Archive for March, 2013


Show Me


I ramble. You read.

SHOW ME

I wish I could see what you see; see what you saw.

I want to see what you wish you could  un-see; how deliciously defiling would it be?

Show me the good times, the bad times -especially the bad times- my pretty.

My mouth waters at the thought of your eyes brimming with tears.

I lick my lips at the thoughts of your eyes widened in horror.

Tell me! Show me!

I want to revel in the horror your eyes have feasted on.

Can I peel them back? Peel your eyes back and stare into them, I mean?

The eyes are windows to the soul.

I want to break your windows without a care in the world and crawl in like a thief.

Desecrate all you hold sacred; bring to light all you clench down tightly in the darkness.

I want to know what you had known; what you wish you didn’t know.

Don’t spare me, tell it all!

Can I lick your eyeballs?

Maybe…just maybe I could taste your memories.

I want to know.

I need to know.

Show me!

I do not care if remembering would break you down.

I do not care if it makes you scarred.

I do not care if remembering would DRIVE YOU MAD!

Or me mad?

Aren’t we all mad?

TELL ME!

SHOW ME!

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Brother’s Keeper


I wrote this some time last year and for some odd reason, sat on it.
Today, decided to serve it up!
Enjoy!

BROTHER’S KEEPER

Smack Smack Smack
I wish she’d stop chewing for a second, though i can’t help watching her jaws in morbid fascination as they crunch hard on the piece of bright pink gum lodged between her teeth.
Smack Smack Smack.
I extend my observation to her.
Fingers drumming on the table, nails bitten to ugly stubs coated with old black varnish. I can hear her foot beating a staccato on the terrazzo floor of the coffee shop, scuffed trainers probably dancing to the beat only their  owner can hear.
Her bottle-black shoulder-length hair hangs wet and lanky with grease; she’d stop her drumming on the table once in a while to flick the dirty matt around an ear. Staring at the purple, blue blotches on her skin, I wonder where the porcelain complexion I used to admire long ago went to.
Her worn leather jacket sleeves aren’t long enough to hide the scratches and the needle marks that blazed trails up her arms. I wonder why she bothers hiding it from me. I mean, everything else gives her away for what she is.
A tattoo peeks momentarily from her dirty grey shirt, across her chest before disappearing. Her grey eyes look like they belong in the sockets of someone older by decades.
Her thin, cracked, bloodless lips fire on; chewing horridly.

Smack Smack Smack.
She is the poster child for Decay.
An unlit thin cigarette is cradled in the crook of her ear and her hand keeps straying to the poison tube, fiddling with it.
There is a no smoking policy here so she can’t light up.
Thank goodness
She takes the unlit cig stick and shoves it in her mouth.
I watch in disgusted fascination as she replaces the vacant space on her ear with the sticky chewing gum, making sure it’s glued on properly.

I’ve seen enough.
Best make this snappy then.
“So…” I begin, licking my lips anxiously.
“Cut to the chase. Got the cash?” she says, finger back to their drumming. If only she’d hold on to the bloody cup and stop the noise.
I purse my lips in slight disapproval, sausage fingers tightening on the coffee-filled Styrofoam cup I cradled more for comfort than as beverage.
“No need to be so rude about that.” I start slowly. “Whatever happened to what I gave you weeks ago?”
Her eyes takes a nasty glint and immediately, I drop my cup, raising my hands up in surrender.
“Just asking…”
She eyes me, tongue rolling the cigarette stick in her mouth. “I used the money you gave me earlier wisely. Dun go thinking I blew it on drugs and shit. Paid some of my dues init!”
She glares at me, waiting for the smallest sign of my doubt.
Keeping a blank face, I nod my head. Dues to her suppliers more like.
Seeing I am raising no arguments, she smiles, revealing brown teeth…and a cavity I am sure hadn’t been there when we last spoke.
I sigh, sagging visibly on my seat.
These meetings are always painful. Who’d have believed my older sister would end up this way?
She had been the star of the family.
The perfect one; while I was the clumsy one, unusually big for my age.
Cruel, beautiful Angie.
She had been loved.
So had I, of course but my parent’s doting on her had bordered on reverencing.
Mum would not hear my complaints about her meanness when we were children. She’d look beautifully sad, denying my every accusation. It was incredible to watch sometimes. Heck, I almost even believed her!
She was that good an actress.

Sadly, I loved her.
She was mean yes, but I loved her. I wanted to be like her; to have her smile at me truly, not the smiles she wore when she threw her mean jibes at me. I wanted her to acknowledge me for once. Was that too much to ask?
I guess she had been OK…until our parents died in a freak car accident. She had been 18 then, an adult. I was still 12.
We had moved in with our middle-aged spinster of an aunt, a strict Catholic; that attribute doing nothing but fuel Angie’s rebellious nature.
Maybe that had been her way of coming to terms with what happened to us; the boys, the alcohol. I took solace in food. I somehow managed to survive the trauma; Angie didn’t.
One of her boyfriends introduced her to the white stuff. She went on the deep end and never came out.
Sigh
“What exactly do you need this money for now?” I ask carefully, bringing myself back to the present.
Keeping my tone respectful is the only way to get her to respond like a civilised being. She’s always been the volatile one. Every little question is a slight to her honour; an implied insult.
“What you mean? Have to fix up my house init?” she spits back at me.
“But you live in a council flat…oh.” I realise too late what I have done.
Her lips go thinner, nose flaring.
She leans in menacingly and I instinctively lean back. “You think i like collecting handouts from you?!”
‘Yes, you fucking bitch!’ In my head of course…
“…Just getting myself settled. Written a new poem. Gonna sell it if the cunting bastards take my work then I’ll be fucking rich and you can shove that money up your fat ass!”
I cringe slightly at her raised voice, glancing apologetically at other diners giving us side glances.
“I’m just asking…”I mutter weakly, trying to placate her.
“Then fucking shut up fattie! I’m the only family you got. You can go on workin’ in tha fancy law firm of yours but ya know dey gonn fire you if dey find out bout me. So be a good bitch and give me DA MONEY!
She slams her hand hard on the table and I jump, startled.
Oh dear; She needs her fix.
Her hands are shaking, a nervous tick doing a tap dance on her eyelids.

I take a deep breath.
Pounding headache.
I squeeze my temples.
She is right, sadly. She could easily get me to lose my job by just by turning up at the firm. I would not put it past her to do something like this out of spite one day. I bring out my bribe from the fold of my wallet and throw it on the table.
“Take the money. Take it and leave please” I whisper, suddenly weary.
“Took you long enough”she mutters, counting the wad of twenties i dropped.
“This is gonna be enough for now. I’ll come over if i need more.”
She gets up and walks a few steps before returning.
She sits back and glares at me.
“You think you’re better than me because you helping me right? I might be a mess now, but i am still better than you, Fattie Katie!”
That hurts.
I hate that name.
“Still hiding pork ribs under your pillow, fattie? Still stuffing ya fucking mug like a pig you are?”
She cackles as my breath hitches, becoming laboured. I feel the discreet stares of other diners, ears tuned in to her tirade and I redden with shame.
“Look. I have given…”
“Shut up fat ass!” she screams and I bite my lips hard as I feel my eyes smart with tears.
She knows she’s hit a mark and with a grin of satisfaction, she gets out of her seat and leaves.
I blink back tears of frustration as I watch her cross the road even before the green man comes on, narrowly avoiding being hit by a car.
For a savage moment, I wish her dead. I wish a car would hit her, slamming her broken body onto a pavement, breaking her head and spilling her brain matter in a  gory display.
I bite my lips as she goes out of my line of sight.
I hate myself; I hate myself for being weak, succumbing to her threats but what can I do?
She’s got my by the proverbial balls.  The only reason I still have a job is because of my brains. People my size are apparently not ‘good for the firm’s image’. Any slight upset, and it’s a good bye.
I hate myself for supporting her habits but I can’t let her just…starve or be a hooker…
I grimace as I taste the coffee left in my cup; tepid.
It is time to leave and I try to heave my bulky self off the seat. My seat groans loudly in protest and one or two people look my way, watching my struggle to remain ‘dignified’.
I hear a soft snigger.
‘Laugh why don’t you? Bastards!’
They’ve always laughed, haven’t they?
The whole world laughs at fucking Kate, don’t they?
I smile grimly as I finally manage to stand.

My hands quickly search my bag as I leave and I am comforted by the feel of the jumbo potato chips pack in there.
Sometimes, I wonder who got the better deal, between my sister and I.
Who would die first?
Angie and her drug problems?
Or me and my addiction to food?

The End.

—————————————————————————–

One question on my mind, how far can we go for family?
Honestly, tell me.
And comment on the story!
Hope you all have a lovely weekend break!
Jana.

Mameh


Hey!
Today’s post is courtesy of yours truly and a deviation from the norm.
Enjoy!

MAMEH

I suddenly remember the little oval scar at my mum’s shoulder. I remember it dark, larvae-like, and memories of how fascinated I had been as a child, of that little oddity makes me smile. When Mameh tied her wrapper to her chest, I’d climb in her laps and sit down, my little hands straying to the scar. I would prod it, pinch it, even attempt to open it which made my mum laugh even though it hurt her. She’d prise my fingers away and tell me to stop touching.

I never could bring myself to ask her the question, intent on discovering for myself the secret of the atypical scar.
One day, I couldn’t hold it in any longer and with the seriousness only a six year old child could muster, I blurted out the question. “Mameh what happened here?”
I remember the small smile that tugged at the corner of her dark, full lips as she  removed my prying fingers for the umpteenth time.
“A nail entered into my back” she said simply and I remember how wide my eyes had gone. I didn’t ask the obvious questions of “How or When?” even though I was burning to.
I was that kind of child.
All I did was absorb this new piece of information in silence as my mind tried to picture the nail Papa had once shown me during one of his DIY repairs, doing the damage.

After minutes of ruminating, my little mind got tired.
“Did it hurt?” I asked finally.
“Of course!” she exclaimed, laughing at the memory as her fingers played with my tough black hair that seemed to tangle at the slightest opportunity.
“Very bad?” I asked again.
“Very bad. It bled a lot.”
Again, I absorbed this new piece of information. The idea of blood gushing out like a fountain I had seen at the amusement park Mameh took me to once made me smile. Again, I had been that kind of child; fascinated with the bizarre.
I inferred at that moment that my mum had cried when she had that injury. I suddenly giggled and my mum looked at me in askance.
I was wondering what her face must have been like when she cried. Did she have catarrh dripping down her nose like I did when I cried as I begged Papa to take me with him on his journey to Yola or when Mameh put vegetables in front of me and forced me to eat the vile greenies?
“You cried mummy!”

Note, this hadn’t been a question. Was it the excitement in my voice or the look of absolute triumph in my fce? She laughed long and hard! I remember her laugh now; unrestrained and full, as if coming from the very pits of her rotund stomach. Her breasts would jiggle against me with the force of exhalation like it did that day.
“No o! I did not cry! Big girls don’t cry!”
Now, I laughed too. She was obviously lying. I didn’t know how I knew this. I just did. It was the glint in her eyes; the glint she had whenever she wanted me to help her ask Papa for money. I was an astute child; Mameh always said I had an uncanny way of ‘knowing’ things. She’d later chide my ‘knowing’ as I got older. “Ask questions! Don’t assume!” Not that I ever see the need to; my assumptions are always right.

My fascination with her scar lessened as I got older. In fact, up until now, I hadn’t thought about that oval scar in years.

I stare at her impassive face now and suddenly, the urge to feel that little mark fills my head. I lick my lips, fighting for control of my fingers. I fight the urge to stretch my hand and push the starched white shirt they’ve put on her and feel her scar like a doctor feels for a tumour. It had been our bonding point.
I giggle as hysteria tries to take chunks out of my mind and I feel my elder brother’s worried stare beside me.
I smile at him. ‘I am fine’ my smile says even though my eyes tell a different story.
I stroke her cool face, marvelling at the mortician’s skills in making her look presentable. She looks almost…alive.
For a second, I thought I saw her lips twitch, the beginning of a smile. I blink quickly and it’s gone.
It is when I feel my brother’s arms around that I realise I had been in tears.
“Big girl don’t cry” I whisper to the woman I loved since the day I ‘knew’ her. “But I am not a big girl… I still want my mummy…”

I hold her hands for a second and feeling the insistent tug from my brother, I decide to move away from the casket, making space for other viewers.
A small song she used to sing comes unbidden to my head and I murmur softly.

“Good night. Good night.
Close your eyes, Keep them safe.
For soon will be morning…”

My voice threatens to break as emotions well up in me, clogging my throat.  I cannot complete the song.
“And you would need them healthy then…” my brother murmurs, finishing the song.
I smile up at him.
“ I’m fine” I tell him again, trembling smile in place.
He pulls me into his arms and hugs  me tight as sudden powerful sobs rack my body.
He murmurs the song over and over again to me, rocking me like a child; just like the way Mameh did when she sang the song to us as children.

Saving Ruth


Hello!
A damsel brought an interesting story as an offering and today, we feast.
Warm welcome to Oluchi as she takes the helm today!
Enjoy.

SAVING RUTH

I knew that something bad had happened when Melissa barged into our chemistry class agitated, trying to control her stammering as incomprehensible words came pouring out of her mouth. She was trembling and tried to hold herself up, gripping with her left hand a rusty bar handle connected to the wall by the door. Mrs Aide looked up at me, and then at Melissa when her words started to make sense.

“It’s Ru.. Ruth. Sh.. She’s g-g-going to jump! She’s at the roof top and sh-sh-she’s going t-t-to jump!”

It felt like I would have a bowel movement the moment I stood up from the wooden chair I had been plastered to for the past hour, but I fought the urge to run into the restroom for fear of letting another delicate moment slip by. I could feel everybody’s reaction in the room, how their roaming eyes finally came to find solace on me. It’s obvious what I must do, I thought as I made my way quickly through the jam-packed chairs, avoiding the barrage of scouring curious eyes that followed my movement. I fought surprisingly for air which seemed to be lacking in the classroom all of a sudden. It was yet another day, another hour to allow my thoughts be completely overshadowed by Ruth’s being.

I did not bother to catch a glimpse of anyone staring or solicit their help because I knew they would only avoid my gaze like shrinking cowards. Our classmates had become accustomed a caitiff lifestyle when it came to dealing with Ruth, who could now be identified as the girl with “many problems”. They were so completely void of the mental bravery it took to read her foreign character so because it was easier, they avoided her like a deadly taboo instead. Had Ruth not been the type to sit at the back of the class and pay attention to no one but the lines in the books she studied so profoundly, maybe she would have more friends. Had she not been so obsessed with her solitude and launched a safe spot at the very end of the cafeteria to eat quietly like a little mouse, had she been like every other normal girl in class – then maybe they would have embraced her. She was still the smartest girl I had ever met and had a mind so easy to get lost in because it went on forever. After years of having to deal with listening to contents of her suicidal thoughts, I could not believe It was finally coming to reality. (Actually I could, I would be crazy to act surprised). It almost felt like I had waited and primed myself for this day.

The whole class was right behind me as I ran down the hall way and it was certainly not because they cared. Our blue checkered dresses flapped quietly behind us as we made our way down the corridor, shoes click-clacking noisily against the hard concrete floors. I went up the stairs as fast as I could, hoping over extra steps to increase my pace and simultaneously trying to null out the queasy whispering voices behind me. I would have turned around to ask that everyone shut their mouth up had it not been for the way my heart banged with worry and my head spun with confusion. Why would Ruth do this to me today?

I got to the top of the roof and pushed the door open. A generous puff of dust rose and clouded my vision along with that of the twenty other girls behind me. I heard a couple of people cough lightly as I walked right through the wall of dust that stood as a barrier between me and the girl whose body outline I could now make out. Her hair that was neatly cornrowed to the back in five sections glistened against the sunlight and her glasses sat uncomfortable on her nose like an unbalanced see-saw  Her slender neck grew an inch longer when she exhaled nervously and turned around carefully on the constricting cement ridge that created a barrier between the roof and the open 10 feet below us. I studied her skinny body, the way her arms folded across her chest as if she were cold or in want of a hug. Her eyes caught my attention and I remembered the disconcerting nickname she had gotten from our classmates, “the frog princess”. They were an oval bulging of irrevocable beauty that could see past the physical, and so they sat gracefully beneath her dark scruffy eyebrows. I couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t come to recognize how unnaturally beautiful her perceived ugly was.

We were both 15 and in high school. She was everything that I wasn’t and that was okay. I had been willing to accept her that way so I wondered for a minute why she would resort to this. Was I not good enough?

I walked up to her and in a bold step of faith raised my arm up, my hand extended as I beckoned for hers with pleading eyes. There was no rue in hers like there usually would be when she talked about self-destruction and made me upset. This time, it was dark and completely flushed. And I could not read it.

“Come down. Please. We can work this out. Whatever it is, we can talk about it. I am here for you.”

“No.” she shook her head slowly and then unfolded her arm, letting them fall to her side before lifting her right arm to show me her wrist. On it were little horizontal scrapes heavy with concealed stories from her past, days when she found comfort in hurting and healing under the cuts of her razor blade. There was a new bruise and I could tell it was barely a day old. The effect of seeing it again made my body feel like it was being pulled down to the earth by gravity.

“Please..” my voice trailed off all of a sudden and I was short of words. It was unusual and very unlikely that something like this would happen to me but I had truly not had anything else to say. Somehow I had managed to use up all the little tricks (I shouldn’t call them tricks) in my books and I was left with nothing. My mind had become a hollow land for little unwanted demons to dance in and I felt like they were mocking me. I felt defeated but I knew that I had to save Ruth again, from herself and from the rest of the world. She would one day prove to them that she was more than just a displaced eldritch; she was smart and funny and could make beautiful rainbows out of skittles.

And so I did what most people would not have expected me to do. I heard Mrs Aide’s midget outcry when I made to climb onto the ridge and stand with Ruth. It was so narrow that I wondered how I would manage to get on there and still maintain a calm conduct. Ruth looked panic-stricken as she watched me mount steadily, my whole body a spiral of trembles. She told me to stop, urged me to go back down. I told her no. I was assertive or at least I tried to sound like it.

“What’s it going to be Ruth? If you’re sure this is what you want, I am one hundred percent on your side. But you gotta be sure. And I’ll do this with you. Like I always promised. I’ll always be here for you.”

“Why are you doing this?” her eyes welled up. “Don’t do this.”

“I would do this, and a whole lot more. I would do anything for you.”

I held on to her for support and hoped the steady physical bond we had now created would grant me some sort of mental stability as well. I was now swimming in a well of trepidation and imagined my classmates to be little starved alligators waiting to devour me. Devour us. Give up now Ruth, i thought to myself. You have to save us now.

I was waiting for her to give in. The whole class was in a bubble of chaos now. I saw a girl, Sarah, fall lazily unto the ground and remain there motionless. It took me a minute to realize she had just fainted. Timid Lara went to the corner of the worn out wall that led back into the school and sat on the floor to cry. There seemed to be a lot of disarray and sensed anxiety from this group that once treated my friend like an unwanted pariah. I wanted to blame them for this and for everything. Mrs Aide was now shouting on the phone, supposedly to a man that identified himself as the head of security. I couldn’t make out her words, I couldn’t make out anyone’s thoughts. I didn’t want to care about anyone of them at that point. I just wanted my friend down and safe.

“I’m tired. I’m tired of it all. I don’t want to live in this world anymore. Please”

The way she begged me to let her do as she pleased, to let her die at the hands of these monsters made me angry. I wanted her to know I was worth staying back for, no matter how selfish that sounded, I wanted her to love me enough to want to be alive for me.

“Then we go together. You and I. We go now. We jump now and all this is over. But you can’t go without me. Do as you please but take me with you.”

Good. I saw her shaking her head and I knew that this would all be over soon. A gentle breeze blew across our faces, and then a little stronger but I clung tight to her and tried not to look down. I could now hear the sound of obnoxious distracting voices from the bottom. I could make out a woman’s deep-chested screaming like a mother hen who just lost her babies. There was a lot of racket around us now from different angles – from every corner that surrounded us. The security guards had arrived, three lousy looking scrawny men charred from the burning rays of our hot sun and sweating like labouring African slaves. They sounded so barbaric that I could not make out a word of what they were saying. My eyes were fixed on Ruth.

“Let’s come down.” she said.

I had agreed. I mean, I remember nodding my head in agreement as a pool of tears finally let loose across my cheeks. I remember squeezing her hands tightly like I would on a sweet juicy orange, trying to relish as much of it as possible. I remember looking right into her eyes, appreciating the love that she had shown me and in return loving my sister more. I remember reaching across to put my hands around her neck — but you see, I shouldn’t have done that. I got lost in the surreality of my our accomplishment that I forgot about the one little detail that should have had me at my toes. Had I not so desperately tried to tune it all out, I wouldn’t have completely disregarded how narrow that ridge had been – how unbelievably hairlike the line between life and death was.

I did lose my balance but I made sure Ruth stayed standing, living. I was fast enough to give her an unfaltering push onto safe grounds when I realized what was happening. As luck would have it, the event seemed to take place in slow motion which gave me enough time to think and realize that every thing happening and yet to happen was as a result of chance. I hadn’t been sure I would fall over the roof to the ground and have my body shattered like a fumbled bowl of overripe tomatoes but I had promised as I shoved Ruth that I would make it in time to save myself before the dilatory period was over. I knew it might or might not happen.

I let myself believe it didn’t matter as I staggered in utter apprehension to regain my balance. I let myself believe that the goal had always been to save Ruth, and it had been accomplished. The last thing I heard was her screeching bawl and my thin outcry. What must have followed when I drifted into complete oblivion were the cries of the hundreds of people that met my body as it landed on the rocky granite with a loud earth-shaking thud.

———————————————-

And there you have it!
Please the writer has requested for feedbacks on the story so do endeavour to leave comments letting her know what you liked (and didn’t like maybe?).
Hope you all have a great weekend!
Jana!

First Kills


Dionysus says hello.
Sit back and enjoy!

—————–

I never knew I could go through with it.
There she was, coming out of a grocery store. Her red hair screamed that she was on the prowl, looking for a man to court her. I made my move and introduced myself.
She smiled.
Up close, she looked so innocent, so pure. She said her name was Jenny. I felt ashamed at what I was planning to do and all voices in my head told me to let go but I found myself carrying her groceries to her car. I don’t know whether it was my charm or my dashing good looks or maybe she was desperate for company but she offered me a ride.
I told her I lived just down the street.
My heart started to race as I sat in the passenger’s seat of her car contemplating my next move. Conflicting thoughts spiraled around my head. I looked at her and she was talking excitedly about something. I was nodding my head in approval but I couldn’t hear a word she said, my mind focussed on killing her. There was a small metal rod tucked underneath my shirt. I planned to use it to knock her unconscious.
It was dark so I brought it out slowly while she kept talking. I hit her on the head with the metal but it didn’t knock her out. She screamed and stepped on the accelerator hard. The car swerved crazily, before we crashed into a tree.
I managed to escape with a few cuts and bruises on my skin but Jenny’s face got impaled by a long piece of broken glass from the car windshield.
It was night time so I made my escape before anyone could see me. Although I didn’t kill her, I was responsible for her death.
A part of me felt pleased and another part felt disgusted by what I did.
In time, I’d be able to rationalise these feelings.
“Do you plead guilty to the murder of Jennifer Connelly?”
“I do”

SECOND KILL

It’d been about 9 months since that incident with Jenny. The police smelled alcohol on her breath and blamed the accident on reckless driving. Nothing mattered to me anymore than that night. I couldn’t focus on anything else. I felt powerful, stupid, confused. I felt something. Its been long since i actually felt anything. I knew I had to do it again, this time, a lot more carefully.
I saw my next victim in a bar. She was drinking alone, again, waiting for a man to court her. She wasn’t as pretty as Jenny but it didn’t matter.
I wasn’t planning on sleeping with her even though I was seducing her. I told her that I had some old movies in my apartment. She seemed interested so we got a cab and went over to my house.
As soon as we entered, she wasted no time and kissed my lips.
I pushed her away gently to signify present disinterest. I got us a bottle of wine and poured it into two seperate glasses.
We toasted and we drank.
She passed out.
I had spiked her drink with a heavy dose of rohypnol beforehand.
I went to the kitchen and got a knife. Leaning over her, I pressed it in slowly into her belly and watched as her flesh swallowed the sharp metal.
Blood began to pool on the couch so I left the knife in her belly and carrid her to the bathroom.
I pulled the knife out from her belly and the blood gushed out.
Her eyes were open wide although she was unconscious.
It was as if her body was fighting death, the same way a beheaded animal runs around and twitches before it drops head.
I waited for her to stop bleeding, her skin turning pale white as all the blood escaped her lifeless body. I carried her corpse and buried it in my backyard. Compared to the first, this was a little bit refreshing.
I killed her with my own hands and I felt no conflict within.
I felt good.
Am I a psychopath to feel good taking someone’s life? Hmmmm

“Adriana Smith’s corpse was found buried in your backyard. Do you know anyhing about this? “
“I killed her. You guys already know what I did so why do you keep asking the same questions?”

THIRD KILL

She was a law student in a library.
She looked a little too uptight, too serious like she needed to loosen up. I told her that i’d commit a crime if I was sure she’d be my lawyer. She smiled. The veneer of hardness she wore on her face quickly disappeared and she was like a baby. It was like she was just looking for someone to play with her and not take her too seriously.
She said her name was Tori.
I told her I could read her palms. She was fascinated.
I guessed her star sign and got it right.
It was Aquarius.
I told her I could figure out who she was by looking at her handwriting. She was so excited to be with me. We talk about abstract things before I saw the look in her eye like she wanted me to shut up.
I kissed her.
I took her by the wrist and led her to a secluded place in the library. We made out.
I had sex with her standing. It was uncomfortable but still cool.
On our way back to her dorm room, I pushed her into the bushes.
Again, It was night.
I pressed her face firmly into the grass with both hands. She tried to breathe but she couldn’t. I suffocated her with the lawn. I left the school premises, never to return.

SIXTH KILL

I was getting good at this.
I started adding a little artistic touch to my kills. My next victim was Patricia. She was a DJ at a nightclub. How easy it is to pickup women who work, especially in night clubs. I compliment edher on her choice of music even though I wasn’t listening.
She smiled.
I told her the music was too loud at the club and we should go outside. She agreed.
I said nothing, holding her close and drawing her into me. Her breath started to warm my upper lip. I smelled hemp on her breath. I wasted no time to kiss her. I then whispered into her ear that I had some old records I wanted her to listen to at my apartment. We got a cab and we made sweet love on arrival. We never spoke of the records.
We were both tired after sex and we slept.
The next morning was when I was planning my kill. I had already thought it through and it was playing out like a video game. I planned to meet a girl, seduce her, sleep with her and then kill her in my shower.
SHe asked me where the bathroom was, I showed her. She walked naked to the bathroom. I heard the sound of the shower. I quickly ran to the closet to bring out the rope I was planning to use to strangle her. I took off my clothes and entered the shower with her.
She smiled. I rubbed some soap on my palm and used it to massage her shoulders.
As she was washing the soap off her face, I strangled her from behind with the rope.
She gasped, her hands slapping my face trying to break my tight hold on her neck. She finally stops breathing.
I felt aroused, powerful.
I always wanted to try this.
While still holding her neck tightly with the rope, I got hard and inserted my member into her lifeless body from behind.
I ejaculated into her before I released the rope from her neck and she dropped to the bathroom floor, the shower still on.

THIRTEENTH

I met her at the shopping mall. She was gorgeous. It was like I was staring at sunshine. I told her I’m from Europe and was only staying the weekend. I got her number. she said her name was Stephanie. It was a Friday. I invited her to my apartment the next day. She was hesitant at first but I persuaded her. She came and we watched Grey’s Anatomy. I tried to kiss her but she pushed me away. She dropped her glass of wine and said she was going.
I was planning on having sex with her but things didn’t go as expected. I dashed to the door and locked it. She started to scream but I immediately ran and knocked her out with my fist.
I soon realised I didn’t just knock her out, her neck snapped as she hit the floor. I felt sad cause I wanted to have a little fun before I killed her. I opened her shirt to expose her perfect breasts.I sucked at them, squeezed them, pleasuring myself till I ejaculated on her pale pink nipples. I chopped her up into little pieces before dumping her in the river

NINETEENTH KILL

That last one was feisty. She almost escaped and I had to kill her and the witness that saw her. This one had to be stress free. I needed a tranquilizer. My next victim was a stripper. She was giving me a lap dance and I injected her neck with the tranquilizer. I had become much more creative and my kills usually had an artistic bent to them. This one, I was trying to prove how unaware people really were. She sat down on me, asleep. Everyone thought she was still giving me the dance. I unzipped my trousers and pulled her panties to the side as I put my member in. I swayes her from side to side like she was still giving me the dance.
I came inside her.
I placed my hands slowly on her neck and strangled her.
She stopped breathing.
I zipped up my trouser, raised her up from my lap and put her on the chair where I sat.
I walked out of the strip club and no one noticed. I wasn’t so lucky this time.
SHe was on the news and the strip club had a camera.
They saw me. My face was on the news. This is probably my last entry in this diary.

“My Patrick Bateman, You were found guilty for the murder of 26 innocent women. You seemed to enjoy doing it, even documenting it”

“I did. I fucking enjoyed it. If I didn’t get caught, I would have continued”

“Your crimes are despicable, inhumane and barbaric. There’s no mercy for you Mr Bateman. You are sentenced to death by hanging”

———————-

Crazy as usual from Dionysus!!

Have a lovely day!!!

Quarter Past 11


Hey!
I worked on a watercolour painting on Wednesday so today, decided to try writing a story based on the painting. Picture’s in B/W cos my paint strokes are terrible and they look better this way!
Enjoy!

Quarter Past 11

IMG_20130306_172704-1_Logan

She did not mean to stay out this late.

There had been wine, music, food; she had lost track of time. She had promised she’d be home before 11. It was quarter past 11!

Harried, she walked out into the rain, cursing as she rifled through her bag for her little umbrella. The rain in savage glee increased, mercilessly lashing at her for her tardiness, plastering her clothes to her skin as she finally found and opened her umbrella.

Shivering and with alacrity, she ran, deciding to use the shorter route home. Normally she’d have been wary of using the bush path at night but between her irrational fear of large expanse of trees and the thunderous rage that would be her father when she got home, she decided to let the Devil take the hindmost and leg it.

Thankful for the flat shoes she wore, she ran until she was swallowed in by the trees.

Despite the fact that she was late, she unconsciously slowed to a walk as she traversed the narrow path. Gently, as if the slightest breaking of a twig would unsettle the atmosphere, she crept through.

Suddenly, she stopped. Her ears cocked and she turned around to stare at the gathering darkness behind her. Her heart hit her ribcage hard, as if begging to be let out. Fear of he father forgotten, she began to wonder if taking this particular route wasn’t a foolhardy thing to do.

She walked faster, stopping momentarily to stare quickly behind her. She didn’t even have any light and her phone was dead.

Only the stay rays of the moonlight that managed to penetrate though the dense foliage lighted her path and they did so badly.

There!

She heard it again.

She stopped as her blood roared in her ears raging like lions in a burning cage.

Footsteps. She was not mistaken.

Basic instincts screamed at her and she obeyed without thinking; she ran.

Her hands shook as she held the umbrella, panting as her feet slapped wet earth with dull thwacks.

Almost out of the bushes, she laughed shakily in triumph and exhilaration.

She heard no footsteps. She stopped to take deep breaths. What if she had imagined the footsteps?

She laughed and shook her head, walking at a normal pace, her ears still listening for sudden movements.

As she walked, she realised how heavy her limbs were;  almost as if she was carrying a heavy load on her back.

She blamed it on her unfit body and mentally promised to run more.

“Who’rrree you?”

A small voice suddenly asked, close behind.

She shrieked and turned about panicked. She saw no one.

“Who…who’s there?” She called out, eyes wide as clammy hands tightened their grip on her umbrella.

“How ccccould yooou not noticccce?” The small voice whispered into her ear. “You’ve beeeeen carrying me on your baaaack sincccce you walked intoooo myyyy forrressst…”

A cold tongue licked her ear.

Blood curdling scream.

Alice


Captaining today’s ship would be Dionysus.
Good luck.
You’d need it.

ALICE

Do you ever feel like a part of you is missing? A second part that seems to hold more power, more control, more grace, more drive?
It’s like you are the passive part and this other part is the Active one…
Alice felt this way all her life. Scientific folks would have called it a trauma caused by her mother’s death in a car accident when her car was smashed by a speeding truck. The driver was not drunk or inebriated in any way.
Spiritual folks would call it an affliction, like some wrong doing must have led to this.
Nihilistic folks would rationalise it as one of those random inexplicable acts just like the daily lives of humanity.
Alice lost her dark essence at a very young age. Molested by her father, she always knew she felt pain but she couldn’t understand why. Slowly, she developed a subconscious belief that life is pain; I deserve to be hurt especially by loved ones.
She felt like if she did something to assert her presence to reality, she would be an interference to the superior humans in front of her. She repressed her dark side until she completely lost it, a slave to the nice girl role.
Alice was always the polite one and the more polite she was, the more the seniors hated her, the more her classmates made fun of her, the more she withdrew into herself
Always consumed by her tragic past, she became distracted from reality most of the time, never able to pay attention to the mundane things her fellow humans talked about. She started to grow a certain disdain for them so as to keep them away from her, lost in dreaming of her past pain.
The feeling that there was no one she could confide me in consumed her. She started to listen to the voices inside of her head and she became addicted to the sotto voco of her inner voice. The voices kept telling her the same things till she became prisoner to them. Like a junkie, she was addicted to hearing them speak and she wanted more.
Alice started to unravel taboos in her mind; she decided she needed something more stimulating to arouse her.
The darkness slowly spewed into her soul.
She finally accepted that she could never leave her painful past behind because her past was what defined who she was. She also accepted that anyone who obstructed her thoughts was her mortal enemy. She subconsciously put them in the ‘Sheep’ category in her mind, never willing or able to pay attention to anything that comes out of their mouth.
Alice used to be picked on in school until she wore her oddity on her sleeve. She used to be the kid everyone made fun of and now she was the kid everyone feared. She knew she’d never be ‘one of the guys’ no matter how hard she tried and all it took was for her to stop trying. Alice always needed her ‘thought fix’ and she used it to deflect any other thoughts that didn’t come from her own head. She felt as if the shallow minds around her harmed her own thoughts.
The darkness had risen and she had more understanding of things as they really were. She mentally played back her childhood days and how her father fondled and used her. She made the thoughts darker in her mind and she saw her small self sucking her father’s penis after which he came semen and blood on her face. She also played in her mind, him fucking her young self doggy style, ripping her hymen apart and sliding in and out with his huge cock and blood dripping from her vagina. She had learned this trick. She always exaggerated everything that happened in her mind. She had stopped running away from painful memories and started trying to see how much pain the memory could actually inflict on her.
Alice also played back the memory of her dead mother. She imagined the truck ramming into her car with tiny shards of glass piercing into her flesh after which the truck climbed on top of the car and crushed her to death. She also imagined the sympathizers to be big black men and they pulled her out the car, ripped her bloody clothes off and gang-raped her lifeless corpse.
Alice mind was consumed by one single thought and that was paying back her father. She had planned so many scenarios in her mind and one day, she finally took action. As her father came home, she stood behind the door and slammed the back of his head with a baseball bat. He was knocked unconscious.
When he woke up, he was bound in a room with no clothes on. He also saw his teenage daughter standing in front of him. She had a little pubic hair and her mammary glands were not very developed
“You like what you see daddy”
A rope with thorns was tied to his penis and if he were aroused, it would pierce into his dick and cause him to bleed.
Alice started rubbing her breasts, smiling coyly and unable to help himself, her father started getting hard. He screamed as the thorns pierced through the shaft of his penis. Alice licked her two fingers and stuck it into herself, moaning like a pornographic actress sehad studied weeks ago.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrgghhhhhhh!!!
He was erect and bleeding profusely. She knelt before him and began sucking the blood that dripped. He got harder as she kept sucking it, lips slathered with blood and saliva.
“You like that daddy”
Alice then turned her back and took her father into her, the thorns still wrapped around his member. They both screamed in agony and pleasure as the thorns gripped her father’s penis tighter and ripped apart the insides of her vagina.
When she was done, she put them out of their misery.
By the time neighbours came around, they saw Alice and her dad lying dead in a pool of congealed blood.
The life is gone, another one begins to be ended in due time…
The cycle continues…
————————————————
I warned you. LOL
Hope you have a great weekend!
See you on Monday!
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