Have a Bad Day: Seven Stories of Sickness, Sin, and Psychopaths

By Ross Willard

Everyone has bad days, but not many get as bad as these! These seven tales of woe range from dark to devilish! In Vespine, a dangerous obsession takes a dark and unexpected twist. In If Only in my Dreams, a man shares his darkest secret with a captive audience. In A Terrible Itch, a spaceship finds itself carrying unwelcome cargo and must choose between the unthinkable and the unimaginable. In A Gambling Man, an addict at the end of his rope is given one last, terrible chance to escape the consequences of a lifetime of bad choices. In Shallow Graves, the end of civilization is just the beginning for a young girl who loses her last friend just before receiving some unwanted visitors. In Desperate Times, a man fallen on terrible times wrestles with his conscience, without knowing just how high the stakes really are. And finally, in Last Day on Earth, A death row inmate bids a rather surprising farewell to a world he has no respect for. Sit back, relax, and take comfort in knowing that your bad days don't get quite this bad!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ross Willard
• Release date: Jun 8, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301807222

Ross Willard

Ross Willard, a Colorado resident, has been writing fiction in one form or another since he graduated from the Play-Doh Institute, where he majored in nap time and annoying his teachers. When not writing, Ross defends his title as Tic-Tac-Toe grand master. He is still spoken of in reverent whispers throughout Central Texas for a legendary high scoring two-letter-Scrabble word. Sometimes he finds himself remembering future events, which may explain his interest in speculative fiction. A longtime member of the Penpointers critique group, Ross can often be found procrastinating at his local independent coffee shop, or working on his website, www.rosswriter.com.

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Have a Bad Day: Seven Stories of Sickness, Sin, and Psychopaths

Ross Willard

Copyright 2013 Ross Willard

Smashwords Edition

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System Purge: Book 1 of Digital Evolution

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people, not even if that other person is your evil twin, or your slightly unethical doppelganger, or your rather mischievous clone. If you find yourself tempted to share this with another reader, please take a deep breath and remind yourself of that one time, back in grade school, when you shared one of your precious cookies with that cute girl you had a crush on, only to find out that she went and gave your cookie to some boy that she had a crush on, and just how bad that made you feel. Then remember that the author, who has worked a series of menial, low-paying jobs over the years in order to focus his attention on his writing, just shared his oh-so-special book with you. But, no, he doesn't have a crush on you. I mean, he probably doesn't. Unless you're that girl who smiled at him at the coffeehouse that one time. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, well, shame on you. You get online, and you purchase your own copy, right now. I said NOW, mister! And don't think I didn't see you roll those eyes!

Table of Contents

If Only in My Dreams

Vespine

Shallow Graces

A Terrible Itch

Desperate Times

A Gambling Man

Last Day on Earth

About the Author

If Only In My Dreams

There’s something I’d like to talk with you about. I know my problems probably aren’t your biggest concern right now, but I have to talk to somebody. Seeing as how you’re something of a captive audience, I thought I’d take advantage.

I’ve got this recurring dream. I’ve had it for years. The dream always starts out the same. I'm walking down a street, and as I'm walking, I'm struck by what a nice neighborhood I'm in. The road is smooth and even, no potholes, no speed bumps. The lawns are manicured, without a weed in sight, and there are children running and laughing all around me. Usually they’re playing tag, or hide and go seek. The world is sunny, and bright. I feel good. I feel . . . clean.

Then I realize someone is watching me.

Sometimes he’s with the other children. Sometimes he’s standing in a window, staring.

It’s Billy.

And I know where Billy is.

Billy is in heaven.

That means I must be in heaven too.

I look around again, and nothing’s changed, but somehow everything is different, and I wonder how I could have missed it, how I could have taken so long to realize where I am.

I keep turning, and looking, staring, wondering . . . turning around and around until I find myself facing him. Facing Billy. He’s standing right in front of me now, and he’s smiling.

The smile is . . . pure. Pure in a way I’ve never seen before. Not from my mother, not from any lover I’ve ever had. Not like anything I ever thought could be real. It’s a smile without hesitation, without doubt. Like he's truly happy to see me.

I stare at him, trying to figure out what to say. It’s funny because he seems so much smaller than I remember. He was taller than me the last time we were together, but now . . . he’s still a fourteen-year-old boy, and I’m all grown up.

Finally I open my mouth, and I tell him that I’m sorry. And I am. I tell him that I wish I hadn’t killed him. And I do.

He laughs. He laughs, and he tells me that none of that matters anymore. That it isn’t important. Not here.

But I can't believe that. I press him, arguing, convinced that there must be some kind of mistake. I know what I am. I know where I belong, and it isn’t heaven.

Billy keeps smiling and tells me that there was no mistake. That I am where I’m meant to be.

He's wrong, I say. My very presence taints this place.

Billy shakes his head. Everything is as it should be, as it was meant to be. He tells me that I should come with him to meet God. That God will explain everything.

He takes my hand, and we begin to walk.

It’s a long walk, but the sky is bright, and there is a cool wind, and the people we pass all smile and wave.

They become a blur as we pass, too many faces to count, much less remember. Until I see someone I recognize. That face changes from dream to dream. Sometimes it’s the whore from El Paso. Sometimes it’s the trucker from Tennessee. I stare, expecting hatred, expecting rage from them, righteous fury at my presence. But all I see are smiles, and as we pass they fall in behind us, laughing and talking as we go to see God.

It doesn’t take long before I see another familiar face. Another of my victims. Then another. And another. They all join us, walking behind us. Sometimes they skip. Sometimes they sing and hold hands. Their actions change, but their joy does not, as we go to meet God. Me and the people I’ve killed.

There are so many people. So many faces. Faces that, when I’m awake, I can only remember twisted in agony or slackened in death. Here they’re smiling. Clean. Happier and healthier than they ever were in life.

Then we reach the end of the road. We reach God. I stare at Him, gaping, in awe, struggling to find my voice. Finally I do.

I fall to my knees before Him, confessing that there’s been some mistake. I tell Him that I’m not meant to be here. That I’m an animal.

God smiles at me. The most radiant smile I’ve ever seen. He speaks. I’m exactly where I was meant to be, He says.

I tell Him that I don’t understand. That I’m a monster.

He