A Lie Preview

Welcome, Take a Seat. The Truth Can Be Hard to Swallow.

I’m sitting in a room bathed in black light. You know that not quite purple but not at all black color that washes over everything. Random objects are glowing with a strange hue all around me. This seems important but really it isn’t. The intense colors are more for effect than anything else. If I was tripping like every other asshole in the room I would be having a good time, but I’m not. I am sitting on the end of a glowing couch with two women who are probably more like girls than women, but I don’t really know because I haven’t really taken the time to notice. I haven’t taken my eyes off the glass coffee table in front of me to really notice anything. I don’t really notice the topless girl making out with some random guy as he feels her up in the corner or the passed out and probably dead man in front of the table. All of these facts I am very unsure of, again these are all things that I think are happening around me. The past year all comes down to what is on the table. The last trip I will ever take. My freedom lies at the end of each line. My life will forever change with each line because after they are done, I am done. I will disappear, like a ghost, never to be heard or seen again in this town. The last year has been a downward spiral of lies and deceit. It has left my mind like an open sore that has been open to infection by everything around me. My freedom and my mind is all that I want back. I just need this last pick me up, this last time to remind me just how much I truly hate this. I have the rolled up dollar in my hand and I am ready whenever I am ready. I have a sick feeling in my stomach that this will somehow end badly, but I need to do this. I need to end this forever and walk away. I lean towards the coffee table and line my makeshift straw up to the drugs. I snort each line as rapidly as I can there’s no use drawing this out any longer than I have to. The drugs take only seconds to enter my system, they feel like home but the feeling doesn’t last. Something is wrong. Something is very wrong. My body falls forward and no one reaches out for me. A room full of people and no one reaches for me. My face smashes against the table, I can feel the cartilage and little bones of my nose give way. I can feel the warm blood leave my face and spread across the table. But this is not where it all started. It all started a long time before this.

 

 

Days, Weeks, Months, a Year Before

It is hard to say when this truly began. Some could say it started when I moved here from across the country. Maybe when I started attending this school, but really it started when she left. When she decided she didn’t like it here anymore and she was going back with or without me.  She ultimately chose without me despite all my begging. She said she was going back to school and she couldn’t take it here with me. She promised she still loved me and that we would be together as soon as school was done. She said all of this while packing up everything she owned or claimed was hers from the three years prior as if this was in some way normal. She said a lot of things that over time proved she was nothing more than a liar. Of course at the time, on the surface everything was too out of focus to really notice she was lying. This is where I think it started. This is where the hurt feelings began. This is where the never ending spiral seemed to take off. Like a downward rollercoaster with no brakes I quickly found myself with cracks in my heart that only grew wider as each day went. I have never been a strong person, but I have become even weaker without her. My life has been a test of strengths that I never could understand, this situation is no different. Now I am stuck here in a hell that I have created for myself with everyone around me playing the roles I have created for them. “Life is never easy but it is in pain that we find out just who we truly are,” Abigail Clayton wrote that in her suicide note to her parents. Great words to live by if you ask me.

 

Hope you enjoyed the first two pages of A Lie… Now available on Kindle… Don’t have a Kindle?… That’s okay… You can enjoy thousands of books right from your smart phone, desktop, or tablet with the Kindle app. Best of all the app is free…. Now Available in print as well…

 

Fact or Fiction

“I know your life is a never ending nightmare full of horror and deceit. I know you are often at odds with yourself and this horrid thing called life. Every morning is filled with contempt as you have this endless debate on whether or not you should kill yourself in your shower or while your K-cup brews or in your car that is neither new nor old but works just fine. These things I know because I’m sitting right next to you. These things I know because I’m looking at the same things you are. These things I know because we share the same eco-friendly renewable water source in the same god damn forsaken city on the banks of some form of water. I know all these things, I think all these things because I too live a life of perfect balanced, zero struggle life know as modern society. Chances are we think the same exact way but out of pure boredom let’s say I don’t. Because we have to be different in this world. We have to be special when it comes to things like this in life. Odds are against us though beyond our thoughts. We went to the same school, learned from the same books, ate the same shitty food, and lived near perfect replicas of the same life. Let me guess you played doctor? Let me guess you owned a copy of GTA 3? Let me guess you couldn’t catch’em all on paper or digitized? Let me guess you thought you were special? Well you’re not, you and I are more alike than you and I might think. We are so close you and I that we could be one in the same. Chances are we are in fact the same robotic, institutionalized, modern guilt individuals walking side by side right now. We could say hello to one another but we won’t. We could relate our dream suicide scenario but we won’t. We could discuss just how much we actually hate each other but we won’t. Because what’s the point? Why tell you everything you already know? Why bother letting you in on our little secrets? We all have secrets, guilty pleasures, they are all the same but we have them. We imagine that they are the little things that make us different. That the tidbits of information we hold dear separate us from fact and fiction. When really there is no such thing. We live a life of fact and fiction. We live a life of knowing we are the same, fact. We live a life thinking in some way we are different, fiction. We live lives that are exactly the same. We fuck women and men who are exactly the same. We blindly follow the dumbest of our kind because we know that they are the same. We read books and stories, watch movies and shows on people or about people who are exactly the same. And like you I will do nothing to change this. Like you I will ride this life into the ground hoping for something better but being served up the exact same. There is no difference between animal and man we were put here to do the exact same, suffer until our last dying breathe.”

“What an interesting report Timothy,” the teacher calls out. “Not quite A material but informative all the same in its own way. Go ahead and take your seat with the rest of the class.” She shuffles some papers, disheveled herself, “Umm if we could have Stephanie, Stephanie Keaton come up next.” Stephanie gets up from her seat and takes her place at the head of the class. “Now Stephanie why don’t you tell us what you did this summer.”

 

Broken Thoughts

Always standing and watching
Participation is only an option
Waiting through the darkness
Copying, pasting thoughts and ideas
My thoughts have never been
Mine and Mine alone

Generations of bending and shaping
A never ending conclusion of thought

Walking this as slow as I can
The rush to die wasted on the youth
Thoughts of immortality disappear with every year
To be trapped in this old casket
Would be hell
The sands of time will only weigh me down from here
Giving in was never an option
It was always the plan

Away From Me
Your words don’t inspire me
They dig, carve out a place within my soul
A den of deceit, lies, beauty to unfold
They consume, swallow me whole
Every instance of instinct
Every truth of existence
Proves my point as it grows
The thoughts burn up inside me
I’m burning down slowly
Ashes given back to the earth
Lonely, depressed maybe this is what I deserve
A life wasted on dreams, on the absurd
The more I want it the further it seems
What is it that I want so badly in these dreams?
The fire must rage, fuel to the flame
Even if it is slowly killing me all the same
What do I have left
Ashes, condemned to my last breath

So sick of being me
Lost all religion
Lost everything when you cried
Dragging myself through this hell
No longer recognize what I’ve become
It’s a long road traveled or not
Feel the pain of a thousand worlds
Carry with me every word ever said
Brain won’t shut up
Movies playing in my head
Every thing that could have been
Memories of you faded in the background
How I wish I could
Change any of this
Once spoken, said forever
Only one way to end it all
Only one word that means anything

Separate skin from bone
Shaving off the fat left behind
Drinking the blood of Christ to let go
Was there the moment he died so long ago
Endless in time, the moments tick by
How I wish I could only go home

Broken Up Thoughts (Vulgar)

I didn’t miss this shit for a second. This can only end badly. Yet here I stand at the crossroads of 5th and shit. Give me back my time. Give me back my life, and I’ll waste it how I see fit. Laziness took hold, sunk its fangs deep, and won’t let go. I don’t care anymore even if I’m left caring. Freedom is infectious. Freedom is not an absolute. Oh, how I wish it was. Oh lord, how I wish it could be.

The blood cascades down the wall
You know you are home
When everything is comfortable
Bones line the edges of the room
You know you are home
When everything is fine
Skin drapes the furniture
You know you are home
When everything is normal

The same sad fucks show up every day. The same time. Ticking away time as though it doesn’t matter. Bull shit everyday problems progress into even more shit. Snowball effect I think it is called. Ever passing moments of life. So sick of the humdrum crap we have to deal with. Same faces populate my everyday life. Their scars scratched deep across their faces. They try to hide them but they are too obscene to stay hidden for long. Battle scorn left for dead. Left to fend for themselves in this spinning ball of shit called life. To be somewhere different, to see a whole new set of sad shit eating faces to deal with.

Tangled up in all your razor wire
Think about running
But all I know is pain
I think about what if
But all I know is disappointment
I was told everything would be fine
Now all I know has been only lies
Hold out long enough everything should be okay
Though I know on a scale from bad to worse
Everything is the same

This weeks theme I guess is bitter… I’m bitter that here in America we can’t stop lodging our heads up our asses… I write all of this a month in advance… And I feel confident that something stupid, regretful, or all around what the fuck happened this week… Am I some soothsaying witch doctor or is it only the way things are now?… A track record that is just too hard to break?… I want to be wrong… I can’t express how much I hope that I am wrong about this week… But the safe bet is that I am not… Bitter beyond belief… 

Creepy idea/thought for all the bloggers out there… As I said I write all of this in advance… Imagine if we all just disappeared…. But for the next month after the internet went on as if nothing happened… Our messages of sadness, hope, best wishes, health, beauty tips, poetry left for no one to read… creepy until you realize we do this already… So thank you for reading and/or taking the time to comment… : ) 

A Notice of Change…

It has been one crazy six months… I have been having a blast writing every month, every week, and every day for those of you have stuck with me… I will be taking the month of February off… To work on my book and to think of more exciting stories to tell you in the coming year… What that means is that I won’t be posting any new stories or blog pieces… I will be posting some of the most liked stories for the last six months, new Broken Thoughts, and Poetry though… 

This is only temporary so I can get ahead of the curve… I will still be visiting blogs, answering comments, and be around in general… So that is why I am calling it a change rather than a break… I will be back to my regular schedule for March…

Thank you so much for following, reading, commenting, and being here with me this past six months… I appreciate each and every one of you… each and every day…

Layne Ambrose
1/30/18 

 

One more thing before I go

How Ugly It Truly Is….

“Working is how life passes you by. Time itself passes you by. Relationships pass you by. It is only so long until everything passes you by and you are left with nothing or no one. There are so many aspects to this country and money seems to be the biggest one. We all have to make money no matter the culture. But what do we become when we make money our culture? We make the money match the time? Money can always be earned, but the time? Days spent unconscious as life passed by. So I can pay the bills on time, afford the drinks to keep me going, so me and mine can live the life we want to live. Which looking back was never the life we wanted to live. It wasn’t the life we dreamed about for ourselves or you. It wasn’t much of a life at all. In my opinion, life is nothing more than this ever passing time. Since as long as long as I could remember life has just been going on. Whether I was part of it or not. Whether I did the right thing or not. The amount of control and freedom you think you have is how little of both you actually have. Nothing is free. We all pay a price. Whether it is our bodies or the very soul we think we have. Listen to me rambling like the old man I have become. You didn’t come to visit me to hear the ramblings of an old man. You came here to make peace with yourself. Get right with God or whatever you kids call it these days. I’ll admit I like these visits except for your need to want to escape.”

He looks up from his phone, “Dad that’s not how it is.” He goes back to his phone. “Bullshit, you don’t think I’ve been you? Nothing you’ve done or said is anything I haven’t already done, said, or thought. The subject has changed but the words will always stay the same. Humanity is in an endless cycle. No two ways about it. The meaning of life isn’t to live it is to keep going,” I huff. “Have you been taking you Meds?” He asks the phone. “Of course I have been taking my medication. They don’t shut my brain down. If anything they amplify my mind in this useless shell of what I once was. Keep death from knocking on my door. If anything I should stop taking them. Haven’t you been listening?” Have you ever listened? My life has been wasted on this pursuit of nothingness.” I look down upon my wheelchair. Look at my broken useless body. “Here I sit telling you the same thing I was told by my father then and he was told before as well in what could be called the cycle of life. Since the dawn of time and maybe even before then. Hell for all I know the god damn animals are telling each other the same thing,” my voice raises. “Calm down. What’s the point of this speech Dad?”

“The point, the point is to not waste time. To not look back and regret the time wasted on needless things. If you are going to do something, anything, do it because you want to. Don’t do it because you are told too.” He looks up from his phone once again, “That’s not how the world works.” He stands up and pats me on the shoulder. “I’ll see you again in a couple of weeks. Let me know if you need anything.” He hugs me as he leaves.  It bothers me to know that he does it because he is expected to. Not because he could give a damn, but it is my fault in the end. Never was there always had something. Time is a beautiful thing until you realize just how ugly it truly is.

And Other Things From This Time Preview

Staying Down

My mind is going a mile a minute
A minute a mile and I have to remember
This is only a symptom
Of something that I have created
I wish I could forget or maybe remember
Not everything has to have a reason
Heavy-handed and light-headed
I miss the days where none of this mattered
Picking my words wisely, won’t know
Which ones will be my last
Though I kind of figured
The way things are, the way they are going
It might be sooner than expected

Thoughts in My Head

When the world ends
There won’t be anything left to say we were here
But I’m sure somehow, some way
I’ll be staring at your face for all eternity
Your demon-like eyes and your poisonous thighs
Will all, but warm me by the fire
So cold I will still be, that none of this
Will ever seem like it truly exists
Trapped in a wake
Trapped in an illusion
It doesn’t need a name but
Most people call it hell
I can feel your newly developed spines
Piercing the skin, digging deeper
Your cold dead fingers latch onto my soul
I know now that you will never let go
I told myself it was okay at first
But now I wish I could cut and run
Trapped in my mind
Trapped in my head
Most people call it a nightmare
I’m left calling it home

 

You Are Cordially Invited to the Holy Union of Bailey Bigsby and Archie Spellman

A man dressed in a once crisp tuxedo is now covered in cake and blood. His rental is far from returnable which only adds to his horrible experience tonight. He stands next to a police detective that is taken down his every word about what happened this evening.  He tells the detective about how beautiful the ceremony had been. He tells him about how much fun they were having. He tells him all about how quickly it was all came to an end. Two police cars over an older lady dressed in her Sunday’s best is saying the same thing. On the other side of the parking lot, a group of friends replay the same story over and over. Some of the people are in tears and some of them are so shocked that they have resorted to the not saying a single word.

The family of the deceased is nowhere to be found hidden away from the other guests. They are the only suspects the police even have and they have nothing to do with the events today, but if the police dug lightly at the surface they would surely find plenty of motive. The police would only have to ask the father of Archie Spellman to find what it is they are looking for. Mr. Spellman wanted nothing to do with this event, to begin with, even before it became a murder scene, which is really sad because the grandkids would have truly been beautiful. But no worries for Mr. and Mrs. Spellman they have two other sons to replace the one they lost today. The same could be said of about Mr. and Mrs. Bigsby, but they lost their only daughter today not a son. To say the families were at war would be stretching it since neither family was better than middle class. Even though they are the only suspects in a crime with no real suspects they would be better suited to be seen as victims of a horrible mistake.

See their children died for no greater reason than revenge, a revenge that had nothing to do with them. No the silenced bullet that came across the other side of the cove in which they were holding the reception party was never supposed to find its way into Archie’s skull. The bullet in question was meant for an even more important man, a man whose death would have meant something. The same goes for the two shots that enter into Bailey’s neck and chest, spraying blood all over the beautifully arranged flowers and decorative tablecloths the kind with the frilly shit no one really cares about, were never hers to except either. Till death do us apart was a vow they were able to keep even if they only made it less than a few hour ago. It is rather ironic, poetic if you will considering that over half of the guests had bets on whether or not they would even make it a year. No, the bullets and the death, the blood and the pain weren’t meant for them. They were meant for the canceled wedding party. Who was lucky enough to avoid their very own deaths. After a fight, they had earlier in the week led them to cancel their very own holy union. The reception that was supposed to have taken place today was for Alexis Fife and Joseph Ashburn, and who is Joseph Ashburn?

Well, Joseph Ashburn is the only child of Detective Ashburn. The same Detective Ashburn that is currently grilling the families of the deceased when all of this has more to do with him than anyone else. See if he hadn’t tried to extort some money out of the local mafia the hit would have never been called, and none of this would have ever happened.  It is funny how life is made up of nothing but chances. Little opportunities to change everything around us. Even the ones we don’t know.  Had the couple not chosen to fill the empty spot left behind by Fife and Ashburn they could be enjoying their new life rather than the inside of a body bag. Life is funny.

Broken Up Thoughts – Child Like

Things have changed. I have changed yet I am still stuck between child and adult. Gridlocked between wanting to be my own person and doing what I’m told. I’m so depressed I just feel like giving up. Child like thoughts still laced within my mind. The thoughts, the train of thought too hard to shake. The ideas burning through my mind. What’s the point in fighting if you can’t win? My life is descending into a lost cause. A hopeless excuses to wake up every morning. The slope gets steeper and steeper each day as more and more shit piles up at the top. If only I could Hide under a rock and never come out. A grave of despair. Disappear in a way that I’m still alive, but no one would even know I’m here. If only I could, I would. So sick of this and so sick of that. An endless wave of adolescent thoughts in an adult body. Need to grow up, but when and how?

We give it up
We give it all up in blood
Until we are nothing
Never enough for some or no one at all
We turn it over
We turn it over with our souls
Until we have nothing left
Never enough for most or anyone at all
We work it all
We work it all with our lives
Until it is all we are
Never enough so we come back for more

I was forced into a room full of strangers. Eight hours straight of waiting in line, on a plane, and yet another chair. Only to be placed in a place I did not know with people I don’t know. I was so lost I didn’t know what to do. Disappeared into the air. It didn’t take long before I started drinking like there was no tomorrow, and many nights I wished for the words to be true. I didn’t know what to do. I was done. Felt like a child in this adult body. Parents are entrusting in the idea that you will always be their child. They will always want you to act as one no matter what your age. I think it has to do with a self-conscious need to also feel young. To feel as though yes I am an adult, but my children are still kids so I’m not that old. Farthest from the truth. At some point the child too has to become an adult. An equal to both his or her parents and their peers. With adult needs and adult demands, and yes it is hard to let go. But is has to be done. My mother refuses to as I imagine most mothers do. It creates a conflict of interests for my generation and the last. Trapped between nothing and something. Act like an adult, but you are still a child. A sense of identity is hard to accomplish under the watch full eyes of our parents. A problem propelled by the increase of age. Life expectancy is tearing down the fabric of our society. As a child of this generation and a human being I can’t say whether I’m for or against it. I can’t lie and say I don’t need the help. At the same time I don’t want it. Feel trapped within my own skin. Ungrateful for not wanting to give in.

Wearing myself thin, dead skin mask
Stretched so tight, who am I supposed to be
If I can’t be you
Envision myself to be better
Lies I tell myself to get by
Broken boned and everything I despise
Two more days and I’ll be okay
Keep telling myself the same old shit
Hasn’t worked yet, what’s the meaning of insanity
Beating my head against the wall
Soon all the thoughts will flow out
Soon all that is wrong will be right again
Long drawn out thoughts
With no meaning at all

 

Good Times In My Head (Vulgar)

I can’t stand being here any longer. I can’t stand the control you think you have over me because you are in “charge.” Every day spent here is a waste of my time. I just want to scream in his face, but “insubordination leads to termination” or whatever the stupid ass saying is at this shit hole. The asshole in question is a ponytail wearing prick who thinks he has some form of hold over me because he is the lead. A worthless fucking title that basically means he has failed harder than me. Of course, I want the title too. If you are going to fail at least burn that mother fucker into the ground go for management. All he has over me is a need to not want to be homeless or in jail. They don’t tell you that when you are young. Follow your dreams, follow this, but don’t worry about the reality that is life. “It’s to work or it’s to jail.” All Hail by The Devil Makes Three. (That’s a real song. Check it out sometime.)

We choke down these broken ideas of a future that can’t be for everyone. If everyone got to do what they wanted why would we have war? If all it took was hard work why would anyone ever give up? Lies, jokes splashed into our young faces in hopes to grow a few flowers out of the bull shit. Reality is that most of us will only get buried in the ground. Fighting for sunlight and hoping for a chance at something. A root deeply rooted into the ground. All I know is that he is lucky.

Lucky I still drink the water or his ponytail wearing ass would be on the floor. Three hits is all it would take. One hit to the face, another for his ponytail to whip around, and him hitting the floor. If only I had enough venom to stand up to his abuse. I’d do it and laugh my ass off out of the building. Strip my clothes off and run around carrying a lighter screaming, “I am the one true God. The fire inside us all.” Turn this assault into a real show of insanity. The perception of which all of this really is. Here I am a grown man about to ask if I can go to the restroom like a fucking child. Whoever came before him must have been some twisted fuck or maybe his parents did a number on him. Either way, I don’t care if he was beaten daily as a child or made to do every horrible thing at this fucking place. At some point, you’ve got to make a stand and say enough is an enough. I’m not them and they are not me.

“Excuse me, Mr. Goodwin.” He stops stocking for a moment. “Yes,” he says in his smug fucking tone. “May I use the restroom?” I ask as calmly as a man burning alive from the inside can. “It will count as one of your breaks.” I only get two of these fucking things I think. “If you really want to waste one of your breaks on using the restroom then, by all means, go ahead.” I want to waste one of them mopping up his blood, a thought I keep to myself. The warmth of my piss takes a hold of my shorts before he can open his dumb fucking mouth again. I look him dead in the eyes, “No, I don’t think that will be necessary.” He glances at my urine-soaked crotch. He wants a child than a child he shall get. “Did you just piss yourself?” I look down at my crotch, “Looks like it.” His face is full of disgust. I don’t laugh and I don’t smile before turning away. Going back to work all I can think is I’m just grateful I didn’t have to shit.

Running Into Traffic Preview

Awaken

Blood drips from the walls, “Awaken.” Blood drips from the walls as shadows dance above me. They take the form of hooded nightmares, “Awaken.” They chant over and over for no reason at all until I obey. Shaking I reach for the glass on the nightstand. Straight whiskey and straight down. The whiskey makes me what to puke, even after all this time, to the point that I don’t know if I have or it is only the burn of the liquor. I light a cigarette as I sit up in bed. I can still hear their words just as I did as a child. “Awaken,” they chant but why? Why always the same nightmare from my past. The darkness of the room subsides as I put out the half-finished cigarette. I want to sleep but I want to reach for the light just as much. A darkness resides in me. A darkness I am no closer to understanding even in adulthood. I begin to drift asleep once again.

The blood drips down the walls of the hall. I hesitate before continuing the cold sticky feel with every step. A low light at the end of the hall grows as I get closer. The blood drips into pools as my eyes focus on the light. I enter the room at the end of the hall. Lite with candles I can see the bodies lying in the corners of the room, but I can’t make out their faces. Living or dead I do not know. I can feel my pajamas becoming saturated with blood as I stand there in horror. Panicked I drop to the floor. The figures rise and come towards me as I scream. “Awaken,” they chant as a deep rhythm comes from beyond them. I scream louder and louder until I awake to the sound of my neighbor pounding on the wall. “Awake the fuck up you freak,” he shouts. My pissed soaked pants clinging to my legs. “Fuck you,” I shout back. “Fuck you,” I whisper under my breath.

My therapist says that I should keep a sleep journal. Write down my thoughts and dreams. How I feel. Scared I feel scared and confused. The images don’t leave my mind I tell her every time. A sleep journal is pointless, but all she says is that it will help. Help what? Relive the same nightmare over and over again. My brain hurts from the hangover. My brain hurts from all the thinking. I want to drain my skull and forget it all. Hit start over and watch it drift away. Can’t sleep without the drink. The drink is what got me in trouble. A cycle of bull shit. I wish I knew where this started. Wish I could remember so I could forget. The day goes on but it is the night that I fear.

Work is hard to come by for a drunk. Another lost job doesn’t mean much when you live in a shit hole, to begin with. I trade my food stamps for cash. Be easier if they only feed my addiction and not my stomach. I have another interview for some shitty job later today. The interview is easy. It is easy to get the job, but keeping one on no sleep and a deep hangover is the hard part. Even worse when the days bleed together as they have lately. Is today the interview? Or is it tomorrow? Taking another drink. “What does it matter anymore?” I ask no one in particular. A radiant silence feels the room. One more couldn’t hurt.

“Awaken for we are here. Awaken,” the voices chant. A wetness hits my head. Drip after drip, “You must awaken. The demon calls for a sacrifice. Awaken child for it is time.” I awaken as a drop of liquid smacks the center of my forehead. I wipe it clean and even the moonlight that lights my room I can tell that it is blood. Scared I scramble to sit up in my bed. Another drop smacks the top of my head. I look up at the ceiling and scream as I fall out of bed. A large dark spot rests over my bed. I begin to weep as I sit on the floor. What has been done? “Why are you so weak?” A voice from the corner asks. I can see a shadowy figure but can’t make out the features in the dark. “We had so much hope for you. You only failed us in the end,” the figure continues. I want to reach for the light but I am too scared. “Maybe it is because you were the last of them. Could that be why you are so weak? Could that be why you never fulfilled your purpose? Your brothers were no better. Dying in wars or failing after a few murders, but at least they embraced what they were,” the figure pauses. “What,” I finally bring myself to say. The figure ignores what I said, “You seek help and use alcohol like a crutch. So weak you have become. Could it because you are my son? Were we not hard enough on you as we were the others? I question our actions every day. Did we do the right things? Too much faith in one’s actions leads them to failure.” I wipe the tears from my face and only find more blood, “What happened to my neighbors upstairs?” “Don’t you know that after all this time you have awaken?” The figure asks. The scream of a little voice pierces the night air. “It would appear that you have missed one,” the voice states before laughing. “My child the failure.” “I am not your child,” I shout back. “Are you not? Rise and finish what you have started,” the figure shouts back. The screams upstairs have turned to loud sobbing. Without thought I stand up. I try to fight my actions as I grab the bloody knife off the nightstand and leave the room. Slowly ascending the stairs the knife drags against the wall leaving a trail to where I am going. The knife follows a similar path as before. Bloody footprints descends the worn out stairs. My footprints retrace my previous steps. How can I not remember this from before? Entering the apartment I look down the long hallway at the light at the end. A shadow dances from within the room as I continue my march along the path.  Bodies line the sides of the wall execution style. A child wanders around the room crying unable to console herself, unable to understand what has happened. Unable to see the hooded monsters that surround her. From behind me I hear the figure say, “Finish what you have started.”

“I didn’t start this,” I tell the voice. “Of course you did,” the figure laughs. “Who else could have done something like this?” The figure says in its cryptic voice. The unaware child is now aware of me. She walks to me, eyes red from the rubbing, from the tears. She stands before me scared, but unsure. “You can’t fight what you are destined to do. Fate has a place whether you believe or not. Best to do what needs to be done,”the figure’s voice is somber but unapologetic. My body and soul on rails does what I tell it to not. I grab the child by the neck and push her to the ground. Her little body fights it but she contains no equal strength to my own. She hits the hardwood floor with a thud. Terror washes over her face. Even she can sense the danger she is in. I cut the child’s eyes out of her skull. I weep for my sins.  As I listen to her screams it becomes so clear that everything has led up to this. I slit her throat and watch as her little heart push the blood out of her throat until there is no more strength. Flashes of the past enter my mind. Face after face, I realize the monster I have become, the monster I have always been. “In the darkness child is when we learn what we truly are. In the darkness is when our true self awakens,” the cryptic voice lingers in my mind. “Awaken.”

 

Awaken will be featured in my forthcoming book Running Into Traffic… When that will come out who knows, but hopefully this year… It will be my second short story collection… It will cover a wide variety of topics… Similar to my last one, but with less emphasis on serial killers this time around… Horror in general really…. well it depends on your definition of horror… If I haven’t sold you on the book yet it ain’t getting any better… But I am excited about it… I think it contains some of my best work so far… and it also means that this other story that has been in my head for years will finally be done… told you… 

Look for Running Into Traffic at a Kindle store near you… at some point…. 

Oh… If anyone wants to collaborate on a cover… I don’t have one set in stone so let me know… or if you have a cool idea for a cover… I was thinking of continuing using my paints for covers (See A Lie)… but I was told they don’t really convey a story or incite a riot… Whatever the fuck that means…