Dead At Heart
There are plenty of interesting ways to die – Fall in battle, Get mauled by a bear, Strung up by the King’s men for treason. Me? I fell out of a tree. Yep, that’s right. At the ripe old age of fourteen summers, David Chalmen, fell out of a tree picking an apple for a girl he was sweet on. Legend made. I slipped on moss and took a nosedive straight towards the ground, heard my own neck snap before everything went dark.
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Southside
It was the summer of 1949. The night was alive with energy. The oppressive heat of the day gave way to a refreshing breeze. The clink of my cooling Maserati A6 as I pulled up. The look on the valet’s face as I threw him the keys. You could tell the kid was gassed. A red carpet ran up the steps to the clubs entrance. There I was confronted by a pretty señorita, shadowed by a man who wore a mustache shaped like the horns of a bull.
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Toadstool
Mushrooms, why’d it have to be mushrooms? Today started off so well too. My mother used her usual secret technique of luring me down stairs with the sweet smell of bacon. Dressed in just a gown and slippers with the bed hair of the Wicked Witch of the West. I was in no mood to find my plate devoid of pig. Instead of breakfast I found an envelope. I willed my stare into a pair of daggers and aimed my weapon directly at my mother. “Woman! Where is my bacon?” I said with deadly intent.
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