Posts Tagged ‘horror’

Flash Fiction – “The Little Death”

May 21, 2014 5 comments

“Sleep, those little slices of death – how I loathe them.” – Edgar Allen Poe

Time seemed to stand still. No one can see your desperation in the dark, when sleep never comes. Being locked in here, not in this building, or in this room, but in this mind… it’s a wonder I’m still alive. The snoring beside me breaks the silence, as does giggling from the hallway and the faint sounds of the oldies station on the radio. You would think this late they’d have turned that crap off, listening to Elvis again is enough to make a person want to slit their wrists. Ok, well, again.

I must have counted the ceiling tiles a hundred times. The number doesn’t matter, I’m sure I’ll forget and start all over again. Rolling over I glance out the room’s only window lit by a single glaring orange street light. They can’t see me, the passing cars, the wandering drug dealer or the random prostitute. Oh no. Couldn’t afford the nice place across uptown, I had to end up here.

It’s been six days since I’ve slept. Even longer since I last dreamed. Dreams don’t have a place here, behind these walls. They won’t let me go home until I sleep, but that’s a chance I’m willing to take. I can’t relive what happens in the darkness behind my eyelids. Nobody needs to see the things that I see. The night brings the unspeakable, the undefinable, the unknowable, clawing at the inside of my skull, screaming to get out. Digging at my skin to find some kind of release, to tear away what traps this evil inside me, all I found was blood and tears. That’s how I ended up here.

They won’t let me go home until I sleep, but nothing they try will overcome my will to survive. What waits in the night can’t get me, as long as I don’t close my eyes. They don’t understand, and how could they, ignorance being bliss and all? If they could see the things I see, they would break out their scalpels and slice their lives away as well.

I’m not afraid of dying, it would be a welcome release from what lurks beyond mere human perception. True terror isn’t death. What you can’t see is far more terrifying than anything that you can. I can hear them, scratching and scrambling behind my eyes, and I know that one day they’ll find an exit, a way to crawl out from behind flesh and bone. Death of the body is nothing. Consumption of the soul, of everything that makes us human – now that is true horror.

The first rays of dawn cut a dagger across the far wall, and I’ve survived another night. They’ll bring me another chemical cocktail in the hopes of bringing the little death, but it won’t work. I have to be stronger than the pills. Stronger than the voices. My strength will keep me from that oblivion that waits for me when the lights go out.

It’s been seven days since I’ve slept. Even longer since I last dreamed. Dreams don’t have a place here, behind these walls. All that exists for me here is my own extinction, when the night comes that sleep takes me, and drags my soul to hell.

I’ll sleep when I’m dead.

(555 words)


Found Poem: Menace

May 29, 2013 Leave a comment

The universal war
truth in its instincts
under biological fallacies.

The foundation of radicalism
childishly naive military vigilance
reaping our regret.

Blood in the cold eyes of
the animal called man.
The dominant beast
ever ready
with the brute element.
Instincts of old struggled
and deceived.

Change is only restraint.
Denied anything desired
cast aside and plunging viciously
fantastically savage.

Dangerous beyond description
man’s native instincts
must take into account
primordial disillusioned humanity —
natural human tendency —
the menace of the entire world.

(Ref: “At The Root” by H.P. Lovecraft)

Found Poetry: Strange Figures

May 28, 2013 Leave a comment

Slumber o’er my lives
I struggle ere to madness —
horror without ending.

Sinister daemons primordial
feel the presence
and flee, not to gaze on
strange figures I cannot endure.

Wonder haunted the ages,
untainted by the sin of my spirit,
the infinite wings of unmerciful gloom
the gateways of abysses
without being driven to fright.

(Ref: “Nemesis” by H.P. Lovecraft)

Found Poetry: Sight

May 28, 2013 Leave a comment

A vision In the night;
brain-numbing, white-sheeted,
stalks onward.


It shone in my eye,
bright with strange miracles.

Once on a time
in rapture,
grave men dismantled
that mortal I saw,
and strove
to infinity
upon my soul.

(Ref. “The City” by H.P. Lovecraft)

Visual Poetry: Hell

May 24, 2013 Leave a comment

Found Poetry: Tormentor

May 17, 2013 Leave a comment

Mad indeed, my senses dream.
Today my soul, plainly tortured,
my phantasm excitable with causes and effects.

So conspicuous this peculiar pleasure
entirely black at heart
not superstition as witches remembered.

Alone through the streets
day by day
others suffered my personal violence.

One night haunts my presence:
In fright at the fury of a Daemon possessed
no longer my soul
a more fiendish, damnable atrocity.

I experienced horror (at best)
plunged into a frightful appearance.
This spirit – my soul – lives!
this spirit of perverseness
my final unfathomable nature.

Most terrible the destruction
between the disaster and the atrocity.
Strange and graven was my terror, extreme.
My cruelty the substance of my conscience.

More than infamy,
the very creature itself
rose in the bitterness of hatred —
MY hatred – my simplest and purest pleasures.

Let me confess of physical evil;
I should be almost ashamed
that the terror and horror inspired me.

The strange beast struggled –
loathed and dreaded –
a ghastly thing of agony and death.

High God of insufferable wo,
knew I the blessing of unutterable fear,
the hot breath upon my heart!

The pressure of torments
became the darkest thoughts;
my wrath, the childish dread
more than daemoniacal.
I was not deceived
for I had put it to its fate.

Still my tormentor came.

The monster of my dark deed
looked upon my future.
My heart beat in rabid desire with God
and the throats of the damned
who exult in terror and awe.

(ref: The Black Cat by Edgar Allen Poe)

Found Poetry: In A Whisper

November 1, 2012 Leave a comment

in the dim light, he was praying (it seemed to her)
his turning that key
would kill off mankind

only able to moan,
she witnessed the women
partially clothed

ribbons of silver
kept them alive
discarded on the floor
spilled down their skin

kept awake
used up
replacing them
kept on the wall like trophies

This revelation said so in a whisper

(ref: “The Art Of Deception” by Ridley Pearson, pg 355)

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