In Dreams

My footsteps echo in the emptiness of the building, the damp and dank of the salivating concrete walls setting my teeth on edge. I don’t know how I got here, where here is, and my blood is coursing through my veins like sludgy rain. I hate being afraid and I am, terrified and for no good reason, there was nothing here except the rats and me, and the silence. A scuffling from my left stops me dead in my tracks, my muscles thrumming under my skin, my ears filled with a heavy bone vibrating buzz. “Hello? Don’t hide in the shadows, come face me.” Rustling, a breath, a grating footstep from behind me and I whirl around, expecting to find someone there, and finding empty air instead.

Ahead I see a dim exit sign, a signpost to the world beyond and I start off at a light jog, desperate to get out of here. It smells terrible, stagnant water, decay, a gorge rising stench beneath it all that makes my eyes water and my guts twist. I knew that scent, deep in the recesses of my mind I was the centre of a dead circle, corpses putrescent and runny, trapped with no way out, again.

Someone is running behind me, heavy and determined, full tilt. The world moves as though I am underwater, my head turning slowly bare seconds before my shoulders, my body shivering and shaking and my breath in a choke hold. Falling, arms around me and I’m falling back, met with a terrifyingly handsome face and teeth tearing at my throat, everything turns bottle green….

Panting and soaked in sweat, I open my eyes, my naked body covered in goosebumps and a fear chill. My dreams were plagued with visions of the greenest eyes I’d ever seen, and the intense and almost devouring stare as his teeth found my skin at my throat, every time, left me cold and shivering in the oven that was my bedroom. I glance up at the thermometer on the wall….it was 102 in here, and I was freezing, huddled under the blanket as though it were mid winter.

I need help. what few hours of sleep I am getting are exhausting in themselves, filled with obvious signals and neon signs, my twisting and turning in my sleep often pulling the sheets from the bed entirely. It’s been months, every night the same man, the same eyes, the same end, in various entirely benign and scary locations, each one getting darker. I grabbed my phone from the nightstand as I rubbed my eyelids with my finger tips, trying desperately to clear my mind.

My phone screams in my hand, reminding me that I really must change the ringtone. Death screams are frowned upon in polite society, I’d been told, my dark sense of humour unappreciated, though the few crooked grins and out right laughter did more to encourage than discourage. I tap the button and yawn, “Hello?” into the caller’s ear, kicking myself for answering an unidentified number and shrugging it off all the same. “You taste great. I’ll be seeing you soon.”

“What? Who is this?” I stammered, shaken by the cold and heartless tone in that voice, and disturbed by my body’s response to the vaguely erotic undertone. I received no response but the muted beep of the disconnected call. What the fuck was going on? I dialed my doctor’s office, haranguing the receptionist into creating an appointment for me at 9:30 this morning. I’m delusional, its clear that I need my head looked at, and there was no way I was going to have that dream again tonight, or ever if I could avoid it.

I stare at the screen, my thumb nearly touching the mail icon, something telling me that I needed to look at my inbox and yet holding back. I needed a something stronger than a cigarette, and it was too early for a drink. Sliding from my bed and wincing at the burning sting as the soles of my feet touched the soft carpeting, I walk to my dresser, sighing as my thumb hits the icon.

The room is soon filled with the pungent smell of King Solomon’s Herb, the smoke hanging in the air as I inhale deeply, filling my lungs and head with the clarity I required. I exhale as I walk into my large en-suite to run the shower, glancing as I scrolled through the emails that had come in overnight. It could all wait, nothing urgent demanding my attention, I placed my finger on the top button to shut off the screen, when I saw something that titillated and intrigued. It occurred to me that I should be afraid, that no doctor’s opinion could refute the reality that call happened.

6:13 AM – Unknown sender

Can’t wait to hear you scream. See you tonight. Wear red.

So I’m not delusional. That leaves two options. I’m sane, or I’ve gone mad and no one noticed. I felt a little advanced hurt over that, should it be true. Still, here it is in writing, and I don’t feel like I’ve taken the Train to Crazytown. I crush out the joint, and step into the spacious shower, shivering as the stinging jets of water hit and bounce off my skin. Pleasure pain, for it brings me both, even more as I turn the knob too hot as far as it will go and relish in the scalding water sluicing over my head and breasts, the near silent hiss a soothing balm to my lunatic internal ravings, as I soaped my body with the most pleasant smelling soap I could find and let the world go for a time.

My skin hurts, a deep itching burn under the sunburn sting. If only it were a sunburn, I could deal with it, but this is due to my own stupidity and now I must pay the price for it. I’m sure I have 2nd degree burns, all due to me drifting off into my own head and staying under the too hot water too long. I’m bare under the soft red jersey dress I wear, my flesh unable to tolerate even the straps of the softest bra and I routinely went without panties, so that was no issue. The soft puff of breeze that tousled my hair went through my dress, leaving behind a delicious shiver that soothed my aching body. “stupid stupid stupid,” I mutter to myself, dreading the elevator ride. Those damned things were so often crammed full like a can of sardines and I did not wish to endure 10 floors of people banging against my already tender disposition.

“Come with me, you look like that elevator will cause you more problems to take than not.” I look up into the smiling face of the concierge, who held his hand out for me to walk with him. “Thank you. Really,” my smile sat easily on my lips, as I followed him to a freight elevator off to the side and hidden from view. There was another man waiting, and though he smiled at us both, it never reached his eyes. I hesitated, looking at both men, and considered taking the stairs, though I was unsure if my skin could take 10 floors of it. “It’s alright. He’ll make sure you are safe.” Again that smile, this time his eyes crawled all over my face and breasts, making no effort to hide his interest, or arousal. Just ten floors. I could take ten floors of ogling.

I carefully stepped into the musty smelling lift, offering my thanks once again before the cage dropped on the doorway and the heavy steel outer doors closed off my sight. I could feel him behind me, the somehow furtive rustling giving away his position and I glanced over my shoulder to ask him what he was doing when the lights went out. “You wore red,” he snarled into my ear, his breath hot and heavy and I pulled away, banging into the door. His hand was in my hair, stroking it gently as he pressed himself against me, pinning me against the bars. “So beautiful. You tasted so good last night…are you ready? Stop thinking you are imagining it. It’s real, Allison.”

He knew my name; he knew who I was. I was trapped and there was no escape unless I could get the drop on him somehow. He was so much bigger than me, had four inches at least and at least seventy pounds. No match in strength, I could feel the power in his thrumming muscles as he pushed against me, stealing my breath, the rigidity of his arousal let me know exactly where I stood. Raising my hand, I stroked his round and stubbly cheek, the feeling of the bristling beard under my palm awakening other, more disturbing desires. He jerked back slightly, before snapping at my fingertips. I heard the bony click and the brush of his lips against them in the dark. This man was all but attacking me and yet I felt a dampness between my thighs, an all out arousal. “At least tell me your name. Don’t I deserve that for doing as you asked?” I asked, dropping my tone and volume as my hand travelled down his chest to grip the hardness of his member, “Isn’t this what you want? Tell me your name.”

“Not yet,” his cold voice growled into the tender flesh of my throat, as his hand twisted tighter in my hair, teeth nipping hard enough to hurt, gently enough not to draw blood, then pulled back. “First this.” He yanked my hair hard enough to hurt, leading my head towards his, close enough to feel his breath on my face, and slams it back into the bars. White light and a skin crawling ringing sound explode in my head as I drop to the hard floor. His hands found my throat, thumbs digging into my windpipe as he increased the pressure, and the ringing intensified with the closing of my airway. “See you soon,” he whispered, as I drifted away.

The current was pulling me down, as though there were a creature beneath the surface pulling me down to the depths. Small fish were biting at my wrists, their teeth snapping and tearing at my flesh each time I moved to attempt to keep myself afloat. A cold and somehow slimy fluid is falling on the top of my head, drooling down my hair and face. I look up and scream, though my voice has shattered into a million pieces, my eyes hardly able to contain the hideousness of the creature looming down on top of me. I screamed, and my mouth filled with bile and salt water as I gasped and

Woke with the scream in my chest, unable to breath, the bitter bite of the wind freezing my howl of anguish. I couldn’t open my eyes, they felt sewn shut, a strange pulling sensation tightening almost painfully around my lashes. It smelled like winter in a dead land, what should be crisp and fresh was instead redolent of grave dirt and decay. My lids parted slightly, the light like twin icepicks into my brain and I raised my hand to block out the mind screaming brightness. “Where the fuck am I groaned as I sat up, feeling my stomach lurch as I did so, and I closed my eyes against the nausea that threatened to overtake me.

The ground was littered with rubies, oddly shaped and sparkling in the dimness of this place. I picked one up with the tips of my fingers, and placed it in the warmth of my palm. It glittered, icy facets gleamed, it seemed alive in my hand. The were scattered in a large spray across the floor, a red carpet I thought and snickered. My hand felt wet, and I stared down at my palm in horror. It was full of cold and slushy blood, warming slowly as my blood froze in its place and I flung it away, disgusted and more than a little scared. I hated to be scared, with a killing passion I despised it and its weak sister ways. They were blood rubies, the spray of small red jewels was perhaps arterial spray and the strong smell of rot invaded my nostrils making me gag.

I began to cry then berate myself for doing so, there was no time for tears, looking around, I felt my skin crawl and bile bubble up my esophagus. This was a house of the dead, and I had been lying next to a corpse, the uncomfortable bump under my back it’s arm, a man, his torso sliced and with precision from neck to nuts, his innards placed around his body, and intestines wrapped tightly around his neck like a desiccated rope, and I turned to vomit, unable to hold back. The exit sign glows like a beacon in the deepest, blackest night and I took off at a run, determined to get out of this Hell.

Footsteps scraped along behind me, slipping in the gritty dust on the floors, a seemingly never-ending hallway of doors and a heavy choking miasma that shrouded anything more than shadows. Fingertips stroked my hair, the feather light touch made me shriek and speed my steps. I Had taken about five strides before I whipped around, expecting to be attacked and finding the hallway dark and deserted behind me. I exhaled, not realizing I’d been holding my breath at all, and turned back, my mind already on that egress to Heaven,

Shaking slightly I quickened my pace, a creepy crawly buzzsaw of shiver rattled my bones as I continued on, my ears listening hard for any sound, “Allison,” a hot breathy voice whispers in my ear bare moments before a sharp pain interrupts my ability to stand and I falter, my breath stuck in my chest as a strong-arm enfolded me, his lips brushing against my ear, “you’re going no where,” his voice snarls, the hand around my throat tightening further, holding me upright as he spun me around, affording me the first glimpse of my would-be suitor. He laughed as I burst forth with peal after peal of terror, my mind unable to process such beauty and evil in one face, before kissing me soundly, dragging me down into unspeakable terror and delight.

©MelanieMcCurdie

Twisted Tales by Patti Beeton is available now
Twisted Tales by Patti Beeton is available now
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Get your copy of The Hurt Chamber by Foggy McCorrigan

 

Unrequited Reapings by Carolyn Graham is available on Amazon for kindle and in paperback.
Available now for Kindle and in paperback

Turkey Twist

I won’t apologise for what I am, it’s not for me to say.  I was made this way, by forces I had no more control of then, than I do now. Then I was innocent.  Benign, I trusted without fear, then; then it changed and I coped as best as I could. Having no mechanism I learned on the road, had my baptism on fire and burned in hell and damnation of Earth. I burned and I longed to be free of my torment, even for a brief vacation in a cooler climate, I admit that I needed to be saved.  No one could see me, drowning in self-pity with severed dreams and not much to live for.   I know what it feels like to be empty and this was so much worse, bad enough that I begged  detachment and cried when I found if, in relief and dismay.

But one must still subscribe to social convention and that is why I agreed to join friends for Thanksgiving dinner.  It’s also why I agreed to bring the bird.  Baked by me with a special recipe of spices I was assured would have them clamouring for more. K-Cee was so damned excited that I was coming that she screamed, and Pete scoffed and said in a derisive manner, “Ten bucks she blows us off again.”

I’m no Scrooge and granted I have blown them off in the past, but that was then and for their safety.  Now is different. Different time. Different me.  My home is filled with the mouth-watering scent of roasted fowl; a reminder that time grows wings and flies. There is so much to do and only four hours left to complete it all.  I quickly shower and wash my hair, humming with my mind full of the night’s events and considering scenarios of how it will play out. I’m actually looking forward to this. While my skin is still damp, I smooth baby oil on and pad nude to the kitchen to remove the Turkey from the oven. There shouldn’t be any leftovers if I planned it right. That’s a very good thing. It smells divine and I fight temptation to tear off a bit of meat or lick my fingers before washing them. That would be very stupid of me, especially after going to such lengths to purchase these heat resistant gloves. No fingerprints. Another guarantee that has yet to be proven out.

The phone rings and its K-Cee on the answering machine, all full of holiday cheer and probably a lot drunk already. Christ I still have two hours. “Everyone is so excited to see you!! Come whenever, we’re ready baby!”  she sings and I rethink my acceptance to go. All that chirping and whatnot is annoying.  Still I have that pretty new dress I bought and it has been a very long time since I’ve seen the crew.

Slowly I dress, slipping into my lace underthings and straightening my stockings with care.  The dress is blue, snug and short but appropriate considering the company. I’d be surprised if people were dressed at all. Touching up my makeup I consider my reflection a moment, and practice my non-creepy smiling in the mirror. It needs work but would do for tonight. The pan is heavy and I can feel the bits of bird sliding around under the foil as I lock the front door and unlock my trunk.

K-Cee lives in Ashbury Acres on Mockingbird Lane, if you can believe there is such a place in our modern world.  The thought makes me want to turn the car around and go home, but K-Cee is counting on me and be damned if Pete will get to boast that he called my actions again.  He will love the dressing, after all, its his grandmother’s recipe, and I know he loves cranberry sauce.  Mine has a little something extra to add a little oomph.

The driveway is full already and it looks like a real crowd.  My blood is cold, and I’m already sweating.  Why does it have to be so difficult? Deep breath bitch, I snap at myself and take that deep breath before stepping from the car and around to the trunk.  I’d have to do two trips.  Twice the stress, but a chance to regroup before being amongst humanity. I just hope I know everyone. Cigarette smoke, then a voice from just out of view, “Can I give you a hand? Looks like you have a bit more than you can handle on your own.”  Plastering a smirk on my face, I peek around the edge of the lid, and see an unfamiliar face with dancing dark eyes holding out a hand in greeting, “My name is Curtis.”

I can see K-Cee in the window with a shit eating grin on her face and shake my head, “looks like we are the unfortunate victims of a set up my friend.  Nice to meet you, I’m Camie,” I laugh a little, placing the roasting pan full of meat in his hands, “I appreciate the hand. Shall we go meet the inquisition?”  Curtis snickers and shakes his head, the words he throws over my shoulder shocking and suspicious, “Did you poison the bird?  That would get us off the hook.”  Forcing laughter, I follow him through the door into the party atmosphere.

Dinner went off without a hitch, except for the several bodies face down in their plates.  Thanksgiving was a lot of fun this year, and sadly the last one I will have with these friends.  Next year though, I might just show up at your door…

dispossession

I will never cut a slim silhouette

Some shadow delicacy on a wall

That I leave to the saints or sinners

Those with so much tougher an exterior and perhaps more inside

Than I possess

In a world where stupidity reigns

Neck and neck with ego and regret

Shattered jigsaw photos dig deeper

They are a ragged pill to swallow

The sweetness in the air is memory

Lost, revived again

Like flowers on a grave

image

@MelanieMcCurdie2015

All Rights Reserved

Majesty – The Looking Glass 18+

It’s 7 PM. I’ve spent all day cleaning,  scrubbing everything, you can eat off the floor and it sparkles in the ambient light. Candles, covering almost every available space, really.  I’ve cooked his favourite meal. He’s a steak and potatoes kind of man, so it was easy. No dessert. He hates sweets. I’m having salad, with tomatoes. I hate tomatoes.
7:10 PM. Where is he?
He woke me before the sun to start giving his instructions. They were long and specific.  And said he’d be in the door at seven sharp, with his rough finger tips stroking the yellowing bruise on my jawline.  “You’d best be ready and waiting,” he spoke pointedly, pressing his fingers hard and making me wince.  Then he slammed out, leaving the front door ajar. Again.   I thought about running. Grabbing my purse and the emergency bag I kept packed in the closet and running as far and as fast as I could ….
7:13 PM, only three minutes? …. What if something’s happened. What if…
Male voices bellow outside the open front windows, startling me into glancing at the clock.  It was cold enough to see my breath in air, inside, and the furnace was turned off.  He likes it cool.  I’m freezing.   I check the steak. It’s drying out, so I wrap it in parchment paper, then in foil, the way he showed me. And left it on low with some broth. No spices, the way he likes it. I wonder how he’d like a hammer across his skull.   I check the driveway…Still empty and he is thirty-one minutes late.  Supper is ruined. I shouldn’t be surprised.  I could text him. It’s warranted, now, this time.

I’m worried he might come home, might not come home. Might not. I should leave now, before he comes back.  He’d find me again, I know he would, and this time it might mean a body bag instead of several days in hospital.  It might mean that if I don’t.  I’m so torn.    This corset he insists on is starting to irritate. He tied it too tight this morning, and I can’t reach the strings. Where the fuck is he?  Maybe he’s waiting to see if I care enough. He always says I’m a heartless, soulless bitch.  He’s right, now I am.  He made me this way.

Squealing tires. Someone is driving like a bat out of hell out there. Nowhere close though.  We’re very isolated out here, with no interference  he says.  With no support or help he means, for me.  I hate him.    The nearest neighbour is three miles away, as the crow flies, and the couple elderly.  When I ran last time, I went to them begging for help.  The lady, brushed my hair from my face and said, your place is with your husband dear.  If he hits you, then you must deserve it. I slapped her face and bolted for the door.  The husband had already called him and he smiled, standing on the porch with a smug smile.  They’ve both died since.  Their house burned down.  The new neighbours keep their opinions to themselves.  He always says in that creepy ass serial killer voice “No one will hear you scream” while stroking my along my collarbone with that pocket knife he carries everywhere. It hasn’t happened this week.

7:44 PM  I should run.

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I pull my robe tighter around me, and loosen the tie, letting it drop to my sides. I might need to run. It might be easier without the robe. God I wish I could breath, this fucking corset is hurting me, cutting into my sides through the slits he made, after snapping the bones that hold it rigid.  He insists that I wear it, so that I don’t look like a complete whale and that the cuts will keep me aware.  I glance in the looking-glass that hangs on the wall, the one I’ve hated since the moment I laid eyes on it.   I’ve let myself go some, it’s true. I didn’t think I was that unattractive, but the mirror doesn’t lie. Nor does it hide the scars. Never be without makeup, his mother told me once. You want to at least try to look close to human, instead of the dog faced girl. What he sees in you… He laughed. What a prick.

“Sorry I’m late. Office stuff. Steak smells great.” His hot breath is redolent with the scent of scotch and cigarettes, and he grabs me roughly around the waist, pressing his palms hard against my sides and yanking open my robe. He pulls the fabric from my body and tosses it across the room, my skin suddenly as cold as my blood.  “Is it too much to ask to have my wife dressed in my favourite lingerie greet me at the fucking door?” he snarls with that growling tone I fear. It has teeth as much as the forceful groping I was receiving had claws. I stiffen against him, stifling a sob of fear as well as violation as his fingers viciously enter me, knowing full well it is causing me pain, his other hand clamping hard over my mouth and nose. I’ll be lucky to be able to move tomorrow, and know better than to fight, though my lungs burn and against my will so does my body, and I cum out of self-preservation. I have little doubt he’d kill me if I didn’t respond.

“That’s right. You love it.” His teeth bite hard on my shoulder and I want to scream denial, but I’m vain.   He’s ruined my smile once already, he won’t get a second chance.  “Say it.SAY. IT. I want to hear you say you loved it.”  Tears of humiliation finally overspill and I shake my head, refusing to speak the words.  Why do I have to say it. He knows I hate his touch. That it makes my skin crawl. “Lying whore!” he screams in my ear, thankfully unable to see that I am weeping.

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The marble hearth is cold, it feels good on my flushed face, soothes the scalding tears that I just can’t hold back any longer. He keeps throwing me here,  so close to the pointed wrought iron cover he bought for the fireplace he doesn’t use.  He hates fire.  I love fire. I’d like to shove the red hot poker up his ass.  “Are you crying cunt?”  He can’t see the tears. It’s worse if I cry. If I make a sound it’s so much worse. “Get up,” and my ribs explode in pain, “C’mon…it’s the anniversary of the best day of your life. No one else would touch you, did you know that?  I took one for the team. Thank God you haven’t popped out any kids.” Thank God my body doesn’t tolerate the toxic fluids he insists on filling me with.  I’d love to cut his balls off with a dull knife.

Inhale. It hurts. I hate him

Exhale. Sit up. I blow air through my teeth.

Inhale. I look up at him, standing there like the cock of the walk with his less than impressive tool barely erect and imagine clamping my teeth over it and ripping it off.

Exhale. “Do it right this time. And don’t you dare think of using your teeth or I’ll knock them out again.” His fingers find the soft spot just below my ear,  digging in hard, and I yell out in pain.  I’m rewarded with a mouth full of booze flaccid dick and his hand slamming my head into each thrust. My throat tries to close, and my stomach rises into it, threatening to spill its contents. I can’t breathe and I tear at his thighs with my nails as I push back hard and am released. The crack of my head on the floor makes my eyes rattle and throb. I wish I was dead. I wish he was dead.

He’s between my thighs, trying to stuff his waste of a penis into me, muttering under his breath that I am so ugly he can’t get a hard on. “Why don’t you have another drink?” My voice sounds blurry, slurred and pained as his fist first lands in my stomach, and then viciously on my pubic bone.  I scream. I can’t help it and try to scratch his eyes from his head.  His palm cracks across my cheek and he has hold of my throat,  plowing his newly found erection over and over into my swollen center. There are black butterflies in the corners of my vision, their gossamer wings stealing more and more of my sight. My body vibrates uncontrollably, entwining my fight for air with natural responses. A last thrust and he explodes, spraying my insides as he laughs.  I can’t breathe, my chest is on fire and I’m burning alive with it. The butterflies win

The silence is deafening.  He’s gone, presumably to bed. Hopefully to hell.  I’m on the floor and my body is sobbing in protest as roll to my side and push myself up. My middle hurts and I stifle a groan, the pulsing of my head stirring my stomach. No sound. Not one. Sounds get you hurt. Slowly I gain my feet using the edge of the flimsy kitchen table, my legs aching and threatening to spill me back to the floor.  No noise. He must be asleep already.  He drank my beer before he hurt me, standing over me as he downed the entire bottle. I’d laced it.  It seems that to take hours to get down the short, narrow hallway the bathroom.  I want a hot shower, to try and clean my skin of his touch. I’d use gasoline if I thought it would take the stench of his existence from my life.   My head is pounding like a rotted tooth and I fight the urge to scream. Finally I reach the bathroom and nearly fall into the tub in desperation. The corset bites into my ribs now and I can hardly move.  The hot water eases some of the ache but doesn’t deaden the small voice that is practically howling in my ears. Get out  Go now. I just close my eyes and listen.

 Spilled pill bottle, close-up for stephen moss surgeries piece

1:42 AM.

An empty vodka bottle sits on the table, the last two codeine tablets from my last “accident” ingested.  I feel little and have less pain.  My heart thuds dully, reminding me that I have much to fear.  The hallway seems eternal as I quietly tread down the rough carpeting in my bare feet, my  arm brushing the fake wood panelling he HAD to have. The memory of it makes my veins turn to fire. Strutting around, daring me to say a word.   I could have argued, but my  jaw was wired shut.  Another lesson about respect he claimed.   A lesson he needs to learn himself.  I hesitate at the bedroom door, the light from the window diffused by the one thing I was allowed to give input on.  The intense red, diaphanous curtains.   When it rains, the dim light creates shadowy blood drips down the walls.  Those nights I lay on my back and imagine them to be his, his head cracked like an egg while he visits his atrocities on my flesh and my soul.

He woke an hour ago, having dreamt that I tried to kill him in his sleep by stabbing him in the back.  I laughed in his face, and told him I’m no coward, I’d stab him in the throat.  He hit me with his fists, with his words, driving me back into the cabinets with his never ending folly.  I got my hands on the iron, and slammed the fucker into his head.   I’m now free of the corset.  And heavy in cuts, bruises and I suspect a few cracked ribs. I got off easy this time. He was sleep slow.

He rolls onto his back, naked and still oozing blood from the sharp point of the irons impact.  I hope he has a concussion. His hands clench in their sleep, and he mutters profanity and violations that I was sure were illegal.  It didn’t matter.  I climb on top of him, holding my weight just above his nude form, desperate not to make contact. In my hand I have a knife, the very same one he sliced through the corset with.  The never rust,  never stain,  entirely steel, eversharp knife, and I press its point to his flabby throat, and push enough to bring a drop of blood.  I wanted to shove it hard, knowing it would slide through the skin like butter.   It opens his eyes and sees me with its favourite knife to its cowardly neck, and fights with its mouth.  The point drawing blood from its neck gives it pause.   But that’s not what bothers it. What bothers it  is that I have its balls in the ricer that I had behind my back.  The industrial ricer its whore mother gave me as a birthday gift, because my cooking was substandard.  I squeeze, just a little, and the pansy screams, and then passes out.

I run then, as fast as my injuries would allow me, slowing only to grab my emergency bag from the kitchen table and the key to my car, and was on the road to freedom before he is able to rise.  Tomorrow he will start his search with the usual suspects, and my time will be short. Until then….Inhale….

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2000/08

He’s still looking for me. One day, he will find me. And find I’m not the girl I used to be. I’m much much more.

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@MelanieMcCurdie2014

All Rights Reserved

Majesty – Rictus

Read Majesty – Metamorphosis

My arrival in this place has left me a bit dazed and disoriented, the bright shiny people sparkled in the filtered light, not an unflawed face to be found. Dressed in my best, where once I felt fetching enough to please the eye, I’m now left floundering in a sea of couture that couldn’t be real.   Pulling my small bag behind me, camera equipment that would mean the death of everyone near and dear should it vanish, in my tight grip, I wandered down the concourse. More shiny things invaded my eye and dampened down my self-confidence further twinkled in the lights. My employer has insisted I come to this place, much to my chagrin  I would prefer to be home and in the company of those fabulous bitches, my sisters.

As I exit the concourse, I see people hugging, laughing, crying.  They fall into each others embrace, so thankful to have their loved ones back in their arms.  It won’t last.  It never does.  What sounds like an explosion shatters the joyful sounds and the bystanders scatter like quail, most screaming like fools.  A man approaches me, crouched like some Neanderthal and grunting just the same  and attempts to pull me to the floor,  I throat punched the fucker and watched his body drop like a rock.   Glancing over my shoulder, I see a  body lying in an untidy heap, the top of its head a raw mess of bloody brainmeal and bone.   A small child stands, her fists clenched at her sides as she howls her terror to the roof, the terrified thing  screaming as what is presumably her father’s blood drips down her tiny face.  Fascinated, I turn and openly observe her grief, finding the raw emotion intoxicating.  The bystanders are creeping back, their eyes wide as they take in the mess that lies before them with sickened smiles on their lips and their phone’s clicking away as they record it.   And they say I am mad. They are correct of course.

Against my better judgement, and my nature, I stride to the child and kneel down in the rapidly cooling pool of blood, feeling my knees slide slightly as I do. Taking the distraught child by her narrow shoulders, I murmur, “Darling, where is your mother?”   Her lips tremble and her eyes eat up her face, growing larger with each moment she struggles to speak.  I whisper into the pink shell of her ear, “Your mommy sweetheart.  Where is your mommy?”  Her honey blonde hair smells like strawberry and copper, and it mixes unfavourably with the scent of her anguish. She falls into my arms, her frail little body shaking relentlessly and I am taken aback.  And  a little bothered by it.  Her breath comes in a harsh sobs against my shoulder, “Dead. There is only Daddy and me.  And now I’m alone…” her small sweet voice nearly sings, the jingle of dozens of tiny bells that contrasted sharply with the gore splattered anguish I saw on her face as she lifted her head.

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A woman’s scream,  loud as the clarions of hell shatters the nearly heartfelt moment, and the child’s face freezes. She bares her small teeth in a biting smile that spreads slowly across her gore splattered lips, and becomes still and cold as steel.  Raising an eyebrow, I ask, “Your mother, Demon? Let me give you a tip.  Next time make sure your other parent isn’t in the same building. It’s more believable. ” I drop my arms from around the little monster  and rise to my feet, disgusted by the sensation of the now cold fluid sliding thickly down my legs. Meeting her mother’s eyes I smile, enjoying the way she recoils and backs up a step, and trips over her husband’s corpse,  landing on her ass with a dull thud.  I laugh at her, at her shocked and pale face, her legs sprawled over the  corpse of her husband.  It earned me some filthy looks but I didn’t care.  I grab the handle of my bag, and snatch a handful of paper towels from the cart as I passed her, heading for the nearest washroom and leaving bloody wheeltracks in my wake.  “Charming child you have.  Good luck lady. You’ll need it.”

The  washroom sink did little to remove the blood from my legs or the hem of my once pristine ivory skirt. Sadly it would have to be thrown away, and that distresses me more than the missing ride that was to meet me. My little journey into the game of a junior psychopath has delayed me grievously, and left me stranded. So be it.  I could find my own way, I thought as I exited.    A dangerously familiar voice growls at my ear bare seconds before an arm halts my movement,  causing a shiver of fear and thrill to ripple over my skin.  “You’re late”  Hot breath, on my neck sends more chills coursing over my flesh and causes me to try to twist away.  “Not my fault. Apparently the psychos per capita is high here. See? Blood on my hands. Please let me go,” I throw back, my heart racing as my mouth runs away with itself, in defence.

“The car is waiting. Come with me,” My benefactor appears at my side, an appreciative smirk on his lips as his hand falls to the small my back and propels me forward even as I hesitate  I’m angry that his is attempting to handle me, and a little afraid as well.  He is bigger than I am, but should it come to it, I could take him down. And would if I had my chance. Survival of the fittest after all.  “That child, should she survive her childhood and not be caught would certainly be one of the most prolific killers of our time.  You’d do well to keep your eye on her.  I know you had someone there.”  I bit the inside of my cheek hard, cursing myself in a filthy inner monologue that I was sure would surprise the most profane in my world, for attempting small talk with this man.

A limousine awaits us by the curb, its midnight shimmering in the bright sunlight, nearly blinding my eyes. I hiss, slapping my shades over my blues and snicker at my own hilarity. It earned me a stare that froze my blood, and made me chortle even louder. “Deal. It was funny. You should get a sense of humour.  It appears you’ve lost yours.” I smile in his direction, feeling it lie corpse-like on my lips, a rictus rather than genuine.   A large hand takes my bag from my grip, having to pry my fingers from the handle and a very large man places it carefully in the trunk, along side a bound and gagged woman, her eyes wide and pleading on mine. “I’d rather that travels with me, if you don’t mind,” I mention as I stare curiously, “Obvious reasons aside, it’s fragile and she’s desperate.” He glances at my benefactor, who nods, and removes my luggage to the inner sanctum of the vehicle,  before gesturing that I should enter. A light shove gets me moving and I climb into the spacious interior, amazed at the way it muffles the sounds of the screaming from the trunk. The door slams shut and I sit on the long leather backseat, My eyes taking in the individual before me.

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“Why am I here?” I asked, less than respectfully and earn myself yet another hair-raising stare, and no answer. Typical. He was still staring, his eyes felt like a tongue running across my skin.  “You can’t keep it from me forever. I will find out…eventually.  And stop that.  I’m not your afternoon snack.”  That mildly threatening look had taken on a predatory glint that was beginning to make me angry. “Fuck this. I’m getting out,” I snapped, reaching across to open the heavy door to my freedom and sanity. I’d come far enough without this shit to make my life miserable.  His hand finds my throat, the palm squeezing just hard enough to cut my air by half and inflict a small amount of pain, soliciting a unwelcome groan to escape my lips and few choice adjectives to punctuate my displeasure. “You don’t get to touch me. Let me go,” I demand, and feel his hand tighten in response.

His lips brush my jawline and linger, his tongue running over the thin membrane where my carotid pulses. “I could cause you serious harm,” he murmurs then presses his lips lightly over the lightly throbbing skin. “From the feel of your heart rate, I’d say that excites you.”  I don’t respond, won’t deign to give him one, and shiver slightly before pulling free.  Impressively ballsy son a bitch he is, and I slap his handsome face. “You don’t intimidate me. Stop trying.  Now tell me why I’m here.”  He gestures for me to sit closer to him while pushing a button on the armrest. The car pulls out amid a flurry of horns and presumable irate drivers. Frankly, I wish myself back on a plane to anywhere but beside this man, but I did as he requested nonetheless.  “The woman in the trunk is to be your crowning achievement. Photographic evidence,  shall we say,  for our employer. Would you walk away from that?”

Photographic evidence. I look out the window at the busy freeway, the nondescript downtown cityscape that looked like a hundred that Id been in at the behest of my employer. The woman in the trunk could be anyone. Could have done anything. Or nothing. An innocent.   I prefer my own victimology, making my choices situation by situation. “Who is she,” not bothering to meet his eyes. His stare crawls greedily over my face, like fingers probing my expression. Silence. I despise this lack of forthcoming information and the mere fact he’d deliberately fallen speechless lights the fuse of my long-buried anger. It had been months since I allowed myself to drop the mask, and I turn my eyes to meet his. “I expect an answer. Or I’m gone and YOU can explain to the boss.” Unflinchingly I hold his attention, fully for a change, and I feel a small charge of victory as he shifts in his seat, interestingly uncomfortable. The car had taken a offramp and  is rolling to a stop when I grab my bag with one hand and fling the door open with the other. “Continue this delightful conversation on your own. I’ve heard enough bullshit,” I throw at him, sliding from where I’d sat and  rise to my feet.

I hadn’t been paying attention. I should have paid attention. My eyes meet the too wide ones of some soccer mom, her streaked blonde hair an obvious holdover from her glory days.  She’d been listening to some ear vomitus boy band, their inane tones cut off in mid harmony, thankfully. The electric window whines as she leans over, pointing. I flip her the fuck finger as I yank my bag out of the door behind me, and see her jaw drop.  A light tugging on my blouse warns me just before a hole appears dead centre in her forehead, spraying the seats behind her with brain matter and gore.

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“Get in now,” his deceptively calm voice commanded. I  barely heard him over the ringing in my head. Not a request, I realised, as the itch started to intensify at the back of my neck. He had a weapon, and I was unarmed. My desire to be through with this situation dies then with a whimper. I had no wish to be shot screaming in the street. Placing my bag inside, I climb back into the vehicle, and slam the door hard behind me. “You motherfucking idiot. You SHOT her. In broad daylight. With Witnesses. Damned close to me too asshole. What the fuck is your problem?”

“Finally, there’s the girl I know. Still haven’t forgiven me have you? Come now Princess. Say your glad to see me, and let’s kiss and make up.” His snicker at what just occurred enrages me and I slip closer to his proximity to glare into his ruggedly handsome face. No. I hadn’t.  Some things can never be forgiven, let alone forgotten. “Did you just call me Princess? Kiss and make up? Are you fucking INSANE? Let me out. NOW.”His less than respectful snickers turn into outright guffaws at my demands, and my mask slips slightly, affording him a glance at what others had only seen in moments before death. If nothing else it gives him pause, and cuts the laughter as though with a knife. To my pleasure. “I thought he was full of shit when he told me what you’d become. I didn’t entirely believe him ….apparently I owe hm $5.   Jes? Can’t we let it go? It’s been 10 years.”

Ten years. I despised my still raving attraction to the man, though less so than being thrust into this position. “You left me Zander. Your hands were as bloody as mine. And I was left holding the bag and looking like some idiotic fool to be pitied. I won’t forgive that. Now. Why am I here?” I felt those hateful tears burn my eyes, and I looked past his shoulder at the graffitied walls of the establishments that lined the street. Wherever we were going it certainly wasn’t in the best area of town. Drunken men staggered from a tavern as two women brawled on the cement. I watched captivated as one rammed a small bladed knife into the nape of the others’ neck, and bent her face forward as she pulled it free, bathing in the up splash of red that coated her face and neck. I watched from the rear window until they were all but gone, my heart beating hard against my ribs. Desire, that self-centred cunt, made me water at the mouth with want. I was hungry.

“To photograph one of the most prolific men in the world creating art in death. As he creates and causes it.” Zander says, from close behind me, his hand resting on my shoulder.  Utter disbelief floods my mind. The woman in the trunk was to be the canvas in which my employer visited his attentions. I disapproved of this. How one chooses to expedite the death of another is personal. Each kiss, each cut, each method of inflicting pain an intimate experience. “Bullshit. No artist reveals his methods until the finished product is ready. Try again.  Please stop touching me Zander.”   My cellular screams, a ringtone I found most amusing, startling me from the danger zone I was drifting into. Pulling it from my pocket, I feel a chill run it’s icy nails up my spine and spared Zander a glance before hitting the answer button.

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“Jes. Stop arguing. Accept it. Kiss and make up – this is a happy time.  Together we will make history. See you shortly.” Just those words were enough to kill the fight. The Boss had spoken and I slumped back against the seat with a sigh, frustrated and defeated.  Zander’s palm finds my cheek and he turns my head so that I am looking into the face of the one who abandoned me.  “Come on Jes.  You know you’re happy to see me. Why pretend?  I’m happy to see you.”  The warmth of his skin on mine makes my heart turn over in my chest, and I glare back at him with all the venom I could muster.  “You left me. You hit me with a fucking HAMMER and you left me.”  My fists pummel him, landing in a flurry of untimed hits, one glancing off his jawline and causing my finger to screech in flared pain.  “I fucking hate you!!!!” I try to say, my thoughts barely coherent  under the intoxication of his lips on mine.  I barely register his arms around me, or that I ‘d been moved onto his lap, lost to the familiarity of his touch and the desire.

The car slows to a stop in front of an ill-kept home on the outskirts of town, its windows sparkling in the fading light, most unusually whole.  I slid off of Zander’s lap, feeling that regretful emptiness that always comes after love, and smooth my skirt down over my thighs once again before buttoning my blouse once again.  His hands slip inside, cupping my breasts with a proprietary air, and I slap his hands away. “Enough.  It’s time to work.  You’re dick is hanging out. Tuck it in and zip it up big boy.”  He pouts in a way he always thought was sexy but only made him look like a 7-year-old denied his toys, and I snickered.  “You’re still a bitch.” I shrug, and deny nothing, placing my hand on his still semi hard cock and licking his cheek.  “I didn’t’ hear you complaining.  Stop whining and open the door.”  I could see the driver climbing the steps to the rickety front door, the woman’s limp body over his shoulder, and was anxious escape my confines.   I could almost smell it, taste it in the air.  To see the artist at work, to document his process was gold in my palm.  Zander looks out the window a moment, his hand on the door handle, before looking back at me soberly.  “Jes, have you ever met the boss?”

I draw back a little, wary at the odd question.  “I’ve spoken with him only on the phone and via email.  Written always in code of course.  Why?” I remember thinking he was like a wet blanket, smothering my excitement with this cautious tones.  This was my playground and I wanted to play. “He’s quirky.  Sorry,”   “What the fuck did you? Zander….I’ll ….” The world is cloudy as I fall backwards onto the seat, the hand I’d clasped to my neck tumbling away.  “I am sorry Jes. I’ll see you soon.”

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@MelanieMcCurdie2015

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Majesty – Metamorphosis

The television mutters in the other room, white noise in the back ground to fill my mind as I fulfil my needs, feed my tendencies.  I find it surprisingly easy to forget my humanity here, in this place.    To let the demon that lives in me breathe, spread her wings and destroy.  The Reaper has been lurking near these past few days,  his steely eye on mine whenever I allow him to catch it.  Grim is a bad sport, I’ve found.  I’d really don’t fucking care that his schedule is thrown out of whack by my extracurricular activities.  A girl has to live after all.

The newscaster has a delightfully sonorous voice that sets my nerves on edge along with my teeth. He is speaking of yet another body found, this time in pieces each encased in a balloon and left at the bottom of a public pool. Police have no suspects. Oh look, a composite drawing of the victim.  Morons, they got the eyes wrong. They always do. Ingenious plan though, even if I do say so myself.

My current friend is coming out of her unconsciousness like a champ. She is very strong. I chose well this time, the fight she puts up refreshing to the mewling whining the others have given in response.   “You bitch.” Her muffled voice is low and mean, full of killing passion. I smile as my mouth fills with water, pouting my lips slightly. “Music to my ears. Welcome back.”

Her golden honey brown eyes glare at me, sparkling with dagger dripping fury that  fly in my direction. “He’ll come for me, and you fucking know it, he’ll KILL YOU,” she spits at me, baring her teeth at me in a snarl so deep that I could see the delicate lining of her upper lip, pink as a virgin’s folds. Her rage ebbs slightly as I stride across the room to where she sits on the floor, squatting down and spreading my knees, making my small skirt slide sensuous up my thighs. “You’re a whore,” she bites, “you think I want to see that?” lifting her chin to gesture towards the bareness I’d revealed.

“He’ll come and then we will see won’ t we darling,” I chuckle, running my fingers along the smoothness of her throat to the shelf of her chin, and pull  my hand  back quickly as she snaps at them with her strong white teeth. “I don’t care if you don’t want to see. You’re free not to look, yet you did..” I laugh at her, rising to my feet on my 3 inch heels and pulling on the chain that bolts her to the wall, making it rattle like a metal maracas.  She begins to sob, and desperately pull at the silver collar that surrounds her neck, her body wracked with the force of her fear and grief. I stand for a moment, watching her and finding myself disgusted with all this emotion. “You can stop crying. Your tears mean nothing to me. You were warned, I did so on several occasions. As you can see, patience is not one of my strongest Virtues.” She looks up at me, regarding me with dawning horror, finally understanding and knowing I was right.

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A knock at the door disturbs our discussion, and I excuse myself to answer the insistent ringing of the bell. Apparently Patience isn’t my visitor’s strong suit either. I can hear muttering and grumbling from the other side, a fist pounded against the heavy wooden door. A male voice I recognise, in a snit it sounds like.  How wonderful, we can begin, I think as I open the door and am nearly bowled over by the force of his embrace. His hands are everywhere as he pushes me backwards, pinning me between his body and the wall with a lip bruising kiss as his hand finds its way under my skirt.

“You changed the locks you bitch.”  I can hear her gasping for air and trying to scream his name as he ravages me, his fingers finding my wetness and driving deeply as he bites my throat. My hand finds his hair and I grasp a handful, pulling hard as my orgasm breaks, unable to stop the groan that escapes my lips. “Turn around,” Zander says, reaching to spin me to the wall as I step smoothly away, straightening my skirt with a smile.  He can wait. “No. I have something to show you. Come in here and see.” He smirks at me, and I gloat inwardly, wondering how I could possibly remain with this fool    He has no clue as to what I’ve done and saunters my way, full of self-confidence, reaching to stroke my still hard nipple through the thin silk of my blouse and making it harder still.  I slap his cheek and shove him away, not speaking but pointing towards his latest conquest.

She whimpers his name, her hand out and crying as he roughly pinches and twists my nipple, enjoying how I flinch slightly at the pain.  And smile, flicking my eyes to her.  His own smile fades from his eyes as he takes in his lover, her hair in disarray and nose running snot down her chin and turns back to me with a narrowed expression.  “This is why you wanted me here?  What am I supposed to do with her now?”   I shrug, indifferently, not really caring what he does with her now that the excitement was gone. It wasn’t new anymore, and I’d frankly lost interest.

The newscaster was back with a special bulletin, The police had a lead and I laughed out loud. What buffoons they were. I’d been operating under their noses for months and they didn’t have an inkling. All the better for me, I think, hearing scuffling and the minute tinkle of the chain hitting the floor. A strangled scream follows and I spin around to see Zander thrusting his hips with abandon into her open drooling mouth. “Fuck Zander, You couldn’t wait until I was out of the damned room?  Let her breathe. She’ll suck better,” I throw over my shoulder before leaving. I didn’t need to see the person I’d chosen to spend my life with fucking his whore, it was bad enough to know about them. This one came to me to gloat over their dalliances, to our home.  I snapped, having had quite enough of the rumours and confessions. Five women in two weeks had come to me, one knocking at my window at 3 am, photo evidence in hand to make her point.

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Reaper is lurking in the shadows, his bony hand wrapped around the handle of his Scythe as he watches the sideshow behind me.  Perhaps he will take them both and make my job slightly easier.  I fee his gaze on my face as my eyes flick up to the ceiling, spying a stray drop of blood that had escaped my notice until now. I’d been so careful, or so I thought. It holds my attention, that one drop of blood, the one thing that stands between me and detection.   “You bit me you bitch!” Zander roars and I chuckle under my breath. Men are stupid, I think as I stare at that one drop of blood. The one thing that could ruin everything. I’d left my specially concocted cleaner and a clean rag on the bookshelf, forgotten in my exhaustion following the last bloodletting.  Grabbing what I needed and carrying the small ladder, I place it underneath the offending evidence, and climb the first three narrow steps.   The solution is eye wateringly astringent, and I cough as I spray it on the rag.   Balancing on the narrow step, and reaching until I was on the balls of my feet,  I wipe it away.  The evidence destroyed,  I take a step down, noticing vaguely that the whimpers and choking sobs have stopped. She didn’t last long, Lightweight.

A rough inhale behind me alerts me to Zander’s presence, his teeth on my side a moment later tear holes in my blouse and nip  at my flesh as his hands roam across my body. I glance down at him, feeling the wetness of his tongue through the thin fabric and grab his hair, pulling his head back with a snarl. “Really Zander?  I’m done being anyone’s sloppy seconds thanks.”   Using the handful of his hair in my hand for balance, I step down from the stool and release my grip.  “I didn’t fuck her,” he mutters, taking my hand and leading me to the stairs, “lets go upstairs.” I laugh at him, yanking my hand away, “Hardly.  We have a mess to clean up soon.”

“We? What mess? You need to figure out what to do about her.  Is this my punishment?” he snaps at me, pointing his finger at the prone body lying on the floor, “You refuse me because of her? Change the locks?  What did you expect Jes.  You’re a cold-hearted cunt and a man needs a little warmth.” It’s all true, every word, and still I don’t give a fuck.  I didn’t suck off every guy who came my way, where he took every opportunity to bury his dick in whatever warm hole made itself available.   A soft whimper and crude mutterings from his toy serve only to irritate me further.  “You want it so bad? I’m sure that will accommodate you.  I’m going upstairs, alone.  Don’t bother me.”  I knew I was pushing him closer and closer to the ledge, pushing the buttons and baiting him deliberately.  I planned to make him pay for his choices and none of those payments included me.

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“Don’t you walk away from me.”  Zander’s low tone screams danger, and I turn my back to him as I climb the first few steps towards the upper level.   “I’m coming up with you, and if you play nice, then we will take care of that, together. Or I could fuck you and make her watch, then cut her throat.”  So inelegant, without foreplay what is death, to cut her throat would end the careful work I’d done to insure that her end would come at a snail’s pace.  I turned to gift him with some biting remark, probably about his manhood, as that has always made him burn faster to find him in my space.  “Why must you torture me? You get off on it…..God you’re sick.”   He knocks me to the floor, his tongue invading my mouth as his hands continued their earlier courses,  like independent beasts seeking to slip under my skin. He was nearly ruthless as he pushed himself into me,  daring me to bite and scratch.  I did; I fought like an animal until I couldn’t fight any longer.  Human biology being what it is, I couldn’t help my body responses, and met his every  angry and frustrated thrust with one of my own.    When he’d had his fill and subsequently filled me with his seed, he fell limp, as was also the norm.  “Get the fuck off of me.  I have things to do now.  Go make sure you didn’t damage her.” I quickly climbed the remaining steps and turned back to look down at him, laying there watching me as I moved away. “Please,” I smiled, relieved to see his smile in return.  He’d never know what hit him.

I descend the stairs, wrapped in nothing more than my skin, already thinking ahead to the tasks ahead.  The air is scented with the smell of blood, salted copper,  and I hesitate.  I could rip out his throat with my hands, being unarmed is no concern. The complete and utter silence was.   The bottom floor was dark, only the drifting movements of the tattered robes Grim insists on wearing change my surroundings. Slowly I continue down, my ears tuned to any sort of noise that might alert me to what awaits me in the dark.  My hand finds the switch on the wall where I’d had my fun for the evening chained and am nearly blinded as it flares into life. That mother fucking imbecile.  I was going to hurt him badly and with delight.  She sits staring at me, her eyes bulging from the chain that had obviously cut off her air supply when he’d hung her from the heavy-duty hook I’d had installed by the back door.  Her lips were swollen and her bloodied tongue protruded from between them, as through she were mocking me.  The back door is banging back and forth in the night breeze. I assume the asshole left that way and stalk to the door, giving the body a hard kick in the gut as I pass, stepping through with no care who sees me.  “Goodbye.”  The world explodes in a flurry of white screaming light as I drop to the ground, all strength gone and feel my breath as it escapes.  “Zander….” I barely am able to whisper and he smiles, the same smile I fell in love with and it carries me away.

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I wake in hospital surrounded by police and nurses, wired for sound and extremely pissed off.  The sheriff informs me that I’d been injured and was now in good hands, fully aware of the first fact and still I debated on the second.  I simply nod,  rather than speak and run the risk of my tone betraying me, and so I sit and stare, waiting for the real reason he was at my bedside.  “Do you know why you’re here?”

“I do indeed.  I came downstairs from the shower, presuming I was alone, as I live alone.  I had a boyfriend but I kicked his ass out and changed the locks recently.  I came into the kitchen and found that poor woman  when I turned on the lights.” “You were found unconscious beside her.  Your fingerprints were collected from the collar and the chain around her neck.  Care to explain?”  I pause, allowing the tears of rage and frustration to come flooding from the corners of my eyes.  He bought it.  “I tried to lift her but she was too heavy.  I tried to get the chain from around her neck but…” I didn’t try at all.  But he doesn’t need to know that,  I did touch the links nearest the bruised flesh, and ran my hands up the cool metal that was slipped over that hook.  “Do you know who did it?” the Sheriff asks, as he looks out the window to the parking lot below, then down at his hands before meeting my eyes.  He knows who did it.  “Yeah, I do.  I saw him after he hit me.  The bastard tried to knock my brain from my head with a fucking hammer. A HAMMER. What kind of person does that?” The son of a bitch.   Not only did he steal my kill but he did it so inelegantly, and left me to clean up his mess.  I’d have his fucking head for this.

“You’ll be released tomorrow.  Do you have anyone we can call for you?” I shook my head, suppressing the smirk that threatened to spread across my lips.  Reaper stands at the door, his fingers tapping on the symbol of his Office, making me distinctly nervous.  “I’ve  no one.  Can I go home?”  asked quietly, keeping my eyes on my lap.  Perhaps one day I would have sisters to call my own, fabulous bitches to share my secret world.  For now, I had only the one who was not reachable in her travels.  I’m sure she will be most unhappy with my chosen recreation.  No matter.  She’d adjust.  He nods and hands me a heavy envelope.  “This was left for you at the desk.  Looks important to me.  I’ll be in touch.”   I tear into it the moment my door closes, and smile at what I find inside.  If I ever see Zander again I’ll cut him to pieces.  For now, my path calls me forward.

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@MelanieMcCurdie2014

Buried Alive – Introducing Majesty

From the corner of my eye, a shadow, then solid, Death has come, at last. He hasn’t come for me, instead Brother Reaper has come for other souls, I am only the provider. My sister should be pleased to find him here, and I do like to see her small smile as her eye meets His. She being betrothed to one of the most dangerous beings in all worlds, she understands the difficulties.

He points, the burning hell in from His fingertip enough to drive another, unprepared mind to the brink of insanity, and I glance over my shoulder to find a handsome, light-haired man standing behind me. Turning back to Brother Death, I raise my eyebrow, unsure of what he requires of me. “My name is Casper Johanson. I was procured from my place in the pits to write down your words,” this soft-spoken individual intoned, his voice a honeycoated salve that smoothed my edges considerably. “You are wondering what I did to deserve that Hell? I earned it. In 1544 I murdered twenty-three women, peeled their still living faces from their heads, dried them and delivered them to their families. Brother Reaper watched as the attempted beheading failed, and took me to where I have resided since. Shall we begin? Tell me a story.”

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Hello. I am Majesty. Yes, that is my real name. My mother believed that we were descended from royalty, her research showing that we are in line, should everyone die, for the crown of some small country. With no extradition treaties. Self sustaining, self-sufficient, and with ties or bonds to no one. My destination should my deeds come to light to the wrong people, and should I need to remedy that situation. Many bodies fit in a grave after all. Is there a more fitting place than a graveyard?

It’s a beautiful sight isn’t it? A party in the place of the dead may seem inappropriate to you, and I can understand your thoughts on that. But as I sit here, under the tree on this rickety ass lawn chair, I see it differently. Our dear friend’s passing has left us all somewhere between grief and delight. An odd mix to be sure, but accurate nonetheless. He left us too soon, when he was still needed in their lives, our lives…He was needed in our lives, and he still is. I suppose I could remedy the situation. It would mean the wrath and possible loss of many should they choose to turn their backs. Should they turn away, they may find a knife buried in the nape of their necks.

I’m a killer. I’ve slayed many. I’m not sorry for it. No remorse, so sayeth the Beast. Not the first time, not this time. He deserves it, friend or not and he is paying even as I sit here. This wine is luscious by the way, if you can imbibe it. Watching my loved ones celebrate the life, and death of our friend, who lies below their feet brings me joy. It amuses me to hear him sobbing and punching the lid of his casket, screaming my name, begging, and his desperation makes me want to laugh. Inappropriate behaviour? Perhaps so, perhaps not. Some will find my little slip up amusing. They are so indulgent with me, and at times it makes my blood boil, other times I adore the squishy and horrible feelings it brings.

Ha! Badass by Saliva…One of my Sisters knows me very well. She must have figured it out. I look to find her laughing with another sister, as she cranks up the music. She smirks in my direction, stomping her foot right above where his head would be. I wish I could say I was surprised, but I”m not. She finds it impossible to hold back her thoughts, and I approve.  To hold back makes your soul bleed.

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Tell you a story? A dark little tale to chill your thoughts? It begins, as all great tales do, with a boy and a girl. Leo was the bane of my existence and the greatest love of my life. Strange how that is, that I spent my days longing to hear his voice, and wanting to cut the tongue from his head the second he opened his mouth. My sister laughed at us often, saying it must be true love.  It was I suppose, was being the operative word. Being that as it may, we laughed with her, confident that our love/loathe relationship would endure. He forgot. He forgot what I am. That was a lesson learned. IS a lesson learned.

I have him on an earpiece, should I turn it on, I’m sure I’d be treated to all the curses that exist in our world and some new ones too. When I mentioned that I could hear him, it wasn’t in my mind. Leo is very displeased with me, and if by some blue-eyed miracle he does manage to find his way free, my end would come in the most brutal of manners. He won’t though. I made sure of it.

He’d been away for some time, our relationship called due to Loathe, though the tentative reaching out had begun on his part once again. Huh. Interesting that this was only last week. Time grows wings. The sweet whisperings via electronic media, the I miss yous, and I love yous, can’t we try agains, all intended to soften my fury and draw me back as he’d been able to time and time again. Except for this time.

I was bored you see, my current playmate, lets call him John for lack of a more polite term, had, lets say, taken a leave of absence, permanently. That he suggested that we bring in one of my virtuous sisters into our games was a roaring fury in my ears, and even now my blood boils at the memory of him attempting to corner one of the beauties, assuming I wouldn’t find out. I don’t share and certainly not with one of my Beloved Ones. She let her thoughts be known, she of the poison tongue, and flayed his ego alive. From that point on he had sulked and skulked the edges of our bitch sessions like a wounded beast.

My annoyance had taken its last as he tried once again to coerce her into giving him what he wanted, in front of my eyes, as though I were invisible. I cut his lying heart from his body, held it in my hand as it beat its last, and his eyes stared in shock as I ripped it free. I suppose I should have told the guests at that night’s dinner party that they were indulging in a rare delicacy, but ignorance is bliss they say. I’m sure most wouldn’t care, but some sensibilities survive even the darkest souls. I heard no complaints however.

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Family means never asking why, just grabbing the shovel and my sister did just that, pausing to shake her head at his prone body. “He really was stupid. How could you not notice you were standing on bright blue tarps? ” she muttered, her breath coming in harsh gasps as we enfolded the large plastic sheet around his limp body. The crinkling noises were making me nervous, agitated, settling on my nerves like an unreachable itch. My phone screamed, making me jump out of my noisy mind, and I snatched it from the end table where I had placed it before wrapping my plaything in his plastic shroud. “Leo again?” My sister’s tone was heavy with disapproval, full of barbed wire and iodine as I nodded absently. It really was the perfect situation, and one I hadn’t needed pre-meditate. “It’s time. This time he sent the message meant for his whore to me,” I snickered, holdng the lighted screen out for her to peruse.  She chuckled, giving John a hard nudge with her foot, before adjusting the heavy gloves on her small hands and grasping the bulbous end of the wrapping, lifting as she stood. “I call heads! Lets get it done. Everyone will be arriving for dinner soon.”

We buried John in the copse of trees about 2 miles from my home, where the shadows loom and the creatures had abandoned, returning home filthy but with plenty of time to clean up, and begin preparing the fine meal for my guests to partake of. Partake they did, and enjoyed it.

One of the celebrants bares his teeth and claws, and receives a punch on the arm for his trouble, a sign of approval from one of the openly savage monsters in our midst. Sad eyes from a sister leaning on the tombstone, her fingers trailing over the name etched on the stone. Oh to see her torn hurts my heart. Or it would If I had one. That sits upon the desk of the reigning Royal, a sacrifice willingly given.

Brother Death’s gaze falls on me, leaving me cold as I reach to tap the earpiece, turning on the roaring rage full volume. “You motherfucking bitch! What the FUCK! Jesus Fucking Christ you numb cunt! LET ME OUT! Jes!! Let me out! Are you really going to let me die?”  Finding himself in this situation, I suppose it would drive the most eloquent of us to guttertalk. “Leo, Is that anyway to speak to a lady? Comfortable? Oh, I guess not. Too bad. Are you enjoying the music? Any requests?”

“NO I’M NOT COMFORTABLE YOU SICK CUNT! Let me OUT! You need help. A lot of it. LET ME THE FUCK OUT!” Oh, he’s angry. His fear settles on my nerves like a warm blanket. Pure naked terror.

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*notes: She smiles that sweet, secret smile again, her voice carefully modulated, cold even. I think her mother was right to name her Majesty. She is very controlled, poised.*

“It appears, my sweet, that you are the one who needs the help. Our friends are fiends, every one of them. Some know you are there and approve. How does that make you feel?” He kicks the end of the wooden casket hard. Oh my head, the feedback is terrible. Now punching the top of his prison and sputtering again as dirt lands on his face.

“There’s not much air in there. I suggest you give it a rest. Now, what music can I provide to make your…passage a little more entertaining?” My mother taught me about poise, concern for others and I am attempting to employ it, yet my rage is bubbling closer to the barrier. On and on he spits his curses, his threats, oh the things he would do to me when he got loose. He could try. “Goodbye for now darling. You really should think about what landed you in this position. Meanwhile, enjoy the party, I made it for you, like a last, long, kiss goodbye.” The frivolity has gained momentum I see. Ah, the party has arrived. Someone has turned the speakers face down onto the ground and turned up the base. They are so evil. I love them all.

* “How you get him in there?” *

The dinner party had been a raving success, with no leftovers and demands for my recipe for the appetizer still incoming. As though I could feasibly tell any of them what I had served. After seeing my guests on their way, I found myself alone, and in need of company. How lucky for me that incredible bitch Lady Luck had chosen to smile on me at long last. A well-timed text awoke the hunger that had been gnawing at me for days. It was friday, the day the cemetery employees dug the graves needed for the weekend, and after a quick romp in the nearest mausoleum the head groundskeeper agreed to provide another hole in which to fill at my leisure, far off from the beaten track, in a little used part of the landscape. It was a thing of beauty and I gladly rewarded him for his trouble. He’d taken the liberty of preparing Leo’s final resting place, complete with a nasty little surprise that delighted me in its ingenuity.

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Leo arrived early, as I’d expected he would, dressed in light shorts and a thin t-shirt, that showed his chiseled muscles and left little to the imagination. The small voice whispered in my head, waking the old desires that had been hibernating there and we wasted no time with words, simply devouring one another until the hunger had been slaked. How lucky I was that sexual compatibility had never been an issue.

Not a word had we spoken, using our voices, and I read him like a book, the way he kept glancing at his phone, his watch. “Are you late for something?” I asked him lightly, running the tips of my fingers across his lips, “am I keeping you from something?” A glance at his watch, before smiling and leaning to kiss me, a glance at his phone, “of course not. I’m here with you.” he replied, jumping as his factory ringtone shouts in the silence. I stared at him, listening to his conversation, noting how careful he was being, how he didn’t bother to hide that secret, pleased smile that surfaced with the flush in his cheeks. His whore. He turned away, waking a short distance so that his voice was muffled. It didn’t matter. It meant he wouldn’t see it coming.

“No I didn’t fuck her. Why would I want to? I want to be with you, not her.” He was standing on the edge of his grave, whispering his loving lies to another poor unsuspecting soul. The metal blade of the shovel the groundskeeper had thoughtfully left nearby clanged against his skull, and his hand opened, dropping the phone onto the grass as he tumbled into the wooden coffin at the bottom. He lay there unmoving as I snatched up the squawking rectangle from the dewy ground. The tinny squeak of her voice reached my ears, and I placed it to my ear as she said, “Leo? LEO? What did the psycho bitch do to you?”

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“Psycho bitch? Is that what I am? Listen to me. Mark my words well. He is not coming back to you. EVER. You would do well to keep this knowledge to yourself. If you breathe a word to anyone I will find you. And I will kill you. Do you understand me?” A sharp intake of breath, a watery gasp, and silence greeted my demands, not a word was spoken. “I expect an answer.” “Yes,” she whispered, “alright, please don’t kill him.” I laughed in her ear, and I heard her shiver as she tried to shake off the tears in her voice. “Not yet, he has much to answer for.” A dial tone. Huh…She had balls, I”ll give her that.

A muffled groan reminding me that my love awaited my attentions, and I slid his phone into my small purse hanging on the tree branch nearby. It wouldn’t have done for him to have it in there with him, and I prefered to play it safe. An electric nail gun lay on the ground, peeking out from under the black plastic bag that had kept it dry until it was needed. I wrapped my hand around its handle, my fingers caressing the trigger, “Coming darling,” I sang as the fog rolled in, hiding my deeds from the eye and echoing the sharp reports of each nail as I enclosed him in his eternal prison.

* “Why bury him?* “

I wanted to see how it would play out. I’m not into poison’s, per se. I do hold high regard for Mother Nature and her small vicious victories over those who are oblivious Her wonders. Knives are fun but they leave a mess and death comes too quick. As you well know, Death, slow death, has its benefits. A person can gain so much from their suffering. Why? There are reasons. Payment for his actions. Sometimes lesson’s hurt, sometimes, they will kill you. Figuratively and in reality.

We have an uninvited, though not entirely unwelcome guest. Propriety states I must stand and make my greetings, lest I provoke his brutal attentions. I sense your amusement at that, and though I make no mistake in saying I hold no interest, I point out that devotion has little to do with death wish.

You are a very bad girl Majesty. Bad girls should be punished, His deep voice rumbles, sending a shiver of silver thrill down my spine. How amusing. “Are you going to try your luck? I dare you.” I can feel the switch wiggling in its socket. His gaze is so intense, low and mean. It ignites other feelings as well, though for sanity’s sake I will spare you the details. He is closer than he’s been before and frankly I’m bothered by this as much as his interest in my work. You think you could win, his voice is cold and calculating, challenging. He knows I can’t resist a challenge. He is huge, fearsome, and I am afraid. He is more the killer than I could ever be.

Someone has put on Slipknot and it suits the tension building inside me, like the Rage Sirens. Laughter and greetings ring out as more mourners come to celebrate. Ah…a real send off. How delightful.

* “Do you have any fear Majesty? You are taking on someone who could snap your neck without thought.”*

Yes, I’m aware he could kill me now, if he chooses. He would have a fight on his hands. He knows it. And it would get us nowhere, just leave two more bodies for them to clean up and ruin the fun.

HIs hand finds my throat, thumb digging into the tender place where my jaw connects, I could kill you now, he growls into my face, as I push the sharp point of my blade into his flesh,  just above his Adam’s apple.  The tighter he squeezes, the deeper the blade goes. “As could I. So what do we do?” The switch shudders now, the fury in my heart bubbling so close to the surface. Exquisite pain. The tip of my blade dimples the soft flesh under the shelf of his chin, bringing a blood ruby to the surface. My eye is drawn to the warm red, sparkling like a jewel in the sunlight. “Do you see yourself losing? Don’t push it. I’m really not in the mood.”

Drop it or I’ll end you here. “Our discussion as been noticed,”   The music screams, it fills my ears as we stand at our impasse, the hanging droplet of blood shimmering and once again catching my eye, and I drop my knife to the ground, holding my hands up to show my concession. Tell me how you got him there.

“You can read the transcripts like the rest. Once is enough. You won’t do anything while they watch. I’m unarmed, and they know it.” Death comes to us all. For once I agree with him, “Indeed and He is here. Come say hello, they know you are here now, they will hunt you down. You can inspect my handiwork. and let go of my throat”

He squeezes tighter, momentarily glaring at the gathering and chuckling as they recoil. I giggle a little too, finding it amusing, rubbing at my throat as he releases his hold. I tap the earpiece and Leo’s voice explodes in my ear, muttering a litany of crude explications that would make a sailor cry. “Hello sweetheart. Did you miss me?” I giggled as my little band approaches the silent partygoers. I have some new ones to try out now. “I am with a mutual friend. He’s come to join the party. See, you are loved, so many familiar faces come to see you off in style.” “You fucking bitch, I’ll cut your head off. I’ll make your mother wish she’d swallowed you.” I take exception to that particular slight, feel my hackles stand at attention at his low and mean laughter. “Oh mommy issues, too fucking bad. Get me the fuck out of here and I might let you live,” his voice now little more than the crude growlings of a feral animal.

A hand on my neck stops me in my tracks. I feel it brush my hair from my shoulder, exposing my neck and the small wire that connects me to our dear friend. What is this. His breath so close to my ear makes me shiver, to have him so close and not be facing him makes my stomach drop to my knees. “What do you think it is? It’s an earpiece so I can talk to our friend, see how he’s getting along. Want to say hello?” I offer, unable to tamp down the smartassery that always masks my fear. His hand moves from my neck to my waist, holding me there as if he could read my mind. I was prepared to bolt, for all my false bravado I was terrified. She’s taken such care to give you a proper send off, you’d think you would be a little more appreciative,  he breathes right next to my ear, making my skin crawl and flush, Refrain from mentioning her family. Or I will dig you up myself and tear you apart. Understood.  Harsh breathing in my hear, hot breath on my flesh, and I was left speechless, unable to move.

“Dig me up. I dare you. I’ll finish her ass while you watch and then take care of you. And all the rest up there dancing on my grave.” I have no voice to speak with, as my breath staggers from my chest, The hand is gone from my waist, and is flicking my hair over my shoulder once again. I automatically run my fingers through it, rearranging it so that it is more natural, lifting my eyes to meet those waiting, all standing still and simply watching, “You are scaring them. Want to give it a rest?” Close to my other ear, he drops a dozen words, away from the mic and other ears, and I stare surprised at him, with a small smile on my face. “We shall see. Meanwhile, your adoring public awaits.”

He moves for ward, a stalking beast towards those that I adore, and I wince in future pain as several of the ladies rush him, arms out. They simply amaze me. “Jes what are you doing? You hate me, I get it. But this is lunacy, you’ll feel bad tomorrow and it’ll be too late. And bringing that psycho here? What are you thinking?” His tone scratches at my doubts, and my eyes fall on the small tractor that the groundsman had used to dig Leo’s  hole. “You’re right. I do hate you. I didn’t invite him. He just CAME. As though I have control. What am I thinking? I’m thinking you deserve your comeuppance, you’ve earned it. ” I grab a plate and fill it with food I probably won’t eat, smiling at the partygoers with grim cheer, as I await his answer. He always had to have the last word and I knew it was coming. “Great party!” one of the girls yells, holding up a bottle of beer in salute, her middle finger waving around. “Everyone say hi!! The dearly departed is listening!”

Someone had turned off the music, and I heard several gasps and at least one, “No fuckin way,” ring out in the screaming silence. Moment of truth it seemed, and I reached around to feel for the haft of my short blade, dropping my plate on the table as I pulled it free, and prepared to rush the first one who made a move. Even Brother Death had drawn near, hovering closer to his betrothed, his hand resting on her shoulder.

*”It appears you have a few that are not fans of your choice.”*

I am aware of that. So be it. “What the fuck are you waiting for? Say hello?” a strong masculine voice rings out, “Hey there my friend, having a good time?” He laughs out loud, rasing his glass and encouraging yet more greetings from the partygoers. I felt the tension dissipate, and with it the eye throbbing rage that had been simmering just below the surface.

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“Jes. Let me out. She meant nothing to me, none of them did. Please, I love you,”  his voice has lowered several octaves, and it sets my teeth on edge. He ALWAYS did this and I always gave in, and hated myself in the morning. “When you play with fire, you get burned. Sometimes it will eat you alive.” I press a small blue button connected to wires that I had placed on the back of the tombstone, and waited. “A harsh huff, and a muffled whine of pain were the only precursors to the howl of pain that followed, “What the fuck….WHAT THE FUCK YOU FUCKING BITCH WHAT DID YOU DO!”

*Notes: She has the most disturbing smile on her face, and it changes her from merely pretty to a creature unreal, a most dangerous one. My Master has stiffened as her gaze falls upon his face.*

“They are fire ants. Cultivated and raised with love and fresh, warm meat. You should be nicely coated in honey by now. They meant nothing to you….they mean everything to you, including the one you married last week. Too bad your son won’t know his father. And she will never have to know what you’ve done. Goodbye Leo.”  His anguish cuts off mid scream, as I drop the earpiece into a half empty glass of wine, letting my gaze fall on the revelers at hand.

One, only one chose to leave, opening her mouth to scream, her eyes wild as she took in the creatures surrounding her, Sinners and Saints, Friends and Fiends. They tore her apart. What was left fit in kitchen garbage bag. Easily buried. My lethal friend awaits me. We have some business to take care of. Never fear, you will see me again.

“The character Marcus Miller is based on Matt Farnsworth’s character The Orphan Killer” All rights reserved”

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@MelanieMcCurdie2014

What it’s about

It’s about the fear

Your mind is not your own

It quibbles and nips at your will

Slowly stealing your fight

Until all that is left is a dream

A place you go when the hitting starts

Unrealistic visions of life without him

Life without menace or malice

Where Love isn’t spelled P-A-I-N Love is Pain Wallpapers-15

It’s about the long brutal silences

They drag, ad infinitum

Anxiety is the name of the game

Eyes travelling for the fiftieth time

Desperately trying to seize on IT

That thing that is causing the quiet

And you begin to pray for the explosion

Something to begin it so it can end

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It’s about the secrets

Interrogations and justifications

Desperate apologies, plaintive pleas

No one can know about the

Ribs, bruises, abrasions

Shhhhh. I’m sorry. .

Empty promise, Never again

I love you.

Until the hammer falls again
That’s what it’s about.

It’s about the fear, silence and secrets

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@MelanieMcCurdie

All Rights Reserved

What Made It Real

I miss the soft rain

of your voice

how it would fall like

soothing balm on my

rage, dampening it

to low embers

The laughs over cigarettes

quiet snickers

Belly laughs until our ribs hurt

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Silent conversations

Grasping at words to

Say anything,

Struggling and letting it die

 

The small, quiet talks

Hearts weeping from our eyes

when it got too big

I wanted to have it all

Not just some, some of the time

Devotion to a dream

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Lovely

A lovely dream

I have dreams of my own

and sometimes

Love just isn’t enough

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@MelanieMcCurdie2015

All Rights Reserved

Written Effigies

Take my hand
Show me
Teach me
Teach me about things I’ve never known
Why butterflies have dust on their wings
Or Spontaneous combustion
Or why time flies when you are near
Tell me stories, about magical places
Wide open spaces. No bars or cages
Stories about your world and the people in it
Written effigies of the spoken word
Lie with me in the grass lush and green
And listen to the night birds sing
Their familiar refrain, as the crickets keep time
your hand in mine, the worlds between us far,
Infinite distance, wish on a star, for what cannot be 
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I keep you in a heart shaped box, hidden from view,
and too, hidden in plain sight, hidden in shapes and colours,
blood on the blade
Leave you will, you must,  Time holds for no man,
my eyes close, and you are just simply illusion,
not real, delusion.
Pray for Infinite slumber,
respite from the things that bite,
only to awaken again,
pillow damp with unspent words.
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@MelanieMcCurdie2015
All Rights Reserved

Yellow Lined Sheets

I find myself sitting on the bench
Beside the path, where we used to run
and play as children, innocent and free
Where we grew love, planted it deep
in the soil of our souls,  and pledged forever
Here, where we folded our vows
on yellow lined sheets
Stuffed in the cracks of the wood
Notes written in the burning blood of our passion
How we burned for life, then.
We were invincible, bulletproof, immortal
Human and fallible,
Simply meat sacks at Fate’s Will
But we didn’t know it
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I find myself sitting on the bench
Beside the path, where we used to run
As I do each year since you left me
Leaving my love on yellowed lined sheets
Buried in the soil, not of my soul
But in the ground
Where lilies of the valley grow
Where you lay, ashes to dust
I miss you
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@MelanieMcCurdie2015
All Rights Reserved

Shedding Skin

Wooden matches come alive
Paper roses weeping
Burst into fantastic flame

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Just burn it away
Throw it away
Suffer like I suffer every day

×

Wood logs in a metal can
Doused in lighter fluid
A new life to begin

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Burn away the I love you’s
Burn away the love we made
Burn away everything you meant to me

×

Burn it away

×

Pages torn from an empty life
Crumpled, stuffed in crevices
This is how you left me, dying

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Just burn it away
Throw it away
Suffer like I suffer every day

×

Burn away the nights
Driving hell-bent for freedom
Screaming live forever

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Burn away the I love you’s
Burn away the love we made
Burn away everything you meant to me

×

Just burn it away
Throw it away
Suffer like I suffer every day

×

Burn it away

×

Burn away the love you’s
Burn away the love we made
Burn away everything you meant to me

×

Burn it away

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@MelanieMcCurdie2015

Dreaming Minds

the fever pain in my brain will drive me insane

rupture membranes and lacerate my pride

if I bother to try so I hide what’s inside

when I should be confiding

but life is confounding and

minds are designed to take pressure

sometimes they crack and the noise of the claque knock back shatters

fucked up chattering locked up confined

other minds take compression like a fine bowl of smoke

they bottle aggression and spit out diamonds

rare gems that brighten the horizon

I’m no quitter or weak sister mister

badass bitch all day and all night

put your dukes up still willing to fight alright

but bodies are breaking minds quaking

monster is at the door on the floor

and I’m really too tired to right anymore

what’s the score

put me in coach

I’m still ready and steady

goodnight

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@MelanieMcCurdie2015

Because I love you

Some of the  poem below was published as a collaboration originally .   As I’m quite partial to the words I chose to rework and rerelease the original   Enjoy

Melanie

Because I love you, I whisper through the hole of my hands to where you sit drowning. Drowning in tears of self-pity while attempting to run your fingers across the strings of my heart and finding them snapped, rusted and my heart dead and rotted.

You cry out in shock and despair at my disaffected stare, my severing smile and you, you trapped in body inside the that amaroidal hell, trapped in my Hell, the halls in shameful disrepair, so is the flesh that was my heart. And it’s your fault.

All that remains are faces, names, the souvenirs in jagged-edged photographs. In charred frames that line the condemned and diseased passages; the walls alive with blowflies that shift in a death dance, that shivers in a rippling, buzzing wave.

The blood on my hands. Blood on everything. Your scent, it lingers on my clothes, the ones I still wear. The memories, they sting and I rage, scream, at how easy it was for you; how goddamned easy it was for you to say goodbye, and not tell me. You were already gone before the words found their way home and now. Now. Now you are home and you will never leave here or me again.

I finger the dry matches in the package. The dry tips vaguely scented with cheap whiskey and back room sex They came from the pool hall. That fucking dive where you work, spending your talent on lowlifes and prostituting our love every time you spread your legs for some stranger at closing time.

I blow you a kiss, though the sinus gouging smell irritates my eyes. I can only imagine how this feels for you, having spent all day soaking in it. I blow you a kiss and I tell you goodbye. When you plead to know why I whisper because I love you while striking the match. Watch it burst into flame in the windless afternoon and drop it down the hole. The small hole in the top of the barrel of gasoline that you’ve been sitting in all day. You are thoroughly marinated now.

Hurry away as the lid blows off and you gurgle and yodel as you burn. Turning back to watch you rise from the fire like a residual Phoenix, arms to the sky as you scream and your pretty hair sizzles. Turn away as your blackened corpse crumbles back into the barrel with sorrow. All because I loved you.

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@MelanieMcCurdie2015

Inhuman

Some hate to cry

Not dislike or detest

No HATE

I learned that tears

Are not strength

I learned that

They are a waste

Of precious fluid

Of emotion easy turned

To more creative pursuits

dark_governess_rivers_of_grue

They are a typical stereotype

If you are a woman

You cry at everything

The stereotype proves a truth

A man is viewed as strength

Showing rage, or love, even touched

Rarely seen with a tear

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Tears are weakness

They are human

I don’t want to be human

Humans hurt and they bleed

They bleed over everything

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They’re manic depressive madmen

Which is can be good

In more creative pursuits

dark_governess_rivers_of_grue

In life its simpler

You don’t feel

You don’t care

Tears are a moot point

And you don’t have to bleed.

image

@MelanieMcCurdie2015

Holes

My mind has too many holes
Ladders in stalkings, passion
Some sinuous snake slithers
Trails ribbons rubbing away traces
Crimson cacophony, bells toll
Tracks, my eyes run wild searching
Round the forgotten corner
Down another silent hall
Footprints on the dusty floor
Handprints mark the rotting wall
Signs and signals point the way
Apocalyptic memory
Just to claw through the steel veil
Soul filter, like wire mesh
My mind has too many holes

imageMelanie McCurdie

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