Sunday, January 22, 2017

Excerpts #9, #10, #11 and #12-- Short Story- The Relished Touch

Heyy! This should be the last installment of the short story. I hope you have all enjoyed the ride! Sorry for the super late post. Hope you're all well.

Story links in order:

http://sleeplesscomposer.blogspot.com/2016/11/excerpt1-from-short-story-relished-touch.html

http://sleeplesscomposer.blogspot.com/2016/11/hey-so-im-day-late-it-seems.html

http://sleeplesscomposer.blogspot.com/2016/11/excerpt-3-and-4-short-story-relished.html


http://sleeplesscomposer.blogspot.com/2016/12/excerpt-5-and-6-short-story-relished.html

http://sleeplesscomposer.blogspot.com/2016/12/excerpt-7-8-short-story-relished-touch.html

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Once they finished; she scurried out of the room.  He once again lay alone, in an empty room, while the doctors and care takers were on the other side of the glass with the speaker on.
He began to reminisce on his life- the day he was shot actually.
“This is impossible..” He heard a man say over the speaker that was mistakenly left on. He slipped into his reverie.




              He dabbed on some aftershave and then stepped back. He glared at his handsome self in the mirror. His brown hair meticulously combed with a back flowing side part. His pearly, white teeth freshly brushed. He fixed his collared shirt and knew tonight would be easy to reel her in. No, woman has resisted him yet. This should be cake.

              He heard faint, rattling from the basement, and ignored it- like he always does. He was at the ripe young age of thirty-two and has been at this game since his early twenties. He put his wallet in his pocket and headed out. He hopped into his mediocre, navy blue car and drove down to the club. Loud. Why must it always be so thumping loud? He parked his car down the block and walked over.

              David never had to wait in line; the bouncer knew the ladies loved him. He frequented here often and every time he left with a different girl. The girls were always young, always beautiful. He walked into a large, dark, music filled club. Glow sticks lit up the room. It was so colorful. He walked along the upper balcony by the entrance and followed it to the stairs. He walked down them and walked briskly to the bar. He ordered a scotch on the rocks. The bartender knew him; he made him his drink and walked away. He picked up his glass and turned. He watched the room. So many people. A blonde in a mini skirt spotted him and walked up to him. “Hi, baby, why don’t you buy me a drink.” He hated being approached, for he must have control of all situations. He gave a brief shy smile and shook his head. Both of her hands opened and raised at her sides, “Whatever.” Sure, she was pretty. Thin, tan, blonde; who doesn’t love a blonde? He just didn’t like her.

He turned back towards the bar and looked along the bar. Many people lined, mostly men buying women drinks, hoping they’ll get lucky. A pretty girl, he’s seen her before, next to him leaned over, “That was sad. On behalf of the population, I would like to apologize for women like her.” He looked at her, really looked at her. She had ivory skin and such dark brown hair. Her lips were almost a natural rose color and her eyes big with brown iris’. He was taken by her beauty. She was wearing an olive green long sleeved shirt with black gaucho pants.

 “She’ll find someone. It’s only a matter of time and desperation I suppose.” He replied coolly. The woman gave a short laugh.

“I’m Monique.” She said in a mature womanly voice. She put her hand out to suggest she wanted a handshake.

“I’m Clark. Nice to meet you.” He readily shook her hand. “Can I buy a drink? What are you drinking?” She smiled and readily accepted his passes. They chatted in the noisy club and he bought her several drinks. When she turned away, like every other night with a different girl, he would pour a hallucinogenic into her drink. The effects made them feel as if they were extremely high while being intoxicated.  He would laugh and play as normal, seeming like a perfect gentleman. Seeming like he was the man who was too good to be true. He would walk her, as she stumbled, to his car. Once she was in the car it was all over. He would drive her to his house.

              He pulled into his driveway. He walked her into his house. They would kiss and play, and eventually he would screw her, like she wanted. Except at the end of this date she would not return home. Once she was asleep, and after his needs were filled and his sexual hunger satisfied, he would dress her and carry her to the basement. He chained her up with the rest of the women.

              A lot of them already dead from starvation and dehydration, decaying corpses, whilst the others cry out and beg to be let go. His newest victim, and by far his favorite, was being added to his collection. He liked this one. She was smart, sassy even, but his desires have spoken. After he chained her up, he decided he wanted to give her a separate room. He took her into his special room and didn’t chain her up but locked her in a room. Instead of being in a large room with dead and half dead women, dozens of them; he put her in an actual room. There was a bed, restraints at every bed posts incase his needs rise and she resists. She’ll have a bathroom to shower, there’s a toilet. Basic needs. He wanted to keep this one. He wanted to convince her to be his.

              After, the room was locked he turned around and smelled the air. “I need to clean up.” He unchained the dead women and one by one he dragged them to the yard. He buried them and never thought of them again. “Please, let me go. Please.” He went to grab the last one. She was still alive, she just witnessed him kill the others. She was very weak. She had dirty blonde hair. He unchained her and let her arm drop. She sighed. “Thank you.” He knelt over her. “No.” He began to choke her. He enjoyed feeling life slip away through his fingers. It made him feel powerful. Unstoppable. After a few moments of struggling he added her to the bone yard behind his house. He was happy he lived far from neighbors and had endless amounts of space to bury his victims. 

              Weeks went by and to no avail Monique resisted him. She wanted out, she begged and pleaded. He was careful with her. He scared her and when she resisted his charms he would withhold food and beverage until she was so week she would succumb to him. This cycle lasted for the longest time, until one day there was a knock on his door. He looked outside and saw it was a cop car. He heard banging and screams from the basement. Monique! He saw cops looking around the house. Angrily, David stalked off to the basement, fists balled at his sides. He walked down the long corridor, filled the screams of the deceased, and to the locked door. He grabbed a blade and reached in his pocket for the keys. He put the key in the lock and unlocked the door. He saw Monique grasping at the tiny slit of a window and stood there. “I give you everything and this is what you do?!” he shouts. Bewildered she turned and cowered into a corner. “Please! Please don’t hurt me anymore!” She cried out. He walked up to her and grabbed her wrist. He yanked her up off the floor and said, “Is that what you think of me?” He was hurt, he loved her. He treasured her. She knew what her fate was- she saw the blade and felt his tight, tight grip around her thinning wrist. “You’re a monster. I could never love you.” She stared at him with sternness and spoke with distinct disdain for her capturer. “Goodbye, love.” He said with the saddest eyes and took the blade and violently cut her throat open. He felt her fear, he reveled in it. This is the part he loved. He is conquering her. He felt her warm, warm blood caress his fingers. He let her fall on the floor and watched her bleed out. As he relished in the moment, he held his hand close to his nose and smelled the metallic liquid. He would miss her- but his urge was satisfied, this will last him a long time.

              Above him-he heard the front door bust open. He needed to escape. He snuck down the hall opposite the way he came and ran through the back door. He thought he was in the clear- he was running into the woods when he heard a shot. It was a gun shot. He kept running and running. Another shot. Ha! It missed him again. A final shot- it penetrated his back and was imbedded in his spine. He went stiff and fell over. He was caught. His life was over.

              He now resides in a hospital, immobile, mute, and restrained to a bed. He saw Shelly by the glass and wished he could feel the warmness of her blood on his hands, or feel the life escape from her as he strangled her. Ah, yes, she was something special to him. His urged had died for nine years, he had the memory of Monique to keep him satisfied, but her- he felt his urge rising. He felt a fire inside that he hasn’t felt for nine years! He was so determined in his new conquest in mind; he felt a slight smirk actually curl across his face. You will be mine. In time, Shelly, in time.

Saturday, December 31, 2016

Excerpt #7 and #8 -Short Story-- The Relished Touch


Happy Holidays Everyone!! Here are the next two installations. I hope you're all enjoying the progression of the story.

Links of Story (In order):
http://sleeplesscomposer.blogspot.com/2016/11/excerpt1-from-short-story-relished-touch.html

http://sleeplesscomposer.blogspot.com/2016/11/hey-so-im-day-late-it-seems.html

http://sleeplesscomposer.blogspot.com/2016/11/excerpt-3-and-4-short-story-relished.html
http://sleeplesscomposer.blogspot.com/2016/12/excerpt-5-and-6-short-story-relished.html


     

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            He has been living like a caged animal. Tied up, force fed and unable to speak. His drive to live had diminished. A spectacular shot to his vertebrae was all that was needed. Seeming like he was dead, he had laid there for hours; just bleeding and bleeding while the police took their time. He knew he was unimportant to them. He was finally swept away taken to his new home.

              For the long nine years David has wished to die. On several occasions, he should have. He has had heart attacks and multiple organ failures and every time the doctors revive him. He wished he could sign a DNR, he wants this nightmare to end. Man is not supposed to live unable to speak, or move. He cannot control who he meets or whom takes care of him. He cannot ask questions about the new world around him. He must remain ignorant.  He could never go find a companion; someone who shared the same interests as he did. Sure, he’s been in love many times- but everyone has. Let’s face it. Anytime people have a genuine connection to someone they fall in love a little bit. No one will ever admit it though.

              That was the main difference between David and everyone else. He lived in the now. He wasn’t afraid to seize the day. He didn’t confine himself to rules and restrictions. He was completely and utterly inhibited and instinctual, almost primal. He missed the old days where he could live freely. See a pretty girl, schmooze her up, give her a special drink and take her home. Ahh, those were the good ol’ days.

              Shelly, finished taking his blood pressure and lowered the guard rail on the bed. She noticed he was still restrained to the rail so she lifted it back up. She sighed in frustration. “What happened to you?” She knew his eyes were focused on her. She wracked her brain on all the possibilities. Why would they restrain someone who is completely immobile? What is the purpose? Does he have psychiatric history? Was he a violent patient? Is he a criminal? Was he suicidal? She wanted to ask but she found it in bad to taste to ask her mute patient to move his eyeballs to these questions. “I normally make it a point to know who my patients are Mr. Clark. Would you find it rude if I asked?” She asked. What harm could this do? Who’s he going to tell? She looked at David and he moved his eyeballs left to right twice suggesting ‘No, I don’t mind’.

“Were you in the psychiatric ward?” She probed.

David moved his eyeballs once. Yes

 “You were. Okay, Were you suicidal?”

He moved his eyeballs twice. No, dear. Never run from one’s troubles.

“Okay, that’s a good thing… Psychiatric ward. Psychiatric ward. Um, did you have a mental illness?”

No movement. What’s your definition of mental illness, love?

“Okay, I won’t ask that again. Touchy subject I suppose. Did you commit a crime?” She asked with worry.

David moved his eyes once. Yes, I did, love.

Shelly’s pupils dilated as her fear grew. “Robbery?” Her voice was growing smaller.

He moved his eyes twice. No.

She stood up and paced a bit. “I shouldn’t be asking. I’m sorry to intrude. All your meds have been dispensed. It’s time for your rotation. She picked up the remote at the side of the bed. Panic and worry spread across her face like it was the newest lipstick. Some male care givers came in helped her turn him over. She looked down and saw his piercing brown eyes burn right through her. He could sense she wanted to cry, scream, or hide from him- and he loved every minute of it. They began to wheel him out of the room. They wheeled him over to the elevator and awaited its opening. MRI time for Mr. David Clark. Shelly stopped asking questions, she must take care of her patient unabashedly, ignorance is bliss in her opinion. She need not to know more than what he has revealed. They reached the floor and wheeled him to the room with the MRI machine. The doctor was in there already waiting and prepping the area. The male nurses and Shelly transferred the patient, Mr. Clark, onto the MRI bed. The testing began.

Wednesday, December 14, 2016

Excerpt #5 and #6--Short Story-- The Relished Touch

Heyy!! I know, I'm really bad at my own homework I have assigned to myself. Sorry!!

It seems I have left every hanging for a couple of weeks and have the next two continuations here.

Enjoy!

And as always I will post the links in chronological order if you wanted to catch up.

Links in order:

http://sleeplesscomposer.blogspot.com/2016/11/excerpt1-from-short-story-relished-touch.html

http://sleeplesscomposer.blogspot.com/2016/11/hey-so-im-day-late-it-seems.html

http://sleeplesscomposer.blogspot.com/2016/11/excerpt-3-and-4-short-story-relished.html
     

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              “Mr. Clark, I hope you’re enjoying the view?” She came in delighted and upbeat. She rotated his bed to face the television that she had left on. She pushed various meds through his intravenous line and started his food bag. He rotated his eyes to try to get any chance of a view on her. She looked perplexed as she wrote in his chart. She looked up and smiled a brilliant, white smile. “Hey, you know what. Let’s devise a way of communication. “She said chirpily.

Okay, Shelly. You’re cute and all but seriously? What the fuck am I going to do, wave my eyeballs? If I could scoff I would be scoffing right now.

              “Okay, since all that seems to move is your eyes, I’ll ask basic questions and you can move them left to right once for yes’ and twice for no’s. It’s not much of a system but it might make you a little more comfortable. “She thought this was very clever and since she has picked up from others conversation and comments no one has acknowledged this man in years. They were afraid of him and perturbed by him.

Fine, but I want you to scratch every inch of me. I’m itchy. I’ve been itchy for nine years. Scratch me, damn it! Shower time does not cut it. Also, put on ID Discovery Channel. I want to watch that. You put this foofy crap on. Adam Sandler is not funny. How is golf and hockey alike? It’s not. Something about Shelly made him want to air all his complaints. He saw her as a way to meet death in peace. She flipped through his chart again and was concentrating.

“Hmm, so let’s see. Are you in a lot of pain?” Shelly asked with grave concern.

Shelly, ask me if I’m itchy. Please. He moved his eyes back and forth twice.

She let out a sigh of relief. “Good. The meds are helping you then.”  As she was thinking of her next question she scratched her hand. She was scratching and scratching. Then she stopped and looked at David with a coy smile. “Mr. Clark, are you itchy?” If his eyeballs could have exploded with excitement, they would have when he heard her question. He tried to contain his eyeballs and focused very hard on moving them once. She smiled. “Okay, now to find out where. Nose?” He moved his eyes once. She leaned over and scratched his nose and he relished in every moment of it. She stopped and then stood up. She took a stethoscope and blood pressure band and began check his blood pressure. She jotted in his chart again. “You’re being set for your quarterly MRI of your spine in a couple of hours. The doctor doesn’t think they’ll be much difference but you never can tell how someone’s body will heal. In this field, you quickly learn it’s not the same, healing wise, for everyone.” She sounded optimistic for him. He could tell she hoped for some improvement, even if it was just so he can move his neck and maybe talk.
Scratch me again, please. His mind pleaded. He wanted to sing, he wanted to laugh. He was in a tomb of fixed silence. His enemies had provided the most precise shot that landed him in this now useless casing of a body. And all he wanted in this very moment was to be scratched. Hell, he wanted to feel a human touch.           

Monday, November 28, 2016

Look at the beauty of the world,
Not through tainted perspectives of persons encountered-
Rather through the eyes of sheer existence.
Look at the moving trees that cascade down its beautiful leaves on a fall day.
Look upon the avenues of quiet buildings that hold precious families fast asleep.
Look at the bulidings and skylines around you,
Realize that, intellectual design is amongst you as you are consumed in it
Look at the beauty of the world and see that the artful mind, craftful hands, and natural anomalies are forever present.

Excerpt #3 and #4 - Short Story- The Relished Touch

Hey Guys, I missed last weeks post and I'm a day late with this weeks. I have formed it into a longer post of the next few paragraphs from the short story. I hope you're all enjoying the read as the story develops and unravels.


Links in order:

http://sleeplesscomposer.blogspot.com/2016/11/excerpt1-from-short-story-relished-touch.html

http://sleeplesscomposer.blogspot.com/2016/11/hey-so-im-day-late-it-seems.html

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“Okay, cool. Thanks. Oh, why won’t anyone talk about what happened with 348?” She asked. Curiosity rung through her voice. “Okay, fine. Don’t tell me.” He heard after a few minutes.

              A short, smiling, bright eyed blonde came bustling through the door. “Why, good morning to you, sir. How are we doing today, huh? Let me just check your chart for a name.” She picked up the chart and skimmed through the pages and nodded along. She was wearing blue scrubs with a pink printed sweater.

“Mr. David Clark, nice to meet you. It says here you have sustained severe injury to your spine. Gun shot. However, it does not say why and no one seems to want to tell me. I guess it’s in the past, right? No longer matters. Any-who, my name is Shelly Sprie. I’ll be taking good care of you from here on out. I wanted to introduce myself before I came back to give you your nine o’clock meds. In the meantime, let me push your bed facing the window instead of away. It’s such a beautiful day; I wouldn’t want you to miss it. And I’ll also put the television on for you okay. If you need anything let me- Oops, I’m sorry Mr. Clark. Mind slip. See you soon. Enjoy the view.” She scattered out of the room.

              He found her optimism endearing. For a, brief, moment, he didn’t feel as though dying would be better than this. He had someone speaking directly to him. Even her little slip up, about asking for something, he found adorable. David was very happy that this was his new care taker. So, eager, so full of life. For the first time in years he could not wait for his pain killers, anti-depressants, stool softners, vitamins, food, bag changes, other meds that he forgot what they were for, or any of that, for the sole purpose that someone would be coming to speak to him. She pushed his bed to the window. He was so happy to see that the grass was green. He watched as care takers took breaks, doctors took calls, and guards stand tall. His favorite was looking at the tree beyond the fences. It was a beautiful Maple tree. It sat there beautifully under the wonderfully bright sky. What a day today will turn out to be.

              He slipped into his imaginary place where he was free in his mind. He ran out of this room so he can run up that hill and lay under the tree. What a blessed thought that would be. What a simple dream for a man to have. He sat there wondering if what she has done was cruel. He is teased and taunted by the wanting of being free. He was beginning to have mixed feelings about this. It was a very kind gesture; however, on the other hand it’s a beautiful torture. A final glimpse before death I suppose.

              After an hour of staring at the same tree he grew to hate that tree. It was taunting him. Look at you, just sitting there, waving around in the wind like you’re something special. Well, guess what? You’re not. No one cares about you. You’re nothing….. J-just like me. His words hung there in his mind. He wished to be treated like a human. He felt so isolated, alone. He felt empty inside with an all-consuming amount of loneliness. He looked back at the tree. I’m sorry tree. I’m jealous, okay. You’re out there doing tree things, waving around and you’re rubbing it in my face. It pisses me off. I’m going to haunt you when I’m dead. David fought with that tree inside his mind until Shelly returned. Then he focused on her.

Monday, November 14, 2016

Excerpt #2 -- Short Story-- The Relished Touch

Hey! So, I'm a day late it seems. It's time for the continuation of the short story! Who's excited? I am. If you didn't read the first post I will post a link to copy and paste, or you can scroll through the selections to the right of the blog. Enjoy!!

http://sleeplesscomposer.blogspot.com/2016/11/excerpt1-from-short-story-relished-touch.html

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Instead he stares at four blue walls. The walls used to be gray, he liked this color much better; he found it to be soothing, in only a way a man like himself would. He hears all the latest gossip among his care takers, their excitement, disdain, all their hopes and dreams. His previous care taker, Monica, complained about him so much that she was finally switched on her rotations. He apparently scared her. Her level of discomfort grew over the months and she complained until her staffing manager had had enough.

He has heard amongst the gossip that some new girl was starting today. She’s apparently in way over her head and doesn’t know what she’s in for. He cannot wait to meet this one. Usually, the new ones break after eight months in a place this. Everything they have to see and endure isn’t something they can be trained for. They have to gain experience and ride out their rookie years like everyone else. Monica, she was veteran. This surprised him; she of all people should’ve been able to handle this amount of a “workload”.  He thinks his stares and restraints are what truly scared her. He has eyes that are screaming a million words that will never be spoken; words that will never pass his lips.

He could hear outside his room; as the door is always open, a chipper voice ringing loud through the air. “Which room is it?” her voice almost sings.

“348.” Another voice. Another woman. She sounds bored of her job; the way only a veteran in this world would.

Sunday, November 6, 2016

Excerpt#1 from Short Story- The Relished Touch

Good morning, I think for the next foreseeable Sundays I am going to post continuous excerpts to a short story I wrote based off a criteria challenge my friend and I gave one another. I find some hilarity in it, then again I am the one who wrote it. I will post links to copy and paste as well, in chronological order, so you can follow along with the story as it develops in case you happen to miss a sunday. It's a similar idea as to the Six Sentence Sunday I was part taking in several years ago with the exception I'll most likely post 2-3 paragraphs as opposed to six sentences. Enjoy the read, this is one of my favorites!

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The Relished Touch



Every day starts the same. He wakes up from his long slumber and watches life move forward as his simply stays still. Sure there are some that scurry away from him, who wants to talk to the immobile mute? Life is agony for him. There are days he even wishes for death; sure he cherishes all the fond memories of the life he once had. Those were the best days of his life until his incident.

It has been many years since the incident. He now resides in the care of others; primarily people who don’t care whether he lives or dies. He is just a room number to them, a burden to their workload and the heftiness in their day. Everything must be done for him. Catheter changes, colostomy bag changes, showers, he must be flipped every few hours to prevent bed sores, all while being restrained to the bed railings. What is it that they still feared after so many years, that his mobility would return? That his spine would simply heal?

He often craves to stand up and walk to the window. To just see how the world has changed, evolved. He yearns to speak and yell. Flex his now motionless muscles. The mere things he took for granted like his morning jogs he used to loathe; he now wishes for. The chit chat of idle conversation that he tried to avoid at all costs he now wishes he could join in on. So much of life he has taken for granted. He longed to take a mid day stroll in the spring, smell the freshly cut grass, gaze at all the life that sprouts from the ground and makes life colorful.


Sunday, October 30, 2016

Novel #1 Preface (Entirety)

Hey guys! So, I decided to do something special. I wanted to post a lengthier post. With the help of a friend of mine, I picked my very first novel and the very first chapter. This is the novel that started my love of writing when I was 17years old. It's in need of a major rework but it still has its very own story to tell. The title is also being rethought; currently it's 'Bittersweet Moments'

I also plan on posting excerpts from short stories as well, giving you all a taste of writing styles within different genres. Enjoy and keep an eye out for the posts!! =) Feel free to leave your comments below as well!

Below is a link to the Preface of the novel I am currently focusing on. It's a horror novel that I am partial to! Love the intro!
http://sleeplesscomposer.blogspot.com/search?updated-min=2015-01-01T00:00:00-08:00&updated-max=2016-01-01T00:00:00-08:00&max-results=27


Preface

The thought of killing another person never crossed my mind. The idea of harming another person made me cringe; it was inconceivable to even imagine. All that is running through my head now is how I could get out of this situation. Do I stop running for my life and just forfeit it? Do I keep running until I hit safety? Or do I try to kill my attacker?

I have never been so overwhelmed with emotion before. As I’m running my mind is racing, I didn’t even notice that I was crying and shaking. No one is around. Where is everyone? Why is this happening? Why me? The irony of this was I knew why.

As I’m running, harder than anyone has ever run before, I realized that I wasn’t getting out of this predicament without a fight. One may be enticed by the idea of a fight. One may even give up and try to hide. I on the other hand had no idea as to what I was going to do.

I was so frazzled. I kept thinking about the things I was about to lose. Those things kept me going, to save my life. I had to; I’m not a quitter; why would I give up now? Others may become weakened by the problem or feel helpless, but it only strengthened me.

           If I gave up I would be leaving behind my dad, my brother, my friends, Jeffrey and Clarisse even Tanya. These are the five people I loved the most and I couldn’t and wouldn’t leave them, not yet. It’s them I’m running towards. After this past year, I deserved a little happiness. Quitting isn’t the answer. What do I do?           

            Breathlessly running I came to a sudden halt. I saw an alley ahead of me, it was dark. I ran into the alley and hid behind some trash cans. There was a slight opening. I crouched down and peeped through the opening. There was certain serenity about this moment. It was unbelievable and remarkable that in this particular moment- I felt safe.

As I’m kneeling behind the trash cans I observed my surroundings. I must have passed at least a dozen alleys and I clearly picked the darkest one I could find. On the left of the brick building wall was a dim lantern light. It barely gave off any sort of light, but it was enough to see. There were big water puddles everywhere. Against the building on the left were a couple of dumpsters, adjacent to them were empty cardboard boxes and a very big pile of metal pipes. Some of the pipes were very long and some short, others were thicker while some were thin.

The alley was long and dark; it resembled something out of a scary movie. There was water dripping from the fire escapes. It was dark and the wind seemed to echo. Along with the buildings on the left and right of me were fire escapes; There wasn’t a trace of light emerging from anywhere. Broken glass grounded my feet. The broken glass came from several of the windows on the building. They were probably old apartment buildings.

Someone’s footsteps came to an abrupt halt for about a minute. Then they began again and grew louder with each step. Tip tap, tip tap. The footsteps were slow and it was the most terrifying sound anyone could hear in this moment. They stopped. He walked across the alley and bent down. Some metal clinked and clanked. He picked up a very big metal pipe, and then he slowly stood up straight and proceeded to walk slowly toward me. Tip tap, tip tap.

I glanced down at the gun I was holding and started to think. Do I have it in me? This man was about to beat me to death. It was an obvious decision, but I was shaking so badly my heart felt like it was about to rip through my chest. It was so loud I thought he heard it. I watched through the trashcans and saw him walking slowly towards me. How does he know I came down this alley? I passed at least a dozen of them. He was about a hundred feet away from me.

His face was so visible to me; his piercing blue eyes were wild. His stature looked increasingly larger than normal. He had the ugliest grin on his face. His mouth was curled into an evil concocted smile. It was the face of a killer and I knew my number was up. The feeling of safety quickly dissipated. He walked about another fifty feet and stopped by the empty cardboard boxes alongside the dumpster. He then began twirling and spinning the metal pipe. His muscular arms did it quickly and violently.

He stopped and smiled like an animal about to attack its prey. He tilted his head and looked in my direction. Oh no, he sees me. That’s all I could think. He laughed a low giggle and stepped back. This gesture confused me. Why is he backing up? Does he think I’m still running? What is he doing? He’s playing mind games I know it; he’s trying to scare me. I was trying to rationalize with myself.

“Oh Annie, you’re quite the runner” my attacker said and he continued to speak.

“Why don’t you save yourself the agonizing minutes of torture of whether I’m going to find you or not, and just come out? I know that you know I am going to find you.” He said very confidently.

What do I do? Should I try to bolt? Do I stay here? Do I force myself to shoot him? Do I come out and try to reason, if I do will he listen? Questioning myself wasn’t making me feel much better and it certainly wasn’t helping. I have to kill him. It was the only way. I looked up and he was at least ten feet closer. My heart stopped and I clenched the gun harder. My hands were so sweaty and clammy. He shook his head disapprovingly and took a few steps towards me.

Suddenly, I jumped up. It was a reflex reaction. We were in visual range of one another. I looked at him and saw the surprise in his face. Maybe he didn’t know where I was and he was bluffing. He looks too surprised. His smile returned. It occurred to me that I just handed myself to him on a silver platter. He took a few more steps towards me. His pace was much quicker; it was like a jogger about to jet off. Then I drew the gun and pointed it violently and sternly towards him. He stopped for one moment and one moment only. He looked at me with delighted surprise. I eased a little and then suddenly he lunged at me.

Friday, October 28, 2016

You taste like peace with a hint of devastation.
You sound like innocence on top of your cruelty.
The kindness is a fa├žade while the devil dwells within-
Roaming your halls like an old friend who feels welcomed.
Tearing down whatever walls of goodness are left,
Ensuring your body and soul are encased in a hell of its own.
A hell where destruction is all you know, while you smile radiantly,
Speak with your silk tongue and soothing voice,
Until it's too late to finally meet the devil behind the mask.
I see the couple sitting there,
In silence-
They only speak up when yelling.
Yet, they hold hands and spend bounds of time with one another.
Is that what love is,
Or do you whisper sweet nothings to one another before you close your eyes.
Do you ever tell one another how much you adore one another,
Or is it simply that the nightly embrace is comfort enough to reassure a love long lost?

Monday, October 17, 2016

The thing about being in love is it hits you like a drug.
That person becomes such an integral part of your life,
The very peace you breathe in,
Making you feel untouchable-
On top of the world.
You never realize how much you crave the presence of that person until they're gone.
Now all you're left with is true pain,
Pain that leaves you with a gaping hole inside,
Pain that leaves you giving up on everything,
Pushing everyone away
Without your conscience consent.
Leaving you feeling-
Empty and lost..
This is a bit unfinished, but I'm sharing it anyway.


I've been on this merry-go-round before-
The end result always stays the same,
Abandoned and alone.
I lay here each night with you in mind.
I lay here each night trying to not let the past burn me alive,
My memories scorch me in ways I never knew possible,
My memories taunt me in a new way that haunt my dreams.
Dreams that concoct their own reality of my very worst fears.
Dreams that should make this easier.
Dreams that make moving on impossible.
Dreams that make me see that even now, you're still all I see no matter how hard I try to face the reality.