Love Me, Kiss Me, NecrophileNow is the time to tell you.
I've been watching desperately.
I never meant to be so depressing,
but it comes so naturally.
Now I'll take my beating heart
and sew it on your chest.
I'm sorry that it's still warm.
At the cold, I've tried my best.
My fingers are finally black:
decayed, hardly moving.
Am I getting closer?
Am I worth loving?
I won't stop now.
I wish I can tell you why.
Can you feel that, love?
Neither can I.
My heart is slowing, dear.
I'm the coldest I've been in a while.
Will you love me now,
sweet, sweet necrophile?
HilariousKeep on laughing...Hilarious2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
you'll die first.
MemoriesI remember lying in bed with you, longing for a deeper connection. You would always sleep with your back to me, in an almost fetal position, as if you were physically guarding your heart. All I wanted was to touch those scars that ran down the center of your chest, but you told me you were not okay with someone else's heart beating within you so I let it be. The look in your eyes when you woke up in the morning; the sleepy surrealness of a dream playing at the corner of your lips, and the early morning light goldenly surrounding your messy hair like a halo was enough to quench any thirst I had for you. It was enough to resonate in me for a long while, and I saw through your eyes, at least I believe I did, for a split second.Memories2 years ago in Emotional More Like This
I remember how much you loved to drink and make sweet tea. You always told me that the more you add to a recipe the more love it would reflect. You would always warn to only add equal amounts of cinnamon and nutmeg because it was vital that one not overpower the ot
Dear HumanDear Human,Dear Human3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
You continue to write in me. You take a pen and mark my pages with memories. Why do you do this? I cannot help you; I cannot accompany you through your life. You will write in me and then what you write will stay hidden beneath my cover. These words do not solve any of your troubles, or make any of your joys greater. Why do you continue to write? I do not care what happened to you on March 16th, be that March 16th in 2002 or March 16th in 2012. I do not care.
I do not care what happens from day to day, the world outside which I have not seen in years. I am shut in a drawer in a desk that never changes. I do not know the people whose names you scrawl, sometimes with hate, which fills me, sharp words, sharp tip of the pen, stabbing, carving deep symbols, these words that indent other pages, stretching deeper, impaling me with your passions. I hate these names, these people, these deeds, with such hate that I cannot think beyond the fresh ink. The next page is blank and sends
Honesty on a flat-topped shingled roof (vignette)"Baby, if you were the stars, I'd lay and watch you all night." His words were roof-top spoken, and five stories above a Brooklyn street.Honesty on a flat-topped shingled roof (vignette)2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
She didn't notice, though, because she was tuned into every noise beneath them: Radios, cars, buses, bikes, steam lines, subways, fans, air-conditioners, televisions, power transformers and a high-up plane were lapping up her consciousness and weaving a lovely blanket of humanity where she could stay warm.
Cold was his distance on the aging roof. She realized a long time ago that his love had fallen for an idea, and that she fit that idea in form only. The short, dark-haired girl with glasses motif was one she wore well. He lived on that ideal: every evening of their lives together he would heat up that film-covered, plastic tray with the neatly organized concepts of her in the microwave of his mind and enjoy it bit by compartmentalized bit.
But the variable of her heart was incalculable in his equation. Knowing that what she loved was no
Dark Liquid LuxuryI'm a seller of mysterious poisons.Dark Liquid Luxury2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
They're the best in town.
They're sweet, they're sexy,
they slip right on down.
Come visit my secret shop.
Don't forget to grab some money.
Butterscotch. Oil. Acid. Honey.
It can be black or it can be purple.
What is your desire?
What are you feeling?
The ice or the fire?
That tingling is normal.
Don't be alarmed.
You won't be able to tell
that you are being physically harmed.
But as you can see,
the mental is a miss.
I find it funny how sadness
can lead you this.
I'm sure this is what you want, though.
I was blunt from the start.
You're the one that made the trip
to my sinister death-mart.
So make one more entry
in your dead man diary.
And take one last sip
of the dark liquid luxury.
Cure to Your Heart-Cure to Your Heart-Cure to Your Heart2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Four weeks until the final exam.
By now, the teachers had already prepared revision tests and guides for the students, but I didn't even bother to show up at class to take a sheet. Instead, I roamed around the empty hallways, not even caring about exams or graduation. I was hopeless, anyway.
"Ren, you'd better have a good reason to be lounging around in the hallway."
I froze and spun around in surprise to see the school principal, glaring at me with her arms crossed, waiting for an answer.
" The medical room, I have to go there," I replied, an obvious lie.
She stared at me sternly for a moment before nodding and heading back to her office. The principal was always suspicious of me, maybe because of my irresponsible antics and the fact that I didn't look like a 'model student', probably since I never bothered to do my tie properly and I had bleached hair and tattoos on my arms and wrists, which was forbidden in school. I also always had a few br
1: an introduction of sortsThe thing was that my mother continued to insist that the ceilings in our house were low, thereby ignoring the obvious, which was that her son was a giraffe. It wasn't the fact that she was trying to kill me with kindness that bothered me, it was that she was pretending to not see what was right in front of her eyes. In fact, my entire family (which consisted of my parents and the stray cousin or aunt that sometimes dropped in unexpectedly from obscure places such as Majorca) had a way of glossing over the fact that I towered above them like an obscenely tall office building. They'd crane their necks back and squint up at me and say, "Why, Tate, you haven't grown a bit!" It drove me mad to the point of making me irritable, which is saying quite a lot. Usually when something upsets me, I'll hide in my room and quietly let it stew for a while before reemerging downstairs as if nothing had happened. But when a relation looked me in the eye and smiled as if they were mentally cutting me in1: an introduction of sorts3 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Backseat BabeShe rides in the backseat of his car because the front passenger's seat gives her motion sickness. Not wearing her seatbelt, she leans forward and hands him a half-smoked cigarette. "To Vegas, baby," she says.Backseat Babe2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
He scowls at her"Fuck you"but heads towards Vegas anyway.
He steals glances at her in the rear view mirror as she tests various shades of lipstick and puckers at her own reflection. When he rolls his eyes and shakes his head, she says "What?" and then tries another shade without even bothering to wipe the old one off.
She's only fifteen, he reminds himself. But that doesn't soothe the headache.
She likes to read the map and point out places she'd like to visit along the way. He just keeps driving straight and doesn't say a thing.
"Why haven't you fucked me yet?" she asks one day, sprawled across the entire backseat of the car, her shoulder against the door, her eyes studying her fingernails which she pretends to pick.
"You're too young," he replies, his
Science Fiction of the Most Disappointing OrderOne day I sat at my listening post in SETI, drinking coca cola, eating chips, and making jokes about what aliens would say if they actually saw my fat lazy coworkers and I, when an extraterrestrial race contacted us in a series of beeps on our high-frequency radio.Science Fiction of the Most Disappointing Order2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Needless to say, I nearly crapped myself in recording the message, for it was clearly binary and our autistic junior member to the team, a great big fat man with a neck beard who insisted his first name was Xoo (I think the real name was Dawson), immediately understood it. He began rattling off a list of simple mathematical equations, getting more and more complicated as it went on until we were certain the message was a list of coordinates or directions. Of course, by that point our superiors had crowded into the room, as had their superiors and a couple of government officials.
I sat at my cramped little desk with Xoo breathing over my shoulder as he scribbled down what the binary code meant and I transcribed the ones and
lacieshe was bitterness and cigarette smoke, red lipstick smearing over a napkin as she waved fingernails at you like knives and she hung out with boys who wore eyeliner and leather jackets and wore their hair just a little too long, and you'd call her rock and roll if you didn't know that she was a little too broken, that the boys were her brothers in arms, an angel and a soldier, and no one knew which was which. she used to be a doctor but she had to cry to god a few too many times, saw her reflection too much, and paved just a few too many bricks on the road to hell. she uses makeup like a shield and wields cigarettes and condoms like guns, and she loves her boys, but they're learning that she's not who they wanted her to be, and that was never a good feeling. maybe she wants a savior. maybe she wants someone to take away the cigarettes and smear the makeup for her and remind her not to bleed on the sheets. she'll settle for anything, really.lacie2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
LointainListen carefully, for I am plucking spider-web harp strings in the light of your glistening, rain-sodden breath. There is such beauty in this city, and in symphony, you seeso keep rhythm with these skeleton trees dancing on street sides, winter branches quivering. Can you hear the beat of your heart? Its cadence is being matched by that of the shadows, ephemeral figures waltzing hand-in-hand across cobblestones and twirling at the very cusp of the lamp posts' soft glow...Lointain2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Sway now, my dearest, to the allure of this chorus in the night; to the echoing sound of this moonlit sonata.
My Wife the Space MonsterI brutally murdered my wife on Main Street in broad daylight with a 12-gauge shotgun.My Wife the Space Monster2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
And frankly, I don't see what all the fuss is about.
Of course, I very much doubt I'll be acquitted on that sort of introduction in my upcoming trial, which will most likely result in my execution given the state I live in. It seems unlikely that any defense I offer will be useful in preserving my existence, though with a little bit of luck I may be able to prolong my time on death row for a decade or more, like most wife-killers out there have before. But with what I'm about to tell the world, I hope that at least the people off the jury will understand and pardon me in their minds.
At the very least, a few of you readers will be entertained.
It all started last summer, on a particularly hot day at the tail end of July, when my wife Victoria, twin sons Humbert and Jeffrey, and little daughter Katy had all gone out for ice cream cones and were on our way home. Up until this point, our marri
High (First Draft)My Dear,High (First Draft)2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I must confess. I never told you, but I got high once. And once before that.
The first time was the day I met you. In that old bookstore we touched fingers among the fiction shelves reaching for a Joyce. An awkward moment made majestic when you laughed. I knew right then and there. This girl is outside my comfort zone. Then you took my hand. As you led me through the aisles, I ran my fingers across the books and prayed inwardly for osmosis to give me the right words to say.
And like some Forrest and Jenny escapade, we were off. We took turns riding the rolling ladder across the biography shelves. We encouraged an Asian boy in the self-help aisle. We asked the clerk, "Where in the dickens is Dickens!" He rolled his eyes. So we tipped him. We recited Hemingway for the war history buffs and Geisel for everyone else. We laughed at an old lady, blushing and shivering, leafing through the romance novels. And when she heard us, we blew her kisses. Peas and carrots. Hair an
GrudgeGrudge2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Deep in the womb of my cruelest intentions
budded a flower of flesh.
The hatred I bore through an internal war
made true the lore of its rest.
Every flick of my heart
further nourished the seed.
With assumptions, it grew as a twin.
She engraved violet thoughts in the walls of my chest,
Her fingernails grading my skin.
I can feel her at night as she travels inside.
Like a burning; an itch I can't cure.
She'll disguise herself dear
So she knows of your fear.
Your intentions of hate she'll secure.
Blood on Your Face.Sixty seconds. For me, it feels like a lifetime. Too long, much too long. For others, it probably feels like the shortest sixty seconds they've ever experienced. But they're the ones that will die. Killed by myself, or any of the others. I smile to myself. I've trained my whole entire life for this. Volunteered for it, safe in the knowledge that I'd be coming back home. I know I can win. I'll end up killing the others in their sleep. Glimmer I'll enjoy killing. But Cato and Marvel won't be as easy. Cato, because he's from my District. Marvel, because he's generally nice. At least to me. I think of his reassuring smile that he gave me at the interviews.Blood on Your Face.3 years ago in Drama More Like This
Thirty seconds. I glance around. I see scared, trembling faces. I smile again. There's something exciting about the fact that you will kill a good number of these people. There might have been a time when I would have recoiled from this event, recoiled from killing, but now I embrace it.
Fifteen seconds. I make a me
Like The Thud Of An AxePeople gather to watch executions.Like The Thud Of An Axe3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I've never understood why. What possible reason could they have for wanting to see a stranger's life end? Do they want to see their head roll? Hear the snap of their neck? Do they want to be sure that it's real?
I can assure you, this is real. I've wished more times than I can count that it was a nightmare, an illusion; I've looked for mistakes made by my sleeping brain— and I've found none. This is absolutely happening.
I'm waiting in a room on my own. The bed's uncomfortable. It creaks whenever I sit down on it- so I'm standing. I've bitten my nails so much that my hands are bleeding, raw and painful. Earlier, they gave me a pristine white gown to wear. It's itching horribly at the collar, but I daren't touch it. What would they do to me, if I dared get blood on what was not mine?
A woman opens the door and takes my arm, leading me to where the crowds are waiting. I thought once that I knew her well. But how could I know she was capable of con
The Root of All EvilPeople always talked about killing Hitler. "If you could go back in time and kill Hitler, would you?" The answer, resoundingly, was "Hellz yeah." Until now, however, the question had been entirely hypothetical. Fredersen was the first person with the opportunity to actually do it, but Fredersen had bigger plans. He also had no intention of setting foot in that machine himself. He had once sent half an avocado twenty minutes into the future just to test it. He didn't know why it had re-emerged as a plasticine walrus, but he sure as hell wasn't going to stick his head in to find out.The Root of All Evil2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"Robot!" He clapped his hands to summon the device. It was a cheap one. He had little money, and if this worked he would have less still. None, in fact: nobody would. It would be worth it, though.
The robot wheeled towards him. "Please enter command." Its voice synthesiser was truly terrible: like nails on a blackboard, if the blackboard had laryngitis and was trying to sing Carmen.
"Your job," he
Arapahos in the GardensArapahos in the Gardens2 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
Once he made his point, we stopped in a border town called Nuevo Laredo. It was an odd stop. We slid out of the car into heat, dazzled by colors--reds and yellows screamed, and blues looked like something in an electric dream. We smiled at each other. Suddenly, we were tourists.
After a brief sit-down in shade to eat Mexican food, I just as suddenly found myself alone. Following a quiet, private conference between my father-in-law John and husband Midge, with a few reassurances and winks tossed my way, John and Midge disappeared for some minutes. I sat on a low, white-washed adobe wall and kept my eyes open. I nervously considered the situation. Did John and Midge have to make some final arrangements about the ranch we were going to? Did they go to a bar or one of those girlie shows d
The Dancing ConscienceThe Dancing Conscience2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Press your face against the glass.
Let me gaze in at what wonders you could've had.
For your punctured paper conscience
is folded like a secret.
It's strung upon a spinning thread in the center of your chest.
When the tempting winds stir, it pirouettes yet never falls.
And when the frosty fires fold its twisted edges,
stronger it blooms, like a flower in spring.
When the waves of discomfort skim its fragile toes
It makes way... So it can dance.
The Heterophobic"I'm not gay," said his boyfriend.The Heterophobic2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Coming Out"Mom..."Coming Out2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
FallowWhen I was a little girl, we lived in a house with a nectarine tree. My father tended to it faithfully, watering it and pruning away the dead wood and the branches that would grow too heavy with time, sealing the trimmed edges with care. Each spring, it bore a can-can line of frilly, fragrant petticoat blossoms, cast away wantonly beneath the carnal attentions of buzzing cyprian bees. Each summer, it groaned beneath the weight of fruit, ripening in heavy round golden bellies, basking in the honeyed California sunlight, serene and assured in its fecundity. For a glorious few weeks, we would eat nectarines all day long, in as many creative applications as we could think of, canning the excess for a taste of summer in the fallow months to come.Fallow4 months ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
One spring, the tree dropped every one of its leaves, instead flowering in a veritable nova of blooms… somehow, it sensed the end of its long, slow life, and in one last tremendous effort, it sank all of its energies into posterity, producing
TapTap. Tap. Tap. Tap. TaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptapTap2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Her heels click loudly on the rough concrete of the platform. I can't see herI'm facing track 3, and she's careening down the other side, track 4, the Paoli/Thorndale line, 3:57 local to Malvern. It's currently 4:00 sharp. There's no way she'll make it, it's already started pulling out of the station. She yells fruitlessly against the gleaming aluminum surface, hoping a conductor might hear over the squeal of the wheels in motion.
She means to mutter under her breath, but her voice echoes across the platform, no longer overpowered by the receding chug-a-chug-a-chug (though, I suppose they don't really make that noise anymore, not the newer ones, at least; more of a "clackety-clackety-clack," really).
A picture begins to form. She is a businesswoman and a mother, not yet nearing but still fearing middle age. She wears a navy-blue or black suit-jacket/skirt combo, and her hair is pinned up in a tight bun. I