Categories
Creative Writing Love

Name

What do I call this?

Love?

Limerence?

This feeling of despondency that covers me when you’re not near.

This need to see your face.

This madness to hold your hand.

This smile I wear when I smell you so familiar.

This want to see you standing next to me.

This despair I feel when you don’t call. 

I think I will call it — Love.

Categories
Creative Writing Horror

Your Sad Life Got Sadder

Did you know that your kind can only see 1% of the visible light spectrum?

You don’t see 99% of the rest of the world.

I reside in the 99% of this world.

It’s vast.

It’s morbid.

It’s despondent.

A few of your kind thought they saw me, but put it down to a figment of their imagination.

You can’t imagine what life is like here.

Your Bruno sniffs and sees me at times.

And he whimpers.

He should.

Where I reside, he is food.

As are you.

Categories
Creative Writing Horror

Campfire In The Sky

She never expected this: flesh giving away to a knife.

What she really didn’t expect was that knife to be held by her husband.

(A few minutes later, a complementary thought walked unbidden to her mind: I guess he got his pound of flesh.)

Who would have thought that there were thoughts of murder marinating in his office room.

Hatred came whistling through in the shape of a knife thrust.

Gone were the days when he used to tilt his heart in her direction.

He used to say: I can be polite or compassionate or I can tell you the truth. But the truth is neither.

That was a truffle of truth she failed to bite.

Dutiful as ever, she obeyed his command to bleed to death.

As she turned her eyes to the night sky so she could be spared his face, she thought she saw a star winking in the dark as she bled her last.

But what it really was were two angels around a campfire looking down from the heavens at her.

Just two angels enjoying the warmth of a fire in a cold sky with no inkling of a desire to help.

Categories
Creative Writing Horror

Tempus & Potentia

Tempus is time.

Potentia is power.

Time is forever.

Power only corrupts.

Tempus and Potentia with hands held tight walked the streets of history to and fro.

Potentia drunk on the possibilities that are and could be poisoned rulers and lovers against each other.

Potentia’s blood lust wandered away until armies were decimated and countries were driven to dust.

Tempus tried to seduce calmness into Potentia’s heart, but Potentia’s eyes, which were dark as obsidian, glanced at her right hand and traced the shape of a bejewelled sword.

Feeling jealousy course through her veins, Potentia drove her sword into Tempus.

But Tempus didn’t flinch.

Instead Tempus reached out and reached into his aumonière and (with a tear or two) switched off the existence that is Potentia.

As Tempus traversed time, he smiled fondly and reflected on the conversations with Potentia that once was.

That smile widened in relief as Tempus realized that it never was.

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 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 Love

Plans

I made plans for both of us.

We were so excited.

Then I realised that it was only I who was excited.

And those plans were just mine (and made for me).

You just stood by looking coy, but that was just nonchalance.

I wish I knew that you only meant to come along for the ride.

Categories
Creative Writing Horror

So Alike

This little story features a bottle of red wine with a forgettable name, my wife, our mutual best friend of 18 years — Chris, and my two sons — Cameron and Brad.

Thank the good Lord for great friends, I slurred happily, and we all agreed and gulped down more wine. I look at my wife giggling at one of our best friend’s jokes; and then at Chris and his hazel eyes, dimples, and how he effortlessly raises his right eyebrow in a tease.

With the wine warming my belly, my eyes are forced to stare at Brad — and his eyes, which are a beautiful hazel, and deeply ridged dimples — as if they’ve forgotten what he really looks like.

It’s only when Brad turns to me and smiles, and raises his right eyebrow in an ironic arch do I realize that the joke has been on me for the last 18 years.