE. j.israel

HOW SAVORY IS YOUR SLAVERY? excerpt

The following is an excerpt from How Savory is Your Slavery? which is the first book in the LIVEONNOEVIL series.

To set up the scene, Casey Hackman works for an Eye-Serv superstore and like all superstore employees, he hates his job severely. He went to bed Thursday night on what was supposed to be the start to his four day weekend and is surprised to find out it's Tuesday morning. He has no recollection of the past four days until the customers begin to jog his memory.

How Savory is Your Slavery? by j.israel

The thumb scan came in at 8:23am.
The number again, Casey Hackman thought. It's a curse and after the number of infinity. I'm cursed. Forever.
It became clear he was on suspended employment when the break schedule showed his name stripped of any breaks. He spent the first six hours on register. He was originally scheduled for the photo lab, but Jessica had changed the schedule in the time it took him to go home and change. He never had a break in between, except to do carry outs as his supervisor Bev manned his register for him and scowled at him severely with each of his returns. His body ached from the cat litter and double gallons of milk. The buckets of pool chlorine and the economy sized detergent.
Just minutes before his 2:20 lunch, three teenagers, two boys and a girl, got to the back of his line as he flicked off his light. They wore sunglasses, big and black and their clothes were tight and clean, dark except for flashes of neon.
They’re wearing highlighter colors, Casey thought. Blue, green and pink.
Like every customer before, Casey recited the long memorized Eye-Serv script. “Thank you for shopping Eye-Serv. Did we satisfy your needs today?” He ran candy bags across the flatbed scanner.
“This isn’t a place of need, it is a place of want,” the girl in pink spoke. “Everything here is a want. Do not mistake it.”
Casey looked up. Their glasses made them seem as if they had TV’s for heads. Both Blue and Green’s glasses reflected, he noticed, but Pink’s were a chasm of darkness, no light within.
“Okay,” he said, unsure of what else he could to that.
“You look sick,” said Blue. “You should take some medicine.”
“No, I’m okay,” said Casey. There was something strange about these three. The way they spoke. It was without place-able accent, but still old seeming. As if their voices had been around longer than their bodies.
“You’re not okay,” said Blue. “I can tell. Something terrible has happened to you. Medicine might help, or at least eat something.”
Casey slid the last of the candy bags into an Eye-Serv bag. He looked to the screen and the total was $23 exactly. He checked the clock. 2:23. He looked to the girl in pink, her eyes shielded by the black and he felt distanced from his body, unable to speak the total.
“Don’t worry,” said Green. “You’ll be alright. It’s always hardest before the-”
Pink interrupted him by slapping a twenty and three ones to the counter. “Don’t,” she said. “I’m in too good of a mood.”
Green shook his head and took the bags from their hooks. “You might be fine,” he said, “but might means maybe not too,” and he walked out ahead of the others.
Casey grabbed the money and tapped the exact change button with his middle finger. He fit the bills into their slots and ripped the receipt off, handing it to Pink. “Thank you for choosing Eye-Serv. Hope to see you again.”
“Choice doesn’t exist,” said Pink. She took the receipt and then dropped it to the floor. “And neither does any of this. He’s wrong. Medicine makes it worse.” She followed Green and as she walked away, Casey noticed her posture, flawlessly erect and dominant with a strange confidence he hadn’t ever seen in a female, let alone one her age.
He was surprised once he looked back to see Blue still in front of him, his TV mirror face focused into him alone. “She’s right. Medicine only distracts you, makes it easier to bear. I could help you, but I’m not going to. No one is. Unfortunately, the only way out of this is to help your self.”
Keeping his front, Casey smiled and logged out of his register. “I’m fine, thank you.” Casey reached beneath to empty his re-shop, but was quickly halted.
“You know, it’s not that it’s a curse. It’s more complicated than that.”
Casey stopped. Blue now had his undivided attention.
“And you can’t control it because right now it’s controlling you, but keep in mind there are always loopholes.”
“The number-”
“Twenty three,” said Blue. “It’s not what you think. It’s too complex to be any one thing.”
“How do I-”
“You don’t,” said Blue, “but good luck. And you have a customer.”
Casey hadn’t noticed the large black man putting bags of frozen meat onto the conveyor belt. “Sorry, sir, I’m closed.”
The black man stood up from his bent over position at the cart. He was wearing a uniform of some sort and as he began to turn, Blue leaned in close and whispered to Casey alone, “How savory is your slavery?”
“Bullshit!” said the black man, “I don’t believe that!” and Blue was gone, out the door after the other two. “This some racist shit?”
He saw his pink palms and that was when it came back to him. The airport. The guard. The huge hand squeezing his testicles.
“You can serve your pussy white boyfriend, but for me you’re closed? Unh uh! Fuck that! Ring my shit!” he said and Casey didn’t move. His eyelids receded completely. His skin sunk against his bones. He swallowed and it was difficult as his uvula drooped to rest against the deep part of his tongue.
“My light was off,” said Casey finally.
“I don’t give a fuck! You’re standing there. This is Eye-Serv. You serve me!” He cocked his head and leaned over the scanner threateningly. “Ring my shit!” he yelled and it pulled the eyes of the others around into this terrible interaction.
It’s him, thought Casey, from the airport. But which airport? When was I…?
“Donnell, what you screaming for?” Two black females came out from behind the tabloid racks of the next aisle. They too sparked memory, only reinforcing what Casey had hoped delusion.
“Shit,” he said wiping his fat lips with his pale pink palms. “I’m about to throw a fit. These stupid white motherfuckers can’t serve a black man.”
“Oh hell no!” yelled one. She tossed the tabloid onto the belt and pointed her glimmering long and curled pink nail between his eyes. “This is some bullshit,” she said. Her eyes were crazy and flab fluttered from under her arm like a reverse and dangly dead bicep. “You work for me! You do what I say! You better hurry the fuck up before I sue your ass you hate-crimin-racist-pussy-little-bitch!”
It was absurdity, but as Casey looked around, partly for help, but mostly because he couldn’t stare her in the eyes, he noticed eavesdroppers glaring in judgment.
“Get to it motherfucker,” said the second black woman as she pulled a red hot cheese fry chip from a crinkly bag. Bright red chip dust clung to her fingers and she fit a clump into her mouth between pink painted lips.
Reluctantly, Casey looked to the scanner and begun the long ring up, tossing corn dogs, pizza rolls and chicken nuggets from the flatbed scanner to the bags.
“Hold up!” yelled the first black lady. “What the fuck are you doing?” She slammed her palm on top of a bag of frozen French fries. “Turn your shit on!”
The computer was logged out and the screen had turned red, reading ‘log in failure’.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” barked Donnell. “You fucking high motherfucker?”
“No, I’m sorry. I’m-”
“Ooh, this white boy is stoned as fuck. What you been smoking?” she asked as he put in his sign in user ID and pass code.
Once at the start screen, Casey re-rung what he had already bagged and whipped through the rest as fast as he could before he came to the tabloid.
The headline was large and bold, taking up half the page. ‘Alien abductions at record high,’ it read. Below, alien eyes, too familiar focused in on him, even the printed image followed him with its still eyes. Bullet points below listed the atrocities. ‘Unbearable torture, anal probes, interspecies fetish, forced sex changes, male impregnation, dismemberment, genital manipulation, mind control and more…’
The words sucked at him, taking his conscious mind away from a place he didn’t want to be into a place he dreaded indefinitely more.
They were spouting off still while Casey rushed to fit the rest into a bag and hit total, “Forty seven, seventy seven,” said Casey, not responding to their jabber.
Donnell was holding a fifty dollar bill. He snagged it and hit the button for change.
The screen showed $2.23, but it was expected by this time and Casey grabbed the receipt, joined it to the bills and set it to the counter.
“Excuse me?” mouthed off the one with red hot fry dust fingers. “Rude racist ass.”
Casey was sick. He was sure of it now and held his stomach, though it didn’t help any. He couldn’t puke, but he wanted to. His stomach constricted. Every limb was weak and each step away toward the break room seemed to dislodge his muscles from his bones making every move more difficult.
“Stupid racist faggot!” he heard from behind and he hobbled like a stick man away from the registers.
He was only to the middle aisle that led back to the electronics when he heard, “Excuse me, sir, can you serve me?”
He kept on, hoping it’d go away, but then he felt a hand, thick and intrusive between his bicep and the crook of his elbow. It tugged innocently and then the voice was in his ear, its breath slithering into the hole and spittle clinging to his lobe and outer ear.
“I need your service,” it said, each ‘s’ sound lisping like a cracked whistle. Every muscle tensed and it took all of Casey’s will to only turn around. The orange skin and potato nose were unmistakable.
It was the gnome with the glove. He was holding up a pair of electric blue swim shorts.
Casey’s anus squeezed into defense instinctually and he took a step back, heeling up against a stalled shopping cart.
The gnome was still in uniform, but showed absolutely no sign of recognition toward Casey. “Will you service me?”
Casey didn’t respond. His mind was empty for words and his lungs and throat were already doing all they could to breathe normally.
“I have a question about this pair of swim shorts.” He raised them up so that the crotch was to Casey’s nose. “You look like a swimmer. Do you like to swim, son?”
Casey’s mouth was already open and so he closed it and reopened, but still there was nothing.
“You have a nice swimmer’s build. Very lean and toned. I bet you could hold your breath for a long time, am I right?” The gnome pulled back the neon blue shorts and moved in to Casey side by side so that his shoulder rested against Casey’s upper arm. “What’s so neat about these,” he said raising them back up for them both to look at, “is the Velcro.” He brought a thick and rusty finger to the crotch of the shorts and scraped at the edge of the connected Velcro. “I just think that’s so neat. Don’t you think that’s neat?”
Casey was shriveling away inside, going through every way that he was possibly wrong and coming up with nothing. This is real, he thought. I’m not crazy. This is all happening.
The gnome’s elbows rolled up and down his ribs and it brought Casey back from his thoughts. “I’ve seen buttons and drawstrings and zippers, but I’ve never seen a Velcro bathing short before. Have you?”
Casey tried to speak an excuse, but it came out jumbled and unintelligible. He tried to walk away, but the hand grabbed for his arm again.
“But wait,” said the gnome. “I still need to try these on and you need to take me to the dressing room.”
Casey could see drool filling the gnome’s wide lower jaw and he had to rip his arm away.
“There he is! That’s the racist motherfucker right there!” The black lady held the rolled up tabloid like a weapon and pointed a long and glittery pink fingernail right at him.
“I’m so sorry, mam,” said supervisor Bev, with her skin turning red.
“Sorry don’t mean shit!” yelled the other black lady through a mouthful of fiery red hot fries. “You better fire his hate crimin-pussy-ass right now!”
“Mm hmm,” agreed Donnell who stood behind them with his oddly muscled forearms crossed over his chest and his fat pink lower lip hanging over his raised and authoritative chin.
“Don’t worry, mam. I assure you this will not go unpunished.”
Casey felt fingers tickling the small of his back and then the gnome’s whistling breath infiltrated his inner ear. “It’s okay, son. I’ve got a nice job for you. You’re going to like it a whole lot. We can go swimming after and I’ll give you a nice lunch. You like hot dogs, don’t you? I love hot dogs.”
Casey pushed away from the gnome and brushed past his supervisor. His legs were weak and balance was off.
I have to eat, he thought. I need medicine.
“You see that? He just assaulted a seniors citizen!” one of them yelled behind him.
Dizziness plagued him. The linoleum wobbled beneath him and it felt as if all the blood within his body had climbed into his head and sealed the only exit at his neck.
“Fuck you!” he heard and as if a part of the sentence, two hands pushed him with such force from behind that he left the ground. His face connected to the hip of another body and he hit the floor to the sound of glass breaking. He lifted his face, but his body raised the rest of the way to standing by a powerful pull on the back of his t-shirt.
To his dread, once again the face was familiar.
“What the hell you think you’re doing, boy?!” barked a southern accented demand. It was the one with the medals and Casey noticed he was wearing the same dark green uniform. “You need to watch where you’re going. You could’ve hurt my wife!” The military man’s face became furious and the memory of him sent a strain through Casey’s neck.
Standing to the side, his wife was some kind of Asian and she kept her eyes to the floor with the full baskets in each of her stretched arms.
“You think that’s funny you piece of shit? You better wipe that smirk off your face before I pound you into hamburger!”
“I didn’t-” was all Casey could get out before the hand was on the back of his neck and forcing him back to the ground face first.
“Clean up your mess!” yelled the green decorated man and the pain was everywhere.
He put his hands flat to the floor and pushed up to feel jagged glass slicing him. Salsa smell hit him hard as he gasped in pain and he dropped to his side and rolled to his back over more glass shards and salsa.
“Stupid racist faggot,” he heard the black ladies saying. He felt a strong tipped boot in his side and it took his breath.
Through shaky vision he could see the gnome watching intently, licking his lips and with a hand forearm deep into his pocket.
“Lick it up!” the southern grunts demanded. “Use your smart mouth on that floor you cunt!”
Another kick found its way under his rib cage and Casey could only barely make out the two black ladies removing their belts.
“Yeah, suck it off!” he heard the gnome saying. “Take it in!”
The military man’s boot landed again and Casey rolled to his stomach. Belt cracks stung his back and then his face was smushed into the glass and salsa.
“You a fucking hypocrite!” yelled one of the black ladies somewhere.
“You ain’t serving no one, but your own racist-faggot-ass!”
The whip cracks from their belts came one after the other as Casey struggled helplessly to break himself free, but the boot kept his face to the floor.
Fury built within him and it rose despite his weakened state, or maybe because of it, and with a deep breath Casey rolled out from under the foot and stumbled into a sprint. He made it two feet only before slipping. The salsa had stuck to his shoe and sent his feet up over his head, breaking his fall first with his skull and then the rest of his body.
This time there was no darkness, only a colorless loss of empty space.

-Come back next week for an excert from Furniture, the second book in the LIVEONNOEVIL series.

LIVEONNOEVIL

A world where every conspiracy theory you've ever heard is true.

LIVEONNOEVIL is a sci fi horror series about aliens, demons and
an alter dimenasional god come to Earth to provide a third option
between heaven and hell.

j.israel will soon post scenes from the books, which are entitled:

How Savory is Your Slavery?
furniture
Bad Intelligence
masterreset!

If you would like to read the entire novel send me an email at:

aliensoftheunderworld@gmail.com

I would be more than happy to email you a copy.

drama-mean

Ever body
Gotts the Motts
Half foot in the water
And dairy springing it up
Until the mourning passes
Under sleep in the morning.

Water buffalos boosing on
Blue grass

And tomorrow's bone marrow.

neveroff

Same same same
The days off are on and on are off but really the inverse relationship is a lukewarm devil.
The kind that god hates and wouldn't sip to drink if he was dieing.
Me I'm the grey.
That middle ground wishbone center,
only when the bone cracks the evil side always wins.
Always always always.
That boys clubs exclusive as fuck and I'd need a severecontrolled environment to make it anywhere but
Down down down.