Category Archives: #MenageMonday

Mondays, 200 words

Menage Monday – Week 7

The Dogs in the Firelight

Five years I’d been ridin’ these rails.  I left my Maritime home hopin’ for somethin’ better, but instead found savagery, both by men… and, by beast.

The snow was blowin’ cross the prairies, an early season blizzard.  The west bound CPR line was full of vagabonds heading to the coast seekin’ out better weather.  Me and my travellin’ buddy, Greystone —a goliath of an Indian but gentle as a Sunday lamb— left a packed freight car just outside of Coleman.  The men were getting restless and we wanted no part of it.  Thought we’d wait for another train before things went south.

Greystone found an overhang out of the wind that was rippin’ through the pass, it always blew here, on a good day it’d blow you toRegina, on a bad, you could find yourself in theAtlantic.  This was a different wind though, from the southeast, cold and bitter.

I didn’t see’em comin’.

Greystone’d gone off to kill dinner, I lit a fire.  I was used to hearin’ the wolf at my door, both real and imagined, but this wasn’t the cry of no wolf, it was meaner, desperate, hungry, and it was close.  Feet padded in the bush around me.  I caught a shadow in the firelight.  At first I thought it was a cougar, but cougars don’t howl.  Another joined, something danglin’ from his mouth.  I knew right away it was Greystone’s head.  He dropped it, then another came, draggin’ the body.  They let out a long howl and a half-dozen more joined the feast.

I couldn’t do nothin’.  I sat behind my firelight and watched as the savage dogs ripped and fed on my friend, right there in front of me, like they was mockin’ me, tellin’ me I were next.

Two dogs played tug-o-war with Greystone’s braids in their mouths, fightin’ over him like two pups over sausage links.  Another leapt in and ripped the head away.  I heard bone smash as it broke the head on the rocks.  It was the final bit of feed.  Eight dogs fought each other over the remainin’ meat, lappin’ at it.  Then they stopped and stared at me.

I threw a stick on the fire, sending up a cloud of sparks.  They didn’t flinch.  The dogs spread out, searching for a way in and letting off low growls, tellin’ me I was their next meal.  Then they all stopped and turned.

A shadow appeared off to my right.  At first I thought maybe it was Greystone, but this was too big, far too big.  He let loose a long deep growl.  The pack dispersed.  He laid chase, barely makin’ a sound as he followed’em through the trees and out of site.

I spent the night stoking the fire, chilled to the bone and terrified.  Daylight brought little relief.  The scraps of blood soaked clothes and gnawed bones reminded me of what happened.

The rails once again beckoned me, but not west, I was long overdue for home.

Menage Monday – Week 6


Three teens sat on the bricks outside the tunnel entrance passing a joint and eating stolen Halloween candy.

Ricky took a long toke and chased it with a packet of M&Ms.  “Am I high or do you hear voices coming from the tunnel?”  He passedDevonthe joint.

“Yes.”  Susan replied. Devonchocked out a smoky giggle.

“Dude, I’m serious.”  He hopped off his perch and wandered down to the entrance.  “Hello!”  He yelled.

“Ello, ello, ello.”  It answered.  He jumped.

“Dude, it’s just an echo.” Devonsaid.

“I know.  Got any shoelace licorice?”

Susan reached into the bag and pulled out a package.  Rickey opened it up.  With the concentration that only the stoned could muster, he carefully tied the confectionary in a knot around a stick.  “Lighter.”  He ordered.

“What’re you doing?” Devonasked.

“Making a torch.”  He replied, as if it was obvious.

“Okay… Why?”

“I’m going in, coming?”  They both shrugged and joined their friend.  By the sugar-light of their makeshift torch they entered the tunnel.  What they didn’t know was that the pack of kids they had stolen from followed them and were hiding out in the tunnel, lying in wait to seek their revenge.


“Halloweeners retrieve stolen candy, thieves get burned.”

Menage Monday – Week 3

Medusa and the Grave Digger
Hristos whistled a tune; it was an old song that his Yia-yia used to sing for him.
He dug and whistled.
“To whom does this plot belong?” Startled, he began to turn. “Please do not.” She warned him.
“Sotirios.” He stuttered, “Kalogeropoulos.”
“Was he a handsome man?” She asked.
“I… I do not know.” He replied. The marble top of the tomb burst open. He heard her move towards it through the crisp leaves.
“He will do.” She said, retrieving the body.

He waited until he was sure she had gone, before removing the sprinkling of coins she’d dropped into the empty coffin. Something moved across his feet. It was a snake. It slithered quickly through the grass in her direction… suddenly, he realized who she was, and froze.

Light was breaking and an owl was making his last call, time to leave, and not too soon.

The family was gracious in their acceptance of the statue. It displayed prominently in their grand entrance as a reminder of the former patriarch of the family, so perfect in detail that it was as if Papou Kalogeroploulos himself had been turned to stone.

Menage Monday – Week 2

Livin’ The Dream
No one had to tell me the room had changed. I could follow the scent of over perfumed woman down the hall and to the right; the air was thick with perfume, hairspray and desperation. Seriously, speed dating, what the hell was my sister getting me into?
I was quite content living out my life in bachelorhood, it’s living the dream really; I can get laid whenever I (can manage to find somebody willing, which is very rare and they’re often of poor quality and questionable moral standing) want, I can spend my Saturdays puttering around the house in a tattered Pink Floyd T-shirt playing guitar like David Gilmour and singing like Roger Waters (perhaps my neighbours would be happier if I sang like I played guitar, silently). Living single means you never have to leave the lid down, you can let dishes pile up and sniff your laundry to see if it’s clean enough to wear again. Yeap, livin’ the dream, so why was I here again?
Somewhere between room 224A and 224E I got lost and found myself at a nearby pub, my sister Stella will be pissed but my pint of Stella doesn’t seem to care.

Menage Monday – Week 1 – Winner

Men Will Be Boys

They all knew how silly this was. It was Mark’s idea, he was the asshole of the bunch, always boasting about how he ‘wore the pants.’

“You’re a bunch of uxorious douche-bags.” They were sitting in Kyle’s garage drinking and bitching about their wives.

“I bet you a-holes don’t even know what that means.” Mark said smugly.

“I know what a douche-bag is; I’m looking at one right now.” Peter, Kyle’s next door neighbour, tossed his empty in the trash and eyed down Mark.

“Easy boys,” Kyle said, “I think what Mark said is that we’re all just a little pussy-whipped.”

“A little?” Mark laughed. “I bet Greg’s wearing his wife’s panties right now.

Greg, who had been sitting quietly, stood on his seat and dropped trou.

Everyone laughed except Mark. He was beyond Greg’s humour.

“Let’s raise the stakes a little then boys.” Mark said. “Prove you’re not a bunch of wife-whipped pussies. Let’s have us a little race, let’s see who’s pussy-mobile has the smallest vagina and the biggest balls.”

So here they were in their wives’ mini-vans praying to God that at least one of the wives would look up from her Martini and stop this lunacy.

Week 1