The Gift of Trouble Sight and Summer Bookish Delight

BookCon was rich in poetry. That made me happy. There were poetry panels (one with Amanda Lovelace, author of The Witch Doesn’t Burn in this One), poetry booths, poetry signings, even a blackout poetry section. Rommy and I were all smirks and wows (I would’ve been all grins and delighted cackles, but my stitched-up jaw wasn’t in the mood for overly expressive displays of mirth).

I got lots of swag (I shall show you in a bit). I am a bookish swag lover. Not just because free books are magic, but because its one of the ways in which I end up reading books I would’ve never picked up on my own. Since one can never have enough books (and my jaw hurt, so some distraction was in order), my Piano Man and I stopped by the thrift shop and… *drum roll please* I found a copy of Billy Fog, Volume 1: The Gift of Trouble Sight, for a couple of dollars.

I had never seen the series before. But it was love at first creepy murderous kid sight. Here are three pieces that made me giggle darkly:

“She was often found
in the kitchen, curled up
in a drawer, among enormous knives
with razor-sharp blades.”

 

“The little killer was very quiet and cooperative.
In the mornings, she carried out
her theory exercises diligently.”

 

“No scientist could ever hope to find
a better subject for study!
What curious composure!
What an unfathomable obsession!”

 

I added Billy Fog to the wee list I created to join Khaya Ronkainen’s Summer Reading Challenge. You can see the full list here, if you wish. And, of course, I will be adding a few more from my BookCon booty. All the poetry, for sure.

So, my Wicked Luvs, what are you reading this summer? What was the last book you just couldn’t keep your book-loving-self from acquiring? Share your bookish yum with me (yep, my royal bastard of a jaw still needs distracting).

 

Never Touch the Baby Carriage

This week, for Hedgewitch’s Friday 55, our tale explores what might’ve happened (or not) during a tour of an abandoned NYC mansion.
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“Don’t touch it.”

“Why?”

Tourists. “Hunger. The baby’s eternally… No!”

But I wasn’t fast enough, the tourist’s face was already in the stroller, feeding noises filling the room.

“Never touch the baby carriage,” I whispered, as my brain fought to forget the wet popping sound an eyeball makes when it’s sucked out of its socket.

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a wee note…
– this is a work of fiction. Yes, I know babies can be outrageously creepy, but… I’ve never heard of a toothless youngster feeding on the eyeballs of NYC tourists who can’t follow rules. But one can still hope… Anyhoo, this flash was inspired by a picture in Bryan Sansivero’s article, “Exploring an Abandoned New York Mansion with a Secret Past”, in Atlas Obscura.

by Bryan Sansivero

Not for Girls

Fridays at the cyber-home of the Hedgewitch are unruly. All right, so that is a bit of a lie. In truth, they are filled with poetry and prose (55 words) ruled by none but the wild muses and wilder wants of the writers birthing them. Since my muse and I adore freedom-kissed tales with words in them, we wrote one.
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“Not for Girls”

“The eyeballs are the windows to the brain,” she said.

Science and conviction weren’t made for girls, I thought. “You’re wrong, dearie, they are the windows to the soul.”

She shrugged. “I went through the eyes, touched the back of his skull, ran into plenty of yuck and bits of brain, sir, but no soul.”

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