THE NIGHTLY CHILL
By Steve Arviso
FIGHT THE DAWN!
As the sunlit sanity of the waking world burns the night to ash,
embrace the unbound madness of your wildest dreams,
laugh into the endless abyss of your darkest fantasies,
and rage against the coming dawn.
The Nightly Chill is the unstable experience of the mind and madness of Steve Arviso (@AmoralCrackpot). Mon-Fri. Ish.
- WHERE STARS COLLIDE
- 264 HOURS
- THE SHADOW KNOWS
- TRACK OF THE NIGHT
One more night till Halloween. Hide under the covers and chill with another bit of narrative poetry. 264 HOURS started as a little late-night project on The Nightly Chill twitter. I let it sit there, mostly unfinished. Tonight, it’s ready. I hope you like it.
WHERE STARS COLLIDE
Finishing what I start. It happens.
When I close my eyes,
all I see is a man’s eye dangling in a way that eyes shouldn’t.
I haven’t slept in about, seven days?
I’m not sure.
What day is it?
I once read a man went like, 264 hours without sleep.
I don’t know what happened after that.
Maybe he died.
I saw a guy die once.
Just the other day, actually.
I’d been working overtime, extra shifts.
Whatever I could get.
We had to get some serious work done on my wife’s car.
Cost a fortune.
Couple weeks ago, I was working swing.
My wife needed my car, so I got a lift to work.
I was on my own going the other way, though.
Had to take the bus.
All I wanted was to get home.
It’s like a forty-five minute trip home.
Straight shot, which is nice.
But that’s plenty of time for something to go wrong.
The old man was there when I got on.
The kids came in about ten minutes later.
Buncha college kids.
Not anymore. But they were.
They were laughing, giving the driver a hard time.
I think they were drunk.
Something about the old man caught their eye.
Maybe it was just him being there.
Could’a been me.
It started with some jokes.
One of them pulled out their phone, started recording it.
Made the old man a star of their late-night talk show.
It happened quick.
The old man wouldn’t play along, they got mad.
And then, they hit him.
I love hockey, something about the raw, hard-hitting nature of it.
The big kid, red hair, something he thought was a beard.
He body checked the old man against the glass.
The bus driver didn’t say anything, just pulled over and ran.
Maybe I should’ve done the same.
Sometimes I wonder if those kids were just bad people.
Not that I’m much better.
I sat there and watched it happen.
They pounced on him, stomped on him.
Like they were putting out a fire.
But his head, looked like a kicked-in jack-o-lantern.
Sometimes I wonder why he was there.
Where didn’t that old man get to?
It keeps me up at night, that old man and his eye.
THE SHADOW KNOWS
Adena’s lil’ audio love note to the (great) granddaddy of pulp vigilantes, The Shadow. Listen to it now on Spotify, sub to the PulpBusters audio feed, or even download a free MP3 of The Shadow Knows using the links below.
TRACK OF THE NIGHT
Monster Mash (1962) by Bobby “Boris” Pickett and The Crypt-Kickers.
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YOU ARE NOT ALONE
THE NIGHTLY CHILL