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

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 Love

Goody Trail

When I led him to the bedroom with my eyes, he smirked and said: Oh, big moves.

I said: You know so. I know how you want tonight to end.

I grabbed his hands and twisted his wrists until his tongue clicked the roof of his mouth in pain.

I used my tongue to unfurl his desire by tracking his nipples and moving down to his groin.

Out went his Gucci shirt. When he lifted his arms, beneath the Hugo Boss scent there resided something stronger and exciting.

What’s it about the acrid smell of a man that sets everything alight? It just might turn out to be a good night tonight.

Creative Writing Love

Kindness Tied My Shoelaces

I remember when I was just 8.

Kindness tied my shoelaces.

And then you got cancer when I was 38.

Today the dancing stopped, because you died.

Tomorrow, I will see you for the last time, as I lay you down.

I can always find you in the books you read and the dishes you made.

But, if only I could wake up and just miss you less.

Creative Writing Love

True Love For Rent

The red purse and the red dress plus the black heels. That’s what excited him. The mascara on her eyelids was almost a wink in secret. But this was his view.

For her, what she saw was the handsome Italian and the blue eyes. The champagne glasses and the red rose between them completed the ambience. She tasted the caviar and felt a frisson of warmth.

She was in love. The bed of roses and the Chanel No. 5 mingled to create a heady whiff of sex. He thought of it as a quick fuck. She preferred to call it love making.

It was when she slipped on her red dress over her clammy body and took the cash he threw her way did the 60 minute dream end.

We don’t talk about these things, she told her daughter. I’m just for rent. But I rent myself, spread my legs, and earn for your sake, my love.

Find true love and cherish it. Just make sure that you don’t end up like me.

Creative Writing Horror

I Loved Him And Became Deeply Unlucky

What’s more caring than having someone you love cook for you every day? When he feeds you, won’t your heart skip a beat? I dreamt about this moment, but I never found out about such a simple pleasure.

I expected sweet queries of delight, questions like How Are You? because I thought it would mean I Love You, but that never happened.

This was supposed to be a fantastic love story. He was a flying monkey that carried off my teenage years. A bitter case of unrequited love.

The thing with relationships is that there’s supposed to be a continuation. Except that there was no AND HE PROPOSED in this case. I found out that the price you pay for love is loneliness. That’s a condition that is inevitable.

What lies beyond the pain? Relief, maybe? More pain? What is the search for love but just a fool’s errand. He was a song that I wanted to listen to. But he was a playlist of sad songs that was on repeat. With no end in sight.

It was only after many moons did I know that he was just shit dressed up in gold. I found out too late that – People can be more than just one thing.

I knew that there was only one option and that was to – Give up a future together. What an elegant thought that was. That’s what I did.

It was only later on in life did I realize that Fortune behaves the way she wants. It was time to bootstrap towards a different story. Maybe with someone else. Someone else more deserving.

People who loved him can find him in the words he writes. He was a very long playlist filled with sad songs. But his act of indifference was an act of injustice. It was only fair that he suffered just like I did.

So I used his love of writing. He licked the tip of his pencil, wetting it so that the curves and whorls of his words became dark like unspoken secrets.

And, so I made sure that he wrote his last line. He licked his pencil, didn’t taste the cyanide, and fell down dead with half a thought waiting to be completed.

I, in time, didn’t remember him. Memories and life have a tendency to slip away just like the proverbial thief in the night.

Creative Writing Love


I couldn’t stand the beating of my heart when I saw you.

So I swiped.

You swiped too.

But not just on me.

I think that you’re good at making others care for you.

I imagined that when you cry, that your eyes would sparkle just like my smile in a starry sky.

Over the period of two birthdays I decided to love you.

Loving you was a choice where I borrowed suffering in advance.

And, you – a lie – turned up at my doorstep.

Now, I’m sipping low-key sadness in the dark.