The tipper tapper of a finger echoes through the small dark room. Sometimes even whispers bounce off the walls from other rooms, whispers that do not make sense to me. I would hear things like, “Stop it, he’ll see us” and “Quickly, don’t trust him” or just the moans of […]
Lately I have been questioning the reality of things around me. I can sure identify where it started, and where it came from, but I just can’t get it out. An idea cannot be killed; you may try to not think about it or distract yourself, but it is there,
I’m pretty bad about changing light bulbs. If there’s any possible way I can put it off, I will. There’s probably some psychoanalytical explanation for it, dating back to when I was a little girl and I grabbed one while it was still hot, but past roommates have always chalked
After staring at a laminate television in the dark, I start to get sleepy. My eyes droop and the feeling of my body in unconsciousness starts to take its toll. Like a trance with my brain buzzing and my mouth hanging slightly open. I remember that my brother, Claudio, lies
I watch the horror film that is news, every single fucking day. I have, shall we say, an unhealthy obsession, with knowledge, and subsequently the ‘knowledge’ provided by my television screen. I just cannot seem to ignore it; I suppose this is due to my primal instincts, provided by evolution.
I am walking in a thick, swirling, yellow haze. Struck with an overwhelming nausea, I sink to the ground and vomit viscous bile. I’m surrounded by figures that are tall and distorted, almost like shadows on a wall. They have elongated faces and their wide open mouths scream that cry
A little girl sat in her room. Her messy brown hair was put into little pigtails, as her hazel eyes stared at the door. She hugged her stuffed giraffe close to her little body and listened closely to the loud yells of her father and mother. “I never should have
Clockwork: Your Time is Up Read More »
“FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!” I yell out, sweat pouring down my face as I melt away from the stress of the situation. There is my mother, my perfect, caring and understanding mother, lying on the floor semi-conscious after the nasty fall she just had. I turn her over to lay her
Hello, my name’s Charlie Ipstien. Dorky, I know. But I’m better known as ‘Chips’ by my familiar. I ain’t a classy guy, a lowlife thug people call me. And I admit it. Can’t really blame myself though. It was where I was damn raised. Messed me up badly. I grew
The Waterfarmer Tonight he had purpose. The number was to be twenty…twenty of the best. Or at least the best he could find. The twenty were to be found in the water; in their place of rest. They will be part of the offering; an offering that must be made.
“You want to hear the scariest story I know?” “Sure.” “Is it scarier than the last two? If it is then I don’t want to hear it. In fact, I think I’ll head home. I’m sure I’ve had enough to drink already.” “Don’t mind him. The rest of want to
Tales of the City, Part Three : Schism Read More »
My wife is going to kill herself in 5 to 7 business days. I’d found the order for a jug of Xanaphril while clearing the internet history of porn and was contemplating it now. I’d known my wife Cindy had been unhappy but I guess hadn’t registered how much yet.
I was only nineteen years old – prime of my life I’ve been told – and I had just been thrust into the world of learning labeled college. All sorts of new experiences and new ideas, books and articles, beer and women. The typical undergraduate lifestyle had consumed me and
Edgar raised his head up from his chest; back pressed firmly into his favorite recliner, his entire body drenched in cold sweat. He stared into shadows at the edge of the living room, eyes welling with tears as he lifted the revolver slowly and deliberately to his temple. “Seventeen”, he
Don’t read this because it actually works. Now youve started reading, you can’t stop. A girl named Kathy drowned to death. If you email or repost this comment to three more videos, tommorrow will be the best day of you life. If you don’t repost this comment on at least
The Twist: A Parody Read More »
I’m truly sorry that you had to end up here, but I do suppose that I am sort of glad you did… in my own strange way. I normally don’t like being around people, but recently I’ve been wishing to chat with someone to the point that it’s almost been
I was jolted out of sleep when my 5-year-old son, Kevin, jumped on top of me. I let out a little yelp both from the shock of the impact and from being ripped out of a deep sleep. A little disoriented, it took me a few moments to figure out
“Do you believe in Cartesian duality?” “Cartesian what?” “That consciousness is not caused by physical processes but by something else — some sort of soul if you will.” “I guess not.” “Well, then I guess I shouldn’t-“ “You promised!” “Ok, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. There’s a famous
Good Night / Good Bye Read More »
Hollis Gommer sat on a bench, one shoelace irreverently untied, the laces brushing against the dusty concrete, the other tied in a pristine double knot, hardly untied for several days now. The evening sun beat upon the back of his head, even filtered through several layers of pink and orange
Take the Four-Thirty Six Read More »
Dear Survivor- If you’re reading this, I’m probably dead. It’s for the best. You see, about four or five days ago, a storm rolled in. Now, this in and of itself isn’t anything strange. The clouds and the rain though, they had a yellow tint to them. It smelled weird
Annie ran away again the other night. It took me hours to find her in the park, going back and forth on the swings without a care in the world, like she had every right to be there. And she dyed her hair again, blonde this time. I didn’t want
Everything started out normal. It was just a simple nightmare, right? But the more I thought about it, the more unlikely that sounded. No nightmare could be that detailed, that gruesome. At first I thought I was alone in that dream, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. There was
At my young tender age, painting was the only psychoanalysis I ever needed to retreat to, or how common people call it therapy. Every hour in the morning until the sun rises, my brush strokes back and forth. It tells a part of a story I wish to tell, but
(Based on a real life premonition.) On the eve of his parents death Alex sat down at the dining table and poured himself a glass of crystalline red wine. He swirled it around in his mouth before swallowing and grimaced at sour grape-like taste that died on his tongue. Alex
