Chewing On Glass Presents… Tripping On A Hole In A Paper Heart…

In a classroom full of Macs the information they must process, but they are here at this shit school. Which means they go to waste. Been in this class for over a week and we have yet to even turn one on. I’m in a classroom full of people I hate. Locked in a room with no key with people like me. Each and every one of them thinks they are better than me. Better than everyone else. The room feels claustrophobic and small. The room feels like hell. There are only twelve of us occupying the space, but it might as well be a thousand. The drugs I took today are not making this feeling go away. If anything they may have been bad, tainted. The teacher speaks in a way that is hard to understand. It is time to strap in.

It feels as if she is only talking to me, and I have to keep reminding myself that she isn’t. The students seem faceless. They have the blankest of stares that I can’t understand. I can’t see their eyes or their mouths. I begin to sweat and I have to take my sweatshirt off. It isn’t enough to escape the feeling that the room is on fire. I want to strip all of my clothes off as if this is normal. But I’m not high enough yet to just do it. The teacher keeps talking and the more I stare the more I notice that something seems to be leaking from her eyes. She is smiling and laughing as more blood pours from her eyes. The room erupts with the sound of laughter as the others join in. Their laughs float in the air as if they are real objects. I fight the urge to reach out to one. Take it into myself so I could join in. I’m getting even more nervous by the moment. My sweat has soaked through my shirt and I realize I am trapped in a nightmare the drugs are creating.

I start to see smoke come from behind the teacher. This must be where the feeling of being trapped in a fire is coming from. I fight the urge to shout anything out. Foot tapping to the restrained words inside my head. Faster and faster my foot taps to a broken beat. The smoke gets thicker and I find it hard to breathe. The orange glow of fire starts to fill the back of the room. I feel the heat of the fire on my face. Maybe this is real, but why aren’t the other students shouting and screaming? Why are they just sitting there laughing as if everything is okay? I fake a smile as I look at their blank faces. My face feels stretched against the fire. Locked in place with a crooked smile. I want to leave but I am afraid. Afraid of what I might find outside of this room. The teacher rises from her chair at the head of the class. A monstrous force with pitchfork in hand. She waves it around her pointing it at each and every one of us. Impaled fetus rest on each fork. Cooked and barely distinguishable from burnt up sausages. Only the little charred hands pointing back at me. She screams with a horrible sound that has no equal. She screams in a language I can’t understand. A lost language that hasn’t been spoken since the dawn of time. She paces the front of the room. Only stopping to pound her pitchfork and let out another scream. It’s not real. It’s not real. The other students respond back with their own horrible screams. It’s not real. I just need to ride this out. I close my eyes and place my head on my desk.

The heat around me rises to an unbearable degree as the pounding of her pitchfork gets closer and closer until I can feel her right above me. I scream as her burning hand touches my shoulders. Her face has transformed into a face of scales and blood. She whispers to me as she looks into my eyes. I watch as the students are engulfed in flames. They make no noise as they burn. Through the fire I can now see all of their eyes. All of their eyes staring back at me. The teachers places her face directly in front of me. All I can see is her. Her scales breaking off into little flakes as she moves her mouth. “I can’t,” is all I can manage to say. I fight the urge to vomit and scream at the same time. I grab my backpack and try to ignore the fact that it feels like something is moving inside. Running through the flames I know this isn’t real, but I can’t stay here any longer. I reach for the red hot handle attached to the black door. The handle feels cold as I push down on it and enter the hallway on the other side.

The black door slams, but it sounds as though it is coming from far away. I struggle through the hallway. Making my way towards the stairs. Each foot step feels like a fight. Feels as though the bottoms of my shoes have melted to the floor. Should I take them off? Even in a nightmare state that seems like a bad idea. It takes me a moment before I notice the others. I am not alone as I make my way through the building. More faceless students surround me. Each one with a knife in their hands. I try to not draw any attention to myself. Each step, each leg pulled with all the effort I have left. I need to get to my car. It goes on like this for what feels like an eternity. It goes on so long I forget what it is that I am doing and fall just before the stairs. I manage to catch myself. The hallway grows silent. The students are no longer going about their business. Picking myself up off the floor I look around. The faceless students stare back at me. Each one holding their long butcher knife beside them. The blades shine as they turn them from side to side in an offbeat synchronized rhythm. The light in the hallway reflecting off each and every one of them. I feel an intense amount of dread fill my stomach. I don’t wait for them to do anything as I run down the stairs in horror.

Step by step in a rapid fashion. Until I miss the last step. Slamming face first onto the floor. I hear a rush of footsteps approach me. One of the faceless students tries to help me up. Their knife rested next to me on the floor. It speaks to me in a way that I don’t understand. I kick away from the face my body filled with pain and shock. I crawl my way to the nearest door and manage to get myself up on my feet. One of my feet hurts but I can’t tell which one. My fears of going outside were justified. The sky is no longer sunny or blue. The sky has turned a shade of red and the clouds have become a black so dark that it couldn’t possibly be real. Little red flakes fall from the black clouds. They float down around me in a slow motion usually reserved for the movies. The flakes make their way to the ground and they slowly melt as each one makes it to the ground. Forming puddles of blood that litter the pavement. Bigger and bigger the puddles grow with every passing moment. It’s not real. It’s not real. I sprint towards the parking lot. Pain shooting up one of my legs.

The cars are misshapen and I can’t tell which one is mine. I take out my keys and press the panic button. My car begins to honk somewhere in the distance. The lights of the car flash on and off in shades of blue, red, green, and purple in no real order. They flash in a pattern that says here I am. I run to the car. Unlocking it with a push of a button and turn the panic mode off. I open the back passenger door and crawl inside. Crawl inside my new womb. The seats feel slimy and warm. The seats feel like home. A warm womb with windows? This isn’t real. This isn’t real. What is anymore? I ask myself as the seats pulsate as if they are real.  I bury my head into the back seat and close my eyes against the warm. Feels as though my head is surrounded by water. Through it all I hear it. The sound of music, the sound of talking, the sounds of a distant memories I have long forgotten. The sounds of it all are taking over little by little by some outside noise.  I hear scratching on the sides of my car. Too afraid to open my eyes I just scream into the seat. Scream until I finally pass out to the sounds of the students dragging their knives across the sides of the car. Waiting tear me away from my new home. Hands and knives pressed against the sides of my womb.

Wait… What the fuck?… Yeah I don’t know either… I spent a lot of time messing with this one… the basic idea was always there from the beginning… as most ideas are… first draft was weird and crazy… apparently I have always been weird and a little bit off… who knew?… but I thought lets turn this shit up to eleven… fun fact… I had to be removed by C section… had to be torn from my first home as well… if I hadn’t there was a good chance I would have died… cord was tied around my throat… my life line was not ready to let go?… I was also super late… two weeks… my mom thought I was never going to come out… almost didn’t as it turns out… spoiler alerts I made it…

I often wonder though… as the cord was tied around my neck… and the doctors told my mother to push… that in those moments… something happened to me… turned on a switch… told me to live… not to given into everything that was happening to me… of course these are adult thoughts… these are thoughts I have when all hell feels as though it surrounds me… I tried to inject that idea into this character… give him a piece of me… this isn’t real… this isn’t real… which this story isn’t… I’ve never done acid or any psychedelic drugs… for every reason presented above in the story…

If I can imagine all of that sober… I am afraid of what I would see high… which is where this story started… I like to explore the idea of what I might find over… actually going to find it… grass is greener where the dogs are shitting and all… I have been lucky… or too uncool… to have never been around drugs… I knew people who do them… know people who do a lot of them… just not around me… and all those that I know who do a lot of them… live a life I would never want to live… it looks brutal… miserable… but that is the life that they choose… that sounds like I am an asshole… and that could be a whole other post… condensed version of what I believe about life… is that we make our own choices…

I write a lot about drugs… A Lie for example… other stories found on this website… I try at all times to not make them sound fun… they very well could be… but I really doubt it long term… I have tried a few… the ones that I have tried I have liked… one for a short term (marijuana)… the other… well if you have been paying attention to the website for the last year… long term in a bad way (alcohol)… nothing too crazy… but in the very limited scope of what I have experienced… being sober has always been better… like everything in life… never at the time… only in hind sight…

So back to the question or thought I presented… why do you write a lot about drugs?… Honestly because they’re something physical… something tangible… something most of us can understand… because we all know someone or know someone who knows someone that does drugs or knew… some of us have done them ourselves… and also because you can’t inject… or snort… or smoke sadness… but as it turns out you can… and in the case of A Lie… that is where I went with that… same as I went here… this story isn’t real… I didn’t trip on acid and fall asleep in my car… I had a panic attack and feel asleep in my car instead… that is where fiction and truth collide… that is where I like to stand… that is where I like to be when I write… could I have written the same story for the same effect without drugs?… yep… but it would have been boring… been like digging at an old wound… where is the fun in that?… find out next week… complete with pictures as we dig deeper into my chest… : )

Merch… Threadless… Books… Amazon… Broken Thoughts… Twitter

Chewing On Glass Presents… Wait and See…

I’m startled awake confused as to where I am and where I should be. I can feel the bang of the door as much as I think I can hear it. “I’m going already. Give it a rest,” I shout but they don’t care. The door rattles with every strike. Must mean something to bang this damn long. I try to get up and at first it seems that I am having the hardest of times. Everything seems out of place in my brain as I. There’s no other way to describe what happens to me next. No way other than I rise up? A ghostly outline of my former self. Neither here nor there or anywhere to be exact. I watch over my lifeless shell. Who I used to be? Who I am now? Who I will be forever? Confusion doesn’t even begin to explain the feelings of everything that is happening. My door flies open. No more banging. 

The first emergency responder to rush into my tiny studio apartment seems as though he is caught between two places. Nervousness and excitement flashes across his face in a slow motion that plays out in rapid speed. His partner half a step behind him. Their heavy bags land with a thud next to my bed, next to me. What is left of me? One of them picks up the phone next to my vessel’s hand. Says a few words I can not fully hear or understand, and hangs up the phone. The other searches for a pulse. Finding nothing of course they begin chest compressions. The difference between life and this is only a second but I imagine every second counts at this point. I imagine what is left of my time counts for something when a life is on the line. Try as they might the only fight left is the fight they aren’t willing to let go. I’ve made my peace as I watch them try. As I watch the needle fall from my arm and onto the floor. I’ve made my peace I think though it would seem that I haven’t. A by stander to my own end and a shitty narrator to my new beginning.

 If God is real he is nothing more than a trickster. Proving a point that only the dead could understand. Even if everything feels like a dream or a shitty nightmare played out in my head. Is this real? Is this the high or something else? The two EMTs fight and fight to bring me back. I wonder why I didn’t do the same. Why do they care so much when I didn’t? I want to make them stop. Tell them thank you but I did this, and it is what I deserve. We die, I died the end. What’s really left to say? A lifeless corpse with shit in his veins. How else was this going to end? Is this the way I wanted it? Sure why not? Had to happen at some point or another. Death waits for no one or nothing. More so when you play with it like I have. This is what I deserve and they don’t deserve to watch it all fold out. Embracing my new beginning. Embracing what comes next it would appear that this was all only a warning. A second look at what it is that I have done. Something draws me back to my vessel. Tells me to lay back down. Not a thought or an idea the feeling is beyond my understanding to explain. I do what it is I feel I must. Maybe if I lie back down. Lay perfectly still the two parts will become whole once more? Nothing to lose at this point. I try to recreate the position my shell is in on the bed.

What comes next is nothing short of a rebirth. The feeling of waking up after a long slumber as I spring back to life. Gasping for air and for the first time in what feels like forever I feel it. I feel it all. The tears flow down my face as I look into their eyes. Euphoric at first and then nothing but pain. Startled and relieved I grab the collar of the EMT closest to me, “Thank you.” Thank you is all I have to say. Thank you for what however we will just have to wait and see.

So two months in… some of you may have noticed that the “horror writer”… isn’t writing a writing a whole lot of horror stories… in some ways I am… but if you had this thought then you are correct… I’ve been experimenting as much as I can lately… stretching this idea of horror beyond serial killers and ghost… in truth the likeliness of any of us running into a serial killer or ghost is extremely low… statistically possible but very unlikely… the idea that we might die at any moment… some government agency or entity is changing the course of history… a broken heart snapped in half by our own hands… or in this case drug overdose… seem a little more likely… (Side note… I don’t believe in ghosts… but I don’t have any proof that they don’t exist…)

Any way… I’m sure I will sneak a crazy psychopath in here eventually… or maybe I already have?…

Merch… Threadless… Books… Amazon… Broken Thoughts… Twitter

A Lie Preview

I Want You to Realize What You Do

I feel as if I’ve seen this before. I feel as if I’ll hear this once more. Like a cold draft coming in, I’m blown out the door. My allergies take me places I’ve been before. Like the hallway and out the door. I think I wanted to just feel the norm of society and everyone before. Jumping up and down. Nowhere to go. Pushing from side to side. Nowhere to go. If this is my last life I wish there was more. If I had a choice I’d have wanted more. Well, when you look back do you see the fun? Or the hard work it took to win? By the end of life, I won’t remember what was what like a baby to the womb or an old man to his tomb. People keep asking me, “Where are you from?” People keep wondering where you’re from as if it matters because we’re all going to the same place. In the ground and back to the sun. Life keeps circling in a cycle that was spun a long time ago before we knew it was done. Jumping out of my skin. Fate has already begun to win. My minds going with my body and I’m stuck here with nowhere to go. My life’s gone way out of my control. I follow the lines as if I was told what to do, what to say, and in its own way my thoughts are not my own, but the people before me. My own self-loathing is a learned behavior. My society is large, but with many layers. People just make me want to jump, falling down hard my body rolls taking the hard way down into the ground.

Class sucked today and she still hasn’t texted me back. She’s a fucking whore. Fuck her. These drugs are fucking shit. Mother fucker sold me the wrong shit and of course, I have no choice but to keep using them because I have nothing else. Fuck off.

 

We’ve all been there… hopefully you haven’t personally… I know I am every other day… not the drugs… but at this point, I’m starting to think maybe I should be… just kidding kids… “Drugs are bad… Alcohol is bad”… venting your frustration through writing is the best way to clear your head… get that shit out before it gets out in negative ways… because as sure as you believe it won’t… it very much fucking will… take care of yourself and it will pay off… take a fucking moment and write that shit down… no idea why I am cussing so much… haha… 

I’d vent my frustration on a shirt… but who the fuck has the time to read that shit?… that’s why I put it in book form… for when you have the time… Don’t forget to drop a review… I might even read them… when I’m done venting my frustration…  

cropped-website-logo.jpg

Turn Out the Light

I begin my day by waking up like most of humanity, but in a hint of irony, I don’t think that I ever truly wake up. My first thoughts are to find some drugs, but I failed to get more last night or save any for this morning. So now I am beyond hopeless. I light up a cigarette and take a couple of drags before stumbling my way to the bathroom to piss. There is a huge bruise on my left inner thigh and I can’t recall how in the world I got it, but now that I know I have it my leg begins to hurt. I move to the kitchen and open the frig door more out of habit than anything else considering I already know that there isn’t anything inside it anyways. More thoughts creep into my head and this is why I should have saved at least one more hit. My second real thought of the day is that I have to work later. I already know hours in advance that I will be thirty minutes late, but I also know that they won’t say anything. In some sick sad way, they feel sorry for me or they act like they know something I don’t. Either way, this pisses me off beyond belief. I don’t say anything because I need the money now more than ever. I close the frig door and start to get ready for work. It’s not a long process so, I’m out the door before I even realize it. I send her a text that I know she will never respond to. I send her a text that says, “I love you and I miss you”, but it was a waste of twenty seconds. I start my car up and pull out of the parking space. I stop by the dealer’s house before heading to work. I barely had enough money to get what I will need for the next few days of my miserable life. I need to conserve as much as I can before I get paid again or things just might get worse. I laugh at the thought but it is more real than I can even comprehend right now. The drug dealer sends his best and this pisses me off. I could barely stop from doing a hit right on his front porch but I make it to the car. I head to work and today is already a waste.

Sixteen and fucking stupid. Sixteen year old girls pretending to be so stupid and dizzy about the dumbest things. As if a five-year old doesn’t understand how much something costs. How hard does one person have to be dropped on their head to not understand the concept of money in America? Yet this woman standing in front of me isn’t sixteen, though she acts like it, hell I don’t think she is even in her twenties anymore and if she is she looks fucking rough. Her and her rather large but not for this area boyfriend, who decided today wasn’t a good day to wear sleeves, stand in front of my register. There is a horrible smell coming from somewhere, but I’m not sure where. They have decided to purchase some beer, her pleasure condoms, and this week’s special two regular sized candy bars at the value price of a dollar. The slightly overweight woman who really doesn’t need one more candy bar asks me, “If the tag says two for a dollar does that mean I have to get two candy bars to get the sale price?” My mind flashes to the many possible answers I want to say to her stupid question like do you really need two or are you fucking retarded? Because if you are retarded that is fine, but if you’re just pretending, that’s fucking sad. I calmly tell the woman you can still get the sale price if you purchase just one as I hide my twitching hand from her view. And just so there is no confusion I tell her that they are fifty cents apiece. She gives me a look that makes me wonder maybe this isn’t an act. She really is slow in the head. She decides the best way to go is to get two. “They’re only a dollar,” she says with a giggle. Her next words will haunt me for as long as I live. “You got this don’t you Big Daddy?” I want to vomit all over her, and for the first time tonight it isn’t from the drugs. The man, known only as “Big Daddy,” steps up to the counter and reveals just exactly where the horrible smell in the air has been coming from. He is wearing a sleeveless shirt that says, “Taken Care of Businesses,” on it. His sleeveless arms are quite hairy and sweaty despite the fact that it can’t be more than forty degrees outside. His hairy arms release an odor so wretched that the smell is burning my raw nostrils. I have resorted to breathing through my mouth, as little as I possibly can. The sooner they leave the sooner I can breathe. I can feel my face getting redder as my blood starts to accumulate in my face making it feel even hotter in the room than it already is. I feel as though I am trapped under water. The couple begins to speak. I think they are telling a joke, but all I can hear is my heartbeat pounding in my head, not the words coming out of their mouths. I don’t understand why they keep talking when I’m not saying anything back. I don’t understand what is going on. They are laughing and smiling, and the smell is somehow getting worse. It hurts, but I pretend to laugh anyways with them. I must pretend to be normal and that everything is okay. I must appear normal I chant to myself as my hand is still twitching and my leg has joined in. My mantra of normal is really starting to fuck me up. What is normal at a time like this? I hand the change to “Big Daddy” and the woman steps even closer to the counter, close to my face, closer than anyone should ever be, and she looks me right in the eyes. She says, “The secret is to have lots of sex.” I swallow the vomit that has found its way into my mouth and force a smile. I have no idea why she is telling me this, but I am grateful that they at least bought condoms. Now if they understand how to use them is a whole other question. My guess is that reading is difficult at their level of intelligence so probably not. It is another sad day on planet earth.

Orginally posted in A Lie…