Russel Barrie
Bio
A lowly word monkey banging away at one of a billion typewriters.
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Stories (5)
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The White Noise of Ashes (Three)
THREE It was a furry looking building. Nestled in a little grove astride highway two, the Holloway Motel was notorious for being about as low maintenance as you could get. It had been cobbled together in the seventies, but fell into disrepair long before Jesse was born. That was how he always pictured it: Sidewalks cracked, shutters peeling paint, the whole place appearing ready to collapse into rubble if you slammed a door too hard. In the humid Pacific Northwest air, moss had soon started forming along the exterior. It gave the building the impression it was transforming into a key-lime werewolf. Nowadays, the only people who stayed at the Haul-away Motel were just passing through town in search of something better.
By Russel Barrie4 years ago in Fiction
A Sweet Release
It was so hypnotic it was downright sexy. Through the glass, Chad watched the chef put the final touches on her masterpiece. The icing was ornate, with dozens of flowers and vines sculpted in white and dark chocolate. They climbed and roamed over the three layers crowning in a thorny apex at the top that was so complicated he wondered just how much of it was edible. It looked glorious. So much so, that he wanted to rip into it and devour the whole thing. Displays like that were pastry lingerie: Pretty wrapping paper, but you just wanted to claw through it to get to what was inside. In this place, for Chad anyway, that was a pretty appropriate analogy.
By Russel Barrie4 years ago in Fiction
The White Noise of Ashes (TWO)
TWO They walked in lazy circles, their nonchalant steps stirring muddy rings around the body as they looked for… something. This was all part of procedure. When there was a big crime, (and this was the biggest crime, probably the darkest the county had ever seen) you had to comb the area to look for clues. Almost all his deputies were here now, slowly pacing the loop, their eyes transfixed to the morass beneath their boots. They were normally a gossipy bunch, chatting about arrests, rumors, and happenings as did any group of people living in a small town. Now they were deathly silent, pacing discs as they searched for answers, the lighter brown of their uniforms blending in with the sapping dirt.
By Russel Barrie5 years ago in Fiction
The White Noise of Ashes (ONE)
ONE There was never a sunrise in Ashes, there was the rumor of a sunrise. Deep in the mountains, surrounded by jagged peaks, the big red orb rose out of sight sheltered by the massive rock. In summer, the heavens would just drift from indigo to a hazy grey and finally to the brilliant blue stark against the greenery. The sun herself, fashionably late, would gloriously emerge at ten taking her proper place in the sky heedless of those who’d been waiting for her.
By Russel Barrie5 years ago in Fiction
The New Normal
Everything was prettier with radiation. Out the window the sun was rising, just creeping lazily up above the hobbled stumps of the buildings that still remained. As the big bright ball went higher, the colours came out. The nuclear material still in the air, tiny radioactive particles of the world as it was before, caught the light differently and gave sunrises a darker warmer hue. The sky was shot with reds, oranges and pretty pinks. Pink was always her favorite colour. If the bombs had made the world pink, then they couldn’t have been that bad.
By Russel Barrie5 years ago in Fiction
