Creative Writing Love

Stockholm Syndrome And This Thing Called Love

How can I expect someone broken to fix me?

Maybe because there’s no choice.

Maybe because he’s just good with words.

The real reason is that he hurts me the way I want.

Bruised lips, black eyes, fractured wrists, and a whole recipe of pain. This is what I know as love.

He promises to change, and lay kisses softly like gossamer on the places he has bruised and broken.

And that’s when I know that everything will be okay. That he still loves me.

Yet nothing much has changed, because I know, and that is why I still sleep with the light on.

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 Love

In Search Of Daddy

Daddy can’t save you from the trauma your daddy laid on you, son. I know how you see me, and it’s endearing. I see you and everything that time has taken away from me. I want your youth.

Some stories last longer than others. Let’s hope this story lasts a long time. You equate this love you feel for me as a Forever Tale. But it just might be an episode of limerence that you feel.

I see a lithe body put through the rigours of gym. The tea-coloured skin with a sheen of sweat shining in the afternoon sun. The strained muscles with the vigor of veins pulsating underneath. The scent of man and youth permeates where I will lay you down and pleasure you.

You see simply a daddy figure. You want the stability and comfort that money gives, and the experience of pleasure in bed. You want the protection and embrace of someone who cares, and someone who will say that everything is alright.

You won’t leave me for now; if and when the money runs out, comfort collapses, and that’s what this Daddy gives. See son, I’ve done this before: I make it a point to know the man across this gulf, before I strike a deal. Sadly, you’re just another one. Everything has an expiry date including us.

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.

Creative Writing Love

Tongue Play

Childhood innocence died today.

Love came out of ex nihilo.

I ziplocked some of his clothes retaining his smell.

He parked his tongue in my mouth. A velvet rut.

Knowing that love had an expiration date, an obvious thought appeared like a stain: I think I’ll just hold your tongue with mine.

The idea of love is true and false at the same time.

Love was everything and nothing after this kiss.

And then I laid my eyes on him; my brown eyes on his sharp jawline and lips.

When he hugged my tongue, the lips enclosing it in a bear hug, I knew that it would be fine.

We all want this storybook fantasy.

When it comes to this theme of love, the finer points are always exaggerated, but the broader strokes in its narrative feels very true.

Yet, love is still very much a lie.

Creative Writing Horror

Adam Left Prison And He Couldn’t Hear

Storm clouds are brewing, bloody days lie ahead. With that roar in his head, he took up a spanner to fight an honorable fight. It was one bloody fight after another.

One fight too many led to head trauma and CET. There were more gifts awaiting him like dizziness and hearing loss.

After he left jail, they welcomed him back home with his favorite food: bacon and eggs. After all, this is what families do: they try to repair the damage they’ve done for the past and apologize for the future.

Life went on.

All was well.

Until he saw a spanner 5 weeks after he was released from jail. But we’ll get to that soon enough.

4 weeks in after this exodus from that cage of testosterone and aggression, his sister realized that there was something dark that resided in the corners of what was formerly Adam.

But shhhh. Sisters love their brothers and keep their mouths shut. Or buried in their best mate’s groin like she used to when she was young.

That darkness became worse when he lost his hearing altogether. Better my hearing than my sight, Adam thought as the rage built up.

When Dad was yelling for his tool kit to fix his Fiat, the violence in his slaps to the car bonnet, which he saw, sent Adam’s diseased brain into a world of violence that was all too familiar.

Spanner met Adam’s hand. Intention guided the hand towards Dad’s head. Spanner lay buried in brain.

His Mum screamed, pleadingly: Stop! Don’t you hear yourself screaming, Adam?

He couldn’t hear.

If he did, he’d be confused thinking it was someone else’s horror that greeted his ears. And, that’s why he wasn’t missing much.