Refracted Neurons

You want to know what happened? One moment I was sitting in front of my trailer in my lawn chair.  The next Freddy Blanchard’s roof had lifted off and it was raining fire. Megan opened her slider, only to get hit by a roof vent.  “Pigs-in-a-blanket,” she cursed. “Watch your mouth,” I stood, the plastic slats of my chair sticking to my behind. Megan’s nineteen-year-old daughter, Lila poked her head out, and boy did her eyes get wide.  Then she did the last thing I expected her to do, running barefoot through the fire, her sundress swirling around her in a manner that would get her branded as the devil incarnate. Freddy was not in a good way.  He lay next to his wife’s garden gnome, only inches away from his wooden porch.  It was on fire, and boy was it heating up good. But what really got the squirrels in my britches was the two rescuers taking turns at chest compressions and breathing: big old Vernon Jones with his jailhouse tattoos and fallen angel Lila.  ...

I wrote this story awhile ago and then just forgot about it. It’s about a cultish school where violence and bizarre behavioral therapy are the standard of care. There is another, much lighter short story I’ll be posting later this month, so if this is not to your taste, just mosey along. Also, Save Desdemona is free with the coupon SS100 through the end of July. If you like survival games, wacky adventures, and magic spells; scoop it up while the scooping’s free. (Link at bottom of page) —— The car turned from the gravel road to a paved drive, tires tinking as the last few rok s spun inside the rims.  Ahead, the school seemed to rise from the ground as they drove down a steep hill.  It looked like a fairytale castle from the distance; a peaked tower at each corner, a central door so large that it could admit a giant.  “Up ahead is the main campus.  Not that there’s any other part to the campus,” the bodyguard laughed, his red cheeks becoming more florid.  Sha...