Note: The Daily Death tale will be posted tomorrow (Saturday). I am just running a little late this week. Thanks for understanding.

Joann Hamann-Buchanan of The Eclectic Artist Cave has a show on FATE Radio. A couple weeks ago she had a call-out for 500 word tales that she could read on the air and the keyword was "The Little Black Box." Fortunately, my piece was selected and read. She said the show was an overwhelming success and has decided to do it again. This time the keyword is Dark Horse and she intends to read the tales on June 22nd. I've once again entered. Will I be selected again? I can't say, but I can say that it is tremendous fun to try and if I am selected, I'll certainly let you know. Regardless, below is my submitted piece.

Update.........I just heard back from her and she is going to use it. Actually she said it "ROCKS."

Dark Horse

By Thomas Scopel

Their keys jingle loudly and the sound echoes off the cold drab walls. I can hear their heels walk in unison as the come to get me. Clack, clack, clack…

This dark horse that lingers over me has been there for so long now that I can’t help but smile when I relish the thought of it finally dissipating. It won’t be long…

My dinner isn’t setting very well. I didn’t think that a wonderful looking, medium rare steak would do that? Who knows? All I know is that it didn’t seem to taste as good as I had remembered. Can’t say that I feel special and I should have just gotten what everybody else did.

There almost here. I can hear their intentionally low voices. Well, more like mumbling. They’re trying to remain quiet, like its one big secret and I suppose they’re simply just trying to be nice. I’ve already mentioned numerous times that it doesn’t matter, but they haven’t listened.

Their shadows hover over me while the key clumsily clanks into the slot and turns. CLICK.

The door creaks open, but they won’t have to come in…I’ll come out. I look upon their faces, solemn and grave, like they’ve just lost a close friend. And, maybe they are…for I’ve been here a while.

George, their leader pats me gently on the back as if to say, good knowing ya pal. I offer him a reassuring grin. He returns it glumly and takes his place at my side, clutching hold of my upper arm.

Jim, the youngest of them all, takes to my other side. He doesn’t share their compassion and I can see the wickedness in his eyes laughing out loud dementedly and macabre.

Reverend William begins to read this, that, and the other thing out loud from his worn, black bible as we progress on our way. I politely ask him to stop reading. He only offers a quick glance and goes right back to reading. He’s told me before that he cares about my soul and I guess that hasn’t changed.

It isn’t a long walk and I can’t help but to notice, at least with all but one of them that it is filled with gloom. I look above me at that invisible hypothetical black cloud and can’t help but feel optimistic.

The room we enter is small, about the size that mine was and they really didn’t have to aid me in taking a seat. They scramble about with precision, wrapping this and buckling that and it oddly feels comforting. I hear a tiny sliding door open and I look toward it.

The older man’s face that peers through is emotionless as he watches and waits and I return his stare. His face disappears for a moment and I hear loud humming begin. The man reappears at the glassless window and I look away.

Standing directly in front of me, I can see the gentleman’s lips move as he asks me something. But, I’m not listening and the sound of his voice evades me. He raises his brow and looks toward the little window before nodding.

I want to thank him…

End