About Me

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Writer, soldier, thinker, and science fiction lover. I just can't seem to find a way to divide my adventurous self of constant outdoor activity and exercise from my nerdy self playing games and going to conventions. So why not just be both?

 I am a young professional living out of Tallahassee, Florida for the past five years. I have been on a deployment with the United States Army and continue to work outside of my other occupations to better myself mentally and physically. My passion for writing is driven by my passion for everything I find entertaining in life, and of course by my friends and family.

Friday, January 23, 2015

One Level Below Hell (continued 4)



Catherine gingerly went over the nails of a hand before her. Manicures were delicate work to maintain the creative instruments of people. 

“Oh Robert,” Catherine chimed, “you have the most gorgeous hands.” She dipped Robert’s fingers into solution, a light massage in circular motions near the knuckles for comfort. “Now just wait right here.” Catherine moved from her seat towards her front door. 

Catherine owned a single story house which she acquired through inheritance, and had since then filled the house with every womanly desire she had, and sometimes other desires as well. Her front yard was a simple grass lawn which required little to maintain because of her geographical location. At her door step sat a rubber doormat with no greeting, but an elegant crescent moon machine cut into it. She liked the simplicity of it. It was sexy.

The paper had arrived, and she was pleased to see that the paper was not damp by the dew this time. Retrieving it Catherine had a flutter of excitement from the headline.

'Police Clueless On Surgeon Murders'

Catherine returned to her chair inside just short of skipping to it.

“Oh Robert, I get to read while I finish you.” She opened the paper to her dedicated page as she returned to her work on Robert’s fine hands. She immediately began rubbing the pinky knuckles. That was sexy. Knuckles were sexy.

She rubbed more intensely and with vigor as she read the words ‘police baffled’ and then, she stopped. Her heart pounded now with anger. The article went on. The journalist seemed to have consulted a quack psychologist. ‘Most likely sexual confused, and possibly ugly…’ Catherine let out a long exhale from her nostrils, ‘…and we can’t rule out abuse from, most likely, the mother.’ 

“Robert dear, I’m sorry to say I’m going to have to call this one short. I came across some disturbing news, I’m sure you’ll understand.” With that she stood up and looked at the empty chair in front of her. The marvelous hands no longer could hold her attention. The hands had been severed just above the wrist several days ago, and she took care to tenderly wrap them as to not reverse the work she had put into them. Having secured her beauties, she placed them lovingly in the freezer.

Now, she had to see about, reeducating this journalist in the truth. Enlightenment, she knew, could often be vicious but necessary. Such as was the enlightenment the Europeans had brought to the savages of the New World, violent, but justified. He will thank her.