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A New Year's Eve Party in #Vegas at Holden Farms

12/31/2014

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A NEW YEAR'S EVE PARTY
            I can't think or form a coherent thought. The anticipation of this night throbs in my veins, louder than even the dance music playing in my dressing room as I get ready for the party. A New Year's Eve Party, Vegas style - at Holden Farms. I want to put on a show that the locals and guests will never forget. And, a special surprise that none knows about - there will be a trial. 

            Closing my eyes, I remain still for the rest of the song. I will not rush. I will enjoy the special play-mix George made for me. Muse - Undisclosed Desires. This song evokes Ray and I can't help smiling. Will I see him tonight? Is it even possible? You ask what I want to happen at midnight? I want Ray to kiss me at the ball. 

            The smile leaves as the song changes. Korn - Get Up. In a moment the anger is there, right below my skin. Like an old friend. 
I, I am clearly broken and no one knows what to do
Pieces of the puzzle don't fit, so, I pound them into you
Itching is the pulse inside
Creeping out to come alive
It's just doing what it's gonna do
Times are looking grim these days
Holding on to everything
It's hard to draw the line
            I begin to apply my make-up and let the song dig inside me. Times are looking grim these days. The words echo in my dressing room as memories of the year run in my mind. 

            So much of nothing has changed for me this year. Did I make any progress as a writer? I have reached the age of 23 and have written one novel and fragments of many others that I seem not to be able to bring under control. I can't get my mind off my crazed personal life for long enough to concentrate. The money and the parties and the killing...

            And yes, the killing occupies my time. I dream of the blood of rapists. It drips down the walls of my brain, seeping into all the areas of my life. I can't think of anything for very long before the blood intrudes, cleansing me of all distractions. Tonight will be no different. There will be a trial. The man that I hold prisoner will face justice...

            The land-line phone in my room, a line reserved for George alone, buzzes and I click off the stereo. Why would he disturb me in my dressing room? Picking up the phone, I hear him yelling, something he never does. It takes me a moment to understand his words over the volume of his voice. 

            "Your prisoner has escaped into the mansion." 

            I do not answer and instead tap a button on my phone, which activates a panel and reveals a wall of security cameras. I can see my prisoner running into the abandoned wing of the mansion. He's heading towards the rooms reserved for Ray. This angers me more than his escape. I scan the room for a weapon when my eyes locate Saul. 

            Without a word, he extends a Glock 9mm to me and motions towards the door.
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A Special Tea Party for Christmas - #Vegas 

12/24/2014

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CHRISTMAS TEA PARTY 
IN 
VEGAS 
            "It's Christmas  in Vegas and I welcome you all to Holden Farms," I say, looking around the table at all the ladies. I feel happiness rising in my stomach at the sight of so many friends. Ana really went out of her way putting on this surprise. Even the grump of our group, Saul, seems to be in good spirits as he drinks hot chocolate and keeps watch over us from the library window. 

            I hear a chorus of 'Merry Christmas' as Ana says a toast and raises her glass. I sip whiskey and smile at the warmth on my tongue, so welcome on this cold Christmas eve in Vegas. 

            "I can't wait to show you all the presents and the big surprise, but until then, please enjoy the refreshments. In a few moments, George will present the musical entertainment of the evening. He's been singing non-stop these last few weeks in preparation and I know you'll love the songs he chose." 

            I rub my hands together with excitement and the smiles of all those around the table makes me forget the one that is not here. I won't let thoughts of Ray ruin Christmas Eve this year. I swear it. 

            My phone buzzes with several message alerts, but I don't want to bother with anything or anyone at this moment. Reaching in my pocket, I hold the button until the phone shuts off and I turn my gaze towards Ana. 

            "Make sure everyone has enough whiskey," I say, watching her holding the bottle out towards the guests. 

            She winks and I respond with a look of feigned shock, which brings a laugh from the table. 

            "Enough flirting, Ana, fill my glass!"

            She kisses me on my forehead and obliges, pouring me a double whiskey, neat. Oh, George would smile at my thoughts - he corrected me on how to order this drink the first time we met. It seems like so very long ago now and it makes me feel a sudden rush of melancholy. 

            Speaking of George - where is he? It's not like him to keep me waiting. I think about turning my phone on, but decide against it and try to calm my agitation by taking a large gulp of whiskey. Tears form in my eyes, but I swallow without coughing.

            At that moment, I see George enter the library. He looks pale and motions for me to leave the table to meet him. I rise, a pit forming in my stomach as silence grips all the ladies around the table one by one. George doesn't look as if he is ready to sing at all. I approach him and take a spot near the door, waiting for him to speak. 

            "Something has happened. I've locked the gates and put all security forces on alert," he says, eyes moving over my shoulder to make contact with Saul. 

            "Tell me, George," I say, leaning close to him so nobody else can hear.  

            He puts his mouth against my ear and whispers, "It's that man you met. Roger. He..." 

            The pounding of blood in my brain blocks out the rest of what he says. I don't even need to hear the details, I just know. The urge to vomit passes over me while I try to lock onto his words. The only thing I hear is massacre. 
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#SerialPlaylist - John Lennon -Happy Xmas (War Is Over) 

12/24/2014

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All these years later, the wars aren't over. 

So, this is Christmas. What have you done? 
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#SerialPlaylist - Cake - I Will Survive - 

12/17/2014

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#SerialPlaylist - Soundgarden - Black Hole Sun 

12/13/2014

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...I'll hear you scream again.
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Post by Ella Thomas.
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Remains of the Dead in #Vegas

12/5/2014

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If you are a rapist in Vegas, this will be your final resting place. Just a tiny spot in this pretty box. You won't get a funeral. Nobody will know you are gone. You don't deserve a gravestone. Or to have loved ones say goodbye. You will simply disappear, never to be seen again. Think on that before you touch someone without consent. 

No Consent = Rape 

Rape = Death 

Have a great afternoon. 
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#SerialPlaylist - Evanescence - My Immortal in #Vegas

12/5/2014

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Post by Ella Thomas.
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Alone in #Vegas

12/4/2014

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ALONE IN VEGAS
            Locked in my room, I stare at the man tied to the bed, turning the knife in my hands to the music. The song spins on repeat and my sadness deepens, one line skipping over and over in my mind. '...as if I'm becoming untouchable.'

            "Do you understand I haven't known a man in that way in months? I've been very good you see," I say, but there is no response other than bulging eyes because his mouth is bound shut with duct tape. 

            I close my eyes and wait for the voices and the screams in my brain to subside before I speak to him again. When I open my eyes, I can see the sheer panic in his face as he struggles against the restraints. My gaze scans his naked body and I shake my head - nothing much here to impress me.

            "If I judged your physical attributes like men do to the women they rape and murder, you wouldn't have long to live," I say, pulling my chair closer to the bed and reaching out with the knife and running the blade along his arm. 

            The songs starts again and I hum along with the music, the man watching me, pleading for mercy with his eyes. "I could set you free." 

            Muffled screams escape the tape on his mouth and I can't help smiling. No matter if the men know who I am - some never let go of the hope I allow them to live. If he only knew. And he will. 

            "I've never set a man free. I wonder what it feels like. Would you like to be my first?" I ask, smiling at him and winking. I rip the tape from his mouth and lean back in my chair while he coughs and attempts to gather himself. 

            "I'll... do anything," he says in a stammer. Searching for the right words - oh, but there are no right words, sir. Either I will or I won't. Don't you understand this doesn't have anything to do with what you want? I don't give a fuck about your feelings. 

            Pausing the song for a moment, I tap the remote a few times to switch the music. Facing him, I give my best smile. "I only have one question. Is your name Ray Holden?" 

            "Um...no?" he responds with a question, unsure of what I want to hear. But it doesn't matter. The music begins and I hear a dance beat fill the room.

            Putting my face near his, I whisper in his ear. "I thought about releasing you, debated it for a moment. But, then I remembered... - sir, I'm fucking crazy and you're going to die." 
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#SerialPlaylist - Natalie Merchant - My Skin 

12/4/2014

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Tea and - Horror Story Part 24: A PLAY DEMONIC [THE QUEEN’S IDLE FANCY] by @JustinBog

12/2/2014

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A Play Demonic (The Queen’s Idle Fancy) 
 
Part 24

by

Justin Bog
Behind the stonewalls of the castle opposite Kate Denisov’s ship-shape, cute home, battened-down hatches for the fall into winter season, Camoustra and Frenalto allowed Gerald Pommeroy back upstairs. They fed him a boxed Thanksgiving dinner from the local supermarket, bland stuffing that tasted like sage paste, overly salted mashed potatoes, and a few slices of turkey breast doused in glue-like gravy the color of chickpeas.

“This could be your last Thanksgiving,” Frenalto teased the grateful owner of the castle keep, “eat up!”

“Yes. Anything for you. Please, please tell the master . . .”

“You shouldn’t call him that.” Camoustra interrupted Gerald. If she were a cat, she’d be purring, each word dripping with subtext, glee.

Gerald Pommeroy’s senses awakened. He was an old man. Turning eighty-nine in three months time. March. No children to speak of, losing an only son in the Vietnam war, and a wife to ALS twenty years past. He retired decades ago from crabbing. Earned his living working the salmon boats up in Alaska three times a year. Extended that when he felt up to it. He still owned a small crabbing vessel, always took younger helpers, tourists, out on the Sound if they could help with the stronger stuff. The backyard, all fenced in behind his castle, was awash with sailing and boating, fishing gear and rusting equipment, neglected crab pots. And, even shy of 90, Gerald’s physique kept strength with trips to the Fidalgo Pool where he took interval training sessions and stretching classes for seniors. Even so, he had a pacemaker and a stent helping his heart tick away with a normal beat. He felt like a cast member in a dream. He studied his hands, the splotched pale skin, a few blisters closed but still visible. Digging. He’d been digging so much. He remembered the monstrous head of a young gentleman—poor soul. He’d buried it in the dirt in one of the small graves and began to dig other enclosures. Evil. He felt evil, and wondered about all the good he’d accomplished. Wouldn’t that be worth something in this long long life of his? He couldn’t even think about a higher power without thinking he was being tested.

The phone rang several times as the days and nights ticked away. His mind blinked. Wouldn’t his friends at the pool, the ones he said hello to each day in passing, his swim mates, worry about his absence?

“Gerald is under the weather.”

“Oh, thanks for your concern. My uncle’s doing much better but won’t be back to the pool anytime soon, if at all . . .” Camoustra loved her little lies and speaking to these voices over the telephone line.

“Of course you can come visit him. He’d love that.”

Time passed, days, weeks now, and not one friend or acquaintance came calling on Gerald Pommeroy, pressed the castle’s doorbell worried about his abrupt disappearance. He had no family, no nephew wondering to whom his uncle was going to leave his small estate after his passing. Waltzcrop disappeared during the night, walking alone somewhere unknown to Camoustra and Frenalto, as it ever was.

READ THE REST OF THE CHAPTER AT JUSTIN'S SITE
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