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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
I started out writing this to figure out a character and it turned into a short story.

Submitted: September 18, 2014

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Submitted: September 18, 2014



I am laying in dew soaked grass staring up at the night sky. The light pollution eliminates any chance at stargazing, and yellow street lamps suck up shadows. My hope is that if I concentrate hard enough my body will ooze into the earth. I want to feel the sucking mud gathering me up.

I am not suicidal; I want a temporary suicide. Give me a couple of hours to not exist and I will come back giddy. No, I am not talking about sleeping, or a coma. I am talking about actual nonexistence. The freedom of absolute anonymity.

All of the villains and heroes must have died ages ago. Actually I am convinced that they never existed at all. There have only been people like me with good intentions that acted more and more selfish until they were rotted to the core. I am a hollow, termite infested tree; loose bark and hole riddled wood hold up my shell.

She is walking over to me. Of course she will demand an explanation. Why did I do what I did? I will not have an answer for her. She will scream. I dig my hands into the cold, wet grass willing it to suck me up. Without a word she lays down beside me and begins to weep.

My mouth is open, my head is turned towards her, but a sound can not escape my throat. I turn back to the open night sky. Please rain. If it rains she will leave and I will stay here shivering until my body gives in. There is not a threatening cloud in the sky. No reprieve.

She rolls on top of me and cradles my head in her hands. Her body is stiff and cold. The normal elasticity of her skin has been replaced with brittle leather. “Did you know that I love you?” she whispers. Her hands slide down my face and rest on my neck. Her grip slowly intensifies. This is it. I am ready to die.

Purple blotches distort my vision. Oddly enough I am perfectly calm. This is the way things are supposed to turn out. My arms and legs feel sedated. The blood in my ears is making a ticking sound that is steadily increasing in both speed and volume. She smiles at me, a horribly distorted grimace. Something violent has happened to her teeth. The left side is intact but the right is viciously cracked and bleeding.

Whatever is happening to her face is spreading. A hazel brown eye plops causally from its socket. A jagged portion of her skull implodes. With a shudder, and a gasp her face caves in. The blood comes in a sudden wave. It is a splash of thick, half congealed jello. The vivid white of her exposed skull is consumed by a series of black clots and pink matter.

She is laughing; deep tenor body shaking laughs. For a second it is as if I am tickling her, this could be teenage foreplay. I am frozen still. “What did you do? What did you do RYAN?” she screams. “RYAN, RYAN WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?” The hands holding onto my throat break down, gushing blood into my shocked expression. She holds up the remnants of her arms and begins to scream.

The scream drills into my temple. It bores into my skull. I hear a loud clap and suddenly I am deaf. Pain rocks through my body. I can feel the scream vibrating my bones into pieces. Grey matter worms its way out of my ears. 


Colors swirl around the inside of my closed eyes. Dull, prickling waves course through me, my muscles are rolling. The sensation is overwhelming. Finding fifth gear is a struggle, the shifter knob is melting around my hand. It grinds into place, and once again we are blending in with the flow of traffic.

The lights are intensifying. I hardly notice because we are both flirting and laughing. Did the LSD kick in early? Maybe I should pull over. The windshield melts into a thousand droplets, each containing a minute prism of light. An explosion of color rocks my eardrums. The world slows down to a walker's pace. We have stopped moving.

A cruel moment of sobriety hits me. We have stricken the edge of a broken piece of guard rail. In the last moment before the accident she pulled her arms up. A misshapen chunk of metal the size of a bicycle has chopped her hands off and lodged into her face and neck.

Blood pours rapidly from the severe wounds. She tries to scream, but only a low gurgling escapes her throat. It almost sounds as if she is laughing.

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