Creative Writing Horror

Mojitos And Rage

I look at you and smile. That smile was actually a wink.

If only you can read the thoughts in my mind.

If you did, you’d stop what happens next.

It’s true: alcohol brings out the worst in people.

We are on a beach, there’s this mongrel dog yapping away at me.

The rum hits me, and the rage which was just an observer becomes a protagonist.

I get up. Grab the dog by its balls. Swing it around, deaf to its yelps of agony.

I slam it against a wooden chair. ‘I’m sorry’, it says. ‘I didn’t know I caught you at a bad time. I was just looking for some love. You see, violence is all I know. My wife only spreads her paws for me, when I bark and get aggressive.’

So you stare at me, because I nearly killed this dog, and now I’m offering it a mojito.

The dog tells me: ‘Please don’t make me drunk. I know how much you humans fight when you can’t bring money home since you waste it on cigarettes and drink.’

He understood how we function.

You still hate me. You hate me for almost killing a dog.

But what you don’t realize is that we have more in common than you. You who is staring at me in disgust.

Creative Writing Horror

It Made Sense Towards The End

Things have a strange way of connecting at the end. Of course, it made sense at the end.

A kiss planted on his cheek brightened his eyes, drew his lips into a smile, but still left his heart empty.

A question as to why he never grew taller as the years progressed led him to have a series of blackouts. Subsequently, he did grow taller.

He saw the wires and the mechanical contraptions that were scattered around the place. They seemed familiar. Almost like they were a language that didn’t have syllables or sounds.

As time went on, he wondered why there was no sadness or happiness in his life, only facial expressions that illuminated his face, which elicited a response from the people around him.

When it was time to die, he understood somewhere in his consciousness that green, blue and red was a sequence.

When the red wire was cut, and his CPU fizzled away with sympathy, he realized finally with an ironic thought that — He was, in fact, a robot.

Creative Writing Horror

My Superpower Was Helping Doug Onto The Other Side

I knew what happened when I saw the scene:

Doug caressed the revolver and whispered to it. And it whispered back. The bullet entered Doug’s head, and it ruptured his eyeball.

That hateful machinery of death:

1. continued across the orbital wall and through his ethmoid sinuses, which are those hollow areas around the nose, and
2. it fractured his frontal sinus, causing the leakage of cerebrospinal fluid;
3. the bullet missed the major arteries of the sinuses — this ensured that there won’t be any more bleeding.

Finally, that 7.82-mm intention of death whistled past his left orbital floor and out above his left cheekbone.

I held Doug’s hand, staunched the gushing of blood from his eye, and told him a lie: Everything will be alright.

But it was a safe lie, a good lie. Doug died with me plugging his eye socket with a towel. It’s better that he calls it a night instead of living a miserable existence in this life.

I felt his heart flutter, and he gave one final wink with his good eye. I sighed with relief, because we were in agreement.

Creative Writing Horror

The Empath And The Narcissist

It started with the love bombing.

He saw me in ways I never saw myself.

He introduced me to adjectives that I liked.

He did the usual tricks — the hoovering, the gaslighting, and the use of flying monkeys.

But I feel sorry for him.

He needs a new supply.

As I kiss his lips fervently, I promise him: Relax. I’m working on it.

This is why I smile in the dark. So no one can see.

No one can see how much I enjoy his suffering.

But he knows as much as I do that no one will put up with his tantrums.

I know the tricks people play and the things that they say.

He always used to drive fast.

It’s always as if he was running away from something.

I think it is from me.

Creative Writing Horror

He Got You With His Laser Eyes

He was about to fire lasers from his eyes.

He screamed knowing that heat emanating from his eyes would be painful.

Nothing happened.

His colleagues in school laughed.

They trampled his lunch box and called him racial slurs.

He wiped a tear and walked back to his seat.

He contemplated the following: If I were to commit suicide, there will be plenty of Facebook posts, regrets about not being there when I needed someone, a dissection of my good deeds and character. But the saddest part is that with so many so-called friends, I just couldn’t talk with anyone. Let’s be real, funerals are a place to voice regret and alleviate guilt.

THIS was his reality. Or, was it?

But on a different Earth in a different reality, he was firing lasers from his eyes.

He watched them burn.

A crow squawked in alarm and took to the sky away from the heat and the burning flesh.

In THIS reality, the same yet different crow, took to the sky in alarm, wondering why it thought there was the smell of burning flesh somewhere.

Creative Writing Horror

An Echo From Space

Chris, the jackdaw, settled down comfortably and did what birds do — listen. Lots of things were happening in the world. Sri Lanka was bankrupt. Johnny Depp was embroiled in a court case. Starvation was all over. Crops were failing. In other words — Life was normal.

But life doesn’t just happen on Earth, it happens elsewhere too. And life elsewhere has different intentions. What followed an echo from the sky was a cry. The cry became cries. These cries were not cries of loneliness, pain, sadness or despair. These cries were reserved for those on Earth.

The cries that Chris heard were marked with intent. That intent was to kill. Chris perched on his human, and looked at him straight in the eye; and kept on saying just one thing on repeat — Trouble happening.

Creative Writing Horror

Stars On The Ceiling

Tony went to sleep, and he did sleep forever.

The blame the coroner put was on the high dose of poison in his system.

But Tony last night didn’t know that stars were dangerous.

Then again, do stars move at night on the ceiling skittering here and there looking for comfort as they fall from the ceiling onto you?

Tony thought it was Alula, Orion, Rigel and Perseus trying to snuggle up to him.

They found him in the morning blue; with necrosis spreading on his arms.

They saw Sydney Funnel Web spiders and Tarantulas making noises that sounded like happiness.

Creative Writing Horror

Being A Therapist Is Never Easy

Simply because we sugarcoat the lies.

But I prefer to tell you the truth.

You betrayed yourself first by thinking you could fix a murderer.

That’s the epitome of codependency.

You were in love or as we call it — infatuation.

There was nothing more to charm; that was when his mask fell off.

Forgiveness takes too much energy. Hate relieves things faster.

I know you operate on two extremes: absolute kindness and extreme violence; be careful what end of the spectrum your intentions fall into.

You do know why you were courted by him, don’t you? It was purely out of selfishness.

Ah, human nature: We know more and more of it less and less. We worry about Moloch and Lucifer, but what we have are the sparks that grow within, and turn into smiles of silent rage.

I understand your rage. The anger just builds. You became more beautiful to him when he knew that you had money.

And, when the time comes, make sure you just say with that ungodly glint in your eye: What happens if I stab you to death? I get to live 15 minutes longer than you before I carve a sentence of intent across my own carotid artery.

It is the death of all you know. But it is also freedom.

The hush of the night sky is a reminder that there’s a graveyard out there. Make him join you in the Great Silence of the sky.

Hush now. This is your destiny: If your life starts with misery then guess what the ending is like?

Creative Writing Horror

The Spaces Between Your Words

The blurriness of consent was a smooth journey from No to Yes. Maybe this supposed love story was a scintilla of a lie. She kept on asking: Do you not see me? You don’t. And that’s why I keep my emotions locked up in the attic of my heart.

The violence he unleashed with a slap was supposed to fall within the province of love. So, what did the blouse feel when it was torn apart? It didn’t feel a thing. Just like she didn’t feel a thing.

Instead of stopping, but with appeasement in his mind, just like how his mother always fed him chocolate when he cried, he plugged a Mars into her mouth. And chocolate became the band aid for the trauma he suffered in childhood, and the trauma he was serving like a cold dish.

And, it’s in the dark night of his heart that he planned. He wanted her to love him. She saw the potential in him to be cruel. Loss? Who likes that? He didn’t. No one does. He lost his mother 5 years ago, and so he had practice in losing and making others lose, too.

Tying her hands, he fed her MDMA, which mimics beta-endorphin, the neurochemical of love. He felt her body relax, and blend into him. But he knew that when the drug wears off, she will be like his mother: not knowing how to love.

He listened to her, and heard the words she said. But he only listened to the spaces between those words. It was just silence. He was all alone in the world today. Yet as he laughed in April, neither he nor anyone else thought he’d cry tears in May while holding her lifeless hand.