The voices were banging off the inside of my skull. Whispers, screams, all the secrets of the universe whirled around inside me. I thrashed in the sheets of my twin bed as tried to untangle myself from the twisted linens. I rolled out of the tiny bed with a dull thud. I reached for my hip where it met the floor but realized there was no pain.
I eased myself off of the floor and looked carefully around my studio apartment. Something about me had drastically changed. I now knew everything, well almost everything. I realized I have a full understanding of the most complex inner workings of, well, everything. The only thing I didn’t know was how I came to have this knowledge.
I can see everyone and everything. I can hear their thoughts and fears. I can see the future I can even tell you when you’ll die. But for the life of me I can‘t seem to see my own future. I don’t know what will become of me or even what I am anymore. With an unnecessary flick of my wrist the crumbling walls of my dingy apartment were whisked away. That was when the downfall began.
I was a poor kid living in a shoebox in Brooklyn. I did what any aspiring artist would do if they suddenly found themselves wielding this limitless power. The mansion, the cars, suddenly I had all of it and more. I would never go hungry again, anything I wanted I could eat, not that I needed too anymore. For almost a week I used my unearned abilities to spoil myself. My surroundings were now based on Hollywood's perception of a cliché dream life. On the seventh day I rested and thought, "there must be more than this."
After a week of fulfilling every desire my human form had ever wanted, I began to understand there was so much more that I had to do. There was no reason I needed to keep these spoils to myself. I now had the power to create a utopia for every living creature. I'd love to say it was difficult and that I worked hard to solve the worlds problems. But honestly it was was as easy as making a wish.
The real problem is, it was all gone in the flash of a neuron. I found myself in nothingness a blank slate of lonely consciousness. There was no white empty room or city in the clouds, just a void detached from all physical forms. I saw a light flashing dully in the distance. Not with my eyes, I had no eyes, but I could see the flashing.
"I feel your discomfort." Her voice was soothing yet horrible. "I don't know why you humans always have such problems letting go of your past." It was the most beautiful and terrifying thing I had ever heard.
"Who are you?" I felt my conscious ask.
She giggled and in the moment I wanted to die, that is, if I could. "I am the Creator," she said pleasantly. He voice made me want to rip my flesh from my bones.
"Who am I!?" I begged, I couldn't stand not to know any longer.
"Why you're the writer of course," she teased. "I can only create, you tell the stories." She sighed a moment. "But I must admit, the whole garden of Eden thing is so overplayed. It's boring, nothing exciting happens. Honestly, its not why I created you." Anger seemed to be rising in her voice.
My skull was being split violently down the center. "The-the-" I stammered unable to speak past the pain my conscious seemed to be experiencing.
"Pull yourself together," she mocked. It was then that I felt myself slammed back together and I woke up in my dingy studio apartment.
I looked around breathlessly clutching the pen in my hand. My whole body was shaking as I pressed the tip to the paper. Ink stained the sheet as I began to swirl my fingertips. I finished the sentence with a period and lifted the sheet to the sky.
"The writer held up his dagger and speared the Creator, killing her and ending her reign."
The wooden door to my apartment didn't open, it burst into thousands of sharp splinters. A body stood behind it, a woman who seemed to be made entirely of gray worn out rags. They draped down from her and fluttered in the wind that was now howling all around me.
"You DARE try and kill me!?" she shrieked as she took feeble steps towards me.
I felt the weight in my hand before I even saw it. The glistening dagger pierced the air so smoothly I barely even realized I was moving it. It reached her heart and tore through the stained and worn out rags. The hole in her chest became a vacuum. It expanded rapidly pulling the rags into it as the Creator screeched. I felt the vastness in her sucking me in. The dagger was gone and soon she pulled everything into an empty void.
I thought for what may have been a few thousand years about what to do, and then I wrote. I created the stories and they came to life. My own garden for all the people of the world. Time passed but it didn't matter in the Garden nothing was real here. I no longer had a concept of time so I don't know how long it truly was, but I found I was growing bored of the garden. I needed change, I needed stories.
I created a tree and gathered my people around it. "This fruit," I told them as I pointed to the tree, "this fruit is forbidden. You cannot eat it."
Violent Times 2: Mary
The bus bounced and twisted as the suspension slammed another pothole in the worn out city street. Pete squeezed the handrails as he continued to walk towards the back of the bus passing several open seats. The first one was next to a large man with a thick beard and a shaved head. He had hundreds of tattoos from his shoulder down to his knuckles.
Pete didn’t know that this mans name was Lars and that he was riding home from seeing his grandmother. Lars went to the nursing home every Sunday to take his grandmother to the chapel. Afterwards he stayed and ate lunch with her and they’d play chess and catch up on what’s going on in Lars’ life. They would drink chamomile tea and discuss politics, while they didn’t always agree, they were both always civil.
Pete looked at the large man with the beard and the shiny head and kept moving. Pete judged that man too harshly and decided he was uncomfortable sitting next to him. As he continued down the rubber coated aisle of the crowded city bus he next came upon on open seat next to an angry looking business man. He was wearing a long brown coat over his expensive suit.
The business man was furiously tapping away on his phone with his briefcase held tightly on his lap. Pete couldn’t have known there was a loaded revolver under that black leather lid. He also would never know that later than night Carl would blow his own brains out with that revolver. Carl felt so alone after his wife left him for another man and had Pete sat down next to him then would have had a good conversation about local politics. Pete couldn’t have known that the conversation they would have had would have been enough to save Carl’s rough yet still valuable life.
Pete moved on down the aisle until he finally came to a young woman with beautiful blonde curls that bounced down to her shoulders. Her hazel eyes looked up from under her fancy black hat and met Pete’s. He smiled at her as she clutched her mustard yellow hand bag tightly.
“Mind if I sit here,” he asked politely.
“Of course not,” the young woman said nervously as she lowered her gaze back to the floor.
Pete sat down next to Mary and felt safe. He saw Lars’s shiny bald head and was happy he didn’t have to sit next to the man he wrongfully assumed was dangerous. He looked at the angry business man and was happy to not have to be next to someone he assumed would be mean. Pete was happy sitting next to the beautiful young woman, not knowing a thing about her. How could he know, he never paid any attention to the news.
Mary had been in love, and that is where it all began. Pauly was a young successful man making big money working for his parents construction company. He was as handsome as he was kind and Mary had known he was the one since he first kissed her hand. They had dated for nine magical months before he got down on one knee and gave held up a beautiful ring with an impossibly large diamond. Within six moths they were married and living out a fairytale life together.
Mary wasn’t dumb, she knew the family business was more then just construction, but she kept her nose out of it and they had no problems. She figured is she needed to know, Pauly would tell her, she never had any reason not to trust him after all. It was never an issue, until that night.
Pauly came home early, just as the sun was almost finished setting. He rushed through the front door yelling for Mary to pack up her shit because they needed to leave. For a moment she froze but after a deep breath she reached down flicked off the stove and ran for the bedroom.
“Just the essentials,” Pauly said breathlessly as he threw open a second suitcase.
“What’s happening,” Mary asked as calmly as she could as she grabbed clothes and stuffed them in the empty suitcase.
He stopped for a moment and looked at her with eyes full of pain. He looked ready to cry, Mary had thought.
“We were double crossed,” he had told her. “Someone from inside out hits out on us.”
They were silenced by flashing lights that filled the room. Pauly walked over to the window and pulled down on the blinds.
“Shit,” he whispered. “They’re here.”
“The cops?” Mary had asked, feeling confused.
“Corrupt cops,” Pauly had told her as he opened his dresser. He pulled out the biggest pistol Mary had ever seen and stuffed it in the back of his belt. “You stay here,” he instructed, “I’m going to see if I can talk to them.”
She could hear it in his voice, he was scared.
Mary’s mouth opened but she didn’t know what to say. She wanted to tell him to stop, not to go. She wanted to tell him to leave the gun. She wanted to ask what was happening. But before any of it could come out he was gone.
The flashing lights danced back and forth on the walls of their bedroom and Mary watched through tear filled eyes. She heard car doors close and the front door open. She looked out the window Pauly had peaked through moments before and saw him standing on their front porch. His hands were raised and he called out to the four men approaching him. Mary couldn’t make out what he was saying but it was cut short but the sound of gunfire.
One of the officers was still holding his service revolver at eye level and the smoking barrel was still aimed to wear Pauly had just been standing. Mary felt the strangest knot well up in her chest. It felt like a softball had just grown inside of her and inside her head was some strange far off screaming that seemed to drown out all coherent thought. As Mary looked down on her porch that was now a deep red, she saw the dead body that was once her husband.
Mary fell to the floor and began to sob she curled up and waited for them to find her. She didn’t care anymore she preferred they killed her now, life seemed unlivable from here on out. But as she heard the voices in her house and heartbreak turned to rage Mary decided living was the only option now. She would fight to live everyday in Pauly’s name and she would fight to get revenge on the scum who killed her husband.
They were at the top of the landing now, coming for her. She crawled under the bed and struggled to breathe quietly as the first set of black boots entered the room.
Why can’t I cry? My eyes are stained with painful images, my memory is poisoned. I want my emotions to drain from me like a river, why can’t I cry?
A shattered soul and a dying heart hide behind a stoic face. People come and people go, none know the pain that hides inside. I try to scream for all to hear, but the words make no sound.
Ropes pulled tight, graves dug deep. Tombstones tell more then I ever could. Since they’ve died, I haven’t cried.
They kicked him while he was down.
But she couldn’t close her eyes.
His face was blackened, nose bleeding.
But she couldn’t close her eyes.
She loved him and he her.
Still she couldn’t close her eyes.
He fought back, the odds against him.
But she couldn’t close her eyes.
The shimmering steel pierced his flesh.
But she couldn’t close her eyes.
His blood fell and stained their new carpet.
And still she couldn’t close her eyes.
He stopped breathing his eyes on hers.
She couldn’t close her eyes.
And now neither could he.
Violent times 1: Wendy
Wendy is tall and thin, her breasts are round and her calves are defined. She’s attractive, and she knows it, and sometimes she likes to flaunt it. She has long blonde hair and icy blue eyes. She’s a lady, polite and proper, but that doesn’t mean she’s not fierce or even deadly.
She’s crafty with a kitchen knife, not that she ever trained with it outside of cutting vegetables. She wasn’t even much of a cook, her husband did the cooking in their house. But when they came for her she hacked and slashed with incredible precision. In fact she was able to remove one of the ghouls dead soulless eyes with a swift jab and a twist.
Ghouls? Were they Ghouls? What are ghouls? She had thought silently as she hid in her neighbors house. She had a lot of time to think as she waited. Soon her husband would return to save her, or the next wave of creatures would be here to kill her. They would send more this time. They now know that three is not enough to kill her, she’s tougher than the rest. Three ghouls was all it took to ravage this whole damn neighborhood. She looked over at Frank, his arm cut off and his head split open. He probably barely even fought back. Most people were too stunned by the appearance of these creatures to fight back. One minute your eating and the next thing you know your door is kicked in. You’re already startled by that, then the waking dead strolls through the splintered wood and broken hinges that remain of your door and now fighting back is the last thing you consider before they bury their swords or claws into you.
Luckily Wendy was in the kitchen when her door was knocked in, and the knife was already in her hand. It was a quality chef’s knife, made from a thick, strong steel with a sturdy wooden handle. The blade was well sharpened, her husband took pride in the sharpness of his knives. Wendy was quick on her feet, she spun the knife in her hand and held it like a killer in a horror film. She grabbed the carving knife from the cutting board and tucked it in her apron. The ghouls crashed through the living room toward the kitchen door. Wendy hid to the side of the frame, ready to ambush them as they walked in. Their thumping stopped just on the other side of the wall. Wendy maintained controlled and breathed easy so they wouldn’t hear her. The first ghoul put its hand on the frame and began to clumsily pull its way into the kitchen. The hand had a metal gauntlet on it that was broken and missing it’s thumb fore finger. The fleshy area between them was exposed and Wendy thrusted the Knife into soft rotting meat. The knife pierced the hand with ease and wedged itself into the drywall. A dry, grey, dust like powder puffed from the hand instead of blood and the beast howled with pain. It pulled its hand away ripping it in two, the half with the knife in it stayed pinned to the wall. They might be dead, Wendy thought, but these cock suckers definitely feel pain.
The three ghouls forced their way into the room screaming and growling at her and calling her a cunt. The wounded one took her knife to the chest and collapsed to the floor. She pulled the carving knife from her apron and slashed the seconds throat. The third raised its sword and that’s when Wendy cleaned out its eye socket a purple goo drained from the empty socket and the smell made Wendy’s knees weak with nausea.
I feel like creating today, so I pick up my pen and set it to paper. The black ink absorbs into the fibers of the page, but the pen doesn’t move. I dig deep in the caverns of my imagination but the caverns are empty. The distant sound of dripping water echoes off the rocky walls and moves throughout this hollow space. It’s cold and damp and the musty smell makes my sinuses itch. I shiver and wish I brought a jacket as I walk across the stony floor. The souls of my shoes scrape with each exhausting step. Soon I find a door engraved with fancy markings that shimmer a soft, delightful, gold color. I open that door excited for what I might find, but this room is empty, like the rest of my imagination. I walk through the doorway and it slams shut behind me. The room is dark except for a shape, it’s glowing bright.
I take a deep breath and move the pen, a line is formed across the paper. Soon the line becomes a doodle, the doodle a word, the word a sentence. I build and I build and soon I can’t stop, the words pour from my fingertips. The dripping in my cavern has turned into a waterfall and it gushes from me in the shape of something new.
The road bends and winds and continues on a steep downward grade. The rain has finally stopped but the water rolling down the mountains is still making for hazardous conditions. Traffic is light but constant and if the mud starts to slide into the roadway it could definitely pile up quickly. The forecast says says there’s more rain on the way so I decide, I’ll wait.
The winds are strong and the trees shake violently, I remain vigilant hoping they don’t fall down. Without the trees I’ll loose cover and the plan will be ruined. I look around the asphalt platform, the other three are gone, but me, I’ll wait.
I hide along the vacant lot waiting to complete my duty. The three are dead their tasks complete but me, I’m still hiding, waiting for the final target. It’s been hours now and it’s just me, I’m beginning to second guess. I want to leave but I can’t so, I’ll wait.
“The shipments must be stopped, at any cost,” they told us. “If you die it’s for your country,” they reminded us. “No one will know of your sacrifice but your country thanks you anyway,” They mocked us. The trailer passes me, hours behind schedule and my reactions are delayed by my daydreams. I twist the throttle and rocket towards it, the wet roads make my decent difficult. As I approach the cab I stand on the bike. With a prayer I jump and grab onto the truck. I open the door and pull myself up. The driver looks from the road to me as I slowly close the door. I’m looking down the double barrel of a sawed off shotgun. “I can explain,” I say. “Go ahead” he says, “I’ll wait.”
Intended for Mature (ish) Audiences.
She thrusts her hips into me and our jeans grind together. She looks at me with her blue eyes, and I feel smaller than ever. She puts her hands on my shoulders and pushes me back towards the bed.
She looks up at me and says, “lay down, you’re mine now.” She bites her lip and I can feel the throbbing bulge in my pants begin to ache with desire.
“Yes misses,”’I say with a smile.
She gives me a little smirk because she knows she’s in control. She unbuttons her jeans and swings her hips side to side as they fall to the floor. Her shirt is long but I can see her black lace panties just past the tail. Her thighs are thick but tight and smooth. They’re my favorite part of her seemingly endless legs. She stretches one of those leges out and puts her foot on the bed next to me. She jumps up and is now standing over me, I can see all of her panties now including the opening at the very bottom. I reach up for her and she smacks my hand away.
“No no,” she says. “You don’t get to touch without my permission. She grabs the tail of her shirt and pulls it over heard. Her black lace bra matches her panties and it is the only thing standing between me and her full breasts.
She lowers herself and puts her hips on mine. I can feel the heat coming off of her through my jeans, and the thought of tasting her makes me squirm with anticipation. She leans over and presses her breasts into my chest as she kisses me. As she pulls away our bottom lips stick together for just a second longer. She grabs my shirt and forces it over my head and throws it across the room. The cool air makes my skin tingle and her soft, warm touch heightens my stinging thirst. She stands up again and lifts one of her delicate feet and places it on my bare chest.
“Worship it,” she demands with a slightly innocent smile.
I do as I’m told and grab her foot. She tries not to giggle as I kiss it and gently slide my lips over her toes. She pulls away and moves her foot onto my bulge and pushes down gently. The sensation is explosive, and I have to breathe deep to keep from ruining the moment. She drops her panties next and I make sure I grab them as they fall to the bed. She takes small cautions steps forward and sits down so her lips meet mine. She grabs my hair and grinds her hips and I can taste her getting wetter. She lets out soft moans as my tongue dances across her most sensitive parts. Before I’ve had my fill of her she stands up and jumps off the bed. She grabs the waist of my jeans and unbuttons them frantically. When the zipper is down she grabs them and pulled them off of me as fast as she can.
My cock is exposed and twitching spontaneously, she grabs it gently and looks into my eyes, licks her lips, and begins sucking. Her hand caresses my balls and I can feel her sharp fingernails scraping at the flesh, it stings slightly but feels so good. She stops suddenly and my heart sank, I never wanted that feeling to end. But I quickly forgot about that as she got back on the bed, licked her finger and then began to play with herself above me. As the outside of her pussy begins to glisten she stops and sits down on my cock, she grabs it again and slides it inside herself. She is warm and tight and dripping wet I can feel it running down my shaft and onto my balls. She bounces up and down and the juices keep flowing. She claws at my chest with her sharp nails as her breasts jump. I want to fill her with my seed right now but I hold off with all my might. As she begins to slow I reached for her breasts and pulled her bra down to expose them. When they fall free I pull her down and put them in my mouth. I suck and lick at her nipples and she moans as the mushroom head slowly reaches its furthest depths of and then comes back to her lips.
I pull myself out and roll her over onto her back. I pinch and twist my fingers quickly and remove her bra. I get on my knees at the edge of the bed and began to lick her dripping pussy clean. While my tongue works my hands reach under the bed for the small surprise I left there. I scramble while she shudders and moans. Finally I felt it and wrapped my fingers around the smooth glass surface. I pull out the thin glass dildo and rubbed it along her lips. She jumps and opens her eyes to see what just touched her. Hey eyes grow wide when she sees it, but before she could ask any questions it was in her and her hips jump with surprise. She screams with pleasure and grabs my hair again and pulls my lips to hers. I lick and thrust, and twist and suck. Her hips began to move back and forth with the motion of the smooth toy. Her body quivers and then convulses uncontrollably as she came. I grab my aching cock and press the mushroom head against her lips. Her mouth hangs open and she gasps as my cock slid across her sensitive, slippery clit. Her lips part and I enter her. She screams and grabs a pillow to cover her face. I forced myself deep inside of her with all my strength.
She removes the pillow and pulls away from me making my twitching cock fall out of her. It glistens from her wet pussy and I want to make her suck it off, I want her to taste herself on me. But she had a better idea.
She held up the toy and through panted breaths she says, “in my ass baby.”
“Yes misses,” I tell her with a smile.
I lube the toy and ease it in her. She moans and screams with delight. “Yes baby, do it baby,” she says through clenched teeth. When the toy is in she says, “fill me up baby I want your seed in me, I want you to fuck me baby.”
I thrust myself in her and do as I was told I slam into her and I can feel the toy forcing my cock upwards into her.
“That’s my g spot,” she pants. “Don’t you fucking stop,” she demands, as her hands grip the bed sheets and pull them off the mattress.
Sweat drops from my forehead onto her and we just keep grinding and thrusting. My cock is going to explode. I can’t take it anymore so I tell her “I’m going to cum baby.”
She wraps her legs around me and pulls me tight. “Do it baby,” she tells me, “fill my pussy up.”
I don’t waste any time. I cum, hard. And when I’m done I collapse on her. Our sweaty bodies press together as she runs her sharp nails along my back and up to my shoulders.
“I love you,” she says with a radiant smile.
“I love you back,” I tell her and then I kiss her, sweet and deep. When our lips break I roll over and lay next to her. I run my finger across her stomach gently. Her eyes are closed as she enjoys my touch. Our body heat radiates as we lay here naked, trying to catch our breath. Soon we’ll go for round two, because I can’t get enough of her, I’m mad for this woman.
Your work shouldn’t be about getting other people’s approval. Don’t write for likes, write something that sparks your interest and creativity. That is the only way you’ll ever write your best stuff. If you constantly think ”will they like this?” You will constantly be smothering your own works and passions. It’s not about what other people like it’s about convincing people to like what you’re wtiting about. Love what you do, love your own creative mind and proces.
I wrote this for another question asking about the most important moment in my life. Enjoy the story, it’s not complete but nothing ever is...
Can someone actually sum up something as complex as the most important moment in their life into only one moment? A moment that changes you and sticks with you forever doesn’t happen in just a single moment. It’s the moments that lead up to the most important one and the moments that follow that make that one so important . To understand the most important moment in my life you need to know the moments, the hours, even the years, that preceded it and followed it. The moment is as simple as this, I snapped. I was bartending a crowded room, I was pouring and mixing nonstop, stress levels were reaching critical. She waved me over, a menacing smile on her face. I walked to her, and my shoes stuck to the sticky beer soaked floor as I did.
I leaned in and asked her what she needed. She didn’t need anything, she wanted to insult the way I looked, which had become all to common in recent months. The last thing I needed at that moment was to hear that only old men wore pleated pants and that I looked goofy in front of all these people. That’s all it took, pleated pants. The most important moment, the one that changed my life forever was how I reacted when my girlfriend of seven years made fun of me for wearing pleated khakis. I tried my best to keep my temper controlled but I couldn’t. I snapped, right there in front of all those people. I mean it’s not like any of them noticed, they were too busy having a good time. But she not only heard it, she felt it. I honestly can’t remember my exact words, thats how unimportant they were to me but they were something amongst the lines of ’fuck you, I don’t fucking care.” Simple words that can be more painful then most weapons.
The tension didn’t start there, that night, no that tension was building for a long time. Something happens sometimes when people are in a relationship for a long time, maybe longer then they should be. What happens is those people get strange urges to want to hurt the other person, not physically, at least not for us. But for some reason we found ourselves in the bad habit of criticizing each other and putting each other down for no reason, even pleated pants. We were, as some would put it, in a rut. I loved that girl, and yes the past tense in that statement gives away the ending but like Steven King likes to point out, it’s the story that matters not the ending.
She half heatedly tried to apologize but I ignored her, wouldn’t even look at her. We dated for seven years and I was so angry so overwhelmed, that I couldn’t even look at her, and that’s not acceptable. I snapped and I was irrational, and at that time I thought I was right and there was n convincing me otherwise. Not Until she stood up that was, then everything shifted. She grabbed her coat and her bag, and stormed out the door. I watched her go with new waves of feelings coursing through me. I was furious with her, how could she do this to me? I was furious with myself, how could you let her go? I was hurt and mortified, I did not see this coming. The room was spinning and suddenly nothing mattered anymore. Everyone was suddenly gone and the room was empty. There was no one left but her, and in something so simple as a moment, she was gone too.
It was my brother who broke my trance, from across the bar he told me what I was thinking. His words thawed my frozen body, he told me to stop her, don’t let her leave. That was all it took, I lunged forward and recklessly scrambled for the door. Outside I looked across the parking lot and saw her at her car, about to open the door. I called to her and ran, I ran as fast as my tired legs would carry me. I begged her, please don’t go, stay, I’m sorry. But she refused and before I could stop my eyes from burning, she was gone.
Two days went by and we didn’t talk. That’s the longest we’ve ever gone in seven years of dating. Finally I broke, the ball was in her court I had told myself, she left I begged her to stay but she left, it was her choice what happened next, but I broke. I asked if she’d come for dinner, if she refused and told me she wanted to meet the next day, she said we needed to talk. I knew what it meant I knew what was happening, but I was in denial. I was just so happy to see her I ignored what I really knew was happening. We sat in the leather booths at the diner and I told her I was sorry and she told me she was done with me. I cried, I tried to leave but she wouldn’t let me. I suppose the stab wound wasn’t enough, she had to twist before she let me go.
I never cried as much as I did that night, and I honestly I don’t even know why, but I couldn’t control myself anymore. You get the point, I was heartbroken and it was all because of that one little moment. If you google moment, the dictionary will tell you it’s a very brief period of time. But what it won’t tell you is how a very brief period of time can affect many periods of time to come. Two weeks I ached and suffered, or at least I thought I did.
This is is an emotional story for me and if I can muster the strength I’ll finish it. I didn't take the time to revise or edit or anything. The words poured out of me and I just watched from a distance with tear filled eyes. Sorry if there’s any grammar mistakes or errors that take away from your experience.