Just thought I'd drop by and share a little fan fiction with you all. Full Disclosure: I'm a huge Peanuts fan, and I absolutely LOVE to write Peanuts Gang Fan Fiction. I don't know why, maybe I'm just an old soul who pines for the good old days. A good group of friends, a sweet peice of Wrigley's chewing gum, and a pair of sensible sneakers. That's just who I am, and I think that translates naturally to my fiction. Anyway, I won't keep you, but know this: If you're a huge Peanuts fan like myself, then I think you're going to enjoy this. ;)
And Along Came Marcie!
Marcie's pale, bloated corpse lay on the kitchen floor exactly where it had fallen 3 days ago. She was beginning to turn, and soon the neighbors would be knocking. Patty, riding the tail-end of a 2 week meth bender, sat sprawled on a chair in a shuttered living room, dodging streaks of sunlight as the smoke from her Kool, hung heavy in the air. Outside, the oblivious people of the world went about their business, but inside? Well, that was a whole 'nother kettle of fish. Staring across the apartment at the decaying detritus that was Marcie, Patty finally relinquished the tense grip she had maintained on the frying pan since she had used it to turn Marcie's cranium into unrecognizable paste, 3 days prior.
The pan dropped to the floor, scattering Thomas their Scottish Fold, who had been busy lapping up the cerebrospinal fluid that had puddled beside what was left of Marcie's skull.
Patty squinted, gazing about the filthy apartment for a clue, for anything that might help piece the last 3 days together. But all she could find were empty Soda bottles and a Netflix account overflowing with Orange Is The New Black.
But what of Marcie??
Had she, in fact, been the dragon Patty had been warned of all along?
The troubling words of caution from her trusted dealer and confidant, Pigpen, rang clear throughout her head...
"It's going to come for you, and when it does, there ain't a goddam thing you can do about it but make peace with yourself".
OR, had she actually killed her bespectacled life-partner in a haze of battery acid, low grade cough syrup, drain cleaner and antifreeze? Patty vaguely recalled the Dragon's whimpered protestations of 'Sir, please stop hitting me', as she flattened its skull into something resembling a stepped upon stuffed-crust pizza
She rubbed her brow in confusion and vomited a steady stream of bile and Mountain Dew onto her pants. "Fuck me it's only Tuesday" she muttered, throwing a towel over Marcie before heading out to buy a shovel. But it wasn't Tuesday. Not even close.
Morried In The Gary has Haemochromatosis and enjoys reading about Central Asia on Wikipedia.