Martha hummed along to the sound of Davido’s latest catchy tune on her tiny silver pear tablet. She tapped her feet along to the rhythm of the afro~beats. Then her current favorite song was interrupted by a sound of a buzz, alerting her that someone was calling. She looked at the caller ID: Greg.

Martha shook her head, sighed, and then answered the call: Hey. What’s up? You disturbed my jam sesh.

The line suddenly went quiet, and then out of nowhere Martha heard a loud, piercing scream. Her heart skipped a beat. Then she finally mustered the courage to interrupt the awful, disturbing noise: Hey, Greg. This isn’t funny. If this is one of your silly pranks. I’m not buying it.

Martha hang up the call, and continued listening to “With You” by Davido, ft. Omah Lay. Then she received a text:

THIS IS NO SILLY PRANK, MARTHA. GREG IS TIED UP AND IN THE METAL SEAT. COME RIGHT AWAY TO THE PINNED ADDRESS TO SAVE HIM. IF YOU DON’T…WELL..IT’LL BE GAME OVER FOR GREG.

She dropped the phone and felt her world spinning out of control. They had left her a voicemail, too, informing her not to contact any local police authority. Martha felt a sudden urge to throw up. They didn’t want any money. So, what did they want from her, or Greg?

Martha hurriedly walked out of her home through the kitchen back door. She looked around to see if there were any cameras, and someone who was filming her for some odd prank show for YouTube. But there was no one hiding behind any of Martha’s gigantic succulents that she had somehow managed to shape into something resembling her partner.

She cruised out of her driveway, and made her way into the main road in a flash. Maybe the cops would pull her over for speeding, but then again she had to be careful not to get their attention. Not right now anyway.

When Martha pulled close toward the pinned location, she decided to wait a short while before she would step into what looked like an abandoned farmhouse. She clasped her hands together, and quickly said a little prayer.

The moment she stepped into the abandoned building she was greeted by a bunch of what she assumed to be some crazy, hungry, and lost spirits. Martha at least now seemed to be a little bit more at peace. Maybe she could reason with them and simply ask them to let Greg go.

The spirits were not pleased at all with her simple request. They wanted Greg to pay for what he had done. The spirits lifted their voices in unison: We want Greg to pay for his crimes against nature. He has killed, hunted, and hurt a lot of animals. For these actions, he needs to pay with his life!

Before Greg was whisked away to the spirit realm, Martha snapped her fingers and Greg was free. Martha chanted a quick spell underneath her breath and the earth opened up underneath the spots where the spirits were standing. They fell into the holes in the ground.

Greg wiped the beads of sweat trickling down his forehead: Phew! I’m sure glad that’s all over.

Martha squinted her eyes and stared at Greg: See…next time you better stop to bless your catch when you go into the hunting patch deep in the forest.

#CORVUS

Mercredi 21.05.2025

His hands are beneath my skirt but his eyes are fixated on mines. We talked about this before it happened, the phone call was long and very detailed.

His hands are beneath my shirt now but his bulge is against my thigh. We talked about this before it happened, tongue in cheek in his car tonight.

Her fingertips strum on my skin

beneath my weight while she lets me play. I thought about it all last night before it happened.

Her thigh merges with my swelling pants with a jolt. I thought about this all night before it happened, finger unhooking her bra.

Her fingers dance with my pulse every tap a key to unlock my moaning yearn. I didn't think about this until it happened.

He nurses my tongue between his two sweet lips. His elongated parts nestled where his face ought to be. I think about this how it will happen, my lips throbbing, aching and calling out.

We are entangled and I can feel it my exposed parts trickling liquid. His lips kissing my inner thigh. It didn't hurt as much as I thought for my first time and all. Not as much blood as the movies portray.

I run my fingers over the two tiny punctures. My thigh still thumping from the bite.

“You promised you didn't bite!” laughter in her voice. He kisses her temple and they cuddle in the back seat plunged in in moonlight.

—————————————

DISCLAIMER:

This is a work of fiction.

Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner.

NOTE TO READERS:

Please sit back, comfortably, preferably in a comfy reading spot, kick off your shoes, & maybe read this while sipping on your favorite hot/cool drink/beverage and with a few snacks or treats nearby, too.

CHARACTERS:

Jack (a young lad; dreams of becoming a knight, but he is not of noble blood)

Diana (a young princess who just wants to break free from being within the castle~ most of the time)

—STAND BY ME.

[Curtain opens.]

{Enter fishermen, and village folks within the busy, loud, fishy marketplace that is close to the beach}

Fishermen: (chanting) O, here we go another working day in the blazing sun in the land of Pan.

Village folks: (in response) Say, fishermen, what tales do you bring from the lands across the borders, and way past across the vast seven seas?

{Enter Jack with his trusty pal named Sal}

Jack: Now look here, Sal. I have a dream of one day becoming a knight. The boldest, and bravest of any man in the land of Pan.

Sal: Jack, come now. Leave that dream only to the noble man. Think of your father, Dan. He hopes you will become a fisherman.

Jack: (scoffs) Oy. That’s not something I’d even wish even for my worst enemy.

{Enter Diana, with her p.a.}

Sal: (bows his head) Jack. Please show some respect.

Jack: To who exactly, Sal? (Stares around the marketplace like his a lost puppy).

Diana: (meets Jack’s eyes, blinks in dismay) How rude….wait until my father has your head…how dare you to not acknowledge the presence of a royal, in fact your future Queen in your presence!

Jack: (snickers) There is a royal in my presence?

Diana: (sighs) I will let you go, but only for now.

Jack winks, and waved goodbye to the princess leaving her still in a sense of disbelief of his rude behavior. No one in the rest of the entire kingdom behaves in a disgraceful manner like Jack did.

Later in the evening, Jack heads back home. Then he smiles to himself, now not only thinking of becoming a knight, but also marrying (the princess) Diana.

*********************************

Sometime close to midnight, Jack wakes up to the sound of a severe thunderstorm. One of the trees close by is about to fall onto his house. He lets out a scream calling out for his father. There is no response.

He decided to rush over to his trusty pal’s place. But he finds the place empty. He decides to dash over back to the marketplace, there something, or someone catches his eye.

Jack thinks he has spotted the princess, Diana. He pulls her out of harms way right before a heavy branch comes flying out of nowhere.

The princess seems to be out of sorts. She can’t seem to realize that she is standing outside in a thunderstorm.

Jack tries to cover the princess’ head, and then something hits him hard right on the back of his neck. He stumbles backward, and now sees that the princess is not there anymore. Instead he is staring at a seven foot tall monster that looks like a griffin. The creature pecks at Jack’s face using its beak, and tears his skin with its sharp talons.

It flapped its wings, and carried Jack into the air. Then dropped him into the raging waters by the marketplace.

[Curtain closes]

FIN.

08.05.2025 Thorsday.

#CORVUS:PAN.

"They were born like this."

"No, I wasn't." I think, looking at the screen and watching a stranger talk about my psychology. They have no idea what happened and they never will. I smile to myself. It is a smile of pain. It's the smile of suppression. A smile just for me, from one cruel bitch to another. They'll never know what I went through, they'll never know what I do to myself and that makes me laugh: one long cruel laugh, a laugh that never stops because... If it did, I don't know what would happen next.

So, I laugh. I laugh and I hope it never stops. I hope this cold, dead face never stops because if hell is worse than this then there is a type of fear I can never comprehend.

I laugh. I laugh so hard my ribs begin to burst. Pain, I feel pain. I hold on to that pain. I cling on to that pain for dear life. It's a life line. Still, I laugh. Hysterically, I laugh. I laugh because of the absurdity I live in. I laugh because they still think there's reason behind this horrible world. I laugh because they try to grasp at the strands of the insane. Don't they know I already tried that? When I started spiral... felt my mind slip... into the abyss. Don't they think I tried as hard as a could to find some reason behind it all? I laughed, because there is nothing I can do but laugh.

I laugh,

at the absurdity of this world.

I laugh,

because there's no where left to turn.

I laugh,

because they're still trying to find reason when its long since left.

I laugh,

because even I don't know what I'll do next.

Inaudible as the message was,

that information was being shared

served as a comfort and we waited

for the clarification coming,

but the seconds turned to long minutes

becoming in us a helplessness

that drove us to a point of madness

and of one accord, we became Death.

All but the conductor was rescued.

A very sunny evening

I found a paper

just a piece though

with nothing on it

they told me to get rid of it

frankly, I do not know how a piece of paper upsets anybody or threatens their daily life

it was pink, my favorite color

mind you, it only triggered my family members

who were terrible at the thing called “life”

they were horrible together and more so to me. Like a gang up you might say

and, there were 30 of them

So, the pink piece of paper triggered them because my name “Lola” was written in all caps in an endearing calligraphy

I loved it

but under the page it was signed by no other called “death”

made me question so many things

why me? is this like a chosen thing?

i was living separate lives in one, so what does this stand for?

i started to believe I was dead and that was a gift from a higher authority

eh, who knows?

I killed them all.

and the funny thing is, the piece of paper never got filled up

Cindy yawned, and slowly dragged her feet towards the dimly lit kitchen. Her neighbor had come at the crack of dawn earlier in the day to ask Cindy if she’d seen their darling little chow-chow they had named: Choo~Choo.

Cindy bent down, and peered into her immaculate fridge. She had arranged all of her favorite dishes as well as a few exquisite dishes, or snacks in a very well-organized cutesy medieval fashion.

Right dab smack in the neat center of her fridge was a tiny like cauldron that had a tongue sticking out from the side of it. Cindy grabbed it, and thought to herself— time for a hot bowl of some Choo~Choo.

Cindy snapped her fingers, and a winged creature appeared right next to her. It bowed before her, as she asked, ‘‘Would you like to have a bowl, too?’’ She didn’t mind sharing a bowl of chow-chow with the winged daemon.

#CORVUS.

All Rights Reserved.

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=tdOtl69Vnxw

Bob squinted his eyes, and stared at the blue sky. He took a moment to just simply relish his first long day off from work. Then he heard something like a bird like call coming from the distance. Soon its piercing turkey like cry echoed in the clear azul sky.

Bob quickly scanned his surroundings. He spotted a gathering of bamboos behind him. He decided to run and duck behind them.

But as soon as Bob did so, the bamboos, too, had made up their minds to not play some silly game of hide and (go) seek with Bob. They did not want to be the angry bird’s target.

Now Bob had to quickly come up with a different plan. He dived into the river, and swam deep into the frigid blue-ish waters.

In a matter of nanoseconds, something took a hold of his neck, and began to squeeze the life out of him. Bob’s body squirmed around in the water like a fish out of water.

An hour passed by, and all that was left of Bob was his skull that had been pushed by the river current, all the way back closer to where the bamboo had left Bob out to fend for himself not too long ago.

#CORVUS.

Fri., 21.03.2025

All Rights Reserved

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=LJ2mpcrOWC4

The walls of Dr. Eric Langley’s office were the color of something left too long in bleach. A single window let in the dying afternoon light. The furniture was functional, meant to dissuade comfort. A metal filing cabinet stood in the corner. A tape recorder sat on the coffee table, waiting.

Opposite him, bound by nothing but the weight of his own restraint, sat Raymond Holt. Orange jumpsuit, wrists resting easy in his lap, eyes dark and shining with something between amusement and indifference.

“…And then I lit a cigarette,” Raymond was saying, his voice slow, deliberate. “Watched her breathing. It was real shallow. I remember thinking, She could still live. If I stopped. If I got her help. If I—” He snapped his fingers. “But, you know how it is, Doc. A moment like that, it’s not about what’s possible. It’s about what’s already in motion.”

Langley nodded, pen poised over his notebook. He had trained himself not to rush, to let the details surface at their own pace. “You’re saying there was no choice?”

Raymond’s fingers tapped against his knee. “I’m saying I made one a long time before that moment.”

Langley leaned back slightly. “And what did that moment feel like? Physically.”

Raymond studied him, smiling just enough to show teeth. “You want the details.”

Langley tilted his head, pretending not to understand. “I want the truth. The truth will set you free, isn’t that what you want?”

Raymond laughed. “You should be in here with us.” He knocked on the wall, smirking. “Guess you already are.”

Langley did not flinch. He folded his hands, lacing his fingers together. A show of patience. A show of control. “Walk me through it.”

Raymond exhaled sharply, legs kicking out, shoulders rolling. “It was a Tuesday,” he said. “Hot. You know the kind of heat that sticks to your skin? Makes everything feel closer? I could smell her before I saw her. The soap she used, something floral. And sweat. A different kind of sweat, not just from the heat. The fear kind.”

Langley gave a slight nod.

“She tried to talk to me. Begged. Asked me if I believed in God. Asked me if I had kids. I told her to be quiet.” He smiled, not at Langley but at something only he could see. “She was a fighter. You like that part, don’t you?”

Langley remained still. “Go on.”

Raymond tilted his head, studying him. “You ever hear the sound a person makes when they know it’s over? Like, when they know?”

Langley swallowed. His pulse was steady. His pen hovered over his notebook. “Describe it.”

Raymond’s grin widened. “You already know.”

Langley glanced at the clock.

Outside, a voice crackled over the intercom. A shift change.

Time was up.

Langley nodded, exhaling sharp and final. “That’s enough for today.”

Raymond stood, stretching, rolling his shoulders again. He was still smiling when the guards came to take him back.

Langley sat in silence, staring at the empty chair. He picked up his pen, turned to a fresh page in his notebook, and began to draw.

The day moved forward. The sessions did too.

—

The woman across from Dr. Langley did not sit still.

Angela Ferris, thirty-nine, long brown hair greasy at the roots, hands restless in her lap. Her fingernails were bitten to the quick, dried blood caked at the edges. She wore no jumpsuit—just gray sweats issued by the hospital, baggy over a frame that looked like it had been hollowed out from the inside.

She had once been a mother.

“On Tuesday, we stopped at the bat,” he said. “You remembered picking it up. You remembered putting it down. But not the in-between.”

Angela’s jaw tightened. A slow breath, shaky at the edges.

Langley tapped his pen, patient. “Let’s start there.”

Her fingers curled, nails digging into her palm.

“I remember the weight of it,” she whispered.

Angela’s hands clenched into fists, her knuckles pressed white. “The sound it made,” she said, voice hoarse. “It wasn’t like in movies. There’s no big crack. It’s softer. The skull gives a little. It—it dents.” Her fingers pressed into her forehead. “He was awake after the first one. Looked at me. Like he didn’t understand.”

Langley’s pulse quickened. “What did you feel?”

Angela’s mouth twisted. “Nothing. Then everything. I wanted to stop, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. I saw him. I saw every time he pushed me, grabbed my wrists, locked me in that fucking room.” Her eyes flicked up, wild, wet, searching. “Do you get it? Do you fucking get it?”

Langley did.

Angela let out a broken laugh. “I kept going. I don’t even remember the last hit. He was gone, and I was still swinging.” She swallowed hard. “Then the silence. The quietest room I’d ever been in.”

Langley exhaled slowly. “Do you regret it?”

Angela’s hands went still. “I miss my son,” she said, voice soft now. “He would have been ten.”

Langley nodded as if offering something close to understanding. But his mind caught on the soft sound. No crack, no break. Just a dent.

Angela ran her tongue over her chapped lips. “Do you think I’m a monster?”

Langley’s fingers tightened around his pen. “I think you’re honest.”

Angela stared at him for a long moment before laughing—short, bitter. “You’re worse than me.”

Langley smiled. He clicked his pen, turned the page, and kept writing.

Angela stood. No goodbye. Just the rustle of fabric, the scrape of the chair. The door shut behind her, soft but final.

—

Dr. Langley closed his notebook and ran his fingers over the cover. Another session done. Another story recorded. He exhaled, slow and steady, stretching his fingers before reaching for his desk drawer. The recorder went in first. Then the notebook. The key turned with a quiet click.

The office smelled stale, like old carpet and recycled air. The overhead lights buzzed faintly, casting their dull white glow. He rolled his shoulders, glanced at the clock. 8:42 PM. Late, but not unusual.

Outside his window, the hospital courtyard lay empty, its benches and trimmed hedges bathed in the dim orange of streetlights. The world beyond was still, the parking lot lined with patient transport vans and staff vehicles, the chain-link fence barely visible against the night.

Langley rubbed his eyes, pressing his fingers into the sockets until stars bloomed behind his lids. He needed to go home.

His after-hours routine was simple. A final check of the office. A last look at his calendar. Tomorrow’s patients: three repeat sessions, one intake. He jotted a note in the margin—dig deeper with Angela.

He gathered his coat from the rack, shrugged it on, and shut off the light. The hallway smelled of antiseptic, the floors humming with the faint vibrations of an industrial buffer down the corridor. The security guard at the front desk gave him a nod as he passed.

“Late one tonight, Doc?”

Langley nodded, tugging on his gloves. “As always.”

Outside, the cold hit immediately. The kind that seeped into the bones, tightening the skin. His breath curled in front of him in short bursts as he crossed the parking lot. His car was parked near the edge, just past the pool of the last lamp.

His shoes crunched on the asphalt.

A rustle. A shift in the air.

Then the shot.

His body jerked.

The pain didn’t register immediately. Just force, sudden and world-halting. His knees buckled, and the pavement came up fast, cracking against his skull.

He smelled gunpowder. Blood.

He blinked, confusion clawing its way through the static in his head. His fingers trembled against his chest, wet warmth pooling between them. The night folded inward, smaller and smaller.

Footsteps approached. Steady. Unhurried.

A woman. Dark eyes. Wind lifting strands of her hair.

She crouched beside him, close enough for him to see the raw, sleepless circles under her eyes.

Langley’s breath hitched. His skin prickled.

She said nothing. Just looked at him.

Then she stood and walked away.

The night swallowed everything else.

There was something not quite right about the window. You could see through it well enough, yet couldn't quite perceive what was on the other side. Of course there were shapes and colors, outlines of forms, but the objects were unrecognizable to your brain. Familiar, but never registering as an entity of your world.

Is that... draped fabric? No, it is far too rigid and I don't know of any fabric with that texture. Do I know of anything with that texture? It is like wool, but hard and perhaps wet? No, maybe it's just smooth. But how could it look like wool and glisten like polished stone?

What you should be debating is where the light is coming from that casted onto... whatever that is. True, it is a window, but it did not lead outside. There was no horizon or skyline, no sun or moon shining from the sky. The space you peered into was enclosed and oddly bright. Bright like a night illuminated by a glaring super moon, allowing you to traverse the "dark" without a care. Not quite sun bright, but light nonetheless.

None of it is familiar. Well, it is. I just cannot put my finger on it. Is that a microwave? No, perhaps a small television. Perhaps not, those filaments are too thick to be any sort of antennae. Maybe it's a handle, like on a sort of briefcase! Oh but whose hand could fit in such a position? Regardless, it seems much too heavy to carry with one hand and it would be too uncomfortable to get a good grip on... What was I doing?

Who could blame you for losing track of time? It is important to inspect every area of a candidate for your new home. The previous owner said to take your time, no harm done. Although you tend to be a very thorough, detail-oriented person, perhaps five months is a bit unnecessary. If you could just figure out what you're looking at...