Words Have Teeth


This is the work of Charles Delucie.  Words are tools used to build roads.  My attempt is to carry my reader to the place in my head.  Sometimes the work is fantastic, sometimes not, but it will usually be fiction.  Visceral is the quality I work towards, and the physical sensation that I would love to give my readers.  Please feel free to comment openly about the pieces, but most of all, get your feet on the pavement and travel.

Recycled Emotions – Flash Fiction


dumpster

He pushed his fingers through the thin black plastic carefully.  His nose wrinkled instinctively, waiting for a freshly putrid smell to smack him in the face.

Nothing.

It was dark in the small cramped space of the half-full dumpster, it made it difficult to separate the good junk from the bad.  He made his jagged opening a bit wider and saw faces staring up at him.  Beautiful faces with perfectly carved features staring up from shining magazine covers.

He smudged through them.  All women’s shit.  When he saw the stack he was hoping for a bit of porno or at least a lingerie catalog.  No one read mags anymore.

He tossed the stack aside and pawed for another overripe trash bag.

The stack of magazines toppled slowly, a waterfall of glossy pages sliding down over his feet. He reached down to move them aside and saw a familiar face looking up at him from one of the back covers.  The product was not important, but that face…

His eyes were suddenly moist.


Continue reading

Advanced Settings


bright-phone-against-wall-266x174

He had just begun to slipstream behind a massive 747 when the unfamiliar chiming brought him uncomfortably into waking.  He blinked his eyes, trying to get them to focus through the thick screen of sleep.  The room was dark but he could see the small rectangle of blue light on the table next to the bed.  It was pulsing slowly, the light bringing the shapes around it in and out of focus.  The ceramic lamp that shared the nightstand with the glowing phone began to throw ominous, looming shadows over his bed. Continue reading

Expectations in the Dark – The Last Good Thing (update)


old-woman-praying1

She had always expected grandchildren.  She had expected, even as a young girl, to live deep into her twilight surrounded by chittering, smiling faces.  Even before she had thought of having children or even knew what that meant, she had expected grandchildren.  She had expected full tables at thanksgiving and long lists of names at Christmas.

She could always see it so vividly.

Sitting next to a man who would have looked remarkably like a potato that lay in the cupboard too long whose skin had gone loose as the inside had lessened with time.  She would have borne the years with more grace and would have had tight skin that shone like a mirror as it stretched across her forehead.  She had expected to buy him little sweaters that he would have worn as he sat in front of a typewriter, or sat in his favorite chair reading the paper or a book that he loved.  The sweaters would have always been soft against her face when he hugged her unexpectedly in the middle of a frigid morning. Continue reading

Expectations In The Dark


 

            old-woman-praying1She had always expected grandchildren.  She had expected, even as a young girl, to live deep into her twilight surrounded by chittering, smiling faces.  Even before she had thought of having children or even knew what that meant, she had expected grandchildren.  She had expected full tables at thanksgiving and long lists of names at Christmas.

She could always see it so vividly.

Sitting next to a man who would have looked remarkably like a potato whose skin had gone loose after too long in a cupboard.  She would have borne the years with more grace and would have had tight skin that shone like a mirror as it stretched across her forehead.  She had expected to buy him little sweaters that he would have worn as he sat in front of a typewriter, or sat in his favorite chair reading the paper or a book that he loved.  The sweaters would have always been soft against her face when he hugged her unexpectedly in the middle of a frigid morning.  Continue reading

Helios 12 – Second Draft


sun

            She lay there in the dark chill of her bunk and tried to ignore the grating beep of her alarm.  It had pulled her out of the deep dark hole of sleep a few minutes before but she always hated that damned sound.  It might have had something to do with the fact that she slept so much better out here.  No traffic noise, no birds to wake her, no sun coming up and invading her room through her windows.  The sun was always up out here, but it only came in when she wanted it too. Continue reading