Lol. This would be crazy! Callin it. “Handsel and Gretel”

His glove-clad hands brushed the face of the just severed head lovingly. He smiled at the open brown eyes just before he plucked them out of their sockets. He almost laughed out loud at the drastic change in the appearance of the face. Bloody sockets was all it took. He giggled like a little girl getting away with mischief. Then he was interrupted. His hands froze as his wife spoke.
“Hansel this is dangerous”
The female voice came from his own lips, as the worried look his face.
“Oh honey but why?”
He asked, his face normalizing and his hands smoothing the clipper he had brought over the black head. He froze again.
“The detective keeps getting closer and closer. He’s too smart.”
His hands moved again, continuing to shave and a maniacal grin brightened his face.
“Ah, my dear Gretel. He can’t. Ever.”
The grin became a frown.
“Not even when you share the same body?”
Asked the female voice uncertainly.
The hands moved again, pushing fingers into the skin beside the empty sockets and peeling off the entire face. He cradled the bloody gray skull.
“No, Gretel. He was knocked out for sure when we left. Look. A new collection.”
Detective Kenneth O’Riley sat up in bed, dazed he looked around, his dream coming back to him. He had seen the murderers in his dream. Heard them talk about him……no memory of faces. This case was unlike any he could remember. He shuddered. He now had to watch the crime while it was performed. He felt such a headache. He was exhausted and wanted to curl up and sleep……but he had slept all through last night….


“Echoes of Mercy”

You already know that i’m crazy….but most people run when I let this cat out if the bag. I thought about death all the time. So much that I daydreamed of myself in death situations and figured out the different ways I could manage to save my life. For example, I once saw an upright pole on the unfinished roof of a bungalow from the top floor of my school building. I stopped to study it with my friend Guano and the junior who had been crushing on me then, Gautier. While they talked I was imagining being pushed from a chopper directly downwards towards it. I looked at the death modes. I calculated the height of my imaginary chopper and made it just right so that if I was to land with my head first the pole would pierce through. The whole length of me. Or if I landed with my back I’d break into halves, then I began to strategize my means of survival. I could grab the pole with my hands but my face would be in serious trouble. I could definitely not try to block the blow with my hands. I would lose both arms. I would just have to perform a sideways spin and avoid the pole. Smiling a little at that little victory I looked back to Guano and Gautier to find them staring at me. I told Guano what I had been thinking and he gave me a funny look. I just grinned at him. Gautier adored me, bless his childish heart….though he was only a month younger….anyway, he didn’t find that weird. There are so many others. Like imagining falling out the window in a construction site or my favorite, lying in bed when a tornado hits right in front of your window and lifts your bed and you, and slams you into the iron bars that refuse to give way and let you fly into the flurry. I haven’t figured that one out yet. The force of hitting the bars if you are facing the window, lying on your back, would kill you. If it doesn’t the inability to breath will do the job effectively. If you lay on your stomach, your face would be stuck in the mattress and you would die of good ol’ suffocation. If your head is out of the mattress, your neck would be screwed. Charming young lady, was I not?


“Echoes of Mercy

One thing I hated most in those days was losing my work. It basically drove me crazy with fury. I used to look for things to destroy when I got angry. Getting angry made me want to hit something. I would long for the satisfying sound of glass shattering or a spoon hitting the wall with such force it rebounded to my feet. Or a mop stick breaking into tiny pieces when I smacked it against a wall. It was incredibly refreshing. If I didn’t however, I would end up in tears. So when I couldn’t find a venue for destruction I would volunteer myself. Sometimes I would cut myself and watch the blood lazily flow or I would ram my fist into the wall so hard my fingers would turn green afterwards. It was hard living in that family and working. I would stare at the ceiling in rage sometimes. Too incensed to trust myself to do anything else. Anger never left me easily. It was something that tested my personality much later…….


Imagine it. Thinkin bout making it sci-fi.

She dropped herself on her bed staring at the fixture in the ceiling where a lightbulb should be and wasn’t. She felt the stress of her thoughts ease into the background and she happily let them. With her eyes she drew imaginary green circles in the fixture, counting how many she could create before she reached the- well, pulsing green center. She concentrated on the center and it pulsed even harder. All her concentration on the pulse, she didn’t notice that her imaginary circles were coming down, growing bigger, and enveloping her completely. The pulse grew with her apt attention and more circles kept coming down. The center pulsed dangerously big and burst out of its confinement for a second. She was entranced, her head pounding with the rhythm of the pulse. Once more it pulsed out of its borders and her head pulsed with it. The pain numbed her but her eyes wouldn’t leave the pulse, much to her detriment. One last pulse, exploding out of the fixture and one last panting breath as she exploded with it, becoming a body of white fire. The green light blinked out and the fire slowly died down. Leaving nothing but ash on the bed.


No title.

“So what exactly are you trying to say?”
Geneva McLane asked, sashaying to his table and leaning slightly on it, waving a hand to punctuate her words. Roy Davis watched her, she was still beautiful. Short, cropped blonde hair, big brown eyes, soft Victorian features. She still dressed to make a statement, wearing leopard print leather and a black suede tube that showed off her striking figure. The difference was, he no longer saw what made him cheat on Kari. His eyes were open now and he could see his sin. He still remembered Kari’s face when he confessed. Yet she forgave him. Gen would just have to do the same.
“I’m saying that it’s over Geneva. I can’t do this to my wife anymore. I confessed everything….and I gave my life to Christ.”
She chuckled and shook her head at him.
“And what am I supposed to do without you?”
She asked. Roy shifted his weight and averted his gaze.
‘Help me God’
He thought. He looked back at her, into her eyes and he could see fire in those brown depths.
“I could give you Jesus Gen. He would care for you more than I ever could, he loves you more than anybody could-”
He was cut off when she threw her head back and laughed. When her head came back up her face was set.
“Shut up.”
She snarled. He bit the inside of his lip. Her face changed again and her frown was replaced with a malicious smile. She got off the table and moved towards him, reminding him of a slinky cat. The way she was acting he might have to push her off. He had hoped it would not come to that.
“You want to give me ‘Jesus’ when you are all I want huh?”
She asked again. He swallowed. She surprisingly walked past him. He started to turn to see what she was doing when he felt a sharp flick at the back of his neck.
“Bye Roy.”
He heard her whisper. Crying out his hand shot up to the spot. Blackness rolled into his vision like a fog. He heard his door shut. A click went down the entire length of his spine and his legs began to alert him that he could not stand any longer. He took two wobbly, long strides towards his table then his legs gave way. He fell forward and his forearms and palms smacked the mahogany of his table. He reached blindly for the phone as the blackness took over his sight and instead got the buzzer to his secretary. He heard the buzz go off in her office just before he went down.


Just feel like writing something.

For all he was worth Fabian couldn’t get himself to walk away. The lady with the crystal ball had him spellbound. He struggled in vain against the power of her thickly lashed green eyes. Her black curls danced across her face as she sat at her table. She moved her long nailed hands, her eyes not once leaving his, pulling on an invisible rope. Fabian wasn’t quite sure how, but his legs betrayed him, walking him closer and closer to his doom. He swallowed. Hard. His hands were shaking by his sides. She stopped pulling when he was directly over her table. She smiled, and something about the smile made him decide he was dead. The gypsie-like lady leaned forward a little.
“Close your eyes Fàbìan”
Her husky voice said, and he felt himself drop.


Silly Talk with- Brad Loftangle.

Interveiwing one of my friends was fun. Here’s how it went.
Me: Thanks for agreeing to do this with me.
Brad: Duh. This was my idea.
Me: Okay. Right. Whatever. So, what do you think of teenagers of these days?
Brad: I think girls these days are dogs. Bitches to be exact. So cheap. They’re ready to do anything far as you pay them. I know a chic who the guy she’s dating is… the equivalent of me dating your lil sis. Gracie.
Me: Eeew.
Brad: Yeah. She feels awesome just cos she sleeps in hotels and gets paid. That’s whore business if you ask me.
Me: I see. And boys?
Brad: The boys have the same mentality. ‘Get as many girls as possible at a particular time.’ That’s why they go to church. To flirt. It’s crazy. I went to camp. A two week camp and what I saw made me stay just three days. I told a girl we both know(her name is confidential) that I was hungry n that she, being a senior and all should buy me something n she said I should come to her girls bunk after the vigil that night and she’d give me something to eat… you get, right?
Me: Uhun.
Brad: Good. I didn’t go and my guy friend said I was stupid and had lost a great opportunity. If he’d been the one he’d have gone. Which brings us back to BITCHES.
Me: Oookay. Interesting. I was gonna ask you something else but I lost it in your story. Darn.
Brad: Oh. How I look under these clothes? Well I’ve got rocking arms, been working out so-
Me: Brad!
Brad: What?
(He grins then overhears something.)
Brad: You hear that?
Me: No. What?
Brad: Those bitches over there. “Yeah, he wasn’t wearing boxers” See what I mean? How the hell did they know if they didn’t see something they weren’t ought to. The poor nigger whoever he is.
Me: It’s not always the girls fault y’know. Some guys do it on purpose. You know how some like to stand like Usher. They wear shorts without any boxers underneath to get attention. One came to church that way once, gallivanting in fronta me, mom and my coz.
Me: Yeah, well mom went up to him, told him she’d seen enough and practically walked him out.
Brad: Go mama! Okay so not just bitches, bastards too.
Me: Right. So, topic change. Tell me about your future.
Brad: Oh, yeeees. I’m gonna be superstar rich, gon’ have a room each for ma music awards and ma platinum awards, gon’ have chart topping albums, gon’ feature ya. Um, let ma hair grow, dye it red. When m living on my own though so dad don’t kill me. I’m gon give up music when I turn 30 and jump into journalism. Gon have a hot assistant, a super hot tour manager and a mega hot manager plus you as a bestie of course just to make my wife jealous. I’m not gon be like them stars who don’t have time for their kids. My kids’ll be with me all the time. Even if they gotta be homeschooled during that time. We’ll be a great big family and they’d love me. Just like i’ll love em.
Me: I’m impressed. Oh and I like the ‘ME’ parts.
Brad: Like sure you do.
Me: That should be all, this is a lot of coverage.
Brad: Too dope. Thank me.
Me: Get outta town.