A Secret Hatred
As she lay dying she told us all how much she loved us and about all the wonderful things in her life that she had loved. Things like her children, her husband, her friends. And we all stood around and reassured her that we in fact loved her as well. But it was only after she passed that we found her journal. And inside was a single entry. "I am a liar."
Blood In, Blood Out
Still no blood. He lay in pieces on the floor of his kitchen wondering how long he would have to lay there before someone found him and could put him back together again. He wasn't entirely broken up however, some pieces were still attached, if only by hacked up sinews of cartilage. He had accidentally cut himself shaving this morning, when to his surprise, he found that he apparently could no longer bleed. He tried opening the wound repeatedly throughout the day but still nothing would come out. At which point he decided to retrieve the hatchet from the garage and began hacking away at himself in hopes of finding any blood that might still be left within him. But he was unsuccessful in his search. The carving knife hadn't been very helpful either and it was then that he panicked and mutilated himself. At least he wouldn't have to worry with bandaids ever again.
John Sullivan woke up to music playing outside his bedroom window.
It was 3am and the music was coming from an ice cream truck.
But it wasn't the music that scared him, it was the sound of the his screen door slamming shut as his 5 year old son ran outside.
It was only after he had stepped off the elevator, with a mindless reflexive motion, that he realized he had gotten off on the wrong floor. It was an empty floor with the exception of one lonely box. He still had a few minutes before his interview, and curiosity being what it is, he decide to do a little exploring. As he approached the box in the center of this large open office he could see that the flaps were unsealed and peering over into it, without touching it, he saw quit an extensive collection of photographs all of people in suits gesturing in a horrified expression as if trying to get away from the person taking the photograph. He heard the familiar ding of the elevator behind him and turning he saw two executives exit through the open doors. They looked surprised to see him there. One of them had a camera. He bolted for the stairwell and never looked back.
I've resorted to taking sedatives just to be able to spend more time with her. She only comes to me in my dreams. The most perfect woman, my perfect partner. Tonight she tells me that we can be together soon, that I won't have to be dreaming to find her. That things are almost ready and that when I awake, I will never have to dream about her again. I'm jolted awake suddenly by the sound of someone snoring, it's probably my wife I think. I get out of bed to relieve myself but as I pass by the mirror I find that I don't recognize the face staring back at me. The face is that of a woman's. It's the face of the woman from my dreams.
A Boy and His Father
The baby wasn't ours. I don't know why she couldn't understand that. Sure it was the one presented to us after delivery but it's eyes, I mean my god it's eyes. And how she would scream at me whenever I refused to hold it or be anywhere near it. And how she would yell and fight whenever I tried to take it away from her. But I couldn't live with this thing. That was 18 years ago and as I lay awake in bed looking at the shape standing above me I realize I should have killed the damn thing when I had the chance. Its saved me for last.
As a kid I didn't really think much of it. The world was still a magical place for me. But the night the little man came to my window and said he wanted to live inside of my head if only I would turn out the light, is the night my magical world became a nightmare. I refused of course but he's been there every night since, I can hear him whispering and clawing at the window as I write this. Which is why I sleep with the light on even now in middle age.
The Goddamn thing came to life and wouldn't leave me alone. It was a stick figure metal sculpture fashioned into a hairstylist with a metal framed hair dryer in one hand and a metal toothed comb in the other and once animated it wondered all over the house incessantly looking for something to do. Which mostly meant combing my hair. As you can imagine this was infinitely annoying and although my hair has never looked better my personal life has suffered. I guess nobody wants to visit with someone who has a life size stick figure roaming his halls. I guess I'll just have to learn to live with it....shit, it's found me again!
Somehow I always knew that it was my destiny to die among strangers. I poured the water from the bowl they gave me over my head and prepared myself the best I could, they weren't very clear on the proper procedure. It was the act of a stranger which put me here. When the messenger came, it asked us to choose. It looked at one woman and she unthinkingly pointed in my direction, and not meaning too, chose me. But, whatever’s about to happen shouldn’t be too bad really, I mean angels are supposed to be “good” right?
I woke up naked in the middle of the woods covered in something similar to the consistency of mucus. I stand up to get a better view of my surroundings but I don't recognize where I am, but I do notice a clearing in the distance and there appear to be people gathered there. I stop just before emerging from the brush and look around. The people seem oddly familiar to me. After my eyes adjust to the bright sunlight overhead it was then I realized that the people standing there are exact replicas. Replicas of me. Multiples in fact. All just standing in a field looking nowhere, talking to no one. I feel someone tap me on the shoulder and turn to see yet another me, smiling.
As I plunged the shovel into the dirt for a second time I struck something. I traced the outlines of the thing with the edge of the shovel until its dimensions could be grasped at which point I began to uncover it. It turned out to be a box. A wooden box and printed on the outside in bold lettering were the words "open at your own risk." I decided to risk it. The shed I had started to build would have to wait. I pried open the box with my screwdriver and hammer and lifted the lid. Inside was a small naked women no bigger than my thumb. She smiled when she saw me and said, "I can give you pleasure beyond any you've known. But I must crawl into your penis to do so. Will you let me?" I agreed. She proceeded to climb the length of my pant legs and upon reaching the zipper quickly pulled it down and disappeared inside. I felt her tiny hands at the end of my penis open the urethra at which point she began to wiggle her way inside. After a few moments I felt a tingling in my scrotum followed by the most intense orgasm of my life, I must have spasmed for what seemed like hours yet there was no physical sign of anything. Once she emerged she thanked me at which point she dissolved into a wet stain on the ground. This little woman must have given me some sort of infection however because now my genitals are the size of a large ironing board and evey half hour it spits out more little people. So many in fact that they've taken over the back yard, they've even built a small village, and have started calling me God the father.
The Monster on Walnut Street
I've gotten my neighbors mail by mistake before so it didn't surprise me when I saw his letter in the mailbox. This time was different however, this time the envelope was slightly torn and inside I could clearly see my name printed on a piece of paper. I've never spoken to my neighbor nor have I ever seen him, no one on this block has. As a matter of fact the only communication, if you want to call it that, that I've had with him was the time when he first moved in and I had sent him a letter welcoming him to the neighborhood, but had never gotten a response back. But I don’t open the letter. I’m afraid of what it might say. What if it’s a list of people he is supposed to kill? I knew I had to do something about it and so that night I resolved to kill him before he could kill any of us. The following night I snuck over to his house and burned it to the ground with him screaming inside it. The bastard got what he deserved. They ruled the fire an accident and everyone believed it, mostly because nobody cares what happens to people they don't know. The following week however I found the letter again stuck in between some old sales papers I had forgotten to throw out, still unopened. I decide to open it. Inside was the letter I had sent all those years ago, but with a note written at the top addressed to his mother, he must have forwarded it to her and she then mailed it back to him. In the note he sounded ecstatic, he said to his mother that he may have finally made a friend that this was from one of his new neighbors and that he was glad to live in such a town where the people are so friendly. His mother simply said how proud she was of him.
An Appointment with Transit Authority
We have so much time together still. It can't end now not like this. I'll kill myself if she doesn't make it. If they come out and tell me she's gone I'll end it. I won't go on without her. I can't be expected to stumble alone through the darkness without a light. I'll wait for the bus and as its passing by I'll just step out, should be pretty painless. We were supposed to live forever, that's what we thought, that's what it felt like, that's what everyone believes. And I'll be damned if I'll just pick up the pieces and move on. Its a sin to be comfortable with loss. I won't do it. The ER doctor came out and talked to Mr. Conroy for a few moments before returning to attend to his others patients. At which point the old man stood up, put on his overcoat, and walked to the exit. Outside he stood on the corner and waited.
Lying to Strangers
I was supposed to be listing all the reasons she had to live, telling her about all the reasons she had not to jump but all I could think about was how much I wanted to join her. It was an accident really that I had even found her there, perched on the ledge, giving herself a few more minutes to talk herself out of it, but I could tell that she didn't find herself very convincing. Some people are better at lying to themselves than others I guess. I asked her what her family might think but she said she didn't have any. That surely there must be something she can think of that's worth living for but all she said was "nothing that wasn't a lie." At that she stood up in preparation for what I knew would come next. I reached up and grabbed her by the wrist, but she never even looked at me and so I let her go as she jumped turning in the air so her back was to the ground. She was smiling when she hit and the only thing I could think to do, the only thing left to do, was to try to convince myself not to jump after her. But I wasn't very convincing either.
The God Who Fell to Earth
“I'm real you know.”
“I know you don't believe it, but it's true.”
“I believe you.”
“Then why have you denied me for so long?”
“I'm sorry what are we talking about?”
“Oh, of course you are.”
“Well it just so happens that I don't believe in God and therefore I don't believe in you.”
The man next to me laughed at this, a deep laugh that comes rolling out from somewhere deep within and echoes across the ages.
“Your right of course, you always have been.”
At that he reached under his shirt and pulled out a gun he had tucked in the waistband of his pants and placing the barrel to his temple pulled the trigger.
There was aloud bang and he fell lifeless, first sliding off the bench and then to the ground. Which is exactly what I was hoping for.
Even if you could have seen it you still wouldn't have believed it. I didn't believe it. I hadn't been working there a week when it happened. The day before, hell the night before, he looked the same but not the next day, not when he woke up. The prisoner in cell block B now looks exactly like me. Luckily no one has seen him. I don't think he knows himself. I smashed the mirror above his vanity and haven't allowed him to leave his cell. I can't. What if someone sees him? What will they think? I think I'll kill him, that's what I'll do, before anyone sees him. I'll say he came after me, he's a convict everyone expects it. Why does he look like me? Do I look like him? I haven't checked. Now I'm afraid to. What if they put me in here in his place? I have to leave now. But I can't, it's too risky. I'll have to kill us both. It's the only way. They can figure out later once it's over what happened. Here it goes 1..2...3.....