To me?

Writing is an outlet.

To me?

Writing allows me to get the thoughts out of my head I wish were never there.

To me?

Writing is a friend.

To me?

Writing is reality.

To me?

Writing is pain, but the best kind.

Sometimes, writing can be suffocating.

Like when you're killing off a character and that pit grows in your stomach.

And that character is no man. No woman. No child. No villain or hero.

That character is a dog.

Those are the hardest.

(For real, though. I had to take thirty minutes just to cry after killing a dog in a story)

-A.E.T.

Oh fuck. I woke up this morning and read your message. My mouth went dry. I skipped back to your recorded message of the night before and I went wet. I could feel my heartbeat racing and my need growing. Still, I did need to get to work soon. I popped into the shower and washed my hair and put in the conditioner. As I did so, from time to time my hand would dip lower and pinch, pull and twist one nipple and then the other. I close my eyes and just let my body take in only the sensations going through me. I grab my phone and I put your message on loop. I change the shower head to pulsate and a directed stream. I hold my cunt lips open and begin the assault on my pussy that you own. Almost immediately, an orgasm grants me release. More. I want more. I keep my hand steady where it is and I can feel my body tense, naturally going into a crouched position, my legs splayed open. I scream as another orgasm follows on the heels of the first, and then another and another. I can feel my brain going away, no thinking, no talking. Just the sound of your voice, telling me again and again to come. I yell as the orgasms just keep coming. I hear myself start to mutter. ‘Oh please sir, yes sir, let me come sir, fuck me sir, do it, do it, please sir, let me come, let me come for you, fuck your whore, fuck me.’ The orgasms are coming fast and furious, each one growing in intensity. Still my mantra continues. Oh god, I can feel it, my body preparing itself for a massive orgasm, I beg, I plead, I am desperate to come for you and for me. I go up on my toes. My whole body is ready, reaching and reaching, feeling that need approaching and becoming more intense, sitting on the edge, just waiting and then, as it hits I scream. I scream out to you, begging you, thanking you, I can feel the spray shoot out of me, mixing with the water in the tub heading down the drain. I fall to my knees, shower head still in hand. I’m panting, I hear your voice, telling me to breathe, I let my head flop down, I reach across and swap the knobs to the overhead, letting my arm drop to my side, but your voice is still in my head. I can hear it there. Echoing around my brain, the question you ask of me? ‘Have you hurt for me today, slut?’

With a light whimper, I swap back to the handheld shower head, I target the shower head back to my swollen, red, undeniably used cunt. The minute the water hits, another orgasm flies through me, like it was just there, waiting in the wings, knowing I’d not satisfied you, nor me. One after another they rip through my body. I’ve lost count long ago. I feel my body trembling, no, shaking, coming again and again. Each time, I beg more earnestly, more frantically. ’Please sir, oh fuck, yes sir, oh hell, come, come, come, fuck me fuck me please sir let me me oh fuck sir sir sir please, I become incoherent and words fly through my mind, my brain doesn’t even acknowledge them, they’re merely in transit from my lips to your ears. The pain starts to blend with the pleasure, my overaroused cunt is screaming to be left alone, at peace, or is that just me. I no longer know or care, I just let my body handle everything. Again, here it comes, a massive orgasm, building, pushing, forcing my legs as far apart as the tub will allow me. I am poised on the edge of a cliff, ready to fall. No, wanting to fall, to depart and just be with the air. My orgasm hits and I spray once again, my whole body gyrating, grasping each sensation but equally trying to run away from it. Wave after wave, animalistic noises issue from my mouth, I grunt and scream and low and bellow again and again, it’s not stopping. The pain, the pleasure, hand in hand a type of sweet torture that assaults all of my senses. I can no longer see or hear. I feel. Just feel with the constant babble in the backround, a frenzy of some sort, like a buzzing in my ears. As the last of the spray leaves me, I collapse forward into the bathtub. How long I lay there, Ive no idea. I slowly come back to myself, I’m cold, freezing cold. The tap, but no. Hair. The word pops in and then out. I hold the means of my demise over my head and rinse out the conditioner. I push against the tub and manage to flip ungraciously backwards until I’m sitting in the tub, braced my the back. I breathe. I try to focus. Clean. I reach to the left and find the soap there. I manage to make an attempt to clean myself. Then run the ice cold water all over me, rinsing the soap foam off of me. I drop the shower head and push up with all my strength, which isn’t much at this point, and manage to return to a standing position. I turn off the water, wrap a towel around me. Make my way to the bed. I drop there, curl into a ball, quickly think better of it as my engorged cunt protests. I roll my hips so they are as far over as I can get them, I spread my legs wide, letting air get to my lips. I sleep.

Cutie outside, beauty within,

Your smile’s where all joys begin.

Rosy cheeks, a charming hue,

Simple yet sassy, strong, and true.

Kind of heart, sharp of mind,

In you, a rare gem I find.

Glad I met you, my dear friend,

On you, my wishes I extend.

A guiding star, a joy profound,

In my life, your light astounds.

Happy birthday, may it bring,

Laughter, love, and everything!

We can’t control everything, though our egos would argue otherwise. Sure, you can pick which color socks to slide on today, choose to leave early to avoid getting stuck behind that goddamned school bus again, or skirt the edge of insanity by adding two shots of espresso to your Mocha Grande Frappuccino. But constantly trying to predict a hundred-mile-wide asteroid you never saw coming in the first place—that’s impossible. Dragging along years of bitterness, anger, and worry—a huge waste of time and energy.

So why do it? Why dread the things you can’t control? Why carry a mountain of worry?

Life is a series of lucky chances, random encounters, and risks we try to mitigate daily. We’re constantly dodging self-imposed catastrophes while holding it together just enough to avoid a meltdown. Each of us is on the verge of...

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https://chrissadhill.substack.com/p/issue-7-the-devolution-of-dinosaurs

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'til next time...

To a new me

well..Same me but,

redesigned

realigned

redefined

Sober cheers to

the resilience in me

like a fire burning

despite all the mournings

in the mornings

evenings

and late nights

To a new beginning

like a lotus flower in the

springtime

during sunrise

To a new me

—KD

I think the way the branches loom,

Gnarled, stretched out vines...

Dance and loom right in the shadow of a vine.

Their shadow scrapes across my window like a haggard man with some insane devout word on his lips.

Wild eyes, and crazy. Making me look away from him.

Reaching in, I can see him just about to snatch me and instead he whispers in.

Hand tapping thorny fingers against my window until he's in.

From his thorny hand, to his black iris, I cannot make a peep, I hear him start to say.

"Dream dream. Like thistle and leaves, I'll take away your decay.

Little blossom, Cherry blossom. You'll grow into an adult one day.

And if you give, me a soul to keep, I'll trade away the pain.

Dream. Dream. Thistle and leaves. I'll make it go away."

I close my eyes, squeeze them tight.

I'm not seeing him, but I hear, the devil in form. A penance on the desert beyond my bed.

Frozen in place, I might almost say, please give me what you can.

Instead I can't believe, my open mouth, and answer him this way.

"You cannot have what's not mine to give. I won't trade another soul for your aid.

But if you can, make me stand where I'd rather hang dead, I think we've got a deal.

Chase away, the evil- pray but I'm not looking to make a deal.

No more devils. I see enough."

I know he can't be real.

But if he is, and devil's live, I won't be selling him my soul.

Instead his offer takes a turn, one that I didn't expect.

"I'm not a devil."

I don't believe him, but I can only hold my breath.

"People call me all sorts of things. A devil. Faerie. Shadow Man and all things deft. Call me what you like, but I am offering you a heft. Hefty offers, a promise in gold. I'll carry you on my girl. To sweet adulthood and then you can smile, and the evil woman won't have hold. She can claw and grasp, take our body and muddle my mind, but I will fend her off.

I'll protect you from the evil witch so be that as it may. I'm here to carry you on away, rather than watch you go decay. I only ask you keep me here, a secret kept untold. For I am you and you are I. And I will never cease until you grow on old."

I went quiet, my mind thoughtful. And to be honest, I'll be bold.

I shook his hand and closed my eyes as he snickered from our lips.

The crazy lady. That beast. That hag.

She tried to shake me so, but the demon in me smiled prettily because that's not what she held though.

And here I am, letting my paper man go. He died on my eighteenth birthday so.

I woke up then. A screaming fit, because of all the horror that went untold.

And now I lay, lay myself down to sleep.

The shadow that once unfold.

Who wrapped a girl.

A girl like me, inside his dark embrace and stood bold.

they say how you spend the first day of the year is how you’ll spend the rest of it. personally, i never believed in such notions, but a recent time-travelling experience got me thinking and challenging my beliefs. so, i came up with a perfect plan for the 1st of january. since it was my first attempt, i had to get it right—there could be no room for missing anything productive or disrespecting the phenomenon of time by wondering, questioning, wishing, dreaming, or regretting.

to start a good day, i needed proper sleep.

at 11 pm, i sipped a strong valerian root tea—mild never works for me, except when it’s alcohol.

i decided to wake up whenever my eyes naturally opened.

i spent some time in bed organising my thoughts. there’s so much to do, and it feels like a curse that i get hungry and tired like everyone else.

you can either smoke weed or have a strong cup of green tea potent enough to make you puke. if you don’t, the level of concentration you can achieve—especially with a basic noise-cancelling plug—is unimaginable. but even then, you can’t ignore the events beyond your control.

i should have listened to my instincts and put my phone on aeroplane mode.

one distraction led to another.

i must work out.

tiredness brings calm. have you ever wondered about those who don’t need music while working out? it’s because an entire orchestra is playing in their minds.

i must organise it all.

when there’s a mountain of tasks, organising only helps if you have the will to execute them.

for today, i had only three goals.

a workout that wasn’t too intense—lest i become tired—or too light, which would leave me dissatisfied.

every second counts.

it’s 8:11 am.

let’s see how it goes from here.

i did some chores, like making breakfast and eating it. yes, at this point, even these minor activities felt like chores. it helps to get your head ready before declaring it a productive day. i need tangible results by the day’s end.

listening to music or watching short videos could be distracting, so i’m saving them for when i’m absolutely drained.

one thing i’ve noticed for a long time: when you’re focused, everything aligns to its purpose—except time. it speeds up. i just know it.

writing and editing have been part of my daily life for as long as i can remember. it had to be done today too.

half the day had gone by, and so far, i had no issues with it.

then, i doubted whether it would all work out.

i sensed fear.

and in fear, i did the only thing i know that works.

it’s a parallel thing, something beyond explanation or understanding. it’s like nature—it just is.

then, i finished the rest of my chores, evaluating everything.

there was no room for argument, only acceptance.

i did it.

maybe not entirely.

but i’d wish for it in some mystical way—with just a minor input from my side—when i could finally be happy.

mtw: business hours.

tfs: fantasy hours.

s: milestone review.

after finishing this shitty writing, i got a handle on typing.

i then switched to the second phase of the plan.

yes, we’re open for business now.

what.!?

that's it. is this all that fuss was about. what about the nighttime.

saving the final hours for the best chase in the history of all time.

stream of consciousness.

so what do you think? how did i do so far?

if i search for more, i think i can locate the lost kid living somewhere in my conscience.

do you hate me now.!? nope. you cannot, that's the beauty of the game.