Example #4, October of 2011 was flash month all some form of horror in Examples of flashs past

The bars in purgatory don’t have call liquor and the bartenders aren’t exactly surly, they just don’t give a shit. They’re in purgatory.

“I’m all dog eared and out of print.”

“Pretty maudlin for a dead guy.”

“It’s the exact right measure of maudlin for a dead guy.”

Jack looked around the bar, dim, Spartan, the light seemed to seep through the walls and was tainted with nicotine stains and dried sweat. He didn’t catch the guys name, didn’t matter, guy had no sense of humor or irony or whatever it was Jack wanted him to have a sense of to make conversation worth it. When the bartender wandered back with jacks drink, he slipped off the stool, almost said “See ya” to the guy he was talking too, but didn’t. He took his drink to a two top of women who were pointedly not talking to each other.

“Ladies” he said.

“Right the first time.” One of them said.

“Swallowing swords?”

“Beg pardon?” the same one said.

“Your drinks --- that pickled cherry looks like a tiny pirate waylaid it.”

“You think you’re funny but you’re not.” Said the one who hadn’t said anything. Jack understood why she hadn’t said anything. Some folks in Purgatory can’t help but speak their mind.

The other one pulled up her sleeve and showed the ugly scars along her arm “It’s ripped here.”

“Real corker ain’t it?”Said the one who should keep her mouth shut, “Me? My rotten kid stepped on a crack. My back got broke. If I were Asian someone would go pee pee in my coke. How’s that for a joke? Got a smoke?”

Jack was already missing the guy who was just maudlin enough for a dead guy. He checked out the bar again. Over in the corner was Mad Stephen; he was too fucking sober to talk to mad Stephen. Sitting by the juke that played nothing but Hank Williams and Willie Dixon tunes was Sherry Whatshername. She kept dropping quarters on the floor and making a show of bending down to pick them up. There were other bars, it was a big place, but they were all the same. There were only two things in purgatory he could stand doing; drinking and peering through the Bush of Ghosts.

He’d spooked himself pretty bad last time he looked through the Bush of Ghosts. Spooked is the wrong word, but it’s close enough in English. He saw his little sister walking home alone from school, one strap of her backpack dangling loose. A car drove by, stopped, backed up. An old man got out, the hole where Jacks heart would have been raced a bit. He saw the face. School principle. The nonexistent hole quit racing.

“You ok?”

“No,” she said “My brother is dead.”

“Yes, I know, I’m so sorry. Would you like a ride home?”

“He’s not in consecrated ground.”

“Um, ok. You going to be alright?”

“No. My brother is dead and he’s not in consecrated ground.”

“Would you like a ride home.”

“No thank you.”

Jack hadn’t been back to the Bush of Ghosts since.

“What up Sinner?” Mad Stephen.

“Same old same old, You?”

“Well, ya see, it’s like this …”