Categories
Creative Writing Horror

AM

He walked into the sea. He was afraid of his tears all the while wondering why he was crying.

3 years since his mother left him. 3 years since misery bonded father and son. Patience dribbled to thinness when the father got a mistress.

He wondered why he couldn’t breathe at exactly 3 am. The father spiked his dinner, but it was the hand of the mistress that guided this nefarious intention. The thirst was a river of fire. So, he got up.

It was only when he saw his hand slip through the glass of water on the night table did he look back at himself lying in bed and realize that  he had no plan of waking up.

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Creative Writing Horror

Would You Like To Join Me For Some Tea?


He seemed reasonable enough with a sunny disposition, blue eyes, blond hair, and pink lips that revealed an enviable set of bone-white teeth. So she took him up on his casual offer when he invited her over for some tea. She was a tad bit bored with his topics of yoga, dentistry, history, and religion.

But she didn’t mind; she was grateful for the company on boring and tiresome weekends such as this. The days piled onto weeks and then months, and then it came to a point where their friendship took on the familiar feel of a well-worn glove. It’ll just be a matter of time, he thought, and he was right.

As Saturday came around the corner with its usual promise of rest and relaxation, she knocked on his door, and tentatively (and shyly) asked him — Would you like to join me for some tea?

He smiled and nodded, took his jacket, and walked into her house. As she eagerly ran to the kitchen, she said with a shy laugh — You know, I was damn near nervous about inviting you over since you could’ve easily said no.

He paused, and licked his sharp incisors. Then he replied (trying not to sound too eager) as he put the latch on while smiling at the door — And I was damn near nervous that you’d never invite me.

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 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.