The Tequila Diaries: Organ Donor

By Jamie Horwath

Organ Donor is the first short story from the collection, The Tequila Diaries. This work is a horror short focusing around the characters Creek and Jennifer. The young couple is about to have their lives changed in the blink of an eye. Join the two junkies on a descent into blackness and find out exactly why people never investigate what they see out of the corner of their eye.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Aug 10, 2011
• ISBN: 9781481712217

Jamie Horwath

Jamie Horwath resides in North Eastern Pennsylvania. He attended Penn State University during the nineties. After college he worked a series of odd jobs until he took a sales position for an employment agency. In 2011 Horwath released his first book, Extinction Chronicles, and since then has released five more. The works comprised of short stories, novellas, and novelette's. His newest work is a novel completing the story that began as a short titled The Observer. Horwath's writing stays within the genres of science fiction, horror, and fantasy. His newest work is a cross genre piece across all three categories. Jamie's dog, Storm, a beagle is still hounding him.

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The Tequila Diaries

Organ Donor

Jamie Horwath

AuthorHouse™

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: [phone]

© 2011 Jamie Horwath. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system,

or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 8/1/2011

ISBN: 978-1-4634-3762-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4817-1221-7 (ebook)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011913338

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

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Introduction

In society, you have rich and you have poor. The line often thought forgotten, which rests in a broken caste system, waits for the time when degrees of darkness become blurred. Good is but an illusion replaced by shades of black. What is calming to some is one lesser degree of evil in the grand scheme of things. In this nightmare world, neither an inhabitance of poor nor rich exists. Here dwell the lawless. They hustle, steal, murder, extort, and mislead, among other things, to put bread on the table and a roof over their heads. These dwellers—the souls of the dark—live in the fringe, an area where shadows run from the night, for there is always something darker awaiting those who strive for the light. These are the beings that make the blackest of black their home and can survive amid a sea of cosmic violence. Imagine your inner ear. The fragile sounds of thunder erode the barriers of what we consider whole only begging for destruction presented by the sharp crack of lightning. Who sets the rules here? God or perhaps the devil? Alternatively, is it someone or something in between?

Organ Donor

Creek smoked quietly on the lone bench outside the DMV. He watched the rain descend gently around him, casting an eerie calm upon his muddled brain. He took a deep drag from the smoke and paused, allowing the carcinogens to ravage his insides. He exhaled strongly and deliberately; the smoke billowed from his mouth in a scattered cloud. He scrutinized the raindrops as they dissected the smoke like nervous sixth graders carving up their first frog.

He hated lines and he hated waiting. The two seemed to go hand in hand—lines and hate that is. Creek had a brief realization come to fruition. In his short lifetime of twenty-eight years, he had never come across another human being who liked lines. Not one single soul in his entire life could tolerate the wait. No wonder the clerks at the beginning of the line were such assholes. They had to deal with fifty other assholes before they waited on him, the fifty-first asshole. So in turn, they became assholes by default. The last of the smoke finished and Creek pulled up the collar of his windbreaker and headed into the DMV. Hate and lines awaited him …

It was a big one. By the looks of it, fifteen or so incensed people stood in front of him fighting with their cell phones in one haphazard manner or another. Creek mused at the thought of one of them pulling out a gun and going commando on everyone. He relished the possible act of an impatient degenerate filling his brain full of lead. Would he live or maybe end up like one of those assholes who records everything with his cell phone and uploads the shit to the news? He opted for the former. A