If there were only some way to tell her that

If there were only some way to tell her that I would be there for her when she got home. Even if she says it does not matter. Even if she says she won't come home.

I sat on the porch and settled into alpha. I called to her. I pictured a warm light in the window and sent it her way. I prayed to the One behind the scenes. At 3 AM the phone

rang. I fumbled with the receiver. A low static hum formed scraping vocals. "Collect call from _-_-_... will you accept charges?

Well? Will you? Will you accept the charges?" "Sure why the hell not," I mumbled into the phone. If I die tomorrow, I'll accept any charges. Too bad for them I'm broke! I listened

and heard the voice: "You are hereby charged with impersonation, fraud, embezzlement, identity theft and jaywalking." "Wait, what? That's not me!" "Too late" they said and pushed

They knew then he was not a member of their secret cult. They practiced random face glitches to appear as though they weren't together. They dragged Jay onto their bus of dreams

and prepared their dissection tools. Or, as a non-enlightened soul might describe it, they revved their chainsaws. Jay struggled to get free from the cultists' bus, but he couldn't

get free, right into the sun. "She never loved me," he sighed in resignation. "Why should anyone?" It's this kind of self-pity that rationalizes and justifies horror movies for

not only vampires, but also monsters & serial killers, for such cinema represents the stories of their lives. Misunderstood. Broken. Blood would be his only solace...forever.