Illusions 

Another short story that I wrote. I have started writing them, practicing for a full novel that I am working on. Hope y’all enjoy.

Illusions


I am hiding away from the demons. They always come at night. That’s why I keep all the lights on in the apartment. The more the better.

There are knives underneath my pillow. I need something to protect myself with if they brave the light.

My greatest treasure, my greatest accomplishment, is my padded floor and walls. Should they decide to attack, and one day they will, I have cushion to bounce from and to keep the demons attached. They hate the cotton of the walls. 

I’m going to sleep now. My armor has my arms ready, on my back, with my knives at my fingertips. 

I welcome the demons. I welcome them in their white skin to come at me. I will draw their blood, like they did to me. 

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Unforgotten Passion

A short story I made. Hopefully, you enjoy this little story.

Unforgotten Passion

We were young and wild that night. We were free from all the barriers of society and we loved each other the entire night.

Do you remember that magical night?

That night of love and joy. We got lost in each other’s skin that night. A night in paradise with my night in shining armor. The passion does not compare to anything since then, no lover has matched the passion we had, the love we made.

Since I lost you, I have been unable to find the same passion as we had. The love for one another has been untouched. The flame remains dead and cannot be reignited by anyone,

You died too young. However, I know for sure you are in paradise.

Dreams of the Beautiful Suicidal Souls pt. 4

Another short story over what someone might resort to, should their life be in shambles.

Dreams of the Beautiful Suicidal Souls pt. 4

 

In my bed I lie.

Waiting for my death.

I have lost everything. I have lost my wife, my children, my job, all of my money. My beautiful children…I can never see them again. The bank is coming to take away the home tomorrow, and then I will be gone.

There is nowhere to go. I have no family left.

The empty pill bottle mocks me. The bottle of whiskey stares coldly at me.

My stomach hurts. It hurts a lot. But this must happen; there is nothing left that this world can offer. I have lost everything and there is no way to regain it back. I wanted to die happily with my wife, in a nice home. With a front porch with me playing a little fiddle tune.

Today I die. I die here, in this worn out bed. I lost my life to sin, and now I see the painful white light.

Undone by a Sock

A little short story. Hopefully you enjoy it, my short story writing has been out of practice.

Undone by a Sock

 

The pounding of my chest makes me realize I am still alive. I used to think that being without you made my heart stop beating, but it kept pounding. I thought I could feel you inside me when my heart beat.

It beats with vengeance now, as it did back then, when you treated me like your adolescent sock. At least that sock will be there with you forever, its cotton warmth encasing your manhood. I am done with you, my days of being your sock are now over.

Two

This is a continuation of the small short story One with a different voice.

Two

I somehow survived the fire, the hell-rain that fell upon the world. The wind howled, spreading the destruction. I managed to hide when the fallout occurred; what I hid in barely held. Had it been a little longer, I would not be alive.

But once I had stepped out of my safe haven, I immediately wished I had died. When I stepped out from under my cover, I saw the pain. I still see it now, all I see is the pain that my world has suffered and will continue to suffer. For how long, I don’t know.

I look around in utter disbelief. I see no human and no creature. The sky is red and the earth is burned. I grab my head and squeeze, attempting to make any sense of what has just occurred, shutting my eyes and hoping it is simply a dream. I look around once again and the reality sinks in. I feel my hair fall; as I run my hands across my scalp, all of my hair falls off.

I walk in this wasteland, this fallout zone of nuclear toxicity. I see nothing but ruin. No human or creature. I am the last human on this desolate land.

I am the last human alive.

One

A working title for a working story, hopefully the response is good. I don’t know where I am going with this story but at the same time I do.

One

Fire burns in the sky. Thunder rumbles but it is not that of nature. Bastard lightning strikes from the clouds and splits everything it touches in two.

Buildings lay broken and construed across the barren earth. No weed or blade of grass grows; water no longer exists and sun no longer shines. Soil has become sand and broken bones have become ash. Hazardous wind blows and sweeps everything away, its hideous fingers greedily taking what remains.

Not a bird flies nor does a mouse scuttle; every animal is gone. The oceans have died with marine life inedible. Birds fell from the sky, feathers burning and screeches roaring as they fell. Land animals consumed fire and died from within, this was the fate for those that survived after the initial damage.

This hell was brought upon by the Ruler, the one from my country. The name so satanic, it was erased from history books when those things existed. I still remember the name and refuse to acknowledge it. The Ruler died at their own hand, but sadly billions joined their side.

I always knew this utterance existed, but I never thought it would ever be used. Let alone, I must bear this distinction.

“I am the last human alive.”

Dreams of the Beautiful Suicidal Souls pt. 3

Another story to continue the thread that I have started.This story does not depict myself or any person I know, nor is it meant to depict any person, living or deceased. Hope everyone enjoy this work.

 

June 10, 20XX

 

Today is the day I die. I shouldn’t be thinking like this, but I am. I have planned on how to kill myself for weeks already. I don’t want to live in this world anymore.

Just for being different I was hurt. If I dated a girl, I was called a dyke. If I dated a guy, I was labeled a whore who couldn’t keep her legs closed.

All I did was end one relationship and began another. I stopped loving her and began to fall for him. I didn’t cheat on her nor did I do that to him. But kids will be kids and label and judge. All because I identify as bisexual.

They threw fake money at me, telling me that I should be used to this. Saying that a whore like me should take it as a compliment that people want me even though I’m “diseased.” I will say this with confidence that this “whore” is actually a virgin.

Ridiculed and laughed at, rejected by the people around me and those that called me their friends, I feel empty.

All for simply being different. I had thought that my school was about inclusivity and diversity.

I want those who tormented me to know that my blood will be on their hands. I want them to forever remember my name, to always remember the pain they inflicted upon me. I want them to always remember that the girl they killed was simply another human. I want them to realize that I had dreams too. I wanted to help find a cure, or at least a better way to treat, for cancer. I wanted to help my little brother heal after having gone into remission.

I had dreams, just like those that will keep on living. Just know that you caused me this pain. It grew so much that I couldn’t bare it anymore.

I want anyone who reads this to know that words do hurt. It can and will destroy a person’s mind and thoughts and hopes and dreams. It did so for me…

I want anyone who reads this to know that words can hurt. I want you to realize the words you are saying. You need to understand the pain people will go through. You need to see that people do take things to heart. You need to realize that words can be just as deadly as knives.

I’m off to drink now. Bye. I love you, my dear family.

 

Forever Eternal,

Mya Huxley

Dreams of the Beautiful Suicidal Souls pt. 2

Another piece I thought about for this little story line and thread. This is not me or anyone I know. This is not based on anyone but rather inspired by what has occurred in current issues. Hope everyone who reads this enjoys and let me know if anyone would like to see more material like this.

 

July 25, 20XX

 

To all of that read this,

 

Depending on who reads this letter depends on the message I have for you.

If it is the police who first read this letter, I beg for you to spare the sight of my body from my family. I do not want them to see what will become of me…

If it is my family, then I am truly sorry. I couldn’t stand the torture anymore. I was beat in school and mentally attacked. To suffer daily and to have the onslaught continue even after school has ended, it became too much. At graduation, you saw that people would not talk to me, they avoided taking photos with me, pushed me away. All for simply being gay…

I am a gay man. I’ve been called a faggot. I’ve been called queer. I’ve been called a bitch. I’ve been pushed down on a guy by tormentors and smacked and called so many names. I would get disgusting drawings in my locker. I’ve been the recipient of hotdogs being thrown at my face, told that I should like that. I’ve been tied up on a fence and left to bleed.

All of this for simply being different.

I was outed after I told one of my friends. She told another person and that caused a domino effect and eventually many people from school found out and then you, my family found out. I’m so happy and proud of you guys for having accepted me. But it was not enough help in the long run.

If you are one of my tormentors, I sincerely hope that you are not seeing this message. But if you do I hope you let this phrase sink in: “Do onto others as you would have them do onto you.” I hope that you are willing to be hurt and tortured as how you did to me. I hope your “harmless games” were worth it. I wish that you no longer laugh, no longer find the joy of the world. You stole my joy, my hope, and I hope you lose that too.

Today is my birthday. I turned 18 today. We already did my little party. We ate at this nice steak house. I had hoped to travel the world, go to college. Find a husband.

Today I turned 18. Today I die. Today, I was told to “fuck off” and to go “suck a big one” on my birthday.

Today I turned 18. Today I lost all hope.

I love you Mom and Dad and little ones.

 

Love Always,

JJ Smith

War-Torn Warrior

I attempt to write fiction prose, sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. This post may be the last post for a brief while simply because I have been swamped the past few days and I have been unable to write and the next few days will be incredibly hectic. Hope you enjoy!

I know I cannot accurately write about this topic because I have not experienced war. However, I would like to broaden my ability of writing and use what I have seen and heard to try to portray this everyday fact of life.

 

War-torn Warrior

 

The rifle pushes against my shoulder as it fires. Round after round leaves the barrel, shrieking, looking for its target. Screams ring out, blood flies. Bombs create chaotic explosions, limbs flying along with those explosions.

Everywhere I look, I see the living, the dead and the wounded. I’m walking past everyone and everything; I no longer care for my life.

My screams are the screams of my comrades, the screams of the dead, the screams of my enemies. My soul screams along with the screams of the things around me, the screams of humanity and nature. It screams at the sight of dead, mutilated children, women bullet-ridden, men with destroyed beyond repair. It is too much to bear.

As I cross another dead body, I feel something press to the side of my skull before it enters, the flash of pain warns me of what is to come. I know now, at this moment before I die, I can finally find peace by escaping this horror.