If you are into Goth and alternative fiction...this book will be addictive. Set in Detroit, we follow the protagonist and his friends as they navigate nights in the City of Detroit!
From the book
We hurriedly walk across an empty, weed-filled lot to approach the house from the back. There’s very little light. Most street lights don’t work here. It’s perfect. I can only imagine how we would look to an incidental observer tonight, this gang of painted up, crazy looking freaks, and we are truly all of that. The living dead have come to call. White painted faces like death masks, all dressed in black as we stride across the overgrown lot in a neighborhood of abandoned and boarded up ramshackle houses, like a scene from a war torn country or the movie set of some vile, cheap, B-horror flick. We are a nightmare from Halloween come to life. Anyone encountering this spectacle would turn and run the other way...
If you are into Goth and alternative fiction...this book will be addictive. Set in Detroit, we follow the protagonist and his friends as they navigate nights in the City of Detroit!
From the book
We hurriedly walk across an empty, weed-filled lot to approach the house from the back. There’s very little light. Most street lights don’t work here. It’s perfect. I can only imagine how we would look to an incidental observer tonight, this gang of painted up, crazy looking freaks, and we are truly all of that. The living dead have come to call. White painted faces like death masks, all dressed in black as we stride across the overgrown lot in a neighborhood of abandoned and boarded up ramshackle houses, like a scene from a war torn country or the movie set of some vile, cheap, B-horror flick. We are a nightmare from Halloween come to life. Anyone encountering this spectacle would turn and run the other way...
Details
Publication Date: Oct 22, 2016
E-book ISBN: 978-1-946274-03-8
Paperback ISBN: 978-194627-487-8
A shot in the night somewhere in the city. It draws no attention. No one cares.
Dark. It's always so dark here, but I feel safe within the confines of the loft. My nightlight and the lights from the vanity in the bathroom provide the only illumination tonight in this seemingly cavernous space where I reside. This loft seems so big and overly empty at night, a constant reminder that I have nothing really to speak of, just a dark, empty, dusty space…but I think I like it this way. Yes, I definitely like it this way. No connections, affiliations or responsibilities. No invisible chains to restrain me. I don’t need much. I never need much come to think of it. Just the bare essentials: alcohol, drugs, music, makeup, girls, in that order, and sometimes…food. Having nothing is easy and free, and since I have relatively little, I think I’m qualified to comment on the subject of the much under-rated concept of simplicity. Keeping things simple makes me jubilant and giddy with a heightened sense of unfettered freedom seldom known to the general populace, an existence reflected by my humble domicile.
It’s night time; it must be. The boarded windows give no indication, but I’m usually not awake otherwise and the dim lighting from the bathroom casts eerie shadows into the bedroom. They dance and play with the help of candle light that partially reveals a large mattress on the floor. One of those shadows takes the shape of a horizontal form on the mattress, the antithesis of motion, a natural stasis, a deep, serene slumber. A vague, incongruous shape lies within and under the sheets. It could be a lot of things if I didn’t know better…but I do. I wish it was just some sort of inconsequential, inorganic matter under those covers…like a box or a pillow or something that wouldn’t demand my attention and concern…but this does.
This is overwhelming…demanding of all my faculties now…
I’ve grown tired of looking at myself and watching myself sniff cocaine in the mirror. I’m also tired of talking to myself in the mirror. I’m not getting any answers, not the answers I need tonight anyway. My self-advice was inadequate, so I moved to the bedroom maybe an hour ago, closer to the shape in my bed. Who knows? Time is standing still for me this evening. I thought I might be high enough to deal with this tonight, but I’m never high enough it seems.
Never.
I try to figure myself out sometimes by staring at myself, thinking maybe if I look long and hard enough I’ll be able to see into my soul, resolve the mysteries therein, and come to some grand synthesis or at least some helpful conclusions about who I am and why I do the things that I do; but it never really works and my face becomes an ugly, scary stranger in the dim light of my vanity mirror, needing more drugs, someone I don’t care to keep company with anymore.
...
