Horror
The Unfathomable Whims
To truly know despair, one must become an erudite student in the condition of man, for it is only then can one attempt to comprehend his relation to the umbral and unfathomable whims. Before the war, I lost that which was most precious to me, and received my doctorate in despair. Though, even now, the true magnitude of its depths remain a mystery.
By Brian Keith McMurray5 years ago in Fiction
Pieces
She rubs her neck. It’s stiff and tender. She winces and breathes deeply; the smell of blood and smoke overwhelms her nose. Her eyes stare forward into the black night, the SUV speeding down a side street. Bloodshot eyes flick towards the rear-view mirror. They dart back and forth. Paranoia sets in. She focuses on her image in the mirror noting the kinks in her armor. Strands of blonde hair stick to the blood and tears on her face. An egg yolk bruise stretched across one side of her face. One of her eyes is swollen and puffy, red spots are flecked through their normal grey. She doesn’t need to look to know that her nose is broken, too. She feels it every time she takes a breath. Her grip on the steering wheel is tight. She can’t tell if its rattling is the ramshackle road or the nerves and fear building. Tears well up inside her and the question is no longer relevant. Her strength wavers and tears roll down her cheeks. The sobs begin and are uncontrollable. Her fingers fumble on the dash until they find the hazard lights and flick them on. She takes her foot off the gas and drifts to the side of the road. Her tender hands grip the gear shaft. Her nails are destroyed too, the blue polish chipped and cracked. She buries her mangled head in her hands and sobs.
By Chris Figueroa5 years ago in Fiction
The Gift to Martina Devoe
Martina’s backup alarm started chiming, quiet - like birds chirping - then got louder and more incessant. One gray eye cracked open, gummy from dehydration and poor sleep, and she tried to focus. Next to her pillow lay the cellphone she used as her primary alarm, which she’d muted while still unconscious after the first two times she’d hit snooze. Martina loved her snooze alarm. Her hangover loved it even more.
By Jacob Montanez5 years ago in Fiction
The Red Eyed Bull
Fisher Morgan had been called to his old family friends Martha and Eugene Jackson, for what he had thought would be more of a social visit. He hadn’t arrived thinking he would use the old talents Fisher had once thought would be the talent he would die before giving up. Only to realize these talents would be the very thing that would slowly begin to take his sanity, then finally walking away from the trade before it could take away is mortal soul.
By Chloe Medeiros5 years ago in Fiction
Photographer
The door bell rings, a quick and punfunctory sound. Addison isn’t used to the crispness yet, her old apartment a decrepit Victorian with a buzzer that sounded like an unholy gospel through the halls whenever someone had the misfortune of pressing it. She gets up off the floor, leaving the box of books half unpacked and trots to the door. The tile is cold when her feet leave the carpet and is a brief relief from the unrelenting heat. A vague hope her fans are in the next bin she unloads but, until then, opening all her windows will have to do. She peers through the peep hole and sees a plain package sitting on the welcome mat.
By Arwyn Sherman5 years ago in Fiction
Trust can kill
Nothing is more deadly than ignorance. Some know this, others find out the hard way. And sometimes, the people with the darkest and most twisted minds take advantage of this. They walk in the street with the rest of us, they look normal, they say normal things and do things just like you and me do things. But their minds are different. And we don't ever see it.
By Ronny Troyer5 years ago in Fiction
Killer Lovin: episode 1
Rick watched the clouds pass by his front seat window each seeming to dance towards the jet's final destination. He still couldn't believe he, Rick Frickerson, had finally been accepted as a contestant on Killer Lovin. it felt bizarre it felt unreal. He didn't think it was possible.
By Qwill R. Brennan5 years ago in Fiction
Confession of a Monster
That night, I was standing beneath the locust tree, looking up at the thick clouds covering the full moon. I’d waited for the moon to show up and shine down at me. The clouds swam right in a moment, slowly, slowly, disclosing the brightness of the moon. I drew in the cool night air around me, deeply. I smelled the fragrance of the decaying leaves, the rotting bodies of animals, of humans, in this so much a remote place. The moonlight bathed my body. I felt the pleasure of exaltation. The strength and power I’d been waiting for a month encroached on me. I gritted like I was going to crunch my teeth. I stiffened my cheeks and jaws, closed firmly, my hands releasing the muscles of my arms, hardened my abdomen and thighs, and braced my knees tensely. I welcomed the full moon of the month and I welcomed the entrance of the spirit of darkness into my soul.
By M.G. Maderazo5 years ago in Fiction
Incident after Three
Mitch was done taking in calls at two-thirty in the morning. She had been waiting for Bogs outside the call center building. Almost thirty minutes had gone past already. She was not supposed to go home alone at three. It was risky. But Bogs was insistent.
By M.G. Maderazo5 years ago in Fiction
