The Attic Piranhas

Published by Marlin Williams at Smashwords

Copyright 2012 Marlin Williams

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual person, living or dead, business establishments, event, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Chapter One

Max Fagan emerged from a silver flash of light in a speeding, red convertible. Along the stretch of desert highway, he passed a billboard and felt a little nervous. It was the one with the cows crawling all over it, begging him to eat a chicken. However, the billboard was not the problem. The problem was Charley Axon. Before Charley could arrive on the scene and cause the dream to become a nightmare, Max woke up and struggled free from the twisted binds of his blanket. He’d heard that pills worked—a little. But, he was not interested in anything that was strong enough to ward off the livid dreams that sometimes morphed into grand-mall nightmares; complete with night-sweats and chills. He sat up from his makeshift bed on the sofa, and the August sun pierced the barrier of shabby drapes. He winced, recoiled, and rubbed his stinging eyes. He dropped his hands and looked around the tiny, one-room apartment at the collage of second-hand furnishings. It left a bad taste in his mouth.

The angle of the late morning sun prompted him into a nervous search through the slush pile of watch innards and electronic components on the coffee table. He found his Elegant wristwatch and looked at the dial. “Shit, late again.” He sped through his morning ritual, finishing off his recently acquired attire of thrift-store shirt, slacks by slipping on a pair of comfortable but worn-out loafers, and raced out the door. As he walked through what barely passed as a courtyard, he noticed the Coral Reef Apartments complex's sign had a new bad paint job covering the old bad paint job. It was the property manager's latest attempt to mask the decaying property, like a Band-Aid on a gaping wound.

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