Archive for August, 2011

Sue’s Side

His homie had betrayed him one too many times. Too often had he relied on his homie, staying by his side, trying to open a door with two locks on either side only to be opened by two people working together, synergizing to create a miracle. His homie had betrayed him for the last time; never ever there when he needed him the most. Only there to take, take, take, giving back only in mere words of appreciation. Too long had he hoped that his homie would at least change his rigid patterns of behaviour just once and arouse a dormant brain cell in his skull causing a sort of cathartic feeling in his being.
He had had enough of It all. This wishful thinking, hoping for a better tomorrow. A Change that will never come, a new perception of an old occurrence. All the expectations led him to distance himself from his homie. One night he went to a bar and had one too many drinks. That was where he met Sue.

Sue wasn’t a Perfect 10 Model. She was like a coked out hooker with bad plastic surgery; think Courtney Love, only uglier. She had tattered bleached blond hair that looked more like spider webs hanging from her skull. Her voice was husky and she had a small pot belly protruding from her ragged red dress. He was drunk and she was desperate for something no one would give to her in a sober state. They both went to Sue’s Side and had sex. When he was done from Sue’s Side, he left.
A couple of years Later, he fell ill and found out he had AIDS.

He decided he was not going to let the illness wear him down. He was going to use it more as an Awakener. He lived more daringly, on the edge, having fled his from his homies side, awakened by his encounter in Sue’s Side. He lived life to the full.
Then one day, he had another encounter in Sue’s Side. He was in a car coming back from the club, driving on the freeway at high speed, drunk, having managed to score some lude from a dealer which added to his haze. When he descended the freeway, He switched to the wrong lane and crashed head-on with a Range Rover Sport, colliding and crushing himself to the chair. He managed to survive the accident though after numerous re constructive surgery. He was never the same; looking like a circus freak. How people would forever notice your disability in their minds but talk to you and act like they don’t. He was scarred, his face resembling a character from a horror movie. His chest caved In from the accident so he walked bent with an ugly slouch. He later found out the lady driving the Range Rover was a Susan Summers. She had died from the crash while he barely survived but forever scarred, ostracised from civilisation. This was his second encounter with a Sue.

His homie checked on him when he was still in a coma but decided to leave Him then and there. He didn’t want to be around someone who people pitied as he walked the street. After the torment and the affliction of being forever treated differently like a complete passive pussy, spineless and should be forever pitied, women smiling a plastic smile with fear and repulsion written all over their faces. Folks crossing the streets as he walked on by. He decided he had had enough. This was last and final encounter in Sue’s SIde.

He Went to a pot dealer to find out about psychedelic drugs. He was directed to a strange looking man. This person looked completely cut off from society; shabby and care worn. An eccentric man he was indeed.
“Peyote” the man said gruffly, handing him a substance. He told ingesting it would cause the Spirit of ‘Mescalito’ to guide him to the light. He bought a couple of peyote buttons and ingested it the next day. He drove to a cliff and this was where He Met Sue for the last time.

It was evening.
The sun orange, painting the sky the same hue. There he was, standing on a cliff, beneath 200ft of nothing but rocks. He injested the peyote buttons and waited for it to kick in. He first saw a butterfly with a lion’s head whisper “Sue Side”, the voice echoing fading into nothingness with each sound. It was suddenly twilight and he looked down to see himself standing in the sky, the cliff above him.

Thoughts becoming erratic.
He felt himself melting like ice,turning to liquid and dripping in a golden cup. A giant female carried the cup.
“HI! ITS ME, SUE” she said but this Sue wasn’t the woman he met at the bar. This one was pretty, blonde hair verging on gold, and voice like a lullaby. There she was, garbed in white like an angel. She grabbed the cup and held it close to her mouth.
She drank him as the liquid from the golden chalice and he was inside her, falling in a black vortex.

A voice called from the blackness. Feminine.
“Do you remember me? I have been with you your whole life. Since you were little. Sue has been by your Side all this time. Right from the very first thought of me when you got humiliated by that school bully. You thought of me those lonely nights when you were cold and alone, my essence there to keep you warm.
I was there when you got diseased, when you crashed your Face and I’m here with you now. I’ve tried to take you in full embrace but you denied my love. You don’t want to be on Sue’s Side. Tonight, we will finally be together forever”

In the real world, he was close to the edge of the cliff. Hallucinating, still falling in the black vortex. He saw two hands come out of the blackness like they were trying to embrace.
“Come to Sues Side. Come to Sues Side” thr shadows uttered with each word, a different tone and pitch of feminine voice.

He thought of his deformity and sickness
He had nothing to lose.
He stopped resisting and hugged Sue.
He fell off the cliff and landed on the floor, blood painting the rocks.

A suicide note was later found in his car and police closed the case.
It was Suicide.


From the mind that brought us Wild Things, another piece by @edgothboy! Enjoy!

The glance is turning into something else, a lewd, lascivious stare. The unmarked box of groceries hangs between them, their fingers touching underneath, just barely. The moment lasts for a second and the hunger flares and threatens to silence all his reason. And just as suddenly as it came, the moment passes. The delivery man shakes his head as if to clear his head, lets go of the box and backpedals as though the hounds of hell were after him. He shuts the door and slumps to the ground beside his box. He sighs and massages his fingers. They are dewy, a thin layer of pheromones already coating each intricate whorl. He waits out the other subtle manifestations of his curse; pigment pumping out of his scalp subtly changing his auburn locks into a honeyed gold, muddying of his irises from a startling green to a cloudy grey, lips blooming pink. In four minutes the transmutation is complete and he is the very image of a very popular and much lusted after member of a boy band. For the next hour, his skin will not be his own and he’ll see through an alien pair of eyes. He steals a glance at the family portrait framed by a heap of flattened boxes in the living room, at the smiling woman with a baby on her lap. The source of his problems.


“How old are you again?”

“Forty two”

A gasp comes from the other end of the line. Even over the phone, he can sense her initial curiosity grow into admiration.

“You have got to be kidding me? You don’t look a day over 22.”

“Don’t believe it; everyone knows I have an obsession with Photoshop”, He says casually but he is beaming. He can’t believe it worked, he aged.

“Awww! And you’re modest too. This is my first week here so I’m still getting to know the regulars. You’re in amazing shape, mr…”

“Poulos, Tamsin Poulos.”

“Err… Sir, isn’t Tamsin a girl’s name?”

He chuckles mirthless. “My mother had a devilish sense of humor.”

“So you want to renew your appointments with Dr. Shankar?”


“This will be your fortieth session with Dr. Shankar?”

“That is correct.”

“Will you be coming in for your appointment, or the usual?”

“The usual.”

The sound of a keyboard clacking fills the silence.

“your appointment is in four hours, please be by your phone at that time, because you will be billed either ways.”

“I understand.”

“Alright,” She pauses. “And Mr. Poulos, please get out there. A man as fine as you shouldn’t be shuttered in. If you look half as good as this picture, I’m sure you could get anyone you like.”

He smiles to himself and disconnects the call. If only she knew.


Heavy breathing.

“Tam, are you still there?”

“Yes, Dr. Shankar.”

“You can call me Ranjit. There are no titles here.”

Tam sighs. “Dr. Shankar, I wish I could do that, but the less comfortable I am with you, the safer you are.”

Dr. Shankar’s scoff is barely audible over the static. “I thought we had reached a breakthrough on this.”

“You rationalized, I never agreed.”

As usual, Tam can sense him roll his eyes. “Tamsin, you haven’t left your front gate in two years, the last time you took out the trash was a month ago. You need to convince me that there has been progress, otherwise…”

In spite of himself, Tamsin barks at the receiver. “I’m trying to save people’s lives.”

Dr. Shankar deliberately enunciates each word, in the inadvertently condescending way parents talk to small children.

“I know you want to believe that, but we both know that Schizophrenic-agoraphobes will look for any excuse to justify their actions. Agreed, your explanations almost seem plausible but that doesn’t make them real.”

Tam feels his face flush with anger. “Then how do you explain people’s reaction to me?”

“You fail to realize you are what most people are conditioned to believe is a perfect specimen of beauty. As such, they are immediately drawn to you; this is no fault of yours.”

“Then how do you explain the fact that I haven’t aged a day in 27 years?” Tam counters.

“You obviously have very good genes.” Dr. Shankar replies immediately.

“I can’t go out there, it’s too tempting.” Tam says quietly.

“If you want to move forward with your life, you have to accept that phenomena such as Incubi simply cannot exist.”

Tam feels obligated to tell Dr. Shankar the truth, make him see how dangerous the situation is.

“Dr. Shankar you have to believe me, my father is proof. The She-devil drained him of his youth. When he died, he was 38 but he looked like he was in his sixties. The doctors said he died of old age accelerated by severe lung damage seen only in chronic smokers. He never smoked a single cigarette. She only stayed with us as long as she did because she wanted to see how much she passed on to me.”

Dr. Shankar remains non-committal. “I have seen your father’s medical charts, he had a rare disorder which caused accelerated aging.”

A pause.

“But what really interests me is the relationship between you and your mother? Why do you call her a she-devil?”

“Because she is a demon. Literally.”

Scribbling can be heard as Dr. Shankar puts the phone on speaker.

“For an Atheist Tam, you have such strong belief in a lot of religious figures.”

Tam sighs. “I’m not an atheist; I just don’t see the point of hoping when I know where I’m headed.”

“I see.”

“And which religion do you follow Dr. Shankar?”

A short pause. “I’m Hindu, though I haven’t been devout as is required.”

“Then you believe in your deities, no matter how unrealistic they seem?”

A nervous chuckle. “Tam, I believe our deities are metaphors to explain abstract ideals. A very literal way to make sense of life.”

Despair envelopes Tam, if Dr. Shankar doesn’t give a favorable report in his upcoming psych evaluation, his house will be taken from him and he’ll be locked up in a psych ward. Paranoia grips him and he breaks into a cold sweat. A crazy idea comes to him and his desperation latches onto it like a buoy in choppy waters. It’s something his mother said to him when he was a child, something that he never took seriously but could never seem to forget.

… A succubus who beds a man only steals from his body, but one who seduces a man warps him to her will…

The growing dread in the pit of his stomach dissolves slowly into a ball of warmth. It’s been so long it takes him a while to recognize what it is and embrace it. His senses heighten and he is hyper aware of  the faint rustle of paper coming from the receiver as Dr. Shankar rifles through his case file.

“Dr. Shankar,” Tam says with a voice already altering into a smooth musical baritone. “Just maybe you need to hear what I have to say from a fresh source.”

The doctor’s head swivels towards the phone. It is as though he is hearing Tam for the first time. The voice over the phone sounds nostalgic yet not entirely human, like the voices in a nightmare that feel familiar but you just can’t remember who they belong to.

“Ranjit?” Tam calls. “Are you listening?”

The doctor recoils from the phone toppling over his chair. He scrambles towards the door on hands and knees, frantic to get away from that unearthly sound.

“Ranjit, I need you, you can’t abandon me, let down a patient in need.”

Ranjit stops cold. He tries to focus but his thoughts seem just out of reach. If only I could help Tam, he thinks. Maybe I’d know what to do then.

“But you can Ranjit. You can. Ask your secretary to come in. She’ll tell you what I want, what I need.”

He stands testily and walks to the door. It takes three tries to get the attention of his secretary, a pretty little thing in colored cat-eye glasses and a tartan dress. She asks for a minute and he leaves the door ajar. His breathing is heavy as his mind tries to fight the external impulses, yet…

The secretary slips in and gasps. Ranjit is hunched over the cordless phone on his desk, shirtless and panting heavily, eyes screwed shut, listening to intently to words she can’t make out. She notices buttons scattered across the floor, the chair lying on its side. She’s about to turn around call for help when she hears his voice. It is corporeal, as though someone’s right behind her whispering in her ear. He reminds her of teenage rebellion, Goth make-up and hidden piercings. Her deviant daydreams. Her morbid obsessions with tantric sex and masochism. He urges her to seduce him, to show him how sexual a being she truly is. His words inspire her, she wants to impress him, to please him, to please this man she barely even knows. With a shrug, she slips out of her dress and makes her way to Ranjit. He bristles at her touch but soon relaxes into her arms. They begin the slow seductive dance, Ranjit’s hands tracing the inside of her thighs, her hands wrapped around the back of his head. Their lips meet and all hesitation is lost in a wave of passion.  Ranjit’s head is filled with images of Kali and Vishnu, death and rebirth; heirs of vampires and pretentious virgins seeking immortality. The air is heady with lust fuelled by Tam’s subtle suggestions. He lays her on his office table, violently rips away her panties; she giggles in delight, this is a side of the brooding doctor she’s never seen before. Employer and employee tangle arms and legs on the office table, moaning softly as they play out their deepest desires on each other. Bites, scratches, tongues exploring crevices, hands roving incessantly, hips bucking feverishly, legs holding like a vise, hair pulling, eyes rolling to the back of the head; abandon, release, anarchy. Slowly, she moves Ranjit’s hands from her supple bosom to her outstretched neck, to be reborn eternal the voice tells her, she needs to let go of her fragile existence. He needs no prompting, Kali has offered herself to be cleansed. He begins to squeeze…



In that moment, Tam snaps as though out of a trance. Immediately he knows what is happening. He screams into the mouthpiece for Ranjit to stop. But even as the words leave his mouth, Tam already knows that Ranjit has muted his phone. The warmth spreads as Ranjit’s ministrations devolves into something more basic, feral. He can hear the muffled moans and the creaking mahogany table violently scratching the terrazzo floor. Tam’s toes curl and his fingers grip onto the phone for dear life as the warmth spreads to his limbs. Wave after wave of life-force suffuses his body as the doctor’s thrusts intensify. With a howl Ranjit plateaus and a tidal wave of warmth overwhelms Tam. Like a former addict returning to heroin, he convulses, his body struggling to contain the influx of emotions and he topples to the ground, thrashing violently as he experiences the adrenaline and endorphins that course through the secretary as Ranjit’s long wiry fingers squeeze the air out of her lungs and fuels her masochistic orgasm. His body imitates the gurgling sounds that come from her throat, the blood vessels bursting behind her lids, the panic the rational part of her feels, suppressed under so much savage desire. He feels his head turn heavy as her neck snaps and her brain flies into overdrive. He sees her life flash past her eyes, her loneliness well hidden, her longing for acceptance, her grief for lost relationships, her hopes for a long fulfilled life. The three month old life forming in her womb. He feels nothing…

Dr. Shankar is screaming so loud his voice breaks. But he can’t stop. He’s screaming for Adi Parashakti to come take him, for her to cleanse, he is screaming prayers long forgotten, making signs to ward off the evil. But nothing changes, he still feels the longing to obey, the ashen body sprawled over his table doesn’t move. It was true, all he said was truth.


A fifteen year old in a hoodie and a knapsack switches trains. He shies away from touch, averts his eyes when an old lady tries to get him to help her find a seat. The island is just a plane ticket away. Solitude has never been this appealing. A tap on his shoulder. Maybe if he ignores it, they’ll move on. A badge is thrust under his nose.    “Please stand up and address me young man.”

He stands slowly and turns to face the plain clothed detective.

“Please remove your hood.”

“I don’t think so.” comes the gravelly reply.

“You are making the other passengers uncomfortable, please remove the hood or I will remove it forcibly.”

By now every eye in the cab is trained on them, and a horrified gasp travels across the room. Underneath the hood is an unblemished face with a pillow pout, a straight nose and two empty eye sockets decorated with hundreds of little scratch marks. The lips spread in a grin, showing eight missing front teeth and a blackened stump where a tongue should be.

“I did it!” He says. “I’ve stopped the demon inside me.”

The End

(This boy’s too fantastic! had to be said -_-)

Story of my life.

Daddy see!
I made it for you in class.
We did poh-tewy.
Do you like it?
Do you love me now?

Daddy see!
I used the poh-ty to poo.
I am now a big girl.
Daddy do you love me now?

Daddy if I finish my vegetables
And eat my fruits
Would you love me then?

Daddy I got an A in Math
My teacher says I’m a good singer
And I can join the choir
Daddy would you come watch?
Do you love me now?

Daddy I got straight A’s in my GCSE.
I have a chance at Oxford after college.
I would be a Doctor.
Would you love me then?

Daddy I got into Oxford!
I’m going to get a First class!
Daddy I’m going to be big
Do you love me now?

Daddy I’ve got a job!
I also get a house and a car.
Daddy see my adorable boyfriend!
He’s awesome like you!
Do you love me now?

Daddy I’m trying so hard!
Why won’t you love me?
I love you daddy!
Is it so hard to love me back?

the end


Book of the Dead: Fellowship of the Three


His naturally pale skin looked even more translucent in death. His blonde hair which he kept long, hung limply at the sides. Unseeing dead eyes open, looked out to the world as if drinking in every last detail before his soul fled. There was an odd beauty to this figure, even though his protruding tongue made it look grotesque.
Adam Church admired his dead body hanging in the privacy of his bathroom, aided by the shower curtain chords.
“Handsome even in death” he whispered, caressing his cold, stiffening cheek.
Very handsome”

Weeks Earlier

“…..I’d say you’re going mad! Seeing a dead man? Yup! Mad it is!”
Adam sighed and looked at the beautiful woman sitting opposite him at Costa Cafe with exasperation.
He sighed again.
“Listen Anna, it was just a rhetorical question. Something somebody asked at work.”
He watched her knitted auburn brows relax with relief.
A small but dazzling smile touched her face. She put her hand over his and gently squeezed, changing the topic.
While he pretended to listen to her prattle about ‘God-awful Jane at work’, his mind went back to the question he had asked.
‘What would you say if I told you, I saw your ex-husband?’
The truth is that he could bet his high rise apartment and car that he saw his ex-friend.
Hallucinations caused by guilt?
He was a man without scruples. Guilt didn’t come naturally to him. He wouldn’t have gotten to his current office position if he had been a man prone to guilt.
Maybe it was madness.
I wonder what mother would say? Wayward son, dead. Golden son, mad.
He couldn’t confide in his mother.
He nodded noncommittally to Anna’s stories, glad she was oblivious to the little changes in his behaviour.
Anna: Beautiful but dumb.
How he liked them.

Then he saw him.
They were seated opposite each other, with Anna, directly backing a mirror.
That was where he saw him.
On the mirror.
His hands, gently resting on Anna’s shoulders, dead malevolent eyes, glaring at him, his horribly life-like lips stretched in a wicked grin.
Adam’s heart skipped a beat and he tore his gaze away from the spectre massaging his girl friend’s shoulder.
“Anna let’s go” he said, getting up and leaving the cafe.


Andy admired himself in front of the mirror.
“Thirty-two and perfect” he whispered to himself, exposing his pearly-white teeth.
He stared into his deep blue eyes fanned by silky long lashes. He had inherited his mother’s looks. Instead of looking effeminate, he managed to transform even the smooth rosebud lips into handsome MALE features.
He smiled at himself again and suddenly, he yelped, jumping back from his reflection.
There he was again, staring at him through the looking glass, in the privacy of his own bathroom.
He ran out of the bathroom, closing the door behind in with a resounding THUD.
What was this?
This was the fourth sighting.
Adam ran into bed, regretting his sending Anna home, as he cowered under his duvet.
His reflections cowered with him in the mirrors which he had used to surround his bedroom. He was a man prone to vanity after all.
“Pathetic” he whispered, suddenly angry.
He jumped out of bed and walked to the bathroom, brandishing a bedside stool.
“Fuck you if you think I’d cower! Fuck you!”
He stood by the door, looking at himself in the mirror, waiting for his nemesis to appear.
“Goddamned stupid fool. I bested you at everything. So what? I took your bloody job! So what! You were a blubbering idiot! I was better looking and more suited! Your wife left you for me! SO FUCKING WHAT!”
His chest heaved in anger…and fear.
“I was better. We were best friends man but damn you! I was better! You didn’t deserve Anna. No you didn’t!”
He saw movement at the periphery of his eyes and turned sharply, stool raised in offence.
He was losing his mind.
He walked into the bathroom and peered closely at the mirror.
Nothing was behind him.
No one.
1 minute.
5 minutes.
10 minutes.
“All in my mind.”
He sighed and trudged to bed, making a mental note to get an appointment with a private therapist.
He fell asleep, surrounded by reflections of him asleep.
Had he opened his eyes that moment, he would have seen the apparition staring at him through his looking glasses of vanity.


No help.
No one could help.
‘He’ was everywhere.
At the boardroom meeting, on the boss’ reflective table.
At the back of the car, in his rear-view mirror.
On Anna’s shiny silver chain, winking at him as he made love to his former wife.
At the gym, watching him sweat to keep in shape.
Even drinking didn’t help. He saw him on every bottle, on every glasses. Smiling, winking, laughing, with that evil glare in his eyes, suggesting to him what he had to do.
Swing Swine.

Back to the Present

“So the swine finally swung.”
Adam turned back sharply.
He walked up to his nemesis and landed him a solid blow.
“Fucking Bastard! Look what you did to me!”
David Winslow smiled at the fury of his former friend and wife snatcher.
“Oh you had it coming. Had I not died in that fatal car crash, I’d have shot you and Anna dead. Yes! That was my plan”
Adam’s eyes widened.
He moved to hit David again the slowly stopped.
He sighed.
“What have you gained? What?”
David smiled slowly.
“Oh my work isn’t done yet. Anna would be joining us in a week.”
“Fucking Bastard! Leave her the fuck alone!”
David became enraged.
“Why! Tell me why! Bloody Adulteress! She deserves to die! You two deserve to die! You ruined my life!”
Several deep breaths later, he calmed down.
“Follow me. There’s someone you’d like to meet”

“Why would i go anywhere with you?”
David shrugged.
“I guess you don’t want to see your wayward biker brother then”
Adam paused for a moment.
“Let’s go”

They walked out of his apartment, strolling amongst the living until they got to a park where a young man sat idly on a bike.
Adam was rooted to the spot immediately he was close enough to recognise the biker.
Charlie got off his bike, a look of disbelief on his face.
“Adam? The hell you doing dead mate?”
Adam stared at his brother.
“Did you kill him also?” He said, furiously addressing David.
Charlie looked at David confused.
“You know my brother? Wait you knew me before? What’s happening?”
David smiled at them.
“Remember my unfinished business Charlie my boy? Yeah, your brother is half of it done.”
Charlie’s eyes widened in surprise and anger.
David glanced at Adam.
“No. He died on his own. But he did give me the special idea I needed for yo..OW!”

He could feel it reverberating through his body.
He glanced down and saw what he suspected.
The Numbness.
“Not yet!” David screamed as he fought the swirling darkness that has enveloped his legs.
How didn’t he notice it earlier?
Tears dropped from the corner of his eyes as he continued his struggle with Fate.
Not now!


Adam watched his former buddy disappear under a black cloud of darkness.
He felt Charlie pull at his shirt.
“Come on bro! He’s gone. I’d explain but we gonna be next!”
They ran to the bike and with a kick, they zoomed off into the darkness, leaving a ghostly cloud of dust in their wake.

And there it is, the real story behind the after-life.
Our dearly departed hover around us, until they are finally taken away by The Numbness.
So shall we hover, until we are all taken away, by The Numbness.

The End

Book of the Dead: Unfinished Business

One minute, he was navigating his Honda car furiously along the high road, the next, he was standing at the pavement.
OK, What’s happened?
He saw a crowd gathered near the road.
What’s happening?
“Excuse me! Please what’s happening?”
The woman he was talking to kept shaking her head, oblivious to his questioning.
He passed through the crowd (easily?) and finally got to the root of the hubbub.
That was his car.
That was him in it, neck at a painful angle, obviously dead.
He was a ghost?
“Just died huh?” A voice said behind him.
He turned in alarm, eyes still wide open in shock at his just discovered revelation.
“You can see me?”
“No. I just made a random remark. I can see you duh!”
He looked at the man addressing him. Pale skinned, long-haired man clad in leather with arms crossed leaning on his wrecked car. He looked real enough. He looked down at himself.
His polo was still in the same shabby condition as it was before he crashed and so were his jeans.
He looked real enough…for a ghost.
“I am a ghost. You can see me. Are you a ghost?”
The young man spat in disgust.
“Were you this slow in life mate??  Of course I’m a ghost! See!”
He plunged his hand into the human standing close to view the corpse and the newly dead man’s eyes widened as he watched the hand dissolve into the skin.
They paused for a beat staring at each other.
Suddenly, the newly dead man’s face twisted itself in rage.
“I can’t die! No! No! I have unfinished business! This is so unfair! Why! Just when i was about to do something right! Why! Argh!”
He swore and punched his car, getting angrier as his hands disappeared into the car, having no impact.
“Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!”

The leather-clad man simply watched him with a lop-sided grin, barely concealing his amusement at the frustration of the shabby looking geezer.
The newly dead man sighed in resignation.
“So. I’m dead. What’s next?”
The leather clad man uncrossed his arm and pointed to the park just off the main road.
“Lets take a walk”
The newly dead man nodded and made his way there, jostling people and muttering an ” Excuse me” as he hit one of the paramedics who had come to tend to him.
With one last look at his deformed body, he sighed in disgust.
“I can’t even die with dignity. Stupid”

….”First of all, welcome to the after-life. As you can see, it’s probably not what you expected. If you were a religious man, you’d be expecting heaven Yes? Well, Welcome to the real life! My name’s Charlie and because we died roughly on the same spot, I won’t mind telling you a thing or two about your new world.”
The newly dead man was silent.
“All i want is to go back to the REAL world. As i said, unfinished business. Dont care about here. Its bad enough I didn’t disappear Poof! Now i have to watch others live their lives while I’m”
Charlie sighed
“You know what man, suit yourself. See ya!”
He got up from the bench and walked to motorcycle idling near a tree.
“Ok! I’m sorry. Please sit down.”
Charlie sighed and walked back to the bench.
“How about we start with your name?”
“David…David Winslow”
Charlie nodded.
“David. As i said, welcome. You probably noticed but around here, things are different. You cn see the rest but they can’t see you. Or hear you. You learn to live with it…until you get taken away by The Numbness.”
“The Numbness? whats that?”
“The Numbness is what you’d probably call Eternal Sleep. You finally disappear like Poof!”
David looked at him.
“And you havent been taken away i guess…”
“Oh i have..i just popped in to say hello. Of course i havent!”
David gave him the look that asked ‘Why?’
“Because, I’m not sure I’m ready to severe my ties with this earth first. And i can also pop into the girls’ toilets at pubs! Wicked!”
He said the latter with a lascivious grin on his slightly pimply face.
David sighed and shook his head, warranting a little poke on his side.
“Come on mate! Dont be old! What are you? like 40?”
“I’m 35 thank you” David huffed. Then he realised something.
“Hold on…You just poked me. And your hands didn’t disappear into me. Yet i felt no pain”
Charlie shrugged.
“It is what it is mate! Crazy place this side of life! The only thing you’d feel is The Numbness. Comes every night it does.”
David nodded slowly.
“Cant get taken away by that. Unfinished business.”
“And i told you nothing you can do.”
David threw him a stubborn glare causing him to shrug and stare at the buxom girl who just sat opposite them.
“Nice tits that one has”
David threw him another glare, embarrassed on her behalf and he chortled.
“So is this what you ghosts do? Spy on people just because they can’t see you? How horrid!”
Charlie laughed harder.
“Hey! you can’t blame us! Nothing much doing around here in the after life. Anyway, some of them can feel our presence.”
David was suddenly piqued.
“Like psychics?”
Charlie shrugged.
“Not necessarily. Just some people sensitive to ‘other beings’ so to speak. You ever have those odd shivers for no reason?”
David nodded.
“Yeah. That’s us probably passing through you…or fondling your man boobs”
He burst into another round of laughter but David’s mind was far away (If mind was what it was called)
David got up.
“Man, where you headed to?”
“You just gave me an idea! Got to go” He smiled at him and shook his hand.
“Aint you going to wait out The Numbness?”
“I’d fight it like you did. Thanks young man.” With that he moved.
Charlie shrugged and looked away
David stopped.
“One more question.”
Charlie reluctantly tore his gaze from his ogling and looked at him in impatience.
“Your bike. How did you remain with it?”
Again, the shrug
“Dunno man. Loved the bike like it was part of my body. Died on it. Only natural I came along with it here”
David nodded and walked away, throwing an unacknowledged wave at Charlie.
He looked at the fast fading sun.
“Unfinished business.”

to be continued…

Before we begin this journey, I’d like to acknowledge the writer of this piece @GenesisMyNameIz, who helped me bring a rambling idea to life…or afterlife! Love you Twinnie! Mwah!
Ok! Back to the story….


Tears filled Charlie’s eyes as the wind whipped his hair straight up and backwards. A part of his mind knew the power bike was going too fast but Fuck it! He revved the engine and the speedometer needle jumped clockwise. He and his Lverda Ferrari F1 bike blurred and merged with the night itself, a booming sensation of violence and speed on the empty highway. The Numbness grew from Charlie’s chest upwards to his neck.
To his face.
He responded to this by shifting backwards in his seat while releasing the clutch with the tip of his left boot. The Power bike roared as the transmission re-ignited and leapt off the ground. In that split second, Charlie looked back and confirmed his fear. The road behind him was being erased by a massive orb of darkness speeding towards him almost as fast as he was moving. He had to go faster.
Faster. Faster.
The Numbness.
Everywhere now.
His eyes.
His mind.
The bike touched the earth back with a resounding ‘Whomp!’ and blazed forward. Charlie gritted his teeth and leaned forward. As long as the road kept coming.
Tonight, Charlie fully intended on outrunning the unexplainable. He zoomed off down the empty highway.

2 hours Earlier…

The small serval wild cat sniffed the wind, hoping upon hope that it could catch the smell of some helpless prey just beneath the bridge connecting the hilly crevice and the highway. Smelling nothing, it sauntered away, preparing to sleep hungry. All of a sudden all the hair on its furry body sprang upwards in alarm! Hissing and spitting, the cat turned upwards towards the bridge… looking for the source of its discomfort … and saw a massive motorcycle coming at fullspeed from the adjoining road about to climb the bridge. The motorcycle almost cleared the sharp corner of the wire meshing surrounding the bridge but at the last instant, slammed into the concrete steel wall of the bridge. The bike exploded immediately; erupting into a golden fireball that illuminated the nightsky for miles around. And the impact flung the body of the rider out of and over the bridge. The cat watched in trepidation as the body rolled head over heels towards its direction, bones cracking with each horrid twist down the hill. Eventually the body rolled to a final stop in a crumpled unnatural heap very close to the serval cat. The cat walked up to the heap and observed it. The rider’s neck had been broken severly and the head almost torn backwards. The chest had caved in and pieces and bits of intestine and innards poked out of the open bowel. The cat looked into the open eyes of the dead rider.
Purring demurely, the cat dug its fangs into the rider’s left eyeball and chewed contentedly.
Dinner came late. But it came afterall.

1 hour Earlier

Charlie picked himself up from the ground where he had fallen. He shook himself free of the dust and checked for broken bones or injuries. Strangely, he felt nothing. Just a numb feeling rising from his toes and circling his bowels. Apparently he had misjudged the curve on the highway bridge and ploughed through the bridge’s wire meshing with his power bike. The force of the impact had hurled him over the bridge while holding the bike captive, throwing him head over heels down the hilly sides of the crevice bordering the highway and the bridge. Charlie shook his head and in doing so, he saw it.

There was someone, No, something standing beside him. He looked up and the numbness floored his entire being. There was an ebb of darkness, blacker than the regular night’s darkness standing beside him. Standing into him. That was the only explanation. Even as he looked down at his hands, little tendrils of darkness swirled from his fingers, wrapped against his chest. Charlie never knew Numbness could hurt. It burnt like a piercing black blue fire in his heart. With a grunt, Charlie fell forward, disconnecting the intruding presence from himself. He looked back and saw the darkness flowing fluidly towards him. There was only one instruction Charlie’s mind screamed at him.


He clambered upwards… Groping with both arms and fingers and legs .. Struggling to climb up the not so steep hill. He could hear his bike’s engine revving idly in the distance. A numb feeling washed over his feet. He looked down and saw the darkness swirling upwards to his groin. With superhuman effort, Charlie broke lose again and ran upwards.

His bike was there. Just slanted against the broken part of the bridge where he had collided with it. The engine was running. The Numbness was clouding his thoughts now.
He had to ..
He had to get away. As fast as possible. Charlie climbed the bike. He revved the engine and the tires screamed as they spun; their traction with the road creating plumes of smoke. Charlie disengaged the brakes and the bike surged ahead, again disconnecting him from the darkness. Just Keep Moving.
Charlie knew he was in for the ride of his life…or after life.
He zoomed off, disappearing and appearing out of buildings, like the ghost he was.

To be continued….

Hunter Hunted

There he was lurking in the shadows outside the G-spot. The G-spot was one of the most prestigious clubs in Amsterdam, granting audience only to the most elite and the richest in town. It was way past midnight but he needed money so he waited in the blistering cold. People had started leaving the club but he hadn’t found the right victim yet. Most came in groups but he was looking for someone alone so his task would be easier.

At About 3:16am, he had finally found his victim. She was a girl in her early twenties, dressed in all black, short sleeves just a little beyond the shoulders with the words ‘Eat Me’ written in pink, black trousers and black boots. She had the physique of an athlete. She was leaving the club alone, walking on the streets with no vehicle. What attracted him though was her bag. A huge bag hanging on her left shoulder.
‘That would be enough to feed me for a week!’
She had walked a considerable distance away from the club when he came out the bushes, ready to make his move. He was making his way towards her from behind, taking brisk steps with nothing but a kitchen knife as the weapon of fear.. She was chatting on her Blackberry laughing out loud, distracted by the person from the other end, not sensing the attacker coming from behind.

He grabbed her neck from behind, knife on the other hand, the sharp end pressing on her waist.
‘ Put the phone in the bag and hand it over’ he whispered with menace.
She panicked and dropped her bag. ‘Please! don’t hurt me!’
‘Just shut up and put the bloody phone in the bag! Oh and that watch, Take it off!’.
She handed the items to him and he unzipped the bag to be sure.
Fear gripped his heart at what he saw.

Inside the bag was a caucasian head, mouth wide open, wide-eyed in death, like he had been strangled before his head was cut off. Before he could run, she kneed him in the balls then went behind him and gave him a sleeper hold.
He passed out..

A splash of cold water on his face brought him back to reality. He had been tied up hanging with his arms above his head, exposing his shirtless torso. She pierced him with her eyes.
‘Hmph! You just picked the wrong lady to mess with’ She disappeared into the shadows and he tried to make out where he was.
A sock in his mouth silenced him. She rolled up a metallic table to his full view. His heart skipped a beat or two. On the table were very sharp tools having mean-looking curves and edges that sent chills up his spine. He could also identify injections.
‘You think this is a movie asshole? Pick on the loner girl and you get what you want?’
She carved a vertical line in the middle of his chest with a scapel.
He jerked and moaned in fright heightened by the pain.
‘You think I’m just some pussy you could fuck with huh ?’
She put her index finger inside the hole in his chest digging into it. She licked the blood off her fingers, spitting it in his face. She opened an ominous looking jar that sat on the table. Inside it were termites. She opened his trouser and poured the insects into his pants. They feasted on his balls and thighs, each bite like the stab of a needle.
Tears rolled down the sides of his eyes as he groaned in pain, unable to cry out. ‘Awwwwwww, don’t be a cry baby’
She carried a hammer and placed a nail in front of his right eye.
‘This would only hurt a bit’
The nail went in, blood splashing on her face.
‘Come on, stay still!’
The nail had just entered halfway, his head moving left and right trying to avoid the hammer. The hammer landed on his forehead, on his nose breaking it till she finally Hit the nail, burying it deep into his eye socket with each swing on his face spilling more blood on hers. She rubbed the blood on her face giving her a more evil look. She took the sock out of his mouth and laughed as he wept and screamed in agony, the fear in his soul robbing him of his ability to speak clearly. ‘Pl, Plee, Pleeasssee!!!, I’m Sorry!!’
‘No you’re not. You are not sorry for anything. You would just say anything to get out this situation!’
‘No mooore, pleeeassse, noo morre.’
Ha!, I’m just getting started!’

She picked up a drill from the table,switching it on, causing him to grimace. She made a hole on his side, the drill shattering a rib. She pulled it out and did the same for the other side, blood rolling down his waists.
He let out a scream, painful to hear.
‘Cry baby. But you are the tough man, picking on a lady in the night! Hmmmmmmm, what next?’
She scanned the table looking for the next object to play with.
‘Yes!!’ She picked up a shears from the table with jagged blades.
‘Stay still or you would just make the pain worse.’
She aimed at his nipples and CLAP!, the left one fell to the floor, then the right. The pain became so unbearable, he began to lose consciousness.
‘Don’t you pass out on me now tough guy!’
She carried some smelling salts and put it under his nose.
His face wrinkled to life at the smell.
‘Just kill me now, pleeaasse’
‘There there, I’d soon be done with you.
She picked up two tasers and placed them on his bleeding sides, the shock clotting the blood creating keloids. She also did this on both severed nipples..

‘And now, the Finale! Asphyxiation!!’
She carried a very long thin sharp metal from the table.
‘Wouldn’t you consider my performance breathtaking?’
She kissed the sharp end of the iron and then pierced his chest, aiming for his lungs. She punctured it, pulled the metal out blood gushing on her. Her eyes were closed and she wore a smile on her face as the blood bathed her from head to toe, dripping on the floor from her ends. ‘Breathe! Breathe!’
He was inhaling but oxygen couldn’t enter wasn’t retaining.
‘Breathe! Goddamit!’

A maniacal laughter came out of her like a possessed little girl.
He took his last breaths, slowing down with each inhalation till his soul finally fled His body, His mouth and eyes wide open. She cut him down from the ropes and he fell to the floor.
She lifted his head and cut it off with a long, sharp knife. She pulled his head away from his lifeless body, holding it from the hair on His head.
‘Imma add this to my collection of body parts. Hehehe…’



That feeling of unease,
when you know your soul has fled from peace.
That feeling of haste,
where you consume energy and turn it to waste.

That feeling of guilt,
for your imagined filth.
That feeling of rage,
for the fear that keeps you in the cage.

That feeling of mind,
not in company with its kind.
Paranoia is Perversion of Thought.
Thought is a Perversion of Will.

Thought is something you ought,
to use as you would a pill.
Minimum and easy,
then get busy.

Will it to being,
From obscure to seen.
Turn off the autopilot,
stop getting fucked from behind like a harlot.

Take the wheel and stare,
to the land of everywhere and nowhere.
For in your journey between you will find,
that Paranoia is Perversion of the Mind.

Perversion of Mind is Incarceration of the Soul.
Your Will becomes scarred with a hole.
Think less and do more.
Don’t imagine what lies beyond, open the door.

You don’t have to use force,
just attempt and murder loss.
For you win when you have defeated doubt,
substituting the mirror image for the route.

Open your eyes and see,
that life is what you want it to be.
It might not be so now,
but hold on to it and wipe your brow.

The truth shall set you free,
but the truth we cannot see.
We can only feel,
the true feeling is not one to heal.

But one to sharpen and scar with skill,
are you ready for the battle ?
To face your paranoia not the devil ?
To kill your inner demons for they block your shine.

For which if you destroyed, you’d be more merry than wine.
Life is of but two choices,
like the sound of silence then voices.

There are no in-between.
You’re either red or green.
You’re either an abstract or concrete thinker.
You have to be steady in your choice not flashing like a blinker.

Concrete you follow the rules,
Abstract you create the rules.
Each path has its merits and its pools.
Kill paranoia today brethren.

And return back to Eden.
For how can we be afraid ?
When we don’t even know from whence we were made.

Reality is an Illusion.
Illusion is a Dream.
Rational thought is Confusion.
Pure Will from the Stream.

All you have to lose is boredom.
Live life and it will make you cum.

The End.

Chronicles of a Pyromaniac

There’s something about a burning building that is very sensual in nature. Black smoke billowing like the Devil expelling sulphur through his nostrils. The faint crackling of burning furniture adding its sweet harmony to the requiem for the dying. Yellow-red flames, an imprisoned lover, begging to be let out, seeking an outlet for escape. Agitated flames raising its fine yellow hair in a silent scream, refusing to remain trapped in mortar. In anger, it takes out its frustration on whatever it can find inside its wretched prison; wood, metal, plastic. All must succumb to the rage of the yellow goddess.

My fair lady, beautiful in her anger is she!

There’s something about burning a building that is even more sensual in nature. That shiver of delight down my spine as I strike a match on its box. Goose bumps congregate on my arms as I reverently light the holy rag doused and purified with the communion wine that is gasoline. With practised ease, i fling my cocktail into my chosen vessel and watch for the first signs of sparks and crackling flame. Say hello to my friend; I call her Molotov. I stand near the building unafraid and watch as my fiery gospel of damnation spreads with alacrity. With deep breaths, I inhale the acrid smoke, a divine incense to my goddess. Tiny flames settle on my skin and i shudder in ecstasy. Yes, i do feel aroused by what would supposedly make you shriek and slap your skin in alarm. Don’t get this twisted, pain isn’t a fetish for me. I am blessed with congenital analgesia; an inability to feel pain. Fire, is my one true fetish, my one true love.

My first encounter with fire was also my mother’s first encounter with my ‘sickness’. As a suckling babe, I was drawn to the fireplace. I remember my mum ‘tsk-ing’ under her breath as she carried me away from my observation throne time and time again. One day, she wasn’t quick enough, busy as she was telling my older brother off for touching her Christmas brownies. I crawled as fast as my treacherously immobile legs could carry me and plunged my hand inside the fireplace.
So transfixed I was by the cool light spreading on my arm, I didn’t notice my mother’s shrill scream. The force at which I was dragged and dumped into the sink in the kitchen, startled me.
I began wailing as the water doused my precious light.
I was rushed to the hospital ofcourse and was diagnosed with my illness when I didn’t as much as whimper when my burns were treated.
This was the first of many burns to come.

When I was 10, I wondered how much fun it was going to be if I could share my love for fire with the neighbour’s cat.
I burnt poor Mr Tiddles to death.
Mother was mad and smacked me. Mrs Spencer was furious and told my mum to keep her ‘freak’ under lock and key. I was upset and excited at the same time. Mr Tiddles was a cute tabby after all but his dying shriek made me hot and flustered in a way a ten year old wouldn’t understand.
I made a pact with myself. Since I could not feel my flames, I would experience its pain through others. There my career began as the burner of rodents.

When I crossed into the threshold of my teenage years, I had my first crush. A girl called Libbie. Her hair was reddish brown like dark flames. The only thing I noticed. Ofcourse, she hated me. Many of my classmates did. I was the dark haired freak who always wore a long sleeved shirt to cover up my frame discoloured and disfigured by scars. I couldn’t participate in physical activities because I wouldn’t notice if I was dangerously hurt. I was ostracised and was fine with it.
One day, I gathered enough courage to touch the hair, my source of adoration. Softer than my mum’s silk! She was mad at me though for touching her.
She scared me and pissed me off at the same time.
I wept that night, and later slept, thoughts of burning Libbie, a comforting image.

I burnt her.

Ofcourse I was not caught. I was wily. It was dubbed a Freak accident. My mother knew though.
She simply moved my brother and I to another town, and was I glad to see the back of Wiltshire!
Years later, I would come back here to begin what would be an arson spree across the shires of Brikin.

I finished college and got a job as an assistant librarian. Respectable citizen by day, arsonist by night. Most nights, I drove out of town to the most secluded places and lit up old vacant buildings as sacrifice to the goddesses of fire.
Belisama. Chantico. Gabija. Nantosuelta. Oynyena Maria. Pele.
They in turn bestowed on me the good fortune of not getting caught.

There is something about burning a building with people in it that is most sensual in nature.
This is my first, after Libbie ofcourse. I had followed a beautiful girl with a fiery yellow hair to this building yesterday. I hid and watched her and her family, all of them with hair the colour of fire.
This surely was a sign. They were the chosen sacrifice.
I listen carefully and soon enough, I hear their screams. My chapped lips stretch into a smile and I lick them in excitement. The next house is too far away for help to arrive immediately. They keep screaming and suddenly, I burst into laughter. My voice masked by the roaring flames.

As the last dying screams fade, I wipe my tears of mirth and move away quickly.
In my haste to be gone, I trip on an abandoned log and fall. Something escapes from the building and falls on my dark cotton trousers.
Soon enough, I am a living torch.
I have been touched and torched by my goddess.
I stand tall and proud, in the dark of the night.
I face the burning building and marvel at the majestic sight of the yellow on black background.

“I, Elena Pierre, daughter of the flames, accept your wish Most Revent One.”

With a final look at my last house, I fall, into the undying arms of my goddess.

The End!

Our Two Hands

They held hands.
Fingers bound to one another,
entwined, lover to lover.
Black against white.

One soft with care,
One callous with hard work.
One with fingers clean and gleaming,
One with dirt wholly  brimming.

They still held hands.
Differences held no bounds.
Not their colours white or black;
Nothing could hold them back.

Lets open our eyes to see,
that Racism needs to cease.
Oh! If only we could all be
Like these two hands entwined in peace!


(P.S: This poem also extends  to religious differences! Thank you :))

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