Wednesday, 17 April 2013


There is a soft hand touching my back. It's gently moving up and down, on it's way up I can feel the blunt part of the finger tips. On it's way down, it's nothing but skin. I wonder, which way I prefer. I can't decide which one is better. I hope, that these sensations will continue long enough for me to decide, and longer still for me to enjoy my knowledge of the preferred.

There is a breath in my ear, it says I Love You. The touch hasn't stopped. God, if you look upon me now know that Samurai have killed themselves for less. This moment can never be repeated. This pure joy and ecstasy can't last. I might as well stop after this moment. Nothing will top it. I'm in love, and there is no tomorrow.

Passion is to suffer, to suffer is to live. A life without passion is no life at all.

Don't take me back to the old moments. Don't push me back in to a world that doesn't hold on to this. Don't. Please, I need this.

Passion is to suffer, to suffer is to live. 

I'm not alive without this. I wasn't alive before this.

I'm meant to live without it.

Making Them Count

There was a shattering explosion and we knew that there was nothing we could do. Panicking did nothing. There was going to be nothing but pain soon. The three of us, were about to go down.

I wanted to react, I wanted to do more than panic. I wanted it to be over quickly. I had the means of making it happen too. They were going to be coming in from all sides. I knew I had no time, the room was no longer a room, it was a war zone. There was no exit or cover, they were going to come in, and try to arrest me. I wasn't about to let them. I was about to let them shoot me.

They were looking for a reason, I was going to give them one.

I had a gun. I'm not much of a gun guy. Never respected them much. Never though too much about them. I'd fired this one a couple of times in a back alley. Taking care of some business. It was a six shooter. It had a hell of a kick.

I took it out while I was diving down from the explosion. All panic left my body, all I could do was aim. The first cop came in, I fired and he went flying back. Into a couple of his buddies. They were trying to sound serious. But I could tell they were excited. Who wasn't? I guess Kelly. Kelly was crying with his hands up behind is head. On his knees. In the way. A cop was approaching him.

I didn't want any of us to last. I shot Kelly in the head and the bullet passed right through into the cops groin.

Longest thirty seconds of my life. I had no idea how I was still alive. Four shots left. Making them count was all that mattered.

Sharon was screaming at the top of her lungs, and a cop was dragging her by the hair, her feet were fighting. A loud crack came from my hand and the flailing feet stopped moving. Another crack and the cop didn't have a hand to hold her corpse with anymore. His scream was worse than hers.

Two shots left.

I was never a violent man. The sight of all the blood was starting to hit. I had no idea how I was still alive. Clearly people were shooting at me. How was I not down?

I tried to get up. I couldn't. I looked down. Most of the blood I think I was seeing was pretty clearly mine.

Good. They got me.

They were staying back. The cop with no hand was moaning. So I shot him.

One shot left.

There was that fucking stupid ceramic pig that Sharon had bought for me. That fucking piggy bank that I had to pretend to like but hated. The cops were clearly waiting for me to bleed out or something. Somehow that fucking pig had survived all the chaos. I wasn't about to go out knowing it was still there. The fucking eye sore.


*Author's Note - A less violent prequel will come up at some point. Hope you enjoyed this though.*

Trip to the Bathroom

A translucent film was slipping like a cloud over her vision, making everything seem as if it was underwater. Her perception was joyous to the change. She looked at her hand and they seemed almost cartoonish. Rounder, and smoother. Less flawed and less real. She giggled on the mattress. And scratched at the bed bugs.

She was forgetting where she was. The walls were blank and bare, their color and texture was oppressive. She needed to pee. She needed to find a bathroom. She needed to find the door out of the room. She needed to stand up. She needed to make sure that she was wearing clothes, because she didn't know who or what was on the other side of the door. The door that needed to be found. She needed to find pants at the very least. There were no pants. She needed to find a sheet. There was no sheet, other then the kind with elastic on the corners. It smelt bad. She wore it anyways. She needed to find the door. She found a closet. She found the door. The air was different. She stepped out of the room.

It was a hallway. To her left was a full wall mirror. It showed her. In her sheet. She looked at her face and it started to mold and become different. It was fascinating. Her cheeks were becoming dark black holes, and yet for some reason they weren't sucking in her eyes. Her skin was raising and shifting, as if the texture of her matter had become fluid, and something was throwing tiny sand pebbles into her one at a time. It grew more and more uncomfortable when she realized she couldn't control it. It wasn't enjoyable. She needed to turn away. She turned away. She was in a hallway.

There was carpet now, on her bare feet, and it wasn't nice. It had long fibers that should have felt warm and comforting, but instead they were hard and brittle. They stabbed at her feet. When she looked at it, it was rushing like a wave, telling her to get out. Telling her she needed to be away. She walked into the bathroom. It was a door. It was a door to the left, she knew that. That's how she was able to find it without thinking. She caught a glimpse of herself in the bathroom mirror and turned off the light. She peed in the dark.

In the dark, shapes came out of sound. The sound of her breath. The sound of her passing water. The echos her noises created from the walls. The walls were responding to her. They were rejecting her. All of her, they didn't want to it. They didn't want to absorb her. She couldn't blame them. She was a weird monkey. They were walls. They didn't have too much in common. She giggled at her thought, and her eyes adjusted to see her hands. She like her hands, they were closer and further away than they had ever been before.

She loved the darkness. As long as she could see her hands.


The amber lights coming off the building were barely luminous in the cold dark winter storm. It was the kind of imagery that could remind one of the end of the world. Yet, it didn't stop over a hundred cars from lining up their way through the driveway, into the parking lot. Patiently slipping and sliding. Never honking. They made their way there, to see the boys play the game.

They weren't the brave ones, the ones in cars. But the kids that had to walk to meet up with friends, not a long walk for most. Maybe fifteen minutes tops. In a cold blizzard an eternity. But friends were waiting, and game was about to start. So kids walked silently in the dark. Trudging through slowly, in the deep snow covered short cuts. They made their way there, to see the boys play the game.

For some of the kids who were new to the town. It came, as a bit of a shock, that the boys would be so celebrated in this backwards, small town, for basketball. It didn't seem to fit with the stereotypes. It would seem more likely that football, or baseball, or hockey would be received with crazed passion. That these would be the games that hundreds of people would show up to, to watch. Not basketball. The new kids didn't realize yet, that if there was a sport being played, that was traditionally considered to be a man's sport; the town was going to show up.

It was that kind of town. So boring, the life blood of the town depends and thrives on the performance of any sport played by a small group of sixteen year old boys. Value of character for everyone is measured, judged, rewarded and punished by the proximity, enthusiasm and envy that is showed for the boys who play the game.

They were sixteen year old gods. Some of the players were good old boys, who didn't see it that way. Others took the glory that they received, willingly and gladly, inherently knowing that this wonderful time, like all things; would end. But there was the one, there was always one. The leader, the Zeus, of the group.

He was great at each sport. Football, he was the star receiver. Baseball, he was the star hitter. He casually played track and won each event. He was star forward for his hockey team. For him, his future only seemed to have the problem of deciding which scholarship was he going to take? Football? Baseball? Basketball? The future seemed bright and unlimited.

Except, no one in town had ever seen any scouts. There was always talk about how, surely, scouts were going to be coming to pick up "our" boy. Take him to the big leagues. They would get him a scholarship and he would head off and make his town proud. Make his school proud. It wasn't any pressure for him. He believed them, he believed that he was just naturally going to make it all happen. He had so far, he had no reason to think otherwise.

He won the game in the blizzard. He won most of the games. Even when the team didn't win, he did. He always won. He won that year, and the next. And when it came time for school to end, and for the group of kids to move on, that's when it dawned on him. No scout had taken him. No scholarship was headed his way. He wouldn't be playing university sports of any type.

 In fact, he wouldn't be going to university at all. After the summer, it seemed that he disappeared. The town didn't wonder about him. This happened to most of their star athletes, they all left town. Never to be seen again. No one really knew why.

Eight years later, he was heard from again. In a small town not too far from his old one. Working as a bouncer at the pub. He was bigger than ever, clearly not naturally. He had a boy of his own, kid was four years old. Already playing catch like a champ, at least as far as he could tell, every second weekend.

Back in the town.The amber lights coming off the building were barely luminous in the cold dark winter storm. It was the kind of imagery that could remind one of the end of the world. Yet, it didn't stop over a hundred cars from lining up their way through the driveway, into the parking lot. Patiently slipping and sliding. Never honking. They made their way there, to see the boys play the game.