Tag Archive for: Jeff Currier

Stalking Death

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by Jeff Currier

The Arouca suspension footbridge’s vista was breathtaking. But when Scott noticed the hovering skull-shaped drones, he pushed aside murmuring sightseers and began sprinting.

Cassie Andros, producer of the insanely popular show Stalking Death, claimed she could see the future. No one believed her. Yet from chicken-bone asphyxiations to fiery crashes, her drones recorded stunningly gruesome deaths.

A loud crack echoed. The bridge undulated wildly. Wailing tourists plummeted into the gorge.

Scott leapt. Landed on the solid abutment, panting in relief. Drones hovered around him.

Why’re they still—

The high-tension bridge cable whipsawing Scott in half generated Cassie’s highest ratings ever.

 

Jeff Currier

Jeff writes little stories. Find more: @jffcurrier on X or Jeff Currier Writes on Facebook.

Carnal Distractions

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by Jeff Currier

Straddling Victor’s chiselled chest, Tiffany languidly tapped the remote. Usually, she toyed with prey longer. Built their amorous anticipation to bursting before sating herself. But Victor’s lustful aura felt bottomless.

The canopy retracted, uncovering myriad angled mirrors. How men loved watching their endless reflections taking her. Their self-absorption let her lock succubus lips and suck them dry.

But Victor had eyes only for her.

Confused, Tiffany glanced upwards. Her countless reflections stared back, bed otherwise empty. I feel him beneath me!

Fangs pierced her neck. A whisper caressed her mind.

“I commend your diet, darling. Your blood tastes absolutely exquisite.”

Jeff Currier

Jeff writes little stories. Find more @jffcurrier on X or Jeff Currier Writes on Facebook.

 

 

Getting the Last Laugh

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by Jeff Currier

For Max, it began as a low rumbling chuckle. For Helen, a delicate tittering giggle. Inevitably though, it slowly swelled, gleeful chortling burgeoning into gut-clenching rambunctious hilarity.

Like all laughter, it was contagious. It spread unchecked, a convulsing wave of mirth, drowning the entire world in uproarious pandemonium.

They tried regaining control. But through their rising trepidation, their desperate howling tears, the unbridled raucous cachinnation only grew. Mutated. Into hysterical cackling terror.

Abruptly Max collapsed, a broken empty harlequin, his prefrontal cortex cerebral tissue all consumed. Helen, and everyone else, soon followed. The brain parasites had finally gorged themselves silly.

Jeff Currier

Jeff writes little stories. Find more @jffcurrier on X or Jeff Currier Writes on Facebook.

 

Finding Paradise

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by Jeff Currier

Squeezing through the crevice, Kianu emerged into a verdant valley. Golden fish filled languid ponds. Pagodas climbed heavenward. A lost Tibetan paradise! But no inhabitants?

A breeze swirled grey powder into drifts across the stonework. Kianu rubbed some between his fingers. Ash perhaps?

Inside the largest temple, an intricate sand mandala encircled a desiccated mummy. Kianu stepped forward, knelt, reaching for its glimmering pendant.

An emaciated claw grabbed his wrist. Kianu’s skin, muscle, bone dissolved into dust. Jianshi can’t be real!

***

The qi-stealing vampire scraped through Kianu’s fading memories, searching. Ah, the way out! And beyond? So many people. Paradise!

Jeff Currier

Jeff writes little stories. Find more @jffcurrier or Jeff Currier Writes on Facebook.

 

 

Final Comfort

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by Jeff Currier

Desperate for food, Basil and Chloe risked an already looted grocery. A scavenger band ambushed them. Consciousness fading, Chloe never expected to reawaken.

***

The leader’s matronly voice penetrated Chloe’s resurrecting awareness.

“Your husband claims you’re a doctor.”

Chloe nodded, though the Collapse had cut medical school short.

The woman proffered a steaming bowl. Broth, vegetables, rice—even shredded meat. Chloe ate ravenously. Tipping the bowl, she slurped the last drops.

“Is Basil alright?” Chloe asked.

“He could offer nothing, except fulfilling his vow to comfort you.”

The woman, clerical collar worn and stained, reclaimed the bowl. “He comforted us all.”

 

Jeff Currier

Jeff writes little stories. Find more @jffcurrier or Jeff Currier Writes on Facebook.

Sword In Hand

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by Jeff Currier

Fleeting spectral images taunted Sigurd’s memory. Opening a man’s throat. Striding through crimson spray. Quick slashes ending children’s caterwauling. A golden-haired beauty screaming Valkyrie threats. Laughing, swatting away her knife. Slinging her over his shoulder. And dying—her second blade embedded in his spine.

Sigurd’s hand still clasped his sword. A Viking’s death then—body and blade bathed in enemies’ blood.

“Lies,” a slithering voice hissed. Icy breath froze his blood-encrusted skin. “Not enemies. Your brother, your kin, while trying to steal his wife.”

Sigurd opened his eyes.

“The dishonourable are mine!” Lokisdottir crooned amidst the frigid glaciers of Hel.

 

Jeff Currier

Jeff writes little stories.  Find more @jffcurrier or Jeff Currier Writes on Facebook.

Too Dumb For…

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by Jeff Currier

“Why’d they send him down here—record’s clean,” Azazel groused, eyeing the mangled soul.

Galzuel tapped the tablet, “Notation says: ‘Too dumb for Heaven’.”

“But where to put him?”

“With pogo-stick-frogger-on-the-autobahn guy?”

“No, his stupidity killed twelve additional people.”

“How about drank-bleach-to-prevent-Covid gal.”

“She was bigoted—didn’t love her neighbours.”

“He’s definitely not a suicide?” Galzuel asked.

“Upstairs says ‘no’, but I’ll double check,” Azazel said. “Why jump off the Grand Canyon with a parachute constructed of duct tape and cling wrap?”

“It should’ve worked,” the soul murmured.

“Limbo then.” Galzuel decided, adding a new notation: ‘Too dumb for Hell.’

Jeff Currier

Jeff writes little stories.  Find more at Jeff Currier Writes on Facebook.

Facebook: @jeffcurrierwrites

Queen of the Night

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by Jeff Currier

“Staring out his sliding door, wishing for sleep, Jacob spied his new neighbour, poised atop a beach towel, rubbing lotion over gleaming moonlit porcelain skin. Adjusting her scant blood-red bikini, she lay back as if starting a mid-afternoon sunbath.

Suddenly swathed in full moonlight, she blossomed blindingly bright. Blinking away afterimages, Jacob saw her towel, smouldering in the grass, empty. He rushed outside; stopped short. Basking, glowing, she smiled, moonbeams glinting off—what the hell? She brushed his arm. A sharp prick, then darkness.

Dew-covered, Jacob awoke, a throbbing rash wrapping his arm, radiating from an embedded porcelain-white cactus spine.

Jeff Currier

Jeff works three jobs, so has little time to write. Hence, he writes little stories.

 

YEAR FIVE

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YEAR SIX

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