Peanut butter sandwiches and orange juice smoothies, the smell of fresh-cut grass, blue skies and the warmth of the sun, self-sacrificing bastards living life for too long, drowning beneath the waves of unimportance, clutching wildly at whatever moves on the other side, wanting, needed, desperately seeking something, justice, damnation, self-gratification, let the carnage begin as I reshape the world in my image, through my eyes, by my hand, with my voice, this world will be a new kind of hell, gone will be the light, dead will be the grass, rotting food, putrid milk, a world without forgiveness, my blade soaked in the blood of all, for the queen will soon be silenced as the princess makes her move..
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