I Will Not Cry – Writetober / Inktober #9


I will not cry.

I love my daughter so much. I Miss walking with her. Her holding my pinky in her hand. Her being both curious and afraid of everything the world has to offer and me being the one to teach her and to protect her. 

My heart hurts when I think about it. 

My chest aches when my heart hurts.

My eyes get teary when my chest aches.

I can feel pain in my teeth when my eyes get teary.

I know that I am not supposed to dwell on the past. I love my daughter still. I love the woman that she is growing up to be. At the minute, she is a teenager. She doesn’t need me like she did. She doesn’t hold my pinky anymore. She goes out with her friends instead of her dad. She has a life that I know nothing about. 

I hear her make decisions. I am proud at the choices she makes. It is the only thing that brings me back to normalcy. It tells me that I must have done something right. 

People tell me that one day, one amazing day, my daughter will come back to me and want me in her life. Some say sooner rather than later, and vice versa. I just hope it happens. 

I wonder if my mother feels the same way about me?

If that’s true, then I have failed her miserably. I don’t think I ever came back.

If I Could Be Like John Carter – Writetober / Inktober #8


If I Could Be Like John Carter

I take off my clothes. I stand outside, in the cold night air, lit only by the moon. I lift my arms. I stare up into the void of space. My eyes set themselves on a star. The star is so bright. It’s color changes from white to red to blue to yellow. I want to be there. I want to be on that star. I feel weightless. I stretch my arms out as far as I can and I am suddenly lifted off the ground. The cool air on the bottoms of my feet give me a shock. I move faster and faster upward. I don’t look down but I know that the ground beneath me is getting farther and farther away. I focus all my energy on that star. My brain begins to ache with the strain. I am getting higher and higher. I can feel the air thin in my lungs. It’s becoming harder to breathe. There is pressure in my ears. I can feel blood trickling out of my nostrils. I scream and there is no sound. My body beings to freeze. My eyes feel like they are trying to escape from my skull. My head…

I COULDN’T GET OUT OF BED – Writetober / Inktober #7



It was awful. There was no reason to. Everything outside was disgusting and everything inside bored me to my core. I couldn’t think of anything to do, so I didn’t. I was so tired. Tired from doing nothing and being nothing. How could something like this make one so exhausted? I lay in bed and pass time by cataloging the pain that runs through my body, in my mind. The aches and pains are so severe, but not anything compared to the thought of having to deal with the “normal” humans out in the world. They are awful. They can’t drive. They speak too loudly. They smell. Their faces wear masks of fake smiles and joy. Mothers yell at their children and yank them by their arms. Idiots trick everyone into thinking their dogs are service animals. No one gets out of your way and doesn’t wait for you to move out of theirs. Women dress provocatively and give dirty looks if you stare. Men try to look tough and give you dirty looks if you make eye contact. It rains and suddenly the roads become unbearable. The seasons change and with it the weather. The winter cold hurts my bones and joints. The summer heat makes me want to kill. The pollen of the spring makes me not be able to breathe and the fall, the fall which I’m in now, turns life into a slow death. My loneliness, once thought unbearable, remains my only solace in a world of death and decay, full of assholes and ingrates. Entitled shits who want the riches of life, the riches of the world, handed to them on a silver platter. The same ones who want to change the meaning of words. The same ones who want to be the new world regime. Why get out of bed with this madness? Why try? Why put on a smile to be just be accused of being a Nazi or a racist or a fascist or a sexist or any other ist that you can think of. I want to live on Mars, or the Moon, or Hell, if that is still a place. Maybe then I would get out of bed. Maybe I wouldn’t. 

Droolin’ Johnny Doe – My 1st Lovecraftian Story! Writetober / Inktober #6


Droolin’ Johnny Doe

The John Doe at the Miskatonic University Hospital in room 233 had been there in a coma for so long, that calling him simply, John Doe, felt strange. What the nurses decided to do instead was call him Johnny. Johnny Doe.

Johnny had been found unconscious in the university library. It seemed that he broke into the library in the middle of the night, the next morning, the staff found him on the floor, foaming from the mouth. Nothing in the library had been taken or moved to anyones knowledge and the idea became that for some reason, Johnny had some sort of mental collapse as soon as he entered the library illegally.

The morning he was found, he was rushed to the university hospital. Since then, Johnny had been in a vegetative state. No one from the university recognized him and when the local police came to check him out, he didn’t fit any wanted or missing person reports. Johnny Doe, seemed to have appeared from nowhere. This is even stranger when the police discovered no way in which Johnny was able to get into the library. The doors and windows were locked and nothing appeared to be forced. There also were no keys missing from the facility or staff and nothing on Johnny’s person in which he could’ve broken in the building with. Johnny’s appearance at Miskatonic was in fact a mystery.

One night, after Judy and Helen changed Johnny’s bedpan, Helen began her nightly ritual of wiping the drool that always came out of Johnny’s mouth. His head seemed to be permanently turned to the left and he always had a towel between his head and shoulder. Helen noticed something that was a bit strange that night. Johnny’s drool, wasn’t clear as it usually was, but had an odd metallic quality to it. It looked as if an oil of some kind was swirling around inside of it. There were tints of blue, silver and green that sparkled thought it, catching her eye. She made a mental note that she should say something to the doctor, but that thought was quickly replaced by something more pressing.

The earth suddenly shook with a terrifying roar, knocking both nurses to the ground.  It was the biggest earthquake that either Judy or Helen had ever felt, and Judy was originally from California. Johnny’s bed rolled from one side of the room to the other, pulling down all the equipment hooked up to him. Doors slammed and windows cracked. The ceiling in Johnny’s rooms split as did many of the walls throughout the hospital. The lights pops and shattered, sending sparks and glass cascading down upon them. 

The darkness of the room happened so quickly that Helen’s eyes could not adjust. She grabbed what she thought was the window sill to help her to her feet just as lightening struck outside. She was frozen. She couldn’t believe her eyes. She knew that they must be lying to her about she thought she just witnessed. But, another lightening strike, made her a believer and validated her sight. Out there, probably miles from where she stood, was the silhouette of a creature. The thing towered above the buildings of Arkham and the surrounding areas. She could make out arms with massive hands and long claw like nails. The head seemed round and larger than the proportions would lead you to believe. Those things didn’t send fear through her body as did the giant wings that were open wide on either side of the beast. Glass from the window exploded onto her face as the sound of another terrifying roar filled the air. The roar wasn’t from the earth shaking, it was from that thing!

She turned and screamed out to Judy, but she couldn’t see anywhere. She reached out and felt the bed and it was empty. She thought that Johnny must’ve fallen out of the bed during the quake. She called out to both of them, then remembered that Johnny was in a coma and couldn’t answer her. 

Lightening struck again and she saw Judy on the floor, lying motionless in a pool of blood. She had to wait until the lightening stuck again before she could see that Judy’s throat had been viciously ripped out. 

The air inside Helen’s lungs, wouldn’t leave her body. She tried to force it out but her lungs were not responding. She turned to leave the room when lightening struck again and there she saw a figure standing in the doorway. The figure’s head was leaning to the left. It was Johnny. He was awake!

She called out to him. He didn’t respond, but moved closer, very slowly.

She backed up to the broken window and the closer he came, the more her fright swelled inside of her. Johnny had blood down the front of him, from his mouth to his waist. That wasn’t what made her go mad. It was how Johnny was.

His legs moved towards her, yet they were still. His hands were clenched tightly in balled fists, yet his fingers remained outstretched. His arms hung at his side, yet they moved with a fluid nature towards her. His eyes were shut, yet he peered into her very soul. He remained motionless yet he had transversed the entire room from the doorway to the window. Johnny was in a coma, yet was able to murder.

Big Dumb Red – Writertober / Inktober #5

Chicken – Big Dumb Red – Writertober / Inktober Day 5 Written on Day 11 🙁

Big Dumb Red cock-a-doodle-do’d that morning, like every other morning, and woke Harold up bright and early. Harold had a routine that he followed every morning. He would get out of bed, cuss out loud about something that was aching. His wife, Francine, would roll her eyes, only when she was awake enough to be annoyed by the shouting man that she promised to spend the rest of her life with, in sickness and in health, till death do them part.

While walking into the bathroom, he would always ram his shoulder into the door jamb. This made him cuss out loud some more. Sometimes, if he was in a better mood, he would say thing like, “Who put that door jamb there?” or “That’s a plenty stupid place to build a doorway,” etc., etc.

Then he would pull out little Harold, whom he called Harry, and urinated. Hopefully, into the toilet, but in most cases, it was all over the floor by the time he aimed and got it in the bowl. Francine, when awake enough to care, would always be able to tell how much he missed. She would yell at him and tell him to sit on the toilet. He would yell back, “I ain’t no lady!” She would wait for him to leave, and then clean it up before going back to bed.

There was a time when she would get up in the mornings with him and make him breakfast, but those days were long gone.  Now, Harold would go into the kitchen, make a cup of instant coffee with hot tap water and walk out back, making sure that the rusty screen slammed shut to wake Francine, if she managed to get back to sleep.

Harold would walk out to the hen house, having a pointless morning chat with Sparky, his beagle that sort of watched the hen house. He would say things like, “This weather, huh?” or “Kill any foxes last night, Sparky?” even sometimes he would ask Sparky really personal questions like, “You get any tail last night, old fella?” or “Any bitches in heat around here?” Sparky just wagged his tail. Harold would put his hand under the six hens in the coop and pull out whatever eggs he could get ahold of, thank the ladies for their service, then go inside and make himself and Sparky some breakfast; sometimes with bacon! 

Something happened one day that began to trouble Harold; the eggs were getting smaller and lighter. Then, they became fewer every morning. It got so bad that one morning, Harlod went outside and shoved his fat, dirty hand underneath those hens and came out empty handed. Not an egg in the bunch! Sparky whimpered.

Harold and Francine argued about it all that first morning it happened. She blamed his manhood and his inability to be a good farmer. He blamed her inability to make him breakfast and then called her a stupid bitch. They finally decided that they would just eat one of the chickens, and maybe in a week or so, get some new ones that will lay more eggs.

Harold walked outside with a big, heavy cleaver and slammed it into a tree stump, then went into the hen house and grabbed the fattest bird he find by the feet and took her outside. She was not liking it. She was upside down flapping her wings like crazy, making more noise than a lawnmower.

Big Dumb Red and Harold made eye contact. Harold knew that Big Dumb Red didn’t like what he was doing. “There ain’t no choice, Big Dumb Red. We gots ta eat!”

Big Dumb Red screamed at him, then turned and walked away.

Harold swung the hen up on the stump and slammed down the cleaver. It was bloody. He left the head and took the body inside the house, hoping Francine would do the rest of the dirty work, but he knew deep down she wouldn’t. 

This madness went on for five more days. They were out of hens. Francine asked if they could eat Big Dumb Red and Harold gave her a taste of his back hand. Her lips were red and puffy. She screamed at him and kicked him in the balls. He went down. She then said that they would kill Sparky and eat him for the next week. Harold crawled to the couch and lifted himself up, then pulled off his belt. He swung the belt at Francine and hit her on the cheek with his large brass belt buckle of a steer head. It sliced her cheek open. He took a step towards her, but his pants fell down and he tripped and hit his head on the corner of the coffee table. He slept there on the floor in a small pool of his blood that night.

He woke up cussing. This time it was because of the headache that pounded thought his brain with every beat of his heart. He tried to make a cup of instant coffee with his eyes closed and couldn’t pull it off very well. There was barely any coffee in the cup, most of it was on the counter and he only filled the cup up half way. He was drinking hot water.

He knew what had to happen.

He walked out back and pulled the cleaver out of the stump. Big Dumb Red was across the yard. Big Dumb Red knew what was happening too. Big Dumb Red ran all over the yard dodging Harold’s every attempt. Harold dove, Big Dumb Red moved. This went on for sometime. Harold asked Sparky to help, but Sparky was afraid of Big Dumb Red and just barked from the back porch. 

Finally, Francine came out and watched the shenanigans with a half smoked cigarette hanging from her lips. Every time Harold missed, she made fun of him. Harold lay on his back, looking up into the morning sun, staring at it, wishing that he would go blind.

Sparky still barked.

Francine still bitched.

Big Dumb Red still cock-a-doodle-do’d.

Francine called him a stupid little pecker and then he yelled back, “Maybe if your fat ass would come down here and help me, we could have something to eat!”

She swallowed hard and said, “Okay, baby. Calm down. I’ll help ya.”

They chased Big Dumb Red around the yard and finally had him cornered. Sparky barked. Harold grabbed the rooster with his big fat hands and squeezed him to make sure he didn’t get away.

“We did it, Francine!” he hollered gleefully.

“We sure did, baby!”

He slammed Big Dumb Red on the stump, holding him down with one hand. “Hand me that cleaver, baby.”

She did. 

“Now, Francine, help me hold him down, he is really giving a fight.”

She chuckled, “Wouldn’t you?”

“Yeah, Francine, I guess I would.”

He swung the cleaver down right on Big Dumb Red’s neck. The cleaver shattered, sending two big hunks of sharp metal into the throats of both Harold and Francine. Both of them, in shock, pulled the metal out and watched each other bleed profusely in a rhythmic stream that pumped out quickly. They fell to the ground and tried to say things to each other but couldn’t get the words out through the gurgle. The blood then slowed to a trickle.

Big Dumb Red was standing on the stump without a mark on him. He cock-a-doodle-do’d.

Sparky whimpered.

The Black Box – Writetober / Inktober #4


Abe Rosco wasn’t always crazy. Like most people, Abe’s descent into madness was more gradual. It happened later in his young life, little by little each day, until he was twenty-nine years of age. At that point the gradual maturation of his insanity was thrust upon with such force, that it nearly killed him.

So, what happened during Abe Rosco’s twenty-ninth year that made him the way he was? It was something that was passed down to him. Something that was passed down from his father. This “thing” though, was not hereditary, but tangible. This “thing” was a large, black, wooden box.

Abe came into possession of the “Black Box” when he received the news that his father, whom he hadn’t spoken to in years, had been missing for some time and presumed dead. The man that brought him the box was a weird character who seemed taller than he should be and also rounder in the middle. The girth of his stomach seemed to be pulling him towards the earth as if gravity had a tighter hold on it than anything else. The result of that made the tall stranger hunch over in a most unnatural way. The man wore a long grey coat, gloves and extremely large dark sunglasses that nearly covered his entire face.

With great effort, the man lifted the box by the iron handles on the side and handed it Abe while he stood in the doorway of his small apartment. Abe took the box and surprised by its heavy weight, stumbled backwards a step. The stranger then slapped a sloppily scrawled note on top of the box, turned and limped away. The note had no instructions or details, just that his father had left the box to him.

Abe placed the box on his coffee table with a loud thud. The legs beneath the table wobbled under it’s weight. He steadied the table, then sat on the dingy sofa and began to examine the box. It looked a box anyone could make out of six pieces of wood. There seemed nothing special to it. There were two brass hinges on the back for the lid, the two iron handles and a latch with a brass padlock that kept the box shut. He looked for a key, maybe taped to the note he thought, but there was none. He went to the closet and grabbed a small pair of bolt cutters and right before he was squeezed them shut on the lock, he noticed something on the top of the box.

There was what seemed to be small scratches on the lid, near the top left of the box. When he first saw them, he thought them to be nothing more than dings and scratches that may have happened over time, but after closer inspection, they seemed much more intricate. Swiggles, lines, dots, slashes and the like ran in perfect rows. He ran his finger over them and realized that they were in fact carved into the wood. It didn’t look like any text that he had ever seen before and assumed that it may have been middle-eastern of some kind.

He shrugged it off and continued to break the lock, which was much easier than he thought it would be. He tossed the lock on the floor, opened the latch and lifted the lid without any hesitation. A sudden burst of foul smelling dampness and decay filled his nostrils and the room. He coughed, gagged, then coughed some more before he was able to look inside at it’s contents. 

He found things inside the box that were shocking. He found things inside that made him feel ill. Other things he found did not surprise him as things his father would have, but some of the things also made him think of his grandfather as well.

The contents of the box were as follows:

One long sharp dagger with a black hilt and a black jewel at it’s base that came to a point.

One long feather of some kind with what looked like dried red ink on the quill. 

Many scrolls rolled tightly and tied with red or black  string.

One locked, large, leather-bound journal.

Many glass vials different colored liquids and powders.

A few glass jars of what looked like different kinds of animal bones.

One large vial with a label that read, pigeons blood.

and finally, one human skull with a thumb sized hole above the forehead on the left.

Abe sat back on the sofa and stared at the collection of oddities on his coffee table, looking confused. He wondered if the items were used for witchcraft or black magic. He father was into some pretty dark things and due to that and his increasingly violent nature as he grew older, the family basically shunned him. Abe’s grandfather didn’t have to be shunned. He was constantly out in far off places on “expeditions” but most of the family, knowing he had no formal training of any kind, knew he was just a roaming con-man.

Not knowing what to do with the items, he placed them all back inside the box carefully, shut it and placed on the floor in front of the table. As the days went by, he saw the box and steadily wondered about it’s significance. Wondered why his father, whom wasn’t close with him, especially later in life, would leave him anything at all. He thought more and more about the characters carved into the lid and decided he would try to find out if that had any clue as to why the Black Box was now in his possession.

He took a piece of paper and a pencil, then, made an rubbing of the characters and headed to the Cyton Library. He spoke with three different librarians, showing them the rubbing and none of them could help him more than by saying that they had never seen such script. They pointed him to books on scripts from the middle east and far east and after hours upon hours of research, he came up empty handed.

Just before the library closed, one of the librarians brought him a book on cryptology and told him that it may be a cipher and that the book would help him if it were. He checked the book out and headed home. 

He stayed up all night, the next day and the following night, so engrossed in trying to find the answer that he hadn’t even eaten or drank. The hardest thing for Abe in cracking the code was that most codes would only have twenty-six characters in it if it were in English; one for every letter. But this seemed to have much more. He opened the box and pulled out the journal and the scrolls. He untied all the scrolls and saw that they were all written in red ink in the same characters. His eyes jumped to the long feather quill with the dried red tip and then his eyes moved yet again, this time, more slowly, since he already knew the horror of it’s source. This time his eyes fell upon the large vial of pigeons blood.

With the dagger, he cut the leather strap that locked the journal shut and found the same characters. He was hoping to find some sort of cipher or legend to help him figure out the code but again found none. What he did find however was many more characters of script. It totaled in the hundreds and he he was sure that the characters weren’t letters, but sounds.

His bloodshot eyes could stay open no longer and he fell asleep on his forty-second try at breaking the code.

As Abe slept, he dreamt a dream that used to reoccur to him regularly as a child. IN the dream, he was enveloped in darkness. He would swing his arms and kick his legs but nothing would happen. He would feel his body lift into the air and quickly float around the darkness. Then, the darkness were removed as if it were a blanket covering his face. All he would see is the starry night sky and the fullest moon that he could ever remember. Finally, a giant in a brown or black cloak would appear above him speaking in a language that he could not understand. The giant would lift a giant sword up above his head with the blade pointed down at him. The knife would come down slowly and he would feel pain. Not a stabbing pain, but pain all the same. Then the giants hands would come towards him and lift him up into the air. Being held high above the giant’s head, all he would be able to focus on was the moon while the giant shouted louder and louder in the foreign tongue. 

Abe woke up in a cold sweat, gasping for air. He held his throat with his hand and retched. His eyes were puffy and red and his beard had grown into a thick stubble. He was ghastly pale and even some parts of his face seemed to have a green tint. He replayed the dream in his head and noticed two things. The first was that the sword the giant held looked exactly like the dagger that sat on his coffee table. The second, was that the giant, looked exactly like his father. Then he realized that this had never been a dream, but a memory! His father was not a giant and the blade was not a sword. The events from the memory must have taken place when he was just an infant.

Other things in Abe’s head began to click. The characters flashed through his mind and he could suddenly make out what they were. He was correct in the fact that they were not letters but sounds. He knew them. He knew them all!

He slammed the lid of the box shut and began to read aloud what had been carved into the wood. It read as follows:

“Cursed is ye who opens the Black Box! Death shall fall upon ye in the most horrific way those who rummage through it’s contents! Curse and plague! The Black Death from the Black Box shall be with ye always.”

The Rules – Writetober / Inktober #3


Eden collected the poisonous chestnuts from the bowl on the end table and lined them up near the flames in the fireplace. They weren’t poisonous because of their ingredients, but because of what they brought with them.

“Are you going to poke them with a fork?” Helen asked, with venom on her tongue.

“Of course not, you idiot,” Eden said through gritted teeth. “That would defeat the purpose.”

“I wouldn’t put it passed you,” Helen sneered.

Eden pretended to ignore her and lifted a revolver from the mantlepiece. “Do I need to repeat the rules to you?”

“Not for me, dear. I just want to make sure that you know them.”

“Fine!” Eden slammed her down unto another revolver from the mantle and tossed it with more force than she needed to Helen, who stopped the gun with with stomach before grabbing it in her hands. 

Helen smirked, “That wasn’t very lady like.”

“Nothing we are doing or have done has been lady like!”

“Very true.” Helen flung the cartridge out of revolver with a flick of her wrist and made sure that her gun was loaded before whipping the cartilage back into place. “The rules. Say them!”

“As soon as the first chestnut pops, we fire. End of.”

“Sounds very cut and dry.”

“It is.”

“Then nether of us should fear anything mischievous from the other?”

“I would say not.”

“Let’s get on with it then.” Helen swallowed hard. “I can’t remember how long it takes to crack a nut.” She knelt down in front of the fireplace, facing Eden.

Eden chuckled and knelt down as well, quickly checking her cartridge. “I haven’t roasted chestnuts since I was a girl.”

“Then why do it like this?”

“Couldn’t think of a better way. A fairer way.”

They both pointed their revolvers at the opposite.

Helen showed her teeth in what one might call a smile as a memory flashed in her mind. “That reminds me of…”

Suddenly, a hissing sound could be heard from one of the chestnuts.

The talking stopped. Their breathing became more shallow and their hearts raced. The white of their eyes grew large and their lips tightened. 

At the same time, as if mentally connected, they both pulled back the hammers of their revolvers.

Seconds crept by in what seemed like minutes and then hours.

Tranquil – Writetober / Inktober #2


I am finally calm. It seems that my whole life all i wanted was peace and quiet, but for some reason, I always thrusted myself into these situations and life choices that made the peace and quiet a far off goal. I remember saying to myself, quite regularly, I’ll work on the peace and quiet as soon as I’m done with so and so, etc. 

I was able to finally get away; whether it was of my own accord or not, I don’t think it really matters. Some could say that I chose to get away and others would say that i forced out. I really don’t care. The fact of the matter is, is that I am out!Never again will I have to deal with the pressures and the insanity of what was my every day life.

Before today, I had never seen beaches so white and water so blue. I can see through the water! Standing on the beach, I can look out, yards and yards away, and can see fish and other sea life swimming and moving around! It is truly amazing. The fact that I kept this beauty away from my life all these years makes me wants to do horrible things to myself, but, isn’t that why I’m here? To not worry about those things? To give a joyous finger to the things that bothered me, that stressed me out?

I am wearing bright colors for the first in my life. Well, that’s not true. I used to wear bright and neon colors all the time as a kid in the 1980s, as was the fashion of the time. But since? No. Never. I have on very short Bermuda shorts with a tropical pattern on them. All the colors of the rainbow! I’m wearing a very thin white, cotton, button up shirt. But guess what? It’s open! I would never willing show my bare torso to anyone! Ha!

The breeze is light. It’s not too cool and not too warm. I don’t understand why the whole population of the planet is not to bask in this! Wait. I won’t worry myself with questions any longer. My only job now is to accept. Wait. Not a job. It’s just me for now on.

I feel so good. I’ve been drinking blended alcoholic beverages. They are delicious! At one point in life, I thought that they were only for women, or, those other kind of men. But, it turns out they are just delightful! Why would rob myself years of these tasty treats? No. No questions.

The sand is so fine and feels so good between my toes. Oh, a crab! It’s just crawling sideways! It’s crossing my path! To think, a crab, just walking by in front of me. I have never seen a real crab before. A live one I mean. How interesting. 

I wave at the crab.

He just continues by.

That’s fine with me.

I can feel my cheeks getting sore. Is it the sun? Is my face burning? I touch my face and it doesn’t feel warm. It’s because I’m smiling! I guess I never really smiled this much before, the muscles are cramping. 

What was that? I heard a sound. I quickly turn and see that I am still alone on the beach. Never mind.

No more being paranoid! I smile again. My cheeks feel sore again.

There it is! That sound! What is it?

I am laughing. Out loud. 

Have I laughed so little in life that the mere sound of my own laughter seems foreign to me? I laugh loudly and remind myself, no questions. I am growing more accustom to my laughter. Good.

All day i have been out here. Walking on the beach. Going back to the “place” for more drink and food and personal things that I needed to take care of, but I haven’t swam yet.

The sun Isn’t high in the sky, but it’s not near the horizon yet. I remember, I think, that i read somewhere that sea creatures that could threaten your life are more likely to come out after the sun the goes down. Wait. No thinking. Just doing.

I finish my drink and find myself looking around me for a table to place the glass on. I laugh again. This time I know it’s me. I throw the glass behind me and hear a soft thud as it lands in the sand. I take a few steps towards the water and my feet are suddenly in the ocean that is not too warm or too cold. It is just right. 

I begin to take off my clothes, but find myself naked already! Ha! I turn and look behind me and see that my clothes are on the beach many, many footprints away, as if I took them off some time ago. No matter. This is a private beach. I paid good money for…

I won’t talk about that anymore.

I’m naked!!!

On a beach!!!

This is perhaps the…

I won’t say that word.

I’m not smiling anymore. 

Smile damnit!

Wait. Calm down. Everything feels nice…

There it is. I can feel it coming back. My smile.

Hello, smile.

As I walk out into the deeper water, my fingertips drag on the surface. I see fish being curious then darting away before they get too close. The water hits my balls and I yelp in a weird voice, then laugh at myself again. Wasn’t excepting that sensation.

The water is just above waist level now and I realize that I have been walking for some time. I turn and look to the shore and it so far away! Have I been walking for miles? It looks that far, but I can’t tell.

No questions.

Just smile.

Maybe laugh.

I turn back towards the open sea and keep walking. I walk and I walk. then suddenly I drop. The water is above my head. I open my eyes and it stings, but I don’t mind. It is beautiful down here. I turn and see the shelf that I had walked off of, it is almost a ninety degree drop. I smile.

There is no sound. Not really. I can feel the pressure on my ears, but the noise, the constant noise of the world, is… gone. 

My hands move back and forth slowly, keeping me from sinking further, but not fast enough to take me to the surface. It’s so beautiful. The temperature of the water and my body are equal. It has enveloped me. 

My lungs start to hurt. It doesn’t feel like any more air bubbles are going to come out of my nose. I can feel my heart rate climb…


No questions.

No worries.


Water is made up of oxygen. I don’t see what the problem is. Are people just fucking stupid?


Don’t think.

Only do.

I open my mouth and take a deep breath of water. I can feel it flooding my lungs. I think I exhale. I think I inhale again. I smile. 

Of course.

We came from the water.

The water has oxygen.

Why can’t we breathe it?


No questions.

I stop moving my arms back and forth. I am here now. This is where I want to be. This is paradise. This is tranquil. 

Drugged – Writetober / Inktober #1


My head was shaky. I couldn’t remember where i had been and why I felt so nauseous. As I flipped through the images in my mind of the events that seemed the most recent, none of them made any sense. The pictures of my hands reaching out and grabbing things from different tables and cabinets went by so fast that the montage became a disgusting animation that made my stomach turn and my head pound in pain.

The one constant in those frames of memories were her. Her face. Her hair. Her eyes, cat like in their appearance, beautiful in their way, but a closer look showed that they were actually windows into madness. I could see the insanity looking back out at me, smiling, but not friendly. I didn’t know why she was there. I didn’t know how she inserted herself into my memories. Part of me didn’t mind, but I knew that the sickness i was inflicted with was due to her.

The images that flashed by my minds eye slowed. They appeared with the beat of my pulse. The sound of my blood being forced through my veins, speeding through my brain, causing great pain. With the images slowing, I could make her out more clearly. Her smile was clear and bright. Her teeth shined and reflected the light in the room to an almost blinding light. She would bite her lip lightly and grin.

I noticed also that her hands, her arms, moved fast though everything else in the room, in my memories, were static pictures. Her arms were moving so quickly, that they were just a blur at the bottom of my vision. I believe things were handed to me. I believe things were forced into my mouth, but because of the speed, I couldn’t be sure. 

I looked down at my hands and saw that my fingers were not my own. They looked different somehow, they bent back in a way that was unnatural. My fingers seemed to become fluid, as if there wasn’t bone beneath my skin but rushing water. I stared at them and movement hypnotized me, to the point where I almost forgot the woman that was just a foot away from me.

The palms of my hands were starting to change as well. The skin looked damp. The color was fleeing and they took on a disgusting translucent hue. What may have been boils began to rise on the surface… 

I had to look away and when I did, the madness in the woman’s face was so severe that fear overwhelmed me. She was laughing hysterically but I heard no sound. 

I didn’t know if what I was witnessing was ‘now’ or ‘then’. I couldn’t make anything out. I tried to scan the room and it was alien to me. It was dark, it was damp. The smell of mold and vermin filled my nostrils and this made the nausea I was feeling already to swell in the pit of my stomach. I had to forcibly swallow down a mouthful for vomit for fear of what would come out. I noticed  wooden rafters above my head and darkness in the corners of the room. I looked above us and saw an extremely bright lightbulb hanging a few feet in the air.

My eyes looked to my left and I saw a small table with empty brown bottles turned on their sides, rolling slowly back and forth as if we were on a boat, being rocked back and forth by the waves. There was one bottle that stood on the table. Her quick hand snatched it off the table and before I look back at her, I found my choking and gaging. I felt something running down my throat and causing me great pain. My eyes finally made it back to her, just in time to see the giant funnel who’s tube was already halfway down my throat and chest, pushing into my stomach, being forced into place between my lips. She bite the cork off the bottle and poured it’s contents into the funnel. I could feel the pressure as it ran down the tube inside of me. My eyes melt as though they were melting in my head and the throbbing of my brain had finally become too much for me. She grinned and looked at me with those beautiful eyes and the stench in the room became more than I could handle.



I get really mad when I see

These people

Especially white people

Complain on twitter

About reading these 

Literary classics

Written by 

Disgusting old white men

They are so revolted by the work

They have to DNF the book

“Did Not Finish”

They post about this

Virtue signaling 

Hoping that someone will see them

As woke

Sometimes they even will post this with

A picture of themselves

Looking melancholy

Just so their “friends”

Can see the white guilt 

In their eyes.

This is the most ridiculous thing in the world

You cannot change history 

By DNFing it

You can’t ignore the past

And hopes that it goes away

The only thing you can do

Is learn from the past

Those who don’t learn from the past

Are doomed to repeat it

What in the world is wrong with you people

No one will remember that you didn’t 

Finish a book written by a dead white guy

History will remember the work

Of said dead white guy

You will fade into obscurity

Because you do not understand

The battle

You are the same people

That read Stephen King

Who throws the N word around

Like candy from a piñata at a child’s party

Who objectifies women 

But that’s okay

Because the remake of IT was cool

It had neato Funko Pops

You disgust me

You don’t even know what your battling

Enjoy the likes and retweets

That’s all you ever get.