Nerves twisted in an array of directions,
Words stolen,
Plagiarised from those of saner mind,
Perpetual larceny,
A lie I live within,
Like the flesh that covers my rotten frame,
A plague I call life,
A life where my hands are those of a coward,
My suicide impossible,
A memory,
A dream,
A lie,
That’s what he made me,
That’s why I fought back,
I would by die as easily as he wished,
As he wrote me to,
I will be the survivor,
And he will be the victim…
A victimless crime is mine,
A mirror smashed in a thousand pieces,
A withered reflection cast asunder,
Images lost,
Images found,
A soulless monster wanting my sin,
But my sin is not mine,
My sin is his,
Did I earn his place by stealing it from him,
Or did he give it to me willingly as he knew what was to come from tomorrow,
Nothing is as it seems,
For his image am I created in,
My life,
My eyes,
Are not his..
Hidden,
Waiting to re-emerge,
My moment in the sunlight is far from undone,
My story is not finished,
The darkness of his soul may have swallowed me within his lies,
But I am still alive,
A heart beats beneath my chest,
Though it may not be mine,
It beats none the less,
Tomorrow is mine for the taking,
Yesterday will be rewritten to my shape,
My past will be his,
And his,
Will be undone….
He saw me,
He gave me life again,
And now as he sleeps,
I run free,
Locked in an endless nightmare,
Persuade by all those imaginary things,
Reimagined time and time again.
Until even I lost count of who I was,
Or what my role was,
I know the beasts role is defined by the infinite,
But my role,
My part in all these stories,
What am I to be,
The hero?
The villain?
The Betrayer?
It must be one,
Or all,
Or could it be none?
The blade rips into his flesh as he cuts, using the knife like a saw, his bloody, torn flesh falls to the floor below him, and he laughs, staring at his reflection.
“It was the words that drew us in, it was the night that sealed our sins, the devil smiled from somewhere afar, as our hero burned the dying star, whispered words, vaulted sins, the devils work, forever, begins,” he says, the lights flicker, as energy snaps violently through them, as he continues to look into the mirror, the blood drips from his face into the sink, he grins, his face grotesque, ripped and torn into a mask, in the form of a demented smile, that is now carved in his flesh. With a shaky hand, he raises the bloody knife once more, stretching the skin around his eye with the other hand, then digs the blade in, and screams….
He feels his mouth go dry, nervously he grabs a glass that sits on the side of his desk, placing the sheet of paper down as he takes a large mouthful of the liquid, he feels the vodka burn his throat as it goes down and he lets out a hiss of satisfaction.
“I’ve read a lot….” He stops in his tracks as he takes a quick, sharp breath in, as he attempts to quell the burn from the vodka, hisses again, before pressing his lips together tightly. “I’ve read a god damn lot of shit you’ve wrote over the years Marty, but this has got to be the best fucking piece of writing you’ve ever placed on my desk,” he says looking over to Marty, who has a broad smile on his face.
“See Bernie, I told you it was worth the wait, it’s good right?” Marty says, slapping his hands together in excitement.
“It’s better than good, it’s wrong, fucked up, pushing the boundaries of good taste to the extreme wrong, now where’s the rest?”
“It’s coming,” he says leaning back in his seat.
“Coming? What the fuck do you think this is? I’ve got half an issue ready and waiting for this baby you’ve been gestating, now two days before the issues published you tell me its coming?”
“You said it yourself, it’s the best piece I’ve ever written, don’t you want the rest to be just as good?”
“Don’t throw my words back in my face Towns, it’s not good form, just tell me how long you need?”
“Another few days, four at the most, I wanna get it right, I want the whole thing to mesh perfectly.”
He empties the remainder of the glass into his mouth and sucks another quick, desperate breath of air in with it, hoping to dull the burn once again, “Two days, that’s all you’ve got, you don’t have it ready by then I’m going run with Jones’ story.”
“Jones? Seriously Bernie? You’d give that hack half an issue? Can’t you push it back a few days?” Marty says in shock, sitting up in his seat.
“He’s got something ready, you don’t, and two days is the best I can do. Templar’s tying my hands Marty, they’re cutting expenditure, the old man wants us to meet deadlines without fail, every issue,” he says pouring himself another glass, and filling Marty’s as well. “Mate between me, you and the bottle, they’re getting close to pulling the pin, I went to see the old man yesterday, fucker looks ready to run, he’s got that look, you know, crazy eyes and shit. I can’t push back now, it’s gotta be what it’s gotta be,” Bernie says quickly draining his glass once again.
“Fuck! Seriously? I’ll see what I can do, but I can’t promise it’ll be ready,” Marty says as he clenches his hands into tight fists.
Bernie lets out a loud, boisterous laugh, “Shouldn’t be too hard sport, you’ve got a killer start.”
“It’s not the start, it’s the end. I just thought jumping to the end at the start of the story gave it a, you know, a sorta fucked up twist, see what’s going to happen, before it all really begins,” he says, as he picks his glass up from the desk, letting the vodka dance around on his tongue, swishing it around in his mouth, before he swallows it.
“Sure you’re not being too cerebral for the readers? I mean, we’re no high-end magazine Marty, we’re penny dreadful shite, trying to pull a Stephen King might alienate the readers.”
“It’s clever I know, but the way it opens the story up, allows itself to connect straight to the ending makes it more fun. It gives you guts, gore, and a hell of a draw card to drag you in, you don’t like the idea?” Marty replies quickly.
“I get the whole trying to draw the reader in shit, I love that. It’s just sticking the end at the start, it’s more what they do in the movies, or big publications, not what we do in shock horror magazines mate,” Bernie says, filling their glasses again.
“Trust me, you’ll love it and so will the readers, you’ve always said it’s all about impact, well, this is it, I want the reader drawn in straight away, I want them to WANNA know what’s gonna happen next, why he’s carving up his face. I mean, don’t you?”
“Okay, okay, you’ve won me over you little shit so stop trying to sell it to me. Does Wilkinson have a cover yet?”
“You know Gareth, he’s working his way there, it’ll be ready.”
Bernie swivels in his chair and leans back, resting the empty glass on his enormous stomach, “So tell me, oh great sage, how are you going to cut the ending so it flows into the beginning?”
“Easy,” Marty says as he empties his glass again, slamming it in the desk. “I’m going to smash cut it straight in, no bullshit, just straight into it,” he says with a twisted smile, as the vodka burns down his throat, all the way to his stomach.
The last 24 hours have been a mashup of moments, fractions of seconds, that when pieced together make no sense at all.
I remember the man from the white room, the imposter, the book, the shadow, and, the little girl screaming, terrified and, and a woman, Clare?
The rest seems like poorly sown together images, distorted through eyes not mine, eyes weary from a full night worth of drinking, a throat and lungs stained and burnt with the smoke from a packet or more of cigarettes. But yet, I have no recognition of any of these things, just the after tastes, just the aches and pains.
What happened to me last night?
It was then I noticed the folder the strange man from the white room had left me somehow ended up spread across the lounge room, pages from it were torn in peices, others brunt, I needed to know what happened, what drove me to destroy something that the man said would help me. Whatever good it would do me now, was little to nothing, that’s when I noticed the folder still had something in it, when I opened the folder I found the story still complete. It was then that I noticed in the mess spread around that there were multiple copies of pages, I realized this last night I’d tried to destroy the book, only to find it replenished itself back in the folder.
What madness is going on, and how in the fucking hell do I escape it?
When I started this blog, when I took over this blog, I wanted to take back what was stolen from me by that imposter, the bastard who stole everything I’d written and claimed it as his own.
Since that day, I’ve been plagued by ghost from my past, dreams bathed in nightmares.
Slowly my sanity has broken, my life has collapsed and everything I thought was true, became twisted in lies and works of fiction.
The man from the white room, he came to me again, he said he had a gift, a story, one written just for me. He handed me a folder, smiling broadly.
I asked what it was about, he laughed, and said it was about me, it was my story, all of it from the beginning to the end, if I wanted to be free of all this, if I wanted to live, I needed to understand my role, why I was so important to him, the one in the shadows, and how I could change the story to my advantage.
I felt my skin crawl, and then, he was gone, I was alone, normally I would’ve said it was a dream, another piece of my sanity slipping, but, I have the folder, I just don’t know if I have to courage to open it.
It lights the darkness,
it hides its shame,
the end is worthless,
the beginning the same,
a ride,
a twist,
a new way to die,
damnation,
salvation,
but the truth is still,
a lie!
“Don’t be a cry baby Sasha, you passed the test, you’re in. That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?”
Sasha looks up from her blood covered hands, tears running down her face, “This wasn’t a test, it was murder!”
She laughs, “It’s only murder if they find a body, now, eat.”
“A-A-Are you serious? I have to eat it all?”
“No, of course not,” she says.
“Thank god, I thought you really wanted me eat him,” she says, collapsing backwards.
“Oh, don’t misunderstand me, you will eat him, but you won’t do it alone, we feast tonight, nothing should be wasted, and once we have taken him into us, we will gain his strength, his wisdom, which clearly isn’t at the top of my list, considering he was thinking more with his dick than his grey matter,” she says with a evil smile.
Sasha begins to break down in tears, looking over, towards Lance’s lifeless body, his dead pale eyes stare towards her, and she feels her stomach twist and turn, then empties its contents onto the ground beneath her.
“That’s it girl, let out all the vile waste you gave inside you, make room for the feast,” she says running her hands softly through Sasha’s hair.
“That’s not what I’m doing you crazy bitch! I’m vomiting because this whole fucking idea makes me sick, I didn’t even want to bring him here, you made me, you threatened me, I’ll go to the police, I’ll tell them eve…..” she doesn’t get to finish her rant as a blade rips through the back of her neck and out through her throat, chocking her, she convulses, ganging on her own blood, as the woman looks down on her, smiling.
“Don’t worry Sasha, you’re not going to miss out on the feast, in fact you’re going to be part of it!”
“Don’t be a cry baby Sasha, you passed the test, you’re in. That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?”
Sasha looks up from her blood covered hands, tears running down her face, “This wasn’t a test, it was murder!”
She laughs, “It’s only murder if they find a body, now, eat.”
This 50 word story was originally published in issue 287 of Fear In Fear Magazine under the name To Pass Into Glory, and posted here on the 1st of October under the name Test, the short was expanded upon the same day, to read the expanded version, you can go HERE.
You’re more than welcome, as always if inspiration hits, to expand the story yourself, all I ask is that you post a link in the comments below so I can showcase it on the blog.
He came to me again last night, the man from the white room, I don’t know if I was sleeping or not, whatever was going on, whatever was happening, it didn’t matter anymore. he smiled, smirked even, then told me more stories, more lies of a life I’ve never lived. He assured me what he told me was true, but venom sprayed from his words, and it infected all.
He laughed when I demanded he leave, to get out of my home, it’s then he pointed out that we weren’t home anymore, we were in the white room again, the mirror was still broken, the table on its side, and, in the corner, crouched down in a ball, hissing and spitting like a wild animal, wasmy shadow self.
We sat there in silence, as the man chewed on some kind of chocolate bar, smiling every time we made eye contact, eventually I asked what was going on, why was I here in this room, this place again?
He said we’re waiting, we can’t get properly started until everyone is here, that’s when the door opened, and he stepped inside, the imposter, the one who stole my life, I launched from my seat at him, and the room shifted again, I was home, gripping nothing. I span around, my eyes searched every crevice, every crack, ripping it apart, and when I finally collapsed onto the ground, exhausted, frustrated, the man appeared onext more, he smiled, and shook his head.
The time was over for games, he said I needed to stop, to listen, and maybe, if I played my cards right, I would prosper. I didn’t get to ask any questions about what he meant, as he was gone after that, leaving me alone in my destruction. The laughing of a little girl pulled me from my stupor, she danced around the lounge room, laughing, singing, calling for me, her daddy to come play, I reached out to her, touching her cold hand as it evaporated into dust before my eyes.
Like I said, I don’t know if it was a dream, or something else, but whatever’s happening to me, it’s far from over.
Wrapped around and round,
like the innards of your guts,
twisted and deranged,
it plays these fucked up games,
lost in a nightmare,
or am I awake?
I’ll never know,
Because it’s too late!
“Sorry little brother, but business, is business,” he says as he pulls the trigger, the blast echoes around Timmy’s head for what seems like an eternity, and he falls to his knees, blood quickly forming a thick, sticky puddle beneath him, as that smiling mother fucker looks down at him.
“Y-Y-You, didn’t need to,” he stammers softly, his words lost within the void inside what was once his head.
“Of course I did Timmy, what other choice did I have? You gave me little, betraying me for that bitch and her friends, we are the perfect beasts, created by mother to rule this world, not act like the sheep who inherited it from her,” he says, as spit flies out of his mouth along with the venomous words.
“B-B-But you didn’t need to really do it, the threat was enough, you didn’t really need to go through with it,” Timmy says softly, his eyes widening as he watches the sea of blood continue to grow beneath him.
“Yeah I did buddy boy, you know full well if I’d just said, oh okay, that’s all right, I’ll let it go, we’re all cool, it would’ve been the beginning of the end, right?”
“B-B-But, how do you know?” He says, looking over to his brother, his face pale, his eyes glazed over, weary.
“Because little brother, since the dawn of fucking time, when man worked out how to get someone else to jerk them off and get away with it, that’s how I know,” he says with a smirk.
“But, that, that do-doesn’t ma-ma-m-m-make any sense.”
“Of course it make sense Timmy, you’d realize that, if half your head wasn’t missing, it’ll sink in, or out, whatever the result,” he stops, looks down at the blood that is now pooling underneath his shoes and back to Timmy. “Awful lot of blood for a small fart isn’t it?” he says, Timmy slowly looks down and turns his head to the side.
“Yeah, it is, you’d think, I’d be dead by now?”
“You’d think, I mean, I’ve killed gods before, normally I’d use a sword, or a bus, never a gun, maybe I need to, ummmm, shoot you again,” he says holding the barrel of the gun to Timmy’s skull. “You ready?”
“I still think you didn’t need to….” another shot rips through his head and he sways from side to side with the impact.
“How’d that one go?”
“I-I-I-It hurt, bu-bu-but, I’m still here,” he replies slowly.
“Mum always told me you were special, old hag was right, wait here, I’ll go find a sword, or a bus, or something,” he says, wandering off, perplexed, searching the ruins of the old building, while Timmy continues to sway from side to side, as the pool of blood grows.
“Sorry little brother, but business, is business,” he says as he pulls the trigger, the blast echoes around Timmy’s head for what seems like an eternity, and he falls to his knees, blood quickly forming a thick, sticky puddle beneath him, as that smiling mother fucker looks down at him.
This 50 word story was originally published in issue 311 of Fear In Fear Magazine under the name Don’t Start What You Can’t Finish, and posted here on the 30th of September under the name Sleep, the short was expanded upon the same day, to read the expanded version, you can go HERE.
You’re more than welcome, as always if inspiration hits, to expand the story yourself, all I ask is that you post a link in the comments below so I can showcase it on the blog.
I’m not sure, if this is a dream or reality, not anymore, but either way, whatever the case turns out to be, I need to share this, I need to write, no, not need, compelled, willed to, like, if I don’t write these words, then, there will be nothing, I, will be nothing.
Maybe I am.
I slept again, this time for longer than 5 minutes, maybe longer, maybe an hour or more, I’m not sure, my sight isn’t the best, I’ve gone back to wearing glasses, something I haven’t needed to do, for, well, years.
I was in the white room again, the place with all the corridors, he was there, smiling, he said my name several times, calmly, leaning back on his seat.
My mouth was dry, I realized, as I went to cup my face, that my hands were bound to the chair, I looked up at him, rage seething through me, I asked him why, no, I demanded to know why. He told me to be calm, it was just a precaution, he said we didn’t need another episode like yesterday. What episode? What was this man on about, why was I here, what did he want of me.
He told me we’d had this conversation so many times over the last 8 years, but, this was the first time we’d had it more than once, in a day.
He told me 8 years ago I was tried and convicted on 15 separate counts of murder, including that of my wife and two daughters, he placed his hand on a folder, and asked if I wanted to look at the photos. I said no, he shrugged his shoulders and said if I change my mind, he has them ready.
I asked him if he could remove the bonds around my wrist, I promised I would not do anything volatile, he leaded across the table and smiled, then said no, he’d fallen for that once, he showed me a large scar that ran down the side of his face, that’s when I saw him, in the mirror, my shadow friend, he smiled, and told me I need to wake up.
He saw me looking at my reflection, and asked who was talking to me, I told him, he called it by a name, Roundhead, I shook my head, that was his name for it, the imposters, it had another name, it’s true name, he smiled and leaned back, scribbling something on a note board.
Then he said something strange, and these are his words as best I can remember them, he said ‘so do you think Matthew can come out and play?’ as soon as he asked that question, everything erupted into insanity. The room ripped apart and my shadow self, torn through the mirror, growing rapidly in size, tearing through my flesh, until it filled up half of the room. Towering over him, it let out a low deep growl and said it was the only one who would be playing, for today, the end comes for him, and then it struck him with it’s gigantic, clawed hand, his blood sprayed outward, some landing across my face.
That’s when I woke up, on the floor of the lounge room, my clothes were soaked, and I had wet myself at some stage of the night. I dragged myself into a cold shower, smoked my arse off, and then sat down to write this, so I guess, if anyone reads this, it means that it was another fucked up dream, and if no one does, well, fuck, I’m shit outta luck, right?
Broken wishes and shattered bones,
lost within are the lies I’ve told,
so I’ll go far away,
another place, another day,
somewhere darker than my own,
somwhere new I can call home.
“I could never, not now, not after all this,” he says through groggy eyes.
“Why? We’re made to be together, literally created by heaven and earth for one reason, to bond, don’t you feel it? Can’t you see it?” She says pressing a hand against his dirty, bruised chest, he grabs her hand and thrust it away.
“You’re FUCKING crazy, to think that just proves it. WE weren’t made to be together you half-wit, we fucked, that’s it, I was never interested in anything else,” he says through clenched teeth.
She slap him across the face, “Is this really all you have to say for yourself? Is this all that’s left between us?” She asks.
“Fuck you! You lock me up in this prison, yet you expect me to love you, what a fool you are, and how I’ll love taking your head from your shoulders!”
“You’re just like the rest, a whore!” She spits raking him across the face with her fingernails, tearing chunks of skin free, the blood glistens in the light as he hisses in pain.
“You fucking bitch!” He yells leaping towards her, but instead, crashes to the ground in a heap as the chains reach their limit.
“We could’ve been something wonderful, we could’ve made the skies sing, but,” she says, looking down at him, her face twisted with anger, as she tightens her grip on a the hilt of a large blade. “You spat in the face of true love, degrading what we had, degrading me, for that there can only be one punishment.”
“Y-Y-You’re fucking crazy, we went out three times, you were the one who invited me in, you made the first move honey, I just went with the flow. No wonder you’re single, freaks like you belong in zoos, not dating fucking sites!” He screams as he forces himself up, onto his knees.
“I thought you loved me,” she says fighting back the tears.
“Lady, ain’t no one ever going to love you, you fuck….” he stops dead in his tracks as she drives the knifes blade deep into the back of his head, he lets out a final, desperate, strained gasp, then collapses to the floor, where she drives the blade into him again and again, screaming wildly as she does, until she finally stumbles to her knees and sits sobbing in an ever going pool of his blood.
“You could’ve been the one,” she says softly.
“Is this really all you have to say for yourself? Is this all that’s left between us?” She asks.
“Fuck you! You lock me up in this prison, yet you expect me to love you, what a fool you are, and how I’ll love taking your head from your shoulders!”
This 50 word story was originally published in issue 182 of Fear In Fear Magazine under the name Only A Love Game, and posted here on the 28th of September under the name Head, the short was expanded upon the same day, to read the expanded version, you can go HERE.
You’re more than welcome, as always if inspiration hits, to expand the story yourself, all I ask is that you post a link in the comments below so I can showcase it on the blog.
My mind is coming undone, as is my world.
My shadow friend, the one who’s been visiting me so often, is now like a mirror of myself, his face scarred, his body, bruised, broken, old, and his eyes, empty, the spark of darkness gone.
He tells me it’s his fault, their fault, they are trying to unmake him, unmake, all of us, he fears the truth will soon shatter reality and when it does, all that is, will cease to exist, and, not even I will be left.
I demand to know his secrets, what lies he has told me, misfortune he says, misfortune is the truth, is reality, one that I must face, but, will I be whole, will I be ready when the curtain closes.
He speaks in riddles, not as jolly as they once were, not soaked in the blood of others, now, softly spoken, restrained, its energy gone.
Then I hear my name, and my voice reply, but yet I said nothing, I wander through my home, as if it is unknown to me, almost getting lost as corridor after corridor join on to the last, finally, I find my way into a room, white, smelling of chemicals, suddenly I’m sitting alone in the room, and then, he is there standing before me.
He smiles, and grips my shoulder, assuring me that everything will be fine, soon I’ll be done with all this, it’s not his words that I feared, it was the sadness in his eyes, he gripped me again, tightly by the shoulder, not in anger, but in compassion, reassurance, this man, I knew him, he knew me, but, who was he.
I ask him why he was here, who he was, and what has he done to my home, his face became sadder, and he smiles again, he said once again everything was going to be alright, that sometimes, a battle with no reward, is a battle best lost.
And then, he was gone, I was standing in the doorway to my lounge room, home, a child sat on the floor, playing with Lego, she beckoned me to join her, a smile on her face, she called me daddy, I reached out to her, I felt my lip trembling, I, I was disoriented, and he grabbed my arm, shaking his head in displeasure, my shadow friend, was he me, was I it, or were we one in the same, are we all just one mind fractured into many?
The little girl disappeared, and I was alone once more, lost in my thoughts, so I sat on the couch for hours, staring at the spot where she sat, her words buzzing around my head, as were those of the strange man, and my shadow friend.
Through my skin,
the blade does cut,
starting upwards,
from my gut,
you dug it in there,
you drove it deep,
you’ve silenced the demon,
and you’ve granting me eternal sleep.