Bloggaday: Bloggaday 139 – Post-PWND: The Supernatural Handicap Battle Royal of the Century Christmas Party Spectacular part 2

Bloggaday 139 – Post-PWND: The Supernatural Handicap Battle Royal of the Century Christmas Party Spectacular part 2

What’s this, a special Saturday edition of PWND? AWESOME.

See, I can read my reader’s mind. Impressed much?

Again, I know you are.

600+ words of new content to continue Wed-nes-day’s fiction here http://thebloggaday.blogspot.com/2010/06/bloggaday-136-pwnd-supernatural.html Things be startin towards excitement. This post puts you at 1100 words out of the 2000 that I have written. Unfortunately, it doesn’t look like I’m going to make the July 4^th deadline over at http://www.undeadinthehead.com/p/call-for-submissions.html. Wait a minute. That deadline isn’t until August 20. Yay. I was thinking of the zombie flash fiction contest over at http://midnightcorey.com/2010/06/eric-s-brown-and-david-dunwoody-zombie-flash-fiction-contest/ which I wasn’t even planning on entering. I wonder if I can squeeze what a have, shortstop the ending, and shrinkrap it all into 500 words for that second contest.

Well, I should probably shut up now. This ramble is starting to get long enough to get it’s own Bloggaday, especially since there is a few thing I want to say* that could push it a bit longer.

Until next time, enjoy the Bloggaday

“Yeah. She tried teaching me some conversational Romania, but the only thing I retained was suge pula.”

A drop of the deep red trailed down Henric’ chin as the jarring of the laugh threatened to spill it all. He wiped the drop as it raced across his pale skin. “That is very funny. Are you sure you know what that means?”

“Yeah, you don’t think that would help me over there? I figured I could fake my way through it as long as I knew that.”

Henric ground the drop into his thumb as he said, “I wouldn’t call ‘conversational Romanian,’ but I’m sure you and your wife will have a lot of fun.”

The two stood there, nodding through the silence. Paul finally said, “So what do you do?”

“I’m a medical researcher. I specialize in blood disorders. What about yourself”

“Ah,” the big man grunted. “I own my construction company.”

“Rough times for the construction, isn’t it?”

“Not so much,” Paul said, offering his cup. After Henric tipped his glass to the plastic rim, the big man continued, “I specialize in the more customized housing projects up here so I’ve been pretty lucky compared to most of my buddies.”

“Specialized?” Henric repeated with a quizzitive eyebrow.

“Yeah, the hush, hush stuff,” Paul turned to him, closing with a long, “Shhhhhhhhh.”

“My wife and I are thinking about a remodel. Could I get your card?”

“Sure,” Paul said, draining the cup before dropping it to the table. “I’ll be sure to give you the first cousin price,” he continued jamming his mitt into his pocket. As he retrieved the wallet, the glass in the living room shattered.

The pair looked back to the game as a body flew from the window and tackled the pantomime to the ground. The newcomer flipped the man over and started tearing at his stomach.

The two returned to their conversation as Henric said, “What would be the best time to call? Or should I email you?”

“You know what? I’ll write my home phone and email on here. Whatever works for you.”

Paul pulled a pen from his shirt pocket as the man from the living room finally broke his silence, “Ahh, those are my intestines! What is he doing to my intestines?”

After scribbling on the card, he fanned it once and gave it to the man.

“Isn’t your wife in there playing the charades?” Henric asked.

“Oh don’t worry about her. She’ll be fine.” The pair looked at the men wrestling and screaming on the floor before Paul continued, “I didn’t think it was possible, but he’s actually more annoying now than before.”

With a nod, Henric agreed, “I suppose that’s reason enough.” Setting his glass on the table, he took a step before Paul placed an arm on his shoulder.

“Now you don’t want to get that nice coat all messy, do you?”

Henric turned and pointed up at the man. “Good point.” He flipped the jacket off and slid it over a chair with a single motion. As he turned, he began to speak, “Perhaps you can take the man’s,” he stopped as he watched Paul charge into the commotion.

The brute punted the savage and sent him into the couch. He leaned into the couch and tried for another kick, but the ravenous little man squirmed away and shot for the twitching body treading in its own blood.

Paul started for the men, but Henric hooked his arms around the crazed man’s shoulders and dragged him to his feet.

Paul stepped over the twitcher on the ground and landed a blow on the temple of the assailant. His head snapped back, a chunk of bone impaling a spewing eyeball. “Fuck,” Paul said, recoiling for a moment. He tried a few body shots, but the thing continued to snap at him.

The man continued to thrash against Henric until the Romanian finally let go. The man only made it a step though before Henric grabbed his head and gave it a jerk. A wet snap preceded the man’s collapse, and Henric dusted his hands. “There we go.”

With a closing step, Paul held his hand up and said, “High five.”

Henric offered an eyebrow, but when the man refused to take his hand back, he surrendered and clapped his hand.

“Ohho,” a voice came from the floor. “I can see my lunch coming out of my intestines! Somebody push it back in. Please!”

Listening to

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