Subtle hits of salt and vinegar explore my nose as my hands drive flesh beneath my nails, sunlight burns like the heart of a flame while destiny sings its wicked song, acrobatic humanoids dance with skill, balancing on rope across the sky, scissors without remorse powerfully cut the rope into separate strands like hair, slowly death drags them downward, as graceful dainty fingers clutch desperately at the air, dissolving into nothingness as bones snap through flesh, tearing, ripping, screaming, followed by silence before the crowd erupts into wild cheers of excitement, turn slowly they disappear back to where they come and the tent comes down as the show moves onto the next town, looking for its next victims, looking for the next sacrificial sacrifice upon the altar of immortality it so desperately seeks…..
Published by Matthew Tonks
People are surprised when reading Matthew’s stories that he’s a sane forty something year old, happily married, father of one, employed full time, who dreams of dark disturbing things that any sane person would never even contemplate thinking of. But it's true, he’s toyed with writing for most of his adult life, but has always found the peg a writer must fit into is not the shape he wished to be. His writing can be described as lamenting, long, concussive (yes it smashes you in the head), compulsive, and stuffed with rhythmic communication and violence, let’s not forget the violence. His own opinion on his writing is this, “You see, I don't just want the words to seep into your mind, but into your soul, showing you images of blood and beauty through, volatile language, violence, sex, love and sin. My muse takes different shapes, and every now and then you can see her shining her wicked smile in some of my stories, tempting you with her promises, but ripping your heart out instead.” So have a look, and take a seat in my wayward ride, as you join me while I purge through, this twisted road of madness. View all posts by Matthew Tonks