The End of the Road

When the scenery never changes,

and the road never stops,

where reality gets dull,

and daydreaming an illusion,

and the mind travels too far ahead,

anxious to know where the road leads,

but having no destination in mind,

and a little voice that is to quiet,

pointing out other roads to try,

but this road will lead to great things,

due to a road sign that promises such,

and thus the road forever goes on,

and the scenery never changes,

except for billboards with hallow images,

and scribbled on signs every five miles

is a hollow promise that states,

that at the end of the road,

it will all be worth it.

But yet nobody ever questions,

why this road should be followed,

and for all anybody knows,

and the end of this road,

might be nothing but a broken bridge,

with smashed cars far beneath it.

Another Round of Two-Sentence stories

I decided to start making themes for these stories, so today’s theme is ghosts:

  1. graveI used to believe in spirits when I was a child but as I grew up, I started to realize that they were childhood fantasies. Tonight, at sixty years old, I had a reality check when my wife crawled out of her tombstone.

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beach2. We danced by the shores of the sea on warm summer nights, full of love and freedom.  I threw her body from the pier and watched as the sharks cover my crime, I fell to my knees, sobbing, because I knew that tomorrow she would be at the shore again

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3. I look at the moon and count to ten as I hear them getting closer and closer. when the noises stop, I open my eyes, just to see an army of the undead, slowly circling me.

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clock4. The clicking of the clock forever reminds me that time could never stand still. My clock had stopped running twenty years ago and because of that, I don’t know how long I have been dead for.

A Poem of Deceit

 

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A Poem of Deceit :

In the delusions of the unknown,

an illness was hidden behind old myths,

that many blindly believe without question,

leaving to a confused woman, lost in her guilt,

to be tied down and starved until her quick death,

from an exorcism that was wrongly produced,

by priests that were only trying to help,

ruining both their jobs and the girl’s death,

and lead many  to question,

rather the girl was delusional,

or if really possessed.

 

(This is a short poem I did after reading about the Anneliese Michel case. she was murdered by the priest during the exorcism by forced starvation and dehydration. There is an audio clip video that has her speaking in tongues and made many believe this is real. However, her strong religious views crossed with her interest in boys and many believe it was a mental disorder brought on by her guilt of having natural urges. She was in Catholic school in Germany and so it makes sense that she would know pig Latin and other old languages. So rather she was really possessed or had a mental disorder, she sadly died in her early twenties.)

Two Sentence horror stories 7/30/2016

 

2016-07-30 13.16.20_resized (1)1.Opening a bag of chips and sitting down to watch my favorite horror movie sounded really nice after a long day at work. What I didn’t know as I dipped my hand into the bag was that it was full with hundreds squirmy midgets.

IMG_20150418_1242512. For the last three days my cat has been looking at the ceiling above my bed, growling, I make a point to never look up. Tonight laying in bed, my cat starts doing the same thing and I found the courage to look up only to see two bloodshot eyes staring down at me.

 

2016-07-30 13.36.14_resized3. I visited a cemetery today to pay my respects for the dead. The dead only saw me as they next meal.
4. On a camping trip, I fell and sliced my leg  (my pic)open on a rock. Two months later, I was putting lotion on my legs when  I noticed that there was something wiggling under my skin.

Morning Thoughts.

This is a poem about my friend who keeps talking about wanting to kill herself and my fears that one day she will get her wish and leave behind not only me, her friend, but her family, her boyfriend, and others who love her.  Its pretty dark but I hope you enjoy:

Morning Thoughts.

How crazy that yesterday felt like a dream,

with laughter and movies and cardgames,

creepypastas videos and scary dreams,

filled with coca-cola and greasy food.

We were happy yesterday, you and I,

and we talked about our dreams for the future,

of grander and importance,

of richness and frame that all craves,

we were going to show the world wrong.

 Today spills the end of the future,

as you drove the knife into your arm,

trying to destroy a life too delicate to keep,

not caring about those who care.

We were best friend that been through a lot,

you were kicked to the streets without a care,

I was a loner who enjoyed her time alone,

but always wished I had more friends to talk to.

Still dreams about a better future motivated,

we had each other to lean on for emotional support,

I just never knew you would let a man destroy you,

by allowing yourself to blindly fall into a unhealthy love,

and thus driving you closer to a destructive state.

The third attempt  was the last straw,

I watch you fall closer to death everyday,

the scar on your wrist is a painful reminder,

one that I have to prepare for,

someday you will succeed.

And on this sunny morning,

laying on my bed and staring at the ceiling,

I kind of wish I never met you,

just so when you do succeed,

it won’t hurt me.

I learn to stop begging you,

I learned to stop asking,

I learned to enjoy the time we have left,

but still I feel like begging one more time,

just please stay alive for me.

 

Two-sentence stories

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  1. Driving in the woods in the silence of the night always made me feel nervous. Maybe it was because of the pitch darkness or maybe it was because every night I would see a figure just barely in sight, waving at me.
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  2. I never had to worry about the monsters under my bed because I have a custom made wooden bedframe that went all the way to the floor. However, yesterday night, I was woken up by a fearful scream as something punched and scratched at on the bottom my mattress.
  3. IMG_20150303_085309Every night my parents told me that ghosts are not real. I don’t have the heart to tell them that they had been dead for a decade.

 

 

 

 

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4.  Every night I hear shuffling outside my door. I try to ignore it the best I can but then the doorknob turns as if something is testing to see if I remembered to lock the door.

God in His Kingdom (A exploratory story)

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God in His kingdom, a right of ownership, foundation cracked, pipes uplifted, the foolish dreams of power that existed only in the realm of insanity, still him, forever him. Greedy little hands and wandering eyes disrupt what once was pure now twisted and deformed. Happiness was delusional, sadness a dream, numbness was reality. The kingdom was nothing less than he wanted but more than he could handle. His kingdom crumbling in his control was his to lose.
God in His kingdom, the vastness of the light that gave way to million little sparkles in the sky, the same sparkles that had been around since before the earth was formed. Everything perished, everything rotted, everything died, including stars. How many corpses were floating in the night sky, the most shiny and beautiful of space? He looked up at them now just like Alexander the Great did, just like Pocahontas, just like the great kings. Science killed the creativity over what the stars were or why they were there but their beauty still stood.
God in His kingdom, a constant bloodbath that never creased, wars fought, bodies rot, deaths that could never be brought back. It’s taught from an early age what was acceptable and what wasn’t. Death was valued, morals were inconstant, histories rewritten, and it’s been this way from the start. From the words of man, control was the key, written books could carve what the ideal persona was. Cut this passage out, change this one, throw these away, lock these in chains, erase those, it’s not hard to see why some got lost.
God in His kingdom, a mental delusion or a safe haven, of whispering confessions confused and demented. Of last rites that seemed more pure than any other prayer but just as hollow. Blinded by the safety of claim, and the blanket of pride for misleading of lies. Stand confused, stand strong, in the end neither mattered.
God in His kingdom, a burial of ones sanity, the disruption of ground, of crosses laid out where nobody would see. The sea was red, the angels were wingless, the chapel, a center of a sinkhole, the apple, rotten before the bite, the book once valued lay broken on the ground.
God in His kingdom, a personal demon, of last trials and broken desires. The war was fought, it never stood a chance, winning was impossible when nothing ever changes. Of regret and prayer that neither was answered, of turning your back for some scientific help. Of begging and pleading, of urges and hate, of promises that were broken, for fears due to some neurons that were cross-fired in all the wrong ways. Of the definition of evil and the definition of good and the twists and turns that combine both.
God in His kingdom, a last beg, Stigmata crossed his wrist, still not cleansing the soul. Cross back and forth between two words of science and religion that neither helped nor healed, the prayers lost in time and space. He stood in the clearing, looking up at the stars, his last attempt to get help.
God in His kingdom, a mere human being, forever trapped in his desires, looked at his knife in his hand before looking at the tent that stood out in meadow with no trees. God turned his back on him, the act of a over stressed supernatural being that had too many to help and powerless to save any. Science just throw a disorder at him, as if the diagnosis would clear him all of the wrongdoings he had yet to play out.
God in His kingdom, a broken whisper, the tent was lit with the outline of flashlights and people changing within. He watched and twisted his knife around. An owl hooted in the distance, a coyote killed a rabbit, the moon shined down like a hungry beast ready to feast. The light turned off, the tent now black; he looked at his knife once more. Animals hunt in the safety of night, deaths were natural, survival was a treat. Time was being wasted; he had to act soon, if only not for the morals he had been brought up to believe.
God in His kingdom, a mind made up, of the urges that he couldn’t resist. God drowned most of the world during the great flood, God sacrificed virgins for the safety of his angels, Eve destroyed what peace humans should have had. So what right did he have to judge? Society broke down, violence everywhere, overpopulation lead to game. As he slowly made his way to the tent he begged one more time as if somehow God would hear him this time…
“God I beg you heal me of my desire to kill. God please, I don’t want to be this way, I want to be a good person. Please god, help me. Please.”