"The only redeeming quality about this story is that the good die and the stupid suffer." ~ Anonymous
I asked for this
I went searching
I was the one who scoured volumes
I was the one who dove deep
I pushed so far
I fought so hard
I found what they sought to hide
I uncovered all those bloody tomes
I saw the halls steeped in silence
I heard the echo of abandoned homes
And now sitting before the wooden crate
Containing all that was searched for
I find myself hesitating…
Have I made a mistake?
Eyes so heavy
Sandbag weight
Sandman waits
To sprinkle down
. . .
Then they shut
Fresh hell
Flesh halls
Horror the instant I sleep
. . .
Eyes fly open
Gasping breath
Grasping bed
My whole body trembling
. . .
When am I sleeping
Eyes always open
Lies hallways often
Awaiting my return
Fedora cocked and jacket billowing
Detective unholsters his pistol
Cigarette in lips grimacing
The rain falls unheeded
And he follows after a figure
Disappearing in a crowd
Spilling into a theater
Through the lobby
Seeing the barest hint
Of that dastardly smile
As our villain slips
Into a darkened room
With a sacrilegious curse
Leaving a woman’s mouth gaping
The P.I. navigates the crowd
As he enters the dark room
He sees the cone of a projector light
On screen a man stalks stealthily
Slowly through a dark room
Eyes lit by nothing
But movie magic
Cautiously the gumshoe waits
Before spying the suspect sprinting
Leaping past the screen
Slamming open the exit door
Quickly he follows after
Before someone cries
“Stop where you are!”
Here our hero stands
Lit by projector bulb
Shadow silhouetting silver screen
The audience murmurs as he distracts
A few getting nervous at sight of his gun
“You’ve had this coming…
For a long time Jacky boy.”
Suddenly a gun shot
A flash of light
Then a second
Responds in kind
Screams
The detective holds
His smoking gun
And in the audience
A man clutches his chest
On screen
A man lies bleeding
In a shadowy room
‘A talkie…
It was a fucking talkie…’
The detective thinks
Cursing his luck
And the devil’s own
As the killer walks free
For another night
But no matter the cost
The bodies that pile
The people who are hurt
Our hero
Will never stop
Never rest
Until he has his man
Ends
Justify means
…
Surely
You’re working on your next story. The inspiration struck you part way through your last story. Your stories never end. Your laptop open on twelve projects all labeled “WIP.”
The glare of the page hurts your eyes. The idea of what to write hurts your head. Your hands ache from hours of writing. your fingers nearly blistered. Why is the page still blank?
Eureka! The breakthrough needed to conclude that manuscript you started years ago! Now… where was it? Where did you keep it? Was it on the flash drive? External hard drive? Gigabytes of data, but not the few kilos you require.
Ah the old story blog you started in college… maybe you should start it again. Passwords spill out of you and all are wrong. You were clever and made the password relate to the story. Too clever. The email is the same. A simple quip no one would see and you have forgotten.
A publication’s email “submission requested” and the promise of exposure… yet no payment. You eat your cold ramen. It tastes like exposure, completely without value.
You scoff as you read an excerpt from a new e-book. You can write better than that! So why are they published and you aren’t? Your twenty unfinished novels eye you sadly like puppies in a pound from their folder on your desktop.
A rejection letter in the mail. You set it with the others. A few more and your paper craft castle will be complete. You jokingly refer to it as your “house of leaves.” No one gets the joke.
Just keep writing. You get better with practice. We don’t look back on where we came from. Those were dark times. Just keep writing.
You’re depressed because you haven’t written. You don’t have the energy to lift your hand, let alone create. You berate yourself for not writing. This makes you more depressed. The cycle continues, every day the same.
You just need a cup of coffee to start your day. After this cup you’ll begin. One more then it can really get under way. A few more sips and you’ll have it. The cups are a mountain range lining your sink.
You finished. Finally. It’s over. You look back and instantly are filled with the unstoppable urge to delete everything. It is an affront to god and should not see the light of day.
Copper and bile
Head thundering drums
Measure my pulse
Vision awash with color
And a ringing in my ears
What happened
As if in answer
Someone kneels above me
Blocking the bulb above
“I’m sorry”
They speak
Deep voiced
But gentle in tone
Then I feel a burning
A too hot heat
Spreading through my stomach
I lift my head weakly
Making out an arm
Buried in my torso
He retracts quickly
Prize in hand
And devours greedily
Something crimson and vital
Belabored breath follows smacking lips
My vision snaps to as the pain returns
Rows of serrated teeth
Glimmer in the backlight
The head of this thing
Is that of a leech
My brow quirks
As the scream of pain
Is wrenched from my throat
I am so puzzled by the creature
But my body refuses me a moment to reflect
To inspect
The head turns back to my torso
Needle and thread in hand
And makes quick work of restoring me
Sans-organ that he took
Before I lose consciousness again
I hear it whisper
“Yes this should
It should sustain me
Sustain me a day or more…”
A mess of midnight hair
And the rim of glasses
Espied over top of a cloth bound book
First time we spoke
His voice cracked
Nerves lit and burning already, sans touch
The night we fell
I gave a gentle kiss
Glasses removed along with our clothes
The heat was heavy
But our breathes more
And the crescendo mind-numbing bliss
As we lay in quiet
Arms enmeshed tight
He whispered soft “I’m sorry, my love”
The bite of steel
Cold snake stole breath
I gripped the handle tight and eyes alight
He shook his head
Pressed harder still
Fitting I suppose it would be this man
As darkness enclosed
Warmth returning
I closed my eyes and gave my forgiveness
My last question
My final thought
Just how long had this been his plan
When we lay
Or first spoke
Or even when furtive glance caught sight?
I felt his lips
Move close to my ear
“It was your eyes I couldn’t resist…”
I’ve been walking long
No end in sight
Some parts are carpeted
Some barren, boards broken
Others shine like a Christmas Day
Allways continuing on
I’ve always feared peering behind
Looking back on those long untouched parts
As I look over my shoulder
The hallway curves
Almost imperceptibly
Beyond my vision
I decide to rest
Head against the wall
This part of me never hungers
But cries for respite
My dream is elsewhen
The hallway here shifts
A slow and steady rocking
Sea swell bucks beneath my feet
A window beside
Porthole in truth
Gazes upon an unbroken horizon
Even these waves not breaking that expanse
Slowly I walk on
Then a drawing
An artist’s rendering
Crew in revel
Watery ale poured freely
And there I stand
A different face
Voice rattling from sea-spray scratch
But eyes alight with the same life
And besides me stands
Her
Allways here
Allways finding me
Or I find her
What difference does it make
So long as we are beside
A bit further on
A moment frozen in time
The water breaks
As something hits it
My lungs fill
Hard to breath
Above she cries
Leaping after
Beneath the ocean
We embrace
As the cold stabs
As the air flees
We kiss
A promise
To find each other
Once again
She looms above them
The huddled masses
A scythe of crimson blood
Poised and ready to strike
The Creator can do naught
But trust in her measured cuts
See how she leaves whole lives
Towns and people
Bathed in red
And all but forgotten
Only their Creator knows their names
But in the end
After the death
After the loss
It is made more perfect
More flowing and paced
When the editor finishes
Her culling of pages
The light drips off of windowsills
Spreading iridescent pools
As I feel the cotton inside my mouth
Air like cotton but nothing there
I take a step and floor gives
Like quicksand meets rubberband
Senses flooded by hazy delirium
I stumble and catch the wall
Folding its plaster between fingers
As I walk towards her
The nurse cries in terror
Scrabbling at the door
“I… don’t feel… well…”
I groan stomach churning something awful
I feel the world tilt and my feet slide forward
She slams against the door and sobs
Lifting herself from its face
As I collapse in a heap beside her
The door warps below us
Bending bowing into a teardrop
Closing above us
And then shattering
Obliterated as I fall
She falls too
Screaming all the while
“DON’T WAKE UP
I DON’T WANT TO DIE!”
I hear her cry
Just before a tree comes up to meet me
And as I land with sickening crunch
My bed shakes from the force
Of my body jolt
Dried Ink Ribbon 