By Howie Good
Every morning when I wake up I can detect a lingering scent of blood. No one I have told has been able to explain it. The cops just howl with laughter. And the doctors? They just look puzzled. I think it was Freud who said dreams are the day’s dark residue. In one dream that I sort of remember, I had been sentenced to death by decapitation for an unspecified crime. The next thing I knew I was walking in town very gingerly, trying to keep my head balanced on my neck stump. Most people who saw me weren’t fooled.
“I write to keep my head on.” – the writer