Categories
Creative Writing Love

Loaded

You made a dick move.

Now it’s my turn.

I’ve blown into the chamber and eyed it hard.

6 chambers so loaded.

Now I’ve cocked it.

I’m taking my aim.

And just fired a question at you.

— Do you still love me?

I watch you — freeze, stutter, whimper and lick your lips.

I fire 5 more.

— Do you still love us?

— Do you dare leave now?

— Was it a him?

— Was it a her?

— Will you let me kiss you Good Bye?

I watch you take a knee to the floor.

Answer-less.

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 Love

Questions

Is it true that unions end because one person loves a little bit less?

But what happens if I told you that I am willing to love you a little bit more than your little bit less?

A few years down the line, would you still give me a smile that your lips promised to only share with me?

Will your voice still have that curious inflection when you whisper words that mean nothing yet mean so much?

Can I take your lips with my tongue and make them mine to do or to die?

We should start this journey together, and so, a question: Will you join me for coffee tonight?

Categories
Creative Writing Love

Algo

I saw you on my Samsung screen.

I swiped right.

You swiped left.

You didn’t want to see me.

Algorithms don’t care about us.

The algorithms don’t care about me loving you.

That’s why I went and held someone else’s lips with mine.

Yesterday’s pleasure, which was designed to forget you, was supposed to be a happy memory.

Yesterday’s pleasure is my regret today.

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.

Categories
Creative Writing Love

Smile

Why did you have to look at her like that?

Was I wrong to think that your eyes were only for me?

Is this how this love ends?

Why offer up that smile? 

How many more secret smiles do you offer others when you promised (over a kiss) that your smiles only belong to me?

Have you grown tired of smiling at me the way you used to since we exchanged our hearts on that night? 

When I hold your hand, it’s not because I was saying Good-Bye. It was because I want to say that I’ll never leave you.

Categories
Creative Writing Horror

Thought

John wanted to talk about Jim and him, and so he tried to part Jim’s hair with his gentle fingertips.

But Jim parted his teeth instead. Today, the upper cut dislodged a tooth and a thought. One went sliding down John’s shirt while the other flew upwards.

Choking with John’s hands on his throat, Jim knew this fact: When John hits me, I know that he loves me, because he finally sees me.

The cat, which wasn’t part of this conversation, could only look on in alarm. The poor thing sniffed at the thought that was lying sprawled in shock and agony.

The thought was a whisper: One has to finish the other one off. I rather it be me, my love.The cat sniffed tuna and waddled nonchalantly towards the kitchen. It wagged its tail and emitted a purposeful thought: Stories about love need to be eternal, don’t you think? Just like this one where killing is part of the plot.