A Mid-West Memory

Along the winding road

Gallows trees creak and groan

Abandon lost along with love

The empty eyes of home

Rain-soak streaks of sadness spy

What was long since bled

Every tree or sheaf of wheat

Pasture, fallow, dried, and dead

The empty holds the memory

Of mother, departed love

No more to sing or dance or play

Voice, the mourning dove

Oh son and daughter, laughters loss

To grey and sad so fade

Father left four coins on eyes

The final boat was paid

Left alone, whiskey hold

The spirits led astray

Father coughed a fit of blood

A bitter crimson spray

Dust whirls before the glass

To catch the morning light

But their breath runs cold

Souls left, their final flight

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I am alive and well! I am living in Australia now and am writing like a FIEND alongside the love of my life. It is all very hush hush and even after publication I won’t be talking about it here, but rest assured, I’m still creating, and I’m still living. I have been listening to The Handsome Family’s Far From Any Road and love the country gothic feel of it, so I took a stab at this style.

Night Sights

I approach my house

Single light illuminating

Not much beyond the porch

And as I glance down the side

Along my house

In the dark

A vague crimson haze

Bloody mist

Which whispers with the wind

Coalesces with help of memory

Just a bush of Azaleas

And as I stare

A moment longer

Something stirs

Against the breeze

And eyes peer out

Feline hiss

And she runs away

Oh how my mind plays with me

Making monsters

Of every shape

A Long Night

I asked the doorman for a light, but he didn’t smoke. I just placed the cigarette between my lips and allowed its presence to calm me. Center my mind. My hands shook slightly at my sides as I released a breath I’d been holding for too long.

The night was over, and I was heading home. Bennett Vandermeer had invited me for dinner, on account of his being featured at the art gallery Pluto-Neon, and his need to shove my face in it.

I was standing, waiting for a cab, pulling my coat tighter around me. I waved one down as it came back around the corner, probably fresh from dropping off someone I would never know.

When I’d arrived Bennett had greeted me warmly, a friend of his, Louis, was already there, sitting at the couch with a snifter of scotch. “Oh Malak I’m so glad you could come! I do hope you like sushi!”

There was a platter set out with a wide array of sushi’s, which he was clearly displaying as though he had made them, but he was a painter, not a sculptor. I suspected they were from the sushi place three blocks over.

“Well I’m sure I can help put a dent in it.” I joked, faking a smile and following Bennett to the table.

As the cab came to a stop I climbed in. “Where to?” He grunted.

“Anywhere but here.” I handed him a fifty and sat back, looking back up at the beautiful facade of Bennett’s apartment building, before we pulled away and into the darkling night.

He had sat us at an oddly shaped table. It was perfectly round on one end but tapered to a rounded point on the other, like an egg. The platter sat centered in the rounded portion and Louis and I were forced to sit on the tapering side, with myself sitting nearest the end.

Bennett served the sushi to us along with tall glasses of wine, which Louis didn’t touch, focusing on his scotch instead.

“This tuna is Sashimi grade.” Bennett chimed as he placed a piece of said tuna which rested upon a bed of sticky rice before me. I doubted he had any idea what he was saying and was probably reciting what he’d seen on the menu.

I ate a piece and actually did quite enjoy it. That restaurant knew how to perfectly slice, roll, and serve its sushi so that each bite was a little glimpse of heaven.

I rubbed my face and sighed. It had been a long night. The streetlights flashed by, one after another after another. I breathed on the glass and drew on the fog which bloomed. A few lazy waves.

Bennett raised his glass halfway through the quiet dinner. “To artists! Creating the unseen, and always striving to better one another!”

I must have smirked because Bennett locked eyes with me. “You have something to say, Malak? After your little stunt at La Petit, I would think you of all people would admit how important it is to not snub your fellow artists. How many came to your showing? Oh, remember, your mother doesn’t count…”

I wiped away the doodle and looked down to my other hand, which lay, palm up, and trembling uncontrollably. The night had been… so long.

Louis was choking on a roll. Eyes bloodshot and face a rosy hue which was slowing turning blue. I stood beside him, hand jammed within his mouth, a grimace across my face. “Oh you’ll fucking see Louis! Silent neutrality does not mean you aren’t to be held responsible too! I know what you did! I saw the emails you bastard!”

Bennett was weeping and beating his fists upon my back. “Jesus, Malak, stop he didn’t do anything! You’re killing him! Fuck! Stop!”

I grinned as I saw Louis’s eyes roll back and felt his body go limp in my grasp.

There were still bite marks on the first knuckles of my left hand. I squeezed my hand shut and closed my eyes. Justified. I was justified. They had ruined me…

I was holding Bennett by the hair, head yanked back and dragging him to the sink. “You fucking ruined me, Bennett! You RUINED ME!” I turned on the water and shoved his head beneath the stream. He sputtered and screamed beneath the flow and I used one hand to jam a kitchen towel into the drain. It began to fill.

The cab stopped and I stepped out with a, “keep the change…” I was outside of my apartment building… I hadn’t told him where I lived. I looked back and the cab was already pulling away.

I turned slowly and walked to the door, keying in the code and opening the security gate with a squeal.

His head bounced once, twice against the bottom of the sink as I held him down and he tried to struggle free. I shoved his head down myself, and slowly the water began to turn red. I had never smiled so much in my entire, miserable life.

The stairs creaked as I ascended to the third floor, fishing my key from my pocket. As I reached my apartment, I grasped the doorknob and turned the key. It glided effortlessly. It was unlocked already.

I opened the door slowly. Beyond the frame all was shadows except those things silhouetted by the windows. I flicked on the hallway light…

I released Bennett’s lifeless corpse and spat on it. “Hey, at least your shit will be worth something now… you hack.” I kicked him hard in the temple and his body didn’t so much as twitch.

I turned to leave the apartment and trod upon Louis’s hand, hearing bones snap. No reaction. They were dead.

I was sitting there, in my arm chair, which was moved to the middle of the hall, smiling at me as I stood in the doorway, stunned and alarmed. “Oh you’ve… you’ve been very bad, haven’t you, Malak?” The smile I… he, was wearing was wide, almost too wide, and there was something in his eyes which worried me more than his inexplicable physical resemblance to myself.

Of the Five (Fetid Blood)

First I smelled it

Putrid festering

Then a sound

Clicking teeth snapping

And shhhffing feet dragging

Then I saw

Peeled lips

Lacking eyes

Slavering tongue

And sharpened fangs

Then it lunged

I felt its fangs

Sink, piercing flesh

Then a taste

Copper

Blood

Not my own

My whole body was warm

Burning

As it inj/fected me

With its blood

The featured image can be found here: https://twitter.com/jrgdrawing/status/1095578328180944896?s=21
It is what inspired this piece. Please consider following this artist as they are a fountain of fantastically morbid art.

One More for the Collection

A knife hissed through air

Inches from her face

“I always prefer those in their prime”

He mused softly

Eyes alight with something

It was red

And black

And full of hunger

“The skin of old people shreds like…

Wet paper”

His lip curled

As he pressed the edge

Of the cool steel blade

Against her cheek

Her eyes held something defiant

Brilliant and unwavering

Eagle soaring

Even so bound

And arms crossed

“I mean look at you

Skin so taught and tan

Ready for display

I’d say”

He turned and picked up a scalpel

Keen edge glimmering in candle light

“It’d make a fine prize…

But I think

I’d rather claim…

Your eyes”

Those eyes glared

Unafraid even in this

This horrible place

With such horrible words

He gripped her hair

And leaned in close

Blade edging closer

Closer

Closer to her eye

She kept them open though

And with a swift

And brutal movement

Yanked forward

And bit down upon his nose

Cartilage gave a sickening crunch

And the man screamed

Stabbing her shoulder with the little blade

But she held on

Eager for her prize

She twisted her head

And with a powerful tug

Came back with the majority

His face contained now

A bloody hole

Ragged and sputtering with air

He trembled as he grasped

And tried in vain

To staunch the flow

He stumbled back

With awkward gait

And collapsed upon the floor

She spat it out at him

Calmly she let go

Of the ropes

Which fell about her

In a loose coil

She stepped forward

And with a tug

Freed the scalpel from her shoulder

She knelt beside the man

Something sharp flickering in her smile

“Oh yes you’ll do nicely

Another monster

To add to my gallery…”

She growled low

Tracing the surgical steel

Ever so carefully

Around the curve of his chin

His eyes now filled

Brimming

With fear

Canning Methods of Old

“It’s best to begin it fresh. Canning preserves but doesn’t reverse” She growls, scratching her too-loose neck, skin scabrous and inflamed.

“I mean look at these beauties!” She holds up a jar, with tight packed digits of varying tone. “Got them packed in only an hour, and now they’ll keep for nearly a year…”

She sets down the jar and thumbs the stump where my fingers once were. “Oh yes yours will be nice crunchy and strong. There’s nothing like the fingers of a talented pianist”

She grabs the pile ten dripping digits, and shoves them into a briny bottle.

My vision slides blurs to the side. My final sight is her closing the lid.

Dear Little Danny

He was always the favorite

Dear little Danny

How mother doted on him

While I was left

Alone in the library

With my studies

And my thoughts

And my plans

All these years later though

I stand upon the precipice

Of a tall stone shaft

At the bottom of which lies

The broken body of

Dear little Danny

I can hear the tell-tale skitter

From the numerous holes in the walls

Before the multitudinous hordes

Spill forth

I watch the gruesome chaos unfurl

As he is devoured whole

Little more

Than a weak moan escaping his lips

Before he is gone

Remembered by none

Save me

And the rats which he fed

Witch’s Crush

Hu Card collection

Flip through idly

What to play

Which to choose

Witch’s Crush peaks out

I

I don’t remember this one

But I do love those others

Devil’s and Alien

So

‘Why not?’

I think and pull it out

With a solid click it sits within

Flip on

CRT buzzes slowly

Quintrix fuzzy but come to life

I hold controller as title appears

Satanic and over done

Compendium Maleficarum-esque

Woods at night

Naked women dancing

A book of names

Blood dipped fingers scrawling

I start

Pinball as expected

Though words spelled out

By drop targets say

Vendere

Animam

Tuam

With practiced ease

All targets hit

Score rises

Higher still

Eventually though

All balls are drained

And up comes the highscore page

Enter my name…

As I do something hurts

My finger

Pricked

And dripping

I feel a tug

And am drawn

Rise to the TV

And press the blood against

My name I spell

And soon

Screen fades

Black stares back

And I hold my breath

What had I done

What had I signed

Why was the blood already gone

TV clear and coming back

Title screen

And the book

My name at the top

The Creative Process

A young man stood

His head to a wall

Pulled back

Swung forward

And crushing his skull

Passerby cried

At this pitiful whelp

Folks tried to stop

To impede

Hell, just to help

He just smiled at them

His teeth a grisly mess

“Oh don’t mind me

I’m just an artist

And this painting, my best”

He mused “just a bit more

Then it will be done

Wait no

Not quite

I’ll erase this last one”

Featured image source: http://davidmoody.net/2014/04/18/hitting-head-brick-wall/#.XAVnORZMGEc

Twister Lit Contest

I was just tagged by the Twister Lit Contest hosted by High Tensile UK and found out this morning that I won! The winning tweet is the featured photo for this post~ The goal was to write a complete feeling piece of psychological thriller fiction within one tweet.

As part of this I am going to receive a signed copy of A Ladder to the Sky by John Boyne who is also well known for writing The Boy in the Striped Pajamas.

The other part is that I’ll be featured on their website hightensilelit.com when it goes live on December 9th!

I am so freaking excited!!! If you’ve found me through their website I do hope you enjoy my writing and decide to hang around~

This is the first writing contest I’ve ever won so this is also VERY EXCITING!