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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.

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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?

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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.

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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.

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Creative Writing Horror

1000 True Fans

I honestly don’t know what came over me. Shit; in fact, I don’t know what came over all of us. It was madness for sure. How else can one explain the stampede and the buffet of gore that shocked us all after the adrenalin and the confusion of common sense wore out that glaze of bloodlust from our eyes.

She truly was a celebrity unlike any other; maybe she was an artistic odalisque in reality. Her grace and her inimitability is was unparalleled. Music is an art form that changed throughout the years. She was one of those few artists that could sing loud and with class. That voice was her superpower. She could throw it with a silky caress that left everyone spellbound.

I remember that day well as I spend my days seated in this rotten jail cell rotting away. I wonder whether it was her karma that she ended up the way she did with her body parts ripped up and dints on that perfect skull of hers. The 808 drums that introduced her hit — Take Me As I Am — made the crowd go berserk. As they all chanted her name like sex freaks and zombies, she made that one mistake of reaching out to touch the hand of a crazy fan.

It was at that precise and inopportune moment that her eyes took on a quality that could be described as being fey. Everything happened at once. As one fan grabbed her hand and hauled her onto the mad mass of human adulation there was that moment everyone screamed out in ecstasy.

They had their idol in their hands. And that’s when everything went wrong; so bloody wrong.

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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?

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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.

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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.