David D. West Archives - Black Hare Press

Fatal Walk

March 23, 2024/by Shawna Rowan

by David D. West

Broðir grunted as they made the incision in his naked stomach. His captors reached two fingers in, hooked a section of long intestine, and pulled. Broðir shuddered at the squelching sound, the painful heat spreading through his midsection. They staked the organ into the earth beside the oak.

“Walk,” they commanded, prodding him with their weapons.

Broðir did. His intestines unspooled with each step he took, marching ever closer to death. But he smiled as he walked, knowing this heroic end would never bring back their fallen king. His job finished, entrails trailing behind him, he welcomed a warrior’s death.

David D. West

David D. West lives and teaches in the Pacific Northwest, which offers the perfect gloomy atmosphere for his writing. When he is not teaching or writing, he is exploring the grey beaches and dark forests of southwest Washington with his wife, son, and their dog, Buster.

Find him on Twitter/Instagram @DavidWestWrites.

Website: davidwestwrites.wixsite.com

Coal

December 27, 2022/by Shawna Rowan

by David D. West

Santa turned away from the plate of milk and cookies and saw the round rump of a boy digging through his sack of wonders. He frowned as the greedy boy wriggled to and fro, searching for hidden delights meant for others.

He set one soot-covered boot against the boy’s ass and pushed. The boy fell into the sack with a gasp. Santa cinched it tight and the sack shrunk in on itself. The boy’s screams died down as the sack compressed his writhing body.

When all was silent, Santa reached into the sack and pulled out a lump of coal.

David D. West

David D. West lives and teaches in the Pacific Northwest, which offers the perfect gloomy atmosphere for his writing. Find him on Twitter/Instagram @DavidWestWrites

In Waves

July 19, 2022/by S. Jade Path

by David D. West

Wave after wave of the pink-feathered birds fell as the group held out, but the onslaught continued.

“How many more of these damned birds am I going to have to kill?” the nun shouted, voice wavering. Beside her, Toto bared his teeth and lashed out at a flamingo. The bird died with a severed throat, Toto turned his attention to the next.

Hux and Aldo collapsed as the flamingos overran them. Their screams were cut short by the sound of honking.

The circle closed tighter.

They made a brave stand that day, but in the end, the world turned pink.

David D. West

David D. West lives and teaches in the Pacific Northwest, which offers the perfect gloomy atmosphere for his writing. Find him on Twitter/Instagram @DavidWestWrites

Famine and Feast

April 5, 2022/by S. Jade Path

by David D. West

Frederick watched as the fieldhand, his last living neighbour, pulled the plough through enough soil to make an ox buckle. He glanced over his shoulder at the dusty fields, where the animals used to roam freely.

Their carcasses lay rotting in the sun, where not even the buzzards would chance a bite at the tainted flesh. The disease took them all in a week. Milk, protein, cheese, all the essentials spoiled by some unspecified sickness.

“Vegetables alone won’t see us through the year,” he whispered. “At least we’ll have meat.” He grabbed his spade and stepped towards the hired help.

David D. West

David D. West lives and teaches in the Pacific Northwest, which offers the perfect gloomy atmosphere for his writing.

YEAR FOUR

January 12, 2020/by Black Hare Press

Tag Archive for: David D. West

Broðir grunted as they made the incision in his naked stomach. His captors reached two fingers in, hooked a section of long intestine, and pulled. Broðir shuddered at the squelching sound, the painful heat spreading through his midsection. They staked the organ into the earth beside the oak.

“Walk,” they commanded, prodding him with their weapons.

Broðir did. His intestines unspooled with each step he took, marching ever closer to death. But he smiled as he walked, knowing this heroic end would never bring back their fallen king. His job finished, entrails trailing behind him, he welcomed a warrior’s death.

Santa turned away from the plate of milk and cookies and saw the round rump of a boy digging through his sack of wonders. He frowned as the greedy boy wriggled to and fro, searching for hidden delights meant for others.

He set one soot-covered boot against the boy’s ass and pushed. The boy fell into the sack with a gasp. Santa cinched it tight and the sack shrunk in on itself. The boy’s screams died down as the sack compressed his writhing body.

When all was silent, Santa reached into the sack and pulled out a lump of coal.

by David D. West

Wave after wave of the pink-feathered birds fell as the group held out, but the onslaught continued.

“How many more of these damned birds am I going to have to kill?” the nun shouted, voice wavering. Beside her, Toto bared his teeth and lashed out at a flamingo. The bird died with a severed throat, Toto turned his attention to the next.

Hux and Aldo collapsed as the flamingos overran them. Their screams were cut short by the sound of honking.

The circle closed tighter.

They made a brave stand that day, but in the end, the world turned pink.

David D. West

by David D. West

Frederick watched as the fieldhand, his last living neighbour, pulled the plough through enough soil to make an ox buckle. He glanced over his shoulder at the dusty fields, where the animals used to roam freely.

Their carcasses lay rotting in the sun, where not even the buzzards would chance a bite at the tainted flesh. The disease took them all in a week. Milk, protein, cheese, all the essentials spoiled by some unspecified sickness.

“Vegetables alone won’t see us through the year,” he whispered. “At least we’ll have meat.” He grabbed his spade and stepped towards the hired help.

David D. West