Beauty

Her smell was sweet. Her lips were soft and cold and blue. I kissed them hundreds of times before the decay began and a thousand more times afterwards. Her body laid in bed next to mine so that I could hold her at night. She was some girl who needed a ride to a town a few miles away: a hitchhiker.
She was beautiful alive as she is now, despite the mold growing on her skin. She was wearing some type of perfume, I asked what it was and she said that it was frankincense. I loved her at once. Frankincense is the perfume of the dead.

Ashes & Dead Roses

Thoughts of her filled Daniel’s mind as he walked along the asphalt road. He had never met her, yet she filled his mind, haunted his dreams, stalked his nightmares. He knew her–knew almost everything about her. Even as he walked now, he could smell her–feel her touch–almost as clearly as it had been in his dreams.

The Backroom

bought my apartment from a dead woman. I don�t tell everyone that but I think it�s okay to say that now, you know, after the fact. Besides, I didn�t exactly but it, I rented it and the woman who lived in it before me�it�s true�is dead. Yes, she did die in this apartment, but that doesn�t bother me. I don�t believe in ghosts. Well, maybe that�s not true. I don�t believe in those happy, protective ghosts. Not anymore at least.

The Eve of Our Misfortune

Women, the corrupter of men. It is she who always plants the seed of rebellion deep within the mind of the man she sets her sights upon. They tempt, they lies of love, they spoil. Women ruin the men and torment him with his sins–the very sins she birthed! In the beginning, one woman destroyed all that was the first man. Her daughters haunt his sons. They are the Harpies that spoil the food, the Beansihde that both mourns and calls death, Circe who made men into swine, Helen who’s face launched a thousand ships and many more men to their deaths, the Leanan Sidhe who loves men briefly then leaves them to madness.

Agrypnia

I can’t sleep. When I can’t sleep nothing seems to be on TV. I smoke plenty of cigarettes, too. My body is tired. I can feel it but it seems as if the night is keeping me awake, speaking to me in harsh whispers that only my brain can hear. My heart quickens in its pace and, now, I know that I MUST sleep…but sleep never comes.

Shallow Breaths are best when Downtown

Downtown is Hell. You think that I might be referring to the traffic or the amount of rude people, but I’m not. I am talking about people in a way, but not the sort that you care to run into everyday. The streets are filled with vagrants of all kinds; the insane homeless, crack addicts, and the wrongly released mental patients. A lovely assortment, isn’t it? Strangely, somehow, the people are not the whole story of why I call downtown Hell. The air is bad down there. Not only does it stink, but it’s stale. No, maybe not stale…there is no air. It’s creepy. I’m a grown man and going downtown to catch a bus makes me feel like I’m getting ready to go skydiving…or like someone just dropped a bucketful of ice down my pants. It’s that bad.

Little Girl

(Author’s Note: Extreme caution is advised while reading this story. The subject matter is one of the most horrific that I’ve allowed myself to think of. Please, do read on before getting angered.)

Abulia

The television screen was a bright blue. Static soon turned it into an abstract mixture of white and black as the tape began to play. On screen, a man’s face appeared. He was small, thinly framed, his face a sickly, pasty white color, hair dark and falling haggardly down to his shoulders. His eyes were sad and blue. Looking closely, one could tell that they had once been a brilliant color, but now had faded with the misery that now scarred him.
A voice began to question the man: “State your name.”
The man lit a cigarette, shakily, inhaled and slowly exhaled before answering: “Nicholas Allen Marion.”
“Your age?”
“Thirty-two.”
“Tell us how you met Justin Morgan.”

Little Gabriella

(This is actually a story that I wrote to my son.)

Little Gabriella never listened to her mother. It was only her and her mother since her father left for the war. The two of them lived in a lonely little cabin together in the middle of the woods.

Gabriella�s mother loved her little girl very much but with all of her love, even she grew weary of her daughter�s antics.

Grand Opening!

Yes, today marks the beginning of a new chapter for me. FuneralDancer.com is now open and as dark as it wants to be!

What else is happening?: New Print available of “Crucible” over at DeviantArt.