Halloweeny I want to break down what Hollow’s Eve is like when you’re living with a serial killer. It’s such an interesting experience that I seriously cannot bear not to let you in on it.
You might think it’s terrifying, but that’s just profiling. Just because they kill people in their spare time doesn’t mean that’s all they can talk about.
Our serial killer host, Tosya (better known as “Dad” by Grayson), stabbed a—wait. You think I’m going to say woman, trick-or-treater, baby, don’t you? You’re so close-minded, I cannot even. Tosya stabbed a pumpkin with a curved little knife he’d better working with all day. I leaned against Grayson and watched him, sipping at the apple cider he’d made
Watching I know there are monsters under peoples' beds and clawing so viciously at the walls of my skull. I can hear them screaming and fighting to get out of me through my actions, but I can't release them.Watching2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The monsters want blood.
I don't want that.
But I do...
What do I want? Can one of you help me? None of the monsters help very much--they all tell me that killing is for the best and that if I don't continue it, they'll kill me. I know that you think I'm crazy, but I'm not.
They're real and among us. One in five people is a monster like me--or at least a monster-in-hiding. Psychopaths and sociopaths and schizophrenics and sadist lurk all around you. There could be one in your family, someone who leers over you in your sleep just wondering how your head would look on a stick, wanting to make a lamp or a couc
Apocalyptic Journal-Daily Entry 211-12-32Apocalyptic Journal-Daily Entry 23 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
At least I think that's the date. It's becoming increasingly harder to tell as the longer I stay locked in a kitchen, the more the days bleed together.
Joseph's brother spent the day in solitude. We didn't try to comfort him, lest we be shot down and screamed at. We kept a safe distance away.
No zombies were seen today--a brief respite from all the recent action. It was wonderful not seeing a rotting face.
The taste of canned cream corn is becoming monotonous as that we have had it for breakfast, lunch and dinner for the past...week? As stated before, I do not know.
More later. For now, sleep.
Re-try--Jeff the killer storyThe sky rumbled, its complaints going unattended as rain trickled from it. Thick clouds highlighted by sporadic jolts of lightning littered the atmosphere. The moon was lost in the storm, all of the stars hiding with it. The night brought on an unknown feeling of eeriness that rippled over the earth like the thunder snapping in the clouds.Re-try--Jeff the killer story3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Hidden by his hoodie, Jeff walked down the street, raindrops making little grey dots on his white jacket. He walked with broad steps, his hands hanging idly by his sides. Watered-down blood dripped from his hands, red stains coming out of his clothes with every sheet of rain. His hair clung to his body, finally getting a well-deserved cleaning. The seventeen-year-old kept his unblinking eyes on his feet, drops of water obstructing his vision as he strolled down the sidewalk. He was in search of a new neighborhood, of new victims. Lights on the horizon b
Christmas at the Chechelnitsky's. Christmas Eve. One of the things about America I have come to enjoy. Though I despise the cold, I must say it is downright scenic when the snow's gently falling outside the window, the all-too-familiar, stereotypical Christmas setting unraveled within the home. You know, the tree flashing with perky white lights, their reflections dancing on the cylindrical surfaces of the ornaments hanging about them. The smell of fir trees and crackling fires, perhaps a few cinnamon scented candles or gingerbread men adding their own distinct scents to the air. I love that especially about this time of year--even the air seems to join in on the festivities.Christmas at the Chechelnitsky's.2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I also adore how my child and little brother gaze in wonder at the orbs of multicolored glass as they hang them on the tree, their reflections comically distorted in them. How they frolic about...it's simply adorable, though my brother Maks is no longer a sm
Dio's Cruelty! :DDiomedes' POVDio's Cruelty! :D2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Max and Jezebel had been watching the movie Carrie when I had entered the room. I took a seat on the floor and leaned between them against the couch. I watched as the girl got pig's blood poured on her and tapped my fingers impatiently on my knee. Jezebel had told me today was the day. While Carrie wreaked havoc on the attendees of her high school prom, Jezebel tapped me on the head. I looked up at her to see her nod slowly, our eyes grave. "Hey Max, I better head home. My parents'll be expecting me back soon," Jezebel said automatically, standing and collecting her phone.
"All right. Do you want my dad to give you a ride?" Max asked, flipping off the TV and standing to Jezebel's level. I had left the room.
"No, it's a short walk. I'll be fine. Talk to you later, bye!" she called, exiting the house and advancing to the creek around back. Cyr
Brotherly Love c:Maks badgered me. "Tosya, where do you go at night?" he asked me one evening. Our temporary grandma had been put to bed already and Abbey and I were fixing to leave.Brotherly Love c:2 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
I closed my eyes in impatience and turned to him, taking a breath in to control myself. "It's best if you don't know, Maks." Every word that boy said was enough to send quivers through me now. The amount of stress I was under was constricting my self-control to a bare minimum. I didn't want to speak harshly to him, but sometimes sometimes I just couldn't help it.
"But I wanna know. I wanna come along," he said, walking after me as I started towards the door. I felt every muscle in my body tense up in irritation at that moment. Just the thought was nerve-wracking. We already had enough stuff I wasn't comfortable with going on that eveningthe last thing I needed was to constantly be wondering where little Maks was. I didn't nee
More DiomedesThe evening was chilled, icy wind blowing through the trees above young Diomedes. The sun had just begun to dwindle behind the slight mountains behind him, the sky's purpling light the only source of brightness in the growing shadows. The orphan faced a creek with jagged rocks protruding from the velvety silt in the bed of the stream, his bare toes in the lapping water. With a decisive tuck of his hair behind one ear, he plunged a callused foot into the frosty stream. His face scrunched up in distaste at the numbness taking over his shin, but he continued to plod along, his pace moving as quickly as he dared in the current of the miniature river. A stone hidden beneath the mud cut in the heel of his foot, making him falter in his steps and fall face-first into the arctic liquid. The boy's head popped back up. He glanced over his shoulder before standing, eyes skimming the forest for any movement. HeMore Diomedes2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
First Kiss ContestHe was just so...cute! Like a little sheepdog! His blonde hair fell in his eyes, ruddy cheeks indented with those adorable dimples. He had such an essence of boyish joy...at least, when we were kids. That's hardly the case now.First Kiss Contest2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
It wasn't safe like it was when we were kids. It's all...anarchy-y. It's not safe for me to be alone anymore, not even while I sleep. So he insists, now a bulky 16 year old, that I sleep near him. Tonight, since it was cold, he allowed me to lounge against his chest. I was warmed by his body-heat and intrigued by the gentle rhythm of his chest rising and falling beneath me. His breathing was like a tender lullaby to me. He was so deep in sleep that the creases his face had taken on from scowling so much had actually ceased to exist. His olive skin was so smooth looking, I just wanted to touch it, to play with his stubble, to kiss his jaw and have him whisper little nothings in my ear in his
Onyx's old story I believe that everyone, at some decided point in time, deserves to share their story with those whom will listen. Will you listen? Wonderful. My name, little dearies, is Onyx Morgan Smith. Before I died, I was destined to a nightmarish life of being Mrs. Onyx Morgan Franklin, but you shall learn more of this swine shortly.Onyx's old story3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The year I came into this world was 1834, in London, England. I do not honestly remember my first twelve years on this earth and do not desire to, either. I only know for certain that it was, in fact, uninteresting and bland. My father moved us to South Carolina in 1846, where my wealthy family owned a rice plantation.
As you may know, when and if you pay attention in history class, this was a little passed the time of witches and dragons. If you cooked a bad stew or had a black farm cat in