Misplaced

Excerpt from fiction collection, Collard County: A Collection of Short Stories:

..."Where did I put myself?"  I say the words aloud, and they step mocking circles about me laughing at my confusion.  Blood rushing and heart pounding, my feet anchor themselves in the carpet against my will, and I can no longer move.  The clock hands freeze.  The phone and doorbell refuse to ring. 

I watch my wallet, keys, license, grocery sack and jacket drop to the floor, yet I cannot hear them or feel them released from my fingers.  I can no longer remember where I am going or what I am doing in the middle of the living room as I repeat those words, "Where did I put myself?" ...

Barren

Excerpt from fiction collection, Collard County:

...[T]he perfect opportunity rode into town in government cars.  City- slick officials donning dark suits, stepping quickly in shiny shoes, flashing badges, and clutching secret files, spoke big words with vapid breath and no melody in their mouths.  Only their lips moved when speaking;  the rest of their faces, framed with dark plastic shields concealing their eyes, remained frozen and numb like their spines.

Indigo, "a highly recommended, domestic candidate," had been invited to participate in a "medical experiment" due to lack of funding to carry the mission overseas...  [A] "free clinic" with a "doctor" and a "nurse" along with all the "necessary equipment and paraphernalia" were positioned at the railroad tracks, of course, in West Indigo.  After thanking the Mayor for contributing to this "research in modern medicine," the men road away as swiftly and surreptitiously as they had come, tediously wiping away every speck of their presence... 

Burnt Bottom

Excerpt from fiction collection, Collard County:

...Booker T. Lee was the kind of man that would just melt in your mouth when you touched your tongue to him.  He was a man's man simply because he was a ladies' man first...  From the feathery skin of his scalp to the sacred soft leather of his feet, taut, velvety smooth, walnut skin wrapped itself about his bulging, muscular frame as if hugging some precious gift. 

Something on his body always beckoned even in his sleep: a wisp of hair waving, a finger tapping, a thigh muscle solo dancing.  Something always moved not nervously or in irritation, but just like he was ever-ready.  Booker never had to say much or even ask for it.  His silken eyes and satin smile, fluent in the most lustful tongues, barely flashed and women just fell at his feet. 

A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do.

And Booker certainly did...

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