Willem Indigo
Bio
I spend substantial efforts diving into the unexplainable, the strange, and the bewilderingly blasphamous from a wry me, but it's a cold chaotic universe behind these eyes and at times, far beyond. I am Willem Indigo: where you wanna go?
Stories (116)
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Black Jungle
Black Jungle I thought I had seen the worst thing I’ve ever seen in my life. Young as I may be, I’ve combed the tired beach of my home of a freshly lost battle, washing to shore for coin to eat off of. How appalling it was to watch a coach run in flames, the owner’s whereabouts unknown, locked to two exhausted horses, choosing a cliff to fix their unfortunate circumstances. Take today. I came across the heads of former comrades posted at the entrance to the fork side that I wished I had time to look closer at before trying to lose my pursuers. That I did, if not immediately on the reputation of the path of Noir Libertalia, the three that stayed on my horse’s ass dropped out in screams faster than I can swear I’m going. Trees creaked like they were discovering applause as I tried not to consider that some of those branches were bones. And I must admit that the severed foot that landed in my lap, boot slid away before the foot; the worst thing I’ve ever smelled, of course. No. The worst thing I’ve seen was a minute ago, which was my horse’s ass shitting itself, fading into the fog-laced trees without me. Lost in the coldest part of the night; what a night my thievery has led me into?!
By Willem Indigo2 years ago in Fiction
Confession Time
He’s typically not up this late. Pulling into the driveway, Chelsey pondered if he couldn’t make it to the bedroom again and would be found sprawled on the sofa. Except muffled music pounded the closed blinds like it instead of the breeze fluttering her wind chimes. If he didn’t have a terrible day, it would do wonders for her to arrive so close to moon light after the decision that she was not cooking tonight. Plus, Ben sat on the front porch in one of four chairs, putting out one smoke and holding another between two fingers without lighting it. Maybe he did have a hard day, she thought. He texted with thumbs on fire but tossed the phone on the table like the cheap tool that it was when he was done. She waved after making eye contact with him. He only nodded. Hood barely giving her eyebrows. She was surprised he knew she was standing before him. Went to kiss him on the head to the statuesque response of his refusal to look up, that it until she went for the door. Chelsey’s claim that there was a Scandals episode calling out for her he grabbed her arm. He had never been so rough before. It didn’t hurt but startled her to a life once lived that almost courted a harsh retaliation, but his grip was limp, even with a little caressing with his thumb. “Please sit; they’re almost here.”
By Willem Indigo2 years ago in Fiction
White Out
The blowout sale and one-day-left coupons made the trip sound sweeter, leaving them in a haze of jittery anticipation for the Montana mountains. Half the savings would remain home for being, what Vick thought would over-saturate the experience. Sharp cold can be strangely calming. The smooth flight of chair-kicks paled in comparison to the vista overlook the six stopped at before the campsite. How could they not stretch their legs beyond the civilian trail to the snow-kissed riverside? Dana’s husband, Jason, spotted the hidden path into the mountain base.
By Willem Indigo2 years ago in Fiction
Where did they go?
“Don’t call me a lower-than-dirt criminal until the facts—yes, facts from my point of view. All of it, the money, that detective I thought was one of you, all the tunes just get me out of this damn position. I’m fresh out of an arm cast, undoing weeks of physical therapy progress.
By Willem Indigo2 years ago in Criminal
Words of Jude
Don't notice the hair Head down, count the broken glass in view, That weapon is always loaded. Took her on back when I would dare Voice rejects their murderous hypocrisy, Shit, don’t notice the hair. Glad hostages unanimously voted But clearly Janis was catching Stockholm, Did I mention the weapon is still loaded. On the lam, can’t imagine she knows where Not enough skin to align her views on, Need another writing hand or I’ll notice the hair. Singeing my temple, not sure she noticed Although her god-sorts-his-own plan is Holding. Somehow her weapon is still loaded. Wheres and whys abandoned with The hows and flipping whos Don’t acknowledge the glowing frizzy RED, Because her weapon is ALWAYS loaded.
By Willem Indigo2 years ago in Poets
