I watch in dismay as Syd slams his fourth empty pint glass on the pub table and wipes his mouth on his sleeve, before throwing his arms in the air. Bastard has won again. Why it surprises me I don’t know, he wins every bloody week. So far I – the Loser – have had to foot the booze bill for a night, I’ve had to buy pizzas on the way home, and walk to the shops for smokes in the pissing down rain.
Up until tonight, all of our weekly forfeits have been light on awkwardness and heavy on the wallet, mostly because I, the reasonable one, have chosen the tasks. But this week Syd asked if he could choose and, naively, I said yes.
Banging his hand on the table and laughing at me as I sink the last dregs of my pint, Syd starts to chant.
“King for a day, king for a day! Sun up to sun down, I’ll be king for a day!”
Fuck. May God strike me down on the way home to save me from tomorrow. Continue reading “K is for… King for a Day”
With a rock for a pillow, Jacob took up rest on the ground, studying the night sky above him. Oh, the stars! How brightly they shone. How magnificent heaven must be for it to illuminate even its borders with such beauty. Jacob didn’t think he would ever tire of gazing up there, searching for the shining streak that revealed the journeying of an angel, even though he knew it would not happen. He had seen it once, long ago, so he was certain that it wasn’t for a man to see such wonder twice in one lifetime.
Though he wanted to remain awake, to hold on to possibility, Jacob’s eyelids bested him. As the world around him grew darker, he became warmer. Then warmer still, as though he were sitting by a fire at the peak of its intensity. The heat thickened the damp night air, making every breath he took feel like breathing underwater.
For a terrifying moment, Jacob thought he would drown. He was blinded, unable to move, prone and vulnerable on the ground with nothing but his cloak to shield him from these unnatural elements. Panic was seizing control of his heart but then something changed. Continue reading “J is for… Jacob’s Ladder”
This story is another continuation of my Demonised story. While the original part two, Waking the Fallen (which is also a song title, funnily enough) follows events down into Hell, this piece stays in the belly of the mountain with the Archangel Michael.
Even if my existence was as fleeting as a man’s, I would gladly spend every moment of it just like this. In a cave, deep in the heart of a mountain. Leaning against a wall of rock, an ethereal glow radiating from my very being. Watching a roiling mass of darkness fight and flail as light spreads from my feet to engulf it where it lies, helpless on the floor in front of me.
Oh, he is furious! I don’t think I’ve seen such rage since the First Fall.
Though it did not understand why, the cosmos had trembled the day the Creator fell into a silent contemplation regarding the fate of its most precious – most treacherous – creation. Some felt it like the coming of a storm, others like the death of a star. When the decision was finally made, all of Heaven had become still. It had remained that way until the Morningstar struck the Earth, and then one by one, his sympathisers were cast out. Continue reading “F is for… Fallen Angels”
This story is the second part to Demonised, a devilish tale of angels and demons. Check it out if you haven’t already.
Cocking my head to the right in a tick-like jerk, I consider the chair in front of me. Constructed from bone – femurs for legs, a rib cage back, a seat of jagged skulls – stained by time and blood, and lashed together with intestines in some places, sinews in others.
Looking a little closer, I see that the knucklebone armrests bear the fingernail scrapes of utter boredom, and that the pelvis which cradles my head is scorched black by the heat of my untamed thoughts.
Yes, my throne is now as it has ever been. The only thing different about it is that I’m no longer sitting in it. For the first time in centuries, I’m standing on my own two feet. Scuffing them against the floor, agitating the diaphanous carpet of forsaken souls until their moans rise to a crescendo then settle into a haunting hum. Continue reading “Waking the Fallen”
This story started out as a Wicked Wednesday post. The prompt was hand-holding, which happens to fit nicely with one of my favourite ways to give the Fella a handjob. But I didn’t get it finished before the deadline so decided to change my personal piece into a bit of erotica. I combined what I had with an idea I had for Kink of the Week, et voila.
A few weeks ago, my best friend Jace and I made a deal. See, we each have something we want but can no longer get it from the people who used to give it to us. So instead we’ve decided to swap favours. Do one another a solid. He’s going to scratch my back and I’m… you get the picture.
That’s why we’re wedged into the back seat of his little banger, Jace with unbuttoned jeans and me with my tits out. It’s not all that late in the day, but the country lane we’re parked on is lined with trees that overhang the road so it’s pretty dark inside the car. I can’t see his face to properly gauge how he’s feeling. And that means he can’t see mine either, so unless one of us breaks the ice we’ll be sat here hanging out probably indefinitely. Continue reading “Backseat Deal”
Okay, sugar, park your ass on the sofa. Yeah, right there on the throw. The pink of your skirt looks good against that baby blue, right? And damn, I love the way those white knee socks pop against the black leather down there. That blonde hair of yours is gonna pop against the black, too. Lean back a little, lemme see. Fluff your pigtails a bit. Yeah, just as I thought. Pop!
Now sit forward, right on the edge of the seat, and part your legs. Wider. A bit more. Good, good! Now keep your feet where they are – fuck, those Mary Jane’s are hot – and pull your knees together. Nice!
Elbows on your knees. Shoulders back, hands on your chin. Ohh, cute. Now that’s cute. Isn’t she cute, Tommy? She’s got some striking eyes on her, amarite? Damn, I could look into those peepers all day long. You make my heart throb, do you know that? Come on, flutter your lashes for me. Lick your lips. Gimme your best pout. Fuck, you’re making something else throb now, too. Continue reading “Pretty in Pink”
Image used with permission of Cara Thereon
**This story is a continuation of my vampire series, part one of which you can find here. Bloodbath is a wordy piece and a violently bloody, cruelly stabby one, too, so be sure you wanna read it before diving in…**
“Tell me why we’re here again?”
Eamon’s weary eyes meet mine in the light of the tiny flame that appears a few feet from my face. One deep breath fills my lungs with damp air, the next leaves a tang of sulphur dioxide in the back of my throat. I watch a small orange ball crackle, flare, then settle into a warm glow as smoke coils in front of my old friend’s wizened face.
He doesn’t press for an answer to his question because he doesn’t need one. I made the necessity of venturing into this part of the city distinctly clear on the way here. No, what he wants from me is reassurance. He wants to know that when, if, we walk out of this hellmouth of a place we’ll be in the same condition we’re in now, however doubtful that condition may be. As much as I’d like to offer that reassurance, I can’t, Fuck knows what state we’ll be in after our audience with Aziz. Continue reading “Bloodbath”
I have a secret. I’ve kept it ever since I was eighteen, and I’m forty-eight now. Not even once have I considered sharing it. Nobody would believe me if I did. Hell, sometimes I don’t even believe it, I’ve managed to convince myself that it’s all in my head many a time. But then I’m faced with it again and I can’t deny that it’s real. Implausible, fantastical, but absolutely real.
You’re probably wondering what my secret is, and do you know what? I think that now…yes, I am ready to divulge it now… Continue reading “Narcissistic Fairy Tale”
This story is the continuation of a previously posted piece. Before you read this instalment, check out A Pain in the Neck if you haven’t already. CW: both stories contain much blood, murder, and other gloriously gory things.
Is there any point in being quiet? As I kick in the door of another addict shack, I tell myself no. Those who should be running know I’m coming. They’d have caught my scent the second I entered the city. And yet, every single one of the five dealers in the place has remained. I smell them. I hear the way their thick, dead blood crawls sluggishly through their veins.
Are they arrogant or stupid? That’s the question I’m asking myself as I step over the husk of what had once been a trendy young man. Judging by the designer logo on his shirt, the lips still plump from fillers, and the expensive shoes on his feet, he’d come from money. Will he be missed? Might his death be the death that finally begins the conversation every fucking person in power is afraid to have? Continue reading “Bleed All Over Me”
Oh. My. God!
I can’t believe I’m actually standing in a lift with… no, it can’t be. I must be mistaken. Kidding myself. Dreaming even. I mean, what would he be doing here? Heading for the second floor of a bloody Travel Lodge? This guy must be a lookalike, an imposter, he can’t really be…
But he looks so much like him! The all-black ensemble is so on point it’s almost scary. Old band t-shirt stretched over hard muscle. Tight jeans, heavy with silver chains and trimmed by a tarnished belt buckle, the rubies in the skull’s eyes glowing when they catch the light. Leather boots, chunky, unlaced and showing flashes of uncharacteristically colourful socks.
And the famous bandana and shades combo! Continue reading “His Spitting Image”