The elderly taxi driver drops me off at a chain link fence blocking the main drive of the University of Hollinsbridge. “You sure you want to do this, lad?”
Tag Archives: David Massengill
Open Wounds by David Massengill
From The New York Times: In response to protests in various states, the Secretary of Defense announced that the government has withdrawn all chemical soldiers from Iran. “Our post-operation teams are completing their inspections of the conflict sites,” he told the public yesterday, “and we expect their involvement to be brief and non-violent.”
“I know two members of my team are missing,” Abe spoke into his radio. “But we’ve searched every room of this palace and now we’re doing a double-check. The Marines are going door-to-door in the village. I’ll radio as soon as I’m done with my check and then you can start the fireworks. This building’s going down today, Ben. That’s an order. I want us back in Tehran by 1700 hours so we can finish all our inspections on schedule.” Continue reading Open Wounds by David Massengill
A Woman Alone by David Massengill
Written in lipstick on the rear window of a car parked on the side of the Interstate:
PLEASE HELP. I’M A WOMAN ALONE. CAR BROKE DOWN. NEED A LIFT.
Seventy-six miles south on the Interstate. Hank’s Bodacious Burgers. Written on a stall wall in the ladies’ restroom:
He says “Where can I take you?”
She says “Going south to California
I live just past the border”
She sees his hand near his crotch his
thing probably growing under his jeans
She touches her purse and thinks
whatever he’s got my knife is
bigger
The Chevron station across the street from Hank’s Bodacious Burgers. Written on a crumpled piece of paper the wind blew against the side of Continue reading A Woman Alone by David Massengill
The Wild Country by David Massengill
“A ghost, you say,” Luc said in an uninterested voice, “with a tree branch where an arm should be.” He wished the motel owner would just shut up and leave him alone with this lovely young woman. But the old man remained in the doorway of Luc’s sparsely decorated, wood-paneled room, droning on about the malicious phantom while his daughter, Penny, changed the bedding.
“Long before he haunted this patch of desert,” the motel owner said, “he was a decent young man. Name was Vince Renton. Worked as a mechanic. Then he went over to Vietnam and did some awful things to them Vietnamese civilians and lost his arm. He came back and Continue reading The Wild Country by David Massengill
PULP METAL MAGAZINE 