Elliot Cross is the Butterfly Killer. He targets anyone with dreams and aspirations. In this short story we see his cunning ways. He stops at nothing to gain his victims confidence. If you have a dream, he's ready to make sure you don't live to achieve it.Elliot Cross is the Butterfly Killer. He targets anyone with dreams and aspirations. In this short story we are introduced to his cunning ways. He stops at nothing to gain his victim's confidence. If you have a dream, he's ready to make sure you don't live to achieve it. It doesn't matter how simple or elaborate. As you see in this introductory short subtitled The Driving Lesson, the dream can be as simple as a teen boy anticipating passing his driver's test. It can be as large and complex as a Mother about to give birth to a baby after many failed attempts. Whatever your hope or ambition, Elliot waits until you're at the threshold and snuffs the dream. He invokes God as the justification for his crime. In his mind, he says he is doing the work of the Lord. God is jealous because the victims care more about their aspirations than they care about him. God is using him enforce his first commandment: "Thou shall have no other Gods before me" to show his power and how little he cares about people's "foolish follies."Included is an excerpt from a scene deep into the novel. Relax and enjoy this short story. Don't let murderous Elliot stop you.ExcerptTimmy thought it was odd that Carrie’s Father didn’t want anyone to know about the Sunday driving lesson. He churned it over and over in his head, Mister. Cross’s reasoning for the secrecy. “Your friends will be as mad as wet hens if they fail to pass and they find out you passed because you had an extra lesson. I can just hear my Carrie, ‘But Dad, you gave Timmy private lessons, but not your own Daughter?’ Whoo! That gal can be jealous. But you know her. You and her are tight like a drum aren’t you?”That explanation sounded reasonable to Timmy. Kids at South High tended to act like crabs in a barrel. If half of Mister Smith’s Trig Class was failing, they all had to fail. Shining stars weren’t tolerated. And Mister Cross was right about his daughter Carrie. Most kids shied away from Carrie, partly because of him and his crazy love for chasing butterflies all over the neighborhood. But she also had a jealous streak that was about as green as her hair. Girls didn’t stay friends with her very long. Even other lesbian girls fell victim to her rants and arm twisting because she had caught them talking to boys or other girls. But Mr. Cross had put his hand on his shoulder in a most fatherly way. Or was that creepy, Timmy wondered? The hand lingered a moment longer than it should and squeezed harder than it should have, as if it was a massage.

Betty is a take-charge woman with a weakness for men down in their luck. Her men soon prove themselves to be unfaithful and suffer Betty's wrath. Her latest nameless lover who Betty met in the "Chicken N Biskit" is no different. He cheats on Betty with her best friend after Bonnie. He very much the dog he says he is.  What else would you be if you make love to a woman in a cemetery? Excerpt:I have been living with Betty, in Betty's house, for six months now. Her purse dangling at the end of its long chain bumped me when she rose from the table that day in the Chicken N Biskits. Betty rubbed my arm slowly and softly. When she left, there was a crumpled wad of paper on the table--a ten-dollar bill with her name and phone number scrawled over Hamilton's smug face. I was insulted that such a troll would think that the likes of me would give her one second of my time. I kept the ten spot and a little voice told me to put the number in my jacked up flip phone with the missing zero. I tell you, a brother is having a hard time when he don't even have a zero on his phone. When Friday came and the eagle hadn't flown, the Manager tossed my things out into the rain, with a nest of bugs to keep me company.***Love is complicated. Check out these books and stories by this author:Maura and Her Two HusbandsInto the WaterMinister QOdd Voices in Love

A young man’s coming of age story. Innocent and sweet with menacing undertones. In the Power Plant our protagonist works in his University’s boiler and chiller facility typing reports and running errands. He’s nineteen and trying to deal with his attraction to men while feeling he should be in love with women.Available as this Short Single or as part of the collection Odd Voices in LoveA young man’s coming of age story. Innocent and sweet with menacing undertones. In the Power Plant our protagonist works in his University’s boiler and chiller facility typing reports and running errands. He’s nineteen and trying to deal with his attraction to men while feeling he should be in love with women.Harvey's work has appeared in Story Magazine, The James White Review, Shade, Soulfires and other fine anthologies. A great story is kept, shared, and read again for your enjoyment.An Excerpt:Bells ring in my head. It’s my Mother phoning the Power Plant late into the night, to inquire why haven’t I come home. I know what time the night Operator is supposed to make his rounds to read the meters. But he will sleep half the night under the narcotic hum of the big chillers and fudge the numbers on the meter sheets. He’ll eat his lunch in the control room up front by the big gaping door of the plant. He’ll piss through the grate rather than come toward the tool room to go to the toilet. There’s a side door that’s always unlocked because the lock’s broken. It’s a good way for someone to get into the power plant unnoticed and into the tool room if they have a key, like Hawkins has a key. I know Hawkins knows these things too. Because now he’s looking at me and the ropes and pulleys hanging from the ceiling. He breathes hard and his hand digs deeper between his legs. He moves the door back and forth.

Promise - Short Stories from Promise GooddayThese scorching short stories are taken from the novel Promise Goodday. Pete the serial rapist/killer meets his fate in an abandoned amusement park in the The story "End of the Line." In "Goose Steps" you meet Promise, sassy yet innocent and unaware of the fate about to befall her. It all converges later in the searing heartbreaking novel.Few people can claim to have a perfect relationship (and those who do are probably hiding something). The romance between young lovers Chase and Ariel has had its fair share of set-backs too. There’s Chase’s notorious womanising, for one, not to mention an ex-girlfriend and her businessman father – a man with dubious connections to say the least – neither of whom you’d be advised to cross if you could help it. The fact that Ariel is mute can’t help either (she hasn’t spoken a word in her life, though doctors can’t figure out why).But despite everything, Chase and Ariel are back on track. And Dilon – Chase’s closest friend since they were boys together at school – couldn’t be happier for them. So why have the police hauled Dilon in for questioning? What has Chase been up to now?

A short collection of poems from Charles W Harvey. This collection captures the spirit of the 1960's and takes us through the 1990's. They are terse, funny, and bluesy. But most important the voice is real.Introduction to AmericanaPoems can be reflective or reactionary. In a reflective mood, the poet comments on past events. His or her voice may be calm, wistful, and longing. They are preservers of the moment. When poets put on their reactionary mantle, they are more vocal and want to move themselves and others to action In this small collection, Harvey has both the reflective voice and the force of the reactionary. Viewing the Vietnam War, race relations, and the cultural renaissance of the 1960’s and 1970’s through the prism of a child’s eye shaped Harvey’s views and points of view. The poets Allen Ginsburg, Amiri Baraka, Langston Hughes, and Ai shaped his voice.Excerpt:New York!Herds of humanity Graze on street corner slop and ride in the belliesOf silver worms beneath city guttersStreet people are ragged and unfashionably stinky.Everyone else is fashionably ragged.“Andy” sells me a beaded sweater off an old lady’s dead shoulders.A roguish Puerto Rican painter copiesA Robert Colescott painting as his own black creation.Got all dressed up to go to the theatre in Harlem.Got there stinky and hot--Harlem,Who bombed it?Noise all night long in Brooklyn.No ugly people live in New YorkEveryone is Cafe' au lait. Tall boy with five inch hairSits wide legged on the sub in baggy trousers.His throat is stiff with defiance, But his darkEyes linger in mine for a moment.Everything is for sale in New YorkEven a hug from daddy long legs.

A collection of poetry by award winning author Charles W Harvey. Reissued from the popular When Dogs Bark. These poems tell the unvarnished truth. They are not about daffodils or a walk in the park. They speak of the grittiness of love and touch the underbelly. A few might have you rushing to the refrigerator for your favorite cucumber.Bark TooIt’s finally here. From the Author of the original When Dogs Bark, comes Bark Too. This edition contains all of the poetry of the original plus some added. It’s slim, compact--just right for today’s reading technology. Carry this in your phone or your favorite tablet. Or just read it on your computer. What are these poems about? I think they are about the truth, unvarnished and raw. The praises speak for themselves. Why all of this bark stuff? What does a dog do when he wants your attention? He barks. What does a dog do when he senses danger? He growls. What does a dog do when he wants his belly rubbed and his ears stroked? He whines and snuggles close to you. In Bark Too you will experience the dog in all of his ways. Some of his words will make you back off and some will make you go to your refrigerator, pull out the cucumber, and...well we want go there. Breeze through the sample and take a chance. Woof!Don’t forget to check out the short story that started all of this barking stuff. And for you paper lover’s the original paperback is available.Now some things to make you go “hmm.”Night ClothesThe best time to be naked is 3:00 amBlack velvet skin is the proper attireAs you stand on your balcony Stroking the night—A little drink, a little smoke, a little lonely.There ought to be other menStanding on their porches tooAiming the red tips of their cigarettesAt you.anonymous menThere is blue joyin solitude,sweetness in the lonely soft night that drapes the bones of black men.I dance in this solitude.I carry wrapped in my heart to my homea willowy young body.We make love in solitaryLater,we kiss under the blue morning canopyand carry off pieces of blue joyin our deep pockets.Seven-Thousand And OneI’m going to write me a bookand put you in it.On the cover, it’s youall naked--black, brown, or red.You will be bald, afroed, or dreadlocked.Your sex will be nine inches of hot loveor six inches of sweet satisfaction.Your ass will have more curves than a sweet cantaloupes.I’ll title my book“How To Love You.”Every page will be blank.All we have to do is fill themone leaf at a time.Don’t worry the plot,we make it up as we go along.I wrote “the end” on pageSeven thousand and one.So let’s just take our time.

When Dogs Bark, The Short Story made its debut in 1995 in Story Magazine. Soulfires published it in 1996, the same year it appeared in the iconic and awe-inspiring anthology SHADE. When a man is troubled, he growls, whimpers, or barks his a$$ off.When Dogs Bark, The Short Story made its debut in 1995 in Story Magazine. Soulfires published it in 1996, followed by publication in the iconic and awe-inspiring anthology SHADE, edited by Bruce Morrow and Charles H. Rowell. The writer reissued it in 2000 as part of his personal collection.You may think with a name like Jethro, our story is the tale of a country bumpkin on a visit to New York City. It’s deeper. There’s a rumbling deep in Jethro’s soul. He has the quirky habit of barking when he’s nervous. It starts with a low growl when he’s mildly agitated, to a ferocious bark when he feels endangered.One day after he gets fed up with his wife and her cousin Jethro decides to step out and explore New York on his own. As he rides the subway he’s doing his low growl thing the keep the creeps away (just imagine). He catches the attention of Toni a cross dresser recently released from the army. It becomes a wild weekend of sex and self-discovery until a dangerous encounter with a gang of boys sends Jethro back to the arms of his wife, Eartha Pearl. Is Jethro a changed man? Only time will tell. Harvey captures te flavor of New York with the best of them.Excerpt:I say, “Now wait a minute, Jethro, you ain’t gonna have no cultural experiences stuck scared here on this stoop. Suppose Columbus had just sat on a stoop all his life. Just suppose. Shit. A man must take action!” While I sit debating, this big white dude in chains and leather walks toward me. Now, these chains ain’t dainty little things you get from Spiegel’s catalog. These chains come from the Navy yard. I mean these chains can lift submarines. He wears three around his neck, five on each wrist, and two on each ankle. Now the chains do not bother me. The fact that he has on funky raw uncured leather does not bother me. Even the glass eye--I hope it’s glass--dangling from his left earlobe on a chain does not bother me. What bothers me is when he turns in my direction, and grabs his grapefruit sized crotch and smiles—that’s what bothers ol’ Jethro here. I say, “Uh oh Jethro, somebody wants you to swing a certain way. And I don’t swing that way.” I wonder why he pick on me? So what if I do have on these black high top sneakers, shorts with Texas bluebonnets all over them, and a pink tee-shirt that says, “I BRAKE FOR MOONERS--that don’t mean I’m gay. Shit. I’m just a colorful dude. Well okay if you want to count that time when I was in the eighth grade and me and Johnny Scardino grabbed each other’s rods behind the gym bleachers. I wouldn’t have gone back there with him, but he told me he had two and he would show me if I showed him mine. Okay, it tickled and I got a hard-on when he grabbed me and I grabbed him out of reflexes, but I haven’t seen Johnny since the eighth grade. I dreamed about him once, since I been married to Eartha Pearl. But I woke up and made love to Eartha real quick.So anyway I hang my head and growl softly at the man in leather. He must think I’m calling him to dinner ‘cause he moves a little closer. When I see him step, I bark louder. And not yap yap like a poodle either. I’m Doberman and Great Dane combined. I rattle nearby windows. New York people stare at me as they walk by. And they tell me you’re doing something when you can get a New Yorker to stare at you eye-level on the street. The dude slinks away like he’s carrying a tail between his legs.

The poems "How I Got Over" and "Unfucked" tell the story of the angst of love. There are no chocolates, roses, or cupids in these "love stories." These poems tell the bitter truth about love. Romance is for dreamers. In these poems, the candy has turned bitter and the roses have dried up.The narrator in "How I got Over" shares with us her unrequited with a man cool to her affections. She pushes through all of the pain until the bitter end where she visits his grave and delivers her own brand of sweet revenge.In "Unfucked" Maura comes home early to find her husband in the throes of passion with another man. Witnessing the act puts her at the crossroads of revenge or the release of her pent-up sexual desire.If you love language and how it's used to express raw emotion, you will love these poems.

This short story by Harvey captures the enigmatic relationship of two brothers from Ghana. Listen in as Elijah tells his story to a Reporter who has come for a story on an elaborate burial coffin. Humor, irony, and bitterness all intermingled in this short piece.The people of Ghana are known for their elaborate coffins. Check it out on Google as you read The Blue Train to Heaven.Bonus StoryUnder the backdrop of the wacky world of of Ghana coffin makers, comes this tale of two brothers, Elijah and Ashong.Humor masks the subtle undertones of envy, jealousy, and mockery as Elijah tells the story of how his brother comes to be buried in the elaborate train coffin.Excerpt:Ha! Yes my friend, you want to know what I thought of the train carrying Ashong to heaven.Oh I don’t know, he may be in heaven in the sky. I heard he said his prayers before he died. As his only brother, it was my duty to inspect whatever he was to be buried in whether pine box or big train. So Dede Nunu comes to me—him and his crafty men dress like train conductors and pull what looks like big chunks of blue sky to my house here. The whole village clucked and fluttered like guinea hens with their necks outstretched trying to get a good look. Ha! Then I heard a howl of laughter. Here comes the train with the caboose in front. In front! I said, “Dede, I know Ashong loved the caboose on a train and a woman, but what is this? And you’ve painted everything the color of the sky.”Now featuring a bonus story--The Geegaws. This story is told from the point of view of one of the coffin makers. Paa Joe and Dede Nu Nu race to build Mr Ashong on of the "finest" coffins money can buy. Promise to make you guffaw.Excerpt from The GeegawsMr. Ashong is not a stupid man. Near death, he thought of ways to line his pockets for the hereafter. Most of us carry to our graves a few shells and trinkets. Mr. Ashong was thinking of French Francs. He knew people would be coming from miles and miles away to see what could top Chief Okwonko’s Skyline of Accra. Ashong quickly constructed several leaning Motel complexes and a large concession stand. He knew his Islam would not let him sell beer, so he sent a donation to Minister Oral Roberts and received a Certificate of Christianity by Fed-Ex. He renounced Islam that afternoon. Who would waste a fatwah on a dying man, he reasoned. He had the Council to pass a law that said the only food or drink to be consumed had to come from the Ashong concessions. Hah! That was a foolish law. Three days before March 15 (Ashong picked that day because his daughter had read to him on his sick bed the story of Julius Caesar), People began to assemble a few at a time. Before you could bat your eyes it was multitudes. Women in head wraps carried large pots of warm banana and coconut stew, pea soup, and lamb. Some brought their own goats to sell milk. The Christians roasted pigs over low burning coals. Ashongs men with sapling switches tried to enforce his law about what to eat.“What law is that, that says you can only eat food from Ashong’s boxes?” people yelled. They threw hot peanut oil at Ashong’s men, burning one on the nose. The goons retreated.Bonus Video at End of Story