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Creative Writing Horror

Entitled

He loved Snickers the best. The way he rolled his tongue teasing away the peanuts from the chocolate and nougat made his cheeks flush; the pleasure centers of his brain always hit overdrive and pump out dopamine like there’s no tomorrow.

The only thing standing between a Snickers bar and him was his Mum. But whatever Eric wants, Eric always gets. Today, Eric wants a Snickers bar; make that 5 bars. He promised his Mum he won’t have a temper tantrum like the last few times; it got so serious they had to pack up their things and leave town.

But Eric knows that promises are meant to be broken; that’s where the fun lies after all. So when they reached the cashier, he quickly picked up 5 candy bars and threw them into the grocery basket. His Mum fixed her eyes on him and pursed her lips into a red lipstick line of worried discontent. She took the 5 bars and growled menacingly — No.

That set Eric off. He screwed his eyes shut and his jugular vein started throbbing vehemently. The cashier calmly watched this exchange of passive-aggressive body language and wondered where her boyfriend might take her out for dinner tonight. She really hoped it was not going to be Dominos; she’s done with pizza and anchovies for good!

As she was dispelling one junk food establishment after the other, she suddenly had a craving for a chocolate sundae with whipped cream and maraschino cherries. Her salivary glands embraced this picture with alacrity, and as she mentally dug in with her imaginary spoon into her make believe sundae, she didn’t realize that her cashier box, which she had opened, had coins that were shivering.

First they shivered ever so slightly; then they jiggled. It was at that point the cashier forgot about her sundae cravings and looked at the coins which were slowly and steadily floating up into the air. Silence diluted sound, and she slowly turned her head towards mother and son who were staring at each other angrily. It took some time to register, but it occurred to her in a dreamlike state that a mandarin was levitating and rotating around at the same time. A nervous giggle escaped her mouth while simultaneously a trickle of urine climbed down her leg.

It was when the mother turned her eyes away and said — Fine. Have your candy! — did everything that was defying gravity gracefully and politely land exactly where they were impossibly lifted up from. The cashier (displaying an open mouth with a trickle of saliva creeping down her lips which was caused by her imaginary chocolate sundae) was staring straight into the obsidian eyes of the mother who simply asked — How much is the bill?

Categories
Creative Writing Horror

Your Sad Life Got Sadder

Did you know that your kind can only see 1% of the visible light spectrum?

You don’t see 99% of the rest of the world.

I reside in the 99% of this world.

It’s vast.

It’s morbid.

It’s despondent.

A few of your kind thought they saw me, but put it down to a figment of their imagination.

You can’t imagine what life is like here.

Your Bruno sniffs and sees me at times.

And he whimpers.

He should.

Where I reside, he is food.

As are you.

Categories
Creative Writing Horror

Campfire In The Sky

She never expected this: flesh giving away to a knife.

What she really didn’t expect was that knife to be held by her husband.

(A few minutes later, a complementary thought walked unbidden to her mind: I guess he got his pound of flesh.)

Who would have thought that there were thoughts of murder marinating in his office room.

Hatred came whistling through in the shape of a knife thrust.

Gone were the days when he used to tilt his heart in her direction.

He used to say: I can be polite or compassionate or I can tell you the truth. But the truth is neither.

That was a truffle of truth she failed to bite.

Dutiful as ever, she obeyed his command to bleed to death.

As she turned her eyes to the night sky so she could be spared his face, she thought she saw a star winking in the dark as she bled her last.

But what it really was were two angels around a campfire looking down from the heavens at her.

Just two angels enjoying the warmth of a fire in a cold sky with no inkling of a desire to help.

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Creative Writing Horror

Tempus & Potentia

Tempus is time.

Potentia is power.

Time is forever.

Power only corrupts.

Tempus and Potentia with hands held tight walked the streets of history to and fro.

Potentia drunk on the possibilities that are and could be poisoned rulers and lovers against each other.

Potentia’s blood lust wandered away until armies were decimated and countries were driven to dust.

Tempus tried to seduce calmness into Potentia’s heart, but Potentia’s eyes, which were dark as obsidian, glanced at her right hand and traced the shape of a bejewelled sword.

Feeling jealousy course through her veins, Potentia drove her sword into Tempus.

But Tempus didn’t flinch.

Instead Tempus reached out and reached into his aumonière and (with a tear or two) switched off the existence that is Potentia.

As Tempus traversed time, he smiled fondly and reflected on the conversations with Potentia that once was.

That smile widened in relief as Tempus realized that it never was.

Categories
Creative Writing Horror

Pansy

You have something of mine.

It’s called self-respect.

You look at me with a smirk.

I look at you with a grin.

Your smirk looks concerned.

I can understand why.

It’s the Pansy whose hand holds a knife.

I’m ready to take something of yours.

That is if you can’t return something of mine.

Categories
Creative Writing Horror

Steak Knife

With a bespoke contoured handle that’s made to sit snugly in any hand, the Alethea Steak Knife that measures a convenient 7 1/2 inches was designed to carve through meat, sinew and bone cleanly, swiftly and more importantly — indiscriminately.

Tonight (in Mr. Perera’s hand) it swished through a pretty fine chunk of rump steak that left a dribble of crimson blood dripping on the white floor tiles, which formed a dark red puddle; Talisman, Mr. Perera’s pompous Persian cat, thought this was the ‘purrfect’ appetizer and lapped it all up as he watched his owner go about marinating and roasting his steak.

Talisman recalled with a sense of fondness how the Alethea Steak Knife, which cost a hefty 85 USD, was used by Mr. Perera to draw a fine red line across Mrs. Perera’s pearl necklace-decorated neck; this was a good 3 years ago. Thanks to the use of polyoxymethylene, which has a tighter molecular structure to resist fading and discoloration, the Alethea Steak Knife looked just as sharp and new as it did 4 years ago when it was first purchased.

Talisman also remembered, as he took a heady whiff of the rosemary-tinged aroma that pervaded the kitchen, how Mr. Perera chopped off the hands of Mrs. Perera’s boy toy, Alan, with his favorite steak knife. Talisman recalled reading once that the Alethea Steak Knife utilized Precision Edge Technology, which yields a blade that is 20% sharper with twice the edge retention. Alan, sadly, didn’t stand a chance against such innovative technology.

As the steak was served in a vintage porcelain plate atop the teak table, and a vintage Merlot was popped open, Talisman watched Mr. Perera lovingly clean the Alethea Steak Knife and place it on the fine recesses of the German-built pantry table; he tickled Talisman behind his ears, and settled down for dinner.

As dinner was slowly consumed and the last few dregs of Merlot settled on top of the chewed up rump steak in his stomach, Mr. Perera switched off the kitchen lights.

As the kitchen lights bounced off the shiny carbon stain-free steel of the Alethea Steak Knife, Talisman followed his master to bed only to awaken a few hours later to see Alan’s mother stab Mr. Perera 13 times (“That’s how many times he fucked that bitch of yours!”) with the Alethea Steak Knife; the deed was done swiftly with minimum trouble thanks to the heel bolster of the knife, which provides added balance.

After the woman made a hasty escape, two things occurred to Talisman:

(a.) Mr. Perera’s blood tasted similar to the rump steak, and

(b.) that the Alethea Steak Knife, which protruded from his chest and reflected off the ghostly moonlight, seemed a comfortable fit (Mr. Perera would disagree, he chuckled) and boasted a contemporary and inimitable appearance that unarguably made it the perfect steak knife.

Categories
Creative Writing Horror

Summer

August came and went, but she’ll always remember August, because of what he said:

Give me a kiss and I’ll give you a smile.

Tell me something sweet, and I’ll buy you something nice.

You cover your face like the moon behind a shimmer of clouds.

Tell me you love me, and I’ll see you come around.

Darling, didn’t you know that I’ll pick two stars and put them in your eyes.

If only you’ll be a little less stubborn and learn to offer up a smile.

Three months passed, and it was turning out to be the greatest love story ever told.

They promised each other with the stink of sex between them:

Let’s both hold hands and write this story — our story — together.

Months went past but even as her stomach grew and she grew beautiful still, the theatre of life dimmed.

That’s when she opened her mouth, and an angel with a terrible secret whispered out aloud:

Do you know this little secret I’m about to drop softly into your ear, my love?

Street lights wept as she told him of early dementia. The days passed by, and he saw how thoughts, questions, and sanity itself fell away in her mind.

The only thought that remained in that fine sieve of her brain was a terrifying question:

Who am I?

He thought:

Relationships end because one person loves the other person a little less.

And he slipped a knife through with just a hint of a secret gasp, and she felt the skin, flesh and sinew parting with sympathetic and painful reluctance.

She thought with a last painful breath as the darkness came:

As you can see, even monsters were babies once.

When the world came to see her rest, she heard his Mama admonish him:

What are you doing?

He said with a surprised jolt:

Nothing Ma.

But she saw him as did the red-breasted robin nearby, spitting with glee, spitting with relief, right where she lay, right here among the leaves.

Categories
Creative Writing Horror

3 Months

It wasn’t the cold that made her shiver.

It was because she was hiding something from me.

I pry her lips open with my tongue.

I wish it tasted like him.

I taste guilt.

Her breath smells sour like betrayal.

That’s when she says: I’ve slept with someone else.

I ask: For how long?

She murmurs: 3 months.

I bite her lips, because I want to giggle.

A 3 year marriage is supposed to end over a 3-month affair?

The joke’s on her.

She was always just a one night stand.

Categories
Creative Writing Horror

Walls Have Ears

The things I hear are murderous.

But only I will know this particular tale in its entirety.

The truth here is that the wife in this story loves her husband because she does not know him. 

Errant lips are an issue, because he came back and gave his wife a little gift that bloomed a bit like herpes. 

People are great at hiding their emotions. 

Yet there are cracks when agony seeps through and bleeds into conversations. 

You’d think that my ears can tolerate the misfortune of their circumstance. They can’t.

What happens when facades are so tight that feelings cannot show and are hidden to fester? 

The meds don’t work either. She slips on her meds and ends up right down where no one can see her. 

It’s time for dessert. Tragedy accompanied tonight’s sweet lemon pie. 

He asked — Did she tell anyone? 

Answer the question or I’ll drag it out of your mouth with this fork, he whispered. 

Who’d have thought that a fork could have such an insidious intention. 

She wrote the message but she never pressed the Send button.

He didn’t believe her and that’s when the cutlery found some other use. 

The stabbing was ferocious. The pouring of whiskey casual. 

But, as always, the headlines will always move on. 

As she lay dying, she wondered why she didn’t feel the smile that drew on her lips so wide.