I Am Worried About the Future of Blogger

While researching different platforms to start my blog on, in the early years of my writing, I found Blogger. Now, two years later, as I decide whether or not to revive the blog on a new platform, I do some more research for a FREE platform. Every single one, of course, always says something along the lines of "Be wary, Google could shut it down any chance they get."

Naturally, this puts me in a worried state. Which is why I hadn't posted on this blog for some time. I didn't want to put work into something that would simply vanish without a moment's notice, but, guess what? I've stopped caring. I've archived the stories I have on here (not going to bother with most of the regular blog posts as they are usually pointless) so I'm not worried about those, and I will continue archiving any further stories just in case this very same thing happens. I just hope Google doesn't decide to betray me, because that would mean I would have to find a site that would work well with my website and that, in of itself, is a trick.

I guess we'll just have to see what the future holds then.

That's all, everyone.

Time to Revive My Blog

Yep, we'll see how long this lasts.

I plan to update this blog at least twice a week from now on, in hopes of drawing in more audiences and so on. This blog will no longer be strictly flash-fiction. Instead, it will be what a blog is suppose to be... informational, creative, and fun. I realize that I am going onto my second year with this and I had put some really high expectations into my writing (not just my blog). I was young, I was dumb and, well, those two don't combine for a good professional combination.

Sure, I'll probably crash and burn but that's alright, I can now document it and see where I went so horribly wrong.

So, with the future of this blog, you can expect

• Top 10's
• How-To's
• Flash Fiction
• Sneak Peeks
• General updates
• Recommendations
• Or anything else I can come up with.

Also, regarding the future of my writing:

• I will update my website in the near future
• I am going to start releasing short-stories independantly
• I am going to be taking my time
• I am going to start networking and branching out for collaborations and so forth

All this among other things that I am sure I am forgetting to post. 2017 was perhaps the worst year of my life, and I was very close to calling it quits on everything. But I feel 2018 will be a more beneficial year for me and my work. With this blog, I also hope to improve my ability as a writer as well. I also have become more active on my YouTube channel and I will be updating more regularly on there. There will be reviews, vlogs, recommendations and so on. 

I'm starting 2018 off strong, I can only hope that it will continue through the whole year.

Thanks for sticking around.

Stay rotten, everybody.

A Warm Place

A lifetime of fucking so many things up,
A lifetime living in this filthy fucking flesh.
A new story will be told, and every problem has a solution,
This is mine-

Click

You wouldn't believe how simple it really was,
I just put the gun in my mouth
Tasted the metallic residue on the tip of the barrel,
Closed my eyes, bit my teeth, pulled the trigger-

Bang.


All my insecurities came spilling out
In the darkest shade
A crimson, clumpy puddle
Of all that I ever was.

Mmm finally,
A warm  place.
Somewhere far away
From all of you.

An Analysis of Cult Films: Begotten

An Artistic and Unsettling Cult Film

In 1991, director Elias Merhige released his movie Begotten, a new view point on the book of Genesis (yes, the bible). This film serves as a unique reminder that not all movies need to be cut from the same cloth, in fact, this one spun its own and forged itself from the frayed knots.

A daring motion picture, birthed by an inspired artist might chew up tradition and flunk expectations. 

A bizarre, incredibly gory piece about life and death. Begotten expresses itself entirely in grainy black-and-white and told without dialogue.

A Truly Possessed Film?

As the film begins, a God-like being kills itself, giving birth to "Mother-Earth" from his entrails, who, shortly after, brings the corpse to arousal and manages to absorb its seed. After a strange, and brief period of time, "Mother-Earth" gives birth to a human-seeming son named the "Son of Earth", who, including his mother, is then dragged away and abused in every possible way by strange natives from a nearby community. The “Son of Earth” creates life and food for them in a kind of enforced fertility, and the villagers then proceed to kill Mother Earth (after raping her for some time) and her son. Life springs anew from their grave, and the cycle of life and death repeats itself.

At a cost of $33,000.00, Begotten never explains its narrative, and fails even to comment on its setting. It is the medium of film reduced to building blocks: virtually silent, with images of light and darkness that we must interpret for ourselves. An opening card gives us a sole clue: “Language bearers, Photographers, and Diary makers you with your memory are dead, frozen lost in a present that never stops passing. Here lives the incantation of matter. A language forever.”

The imagery is grainy, dirty, obscuring, and the result is that the movie, as it commences, instills a deep sense of dread and discomfort. Because we have never seen anything like this before, anything seems possible. And in those possibilities, that unpredictability, horror blooms like a rotting orchid (or Son of Earth, if that fits well?).

What one does successfully register within, throughout the duration of Begotten,seems wholly concerned with suffering and brutality. The film thus resembles a nightmare of Earth herself.

The director, Merhige, even spoke about the film in an interview as a sort of "shamanistic" ritual during its filming.

So, could the film itself be possessed as the director so strongly infers?

The Central Debate About Begotten Remains This: is Merhige's 1991 Film a Poetic Work of Art, or a Work of an Enormous Ego?

The answer is complicated. The film is unarguably fascinating in presentation, and I’m surprised, as well as relieved, more aspiring filmmakers have not adopted this dynamic visual approach, utilizing black-and-white, frame-by-frame re-photography (a lengthy process which took ten hours for each minute of running time).

Yet beyond the one-of-a-kind appearance of Begotten -- there is one problem that is rather massive for some. Scenes go on and on, lingering past the initial point of the film and grows rather repetitive quickly, and the overall effects of the camera angles tends to generate a strong sense of distance. What interests us and frightens us at first, seems to push us away by the film's midpoint. The film hammers us with so much information, so hard, we take cover inside of ourselves multiple times during the film.

If Merhige's brain baby wanted to challenge film conventions (as a medium of expression) and exploit audience comforts such as dialogue, clarity, sound, plus a regular narrative and characterization, then there is no reason for his movie to last as long as it did. Begotten could be the same film at a half-hour length. Merhige removes so many comforts of traditional narratives in Begotten, yet keeps one convention... a full feature length film. I don’t know if this flaw is a choice I just haven't understood yet, or just a misinformed director trying too hard to make something so incredibly different from the status quo.

However, considering this film is experimental, I can look past the running times and take this film for what it is. A work of art. So, as a moving work of art, an experience, Begotten is certainly revolutionary, unsettling, and interesting in its entirety. As a film, its running time and sense of confusion it left us with, fell a little flat; but the chills and discomfort was in fact very strong and left an impression on us for sure.

Sheer, Vivid, Morbid, Beauty Presented in Black and White

Begotten appears as though it has been remastered from the dawn of time itself, or at least the 1920's (Again, released in 1991). Of course, cinematography is an art form established long after the fruition of man, but if cinematography was around during the dawn of time, Begotten is exactly what we would see. The images are powerful, painful and poetic, yet simple in the most beautiful way. 

Lacking narrative and visual certainties, Begotten leaves much to the imagination and pounds the questions from the unknown of our origins into its viewers minds.

Begotten seems very painful. Watching this vision of suffering, our minds jump to the idea of man painfully re-shaping Earth to suit our needs; to bring life and greed from unforgiving torment of our planet. 

After some interval of suffering, water falls upon on the tortured ground in the form of rain (and we hear water bubbling on the soundtrack, which otherwise mostly consists of crickets and inhuman moaning).

Conclusion

Begotten is a one-of-a-kind cinematic experience, even if it outstays its welcome more often than not. The characters, the settings, even the film quality are symbols, and they suffer -- God how they suffer (such is the bitter reality of life)-- yet we still wish to understand more. Within the usual agenda of film we seek comfort, familiarity and yes, innovation, and that's why this movie is so fantastic, because it breaks that mold and pushes the boundaries and uses our imagination against us while also being innovative. Hats off to you, Merhige, for making a film of such a remarkable visual approach and symbolism, even while finding the overall film a bit too long for some to really embrace. I was impressed with Begotten, and a strange part of me really enjoyed it and its disturbing imagery.

Begotten is totally original, totally intriguing. I recommend it for the visuals seeking something new in the horror scene, considering this is more of an experience than an actual movie. As a general movie goer, this certainly wouldn't be your cup of tea (my wife hated it, while I loved it. I'm a bit of a prissy movie watcher, analyzing every fine detail I can find, where she is more oriented on dialogue, obvious plot devices, and familiar conventions, which isn't a bad thing at all, not everyone needs to over analyze a movie, but instead unwind and just enjoy a good film and there is nothing wrong with that).

Wedding Ring

There once was a woman who smelled awfully bad. The kids all avoided her from blocks away, even her neighbors vacated their houses for fear of every time she stepped outside.
Margaret wasn't a bad person, she struggled a great deal in her life. Once she was pregnant by her husband, but her husband was shot dead while on the force. The stress was too much for her. Being two.months along, she had a miscarriage. When the procedure came that she needed to get her child out of her body, she asked the doctor to keep it for her and the doctor ubderstood, as odd of a request as that was. So he put the fetus into a small plastic vial and sent it and its mother home after a full recovery on her part.
Well, many years passed and Margaret passed away from a stroke. When the mortician noticed that her left ringfinger had been horribly discolored and reeked of rot, he decided to investigate. Forced to cut the ring off of the finger, he noticed that it had a bit of flesh leaking out of it. He obtained the necessary tools and broke open the ring. He discovers, inside, the rotting remains of Margaret's fetus. Smashed into the tight chambers of the ring. All these years she had found some way to keep the meat moist, but failed at keeping it fresh.

"Oh my God!" Said the coroner.

Then he spewed his lunch all over the tile floor,

SNEAK PREVIEW OF A ROUGH DRAFT STORY IN "203"

Innocent Moon ROUGH PREVIEW

I've lost track of the days since I was put here. I only know that I was taken when I was only eight years old. I am now twenty-five, I think, and have spent my life in this lonely, tiny hardwood room.

I miss my parents and my brother.

Somehow, I've managed to hold onto my sanity all these years by scribbling down my thoughts and a few notes to myself, on parchments provided to me by my kidnappers.

I'm not treated poorly here, in fact, I'm treated rather well aside from not being allowed to leave this room without anyone by me. I have only seen three people since I was put it in here and that bothers me, I had many friends as a girl and now the only face that I see is the elder's, a girl who brushes my hair, and the man that has stood outside my door for almost two decades.

Aside from that, twice a week the girl comes and gently brushes my hair and tells me how pretty it is and how soft my skin is, she showers me with compliments in fact. I'm given fresh kimonos daily, I have a very soft bed and many, many beautiful dolls, I'm fed as much as I want anytime of the day.

I'm examining one of the dolls now, my newest one, she looked a lot like me in fact. She had lock black hair, a white kimono with a red sash and she had very majestic make-up painted on her little, gently smiling face. I usually pretend the dolls are my daughters, but not this time, this time all I was doing was looking at her growing more and more angry by the second-- I was suppose to have a husband by now and a family, but my isolation has kept me from that! I just want to go home! I don't care about any of this! I want my life and my family back!

I threw the doll across the room from my bed, as hard as I could and I watched her face explode against the wall, leaving a small crack on the surface.

My face fell to my knees and I sobbed. Why me of all people? I was a good girl and a great daughter!

Moments after, the door unlocked and was pulled open; Elder Misurugi stepped in, looked at the doll and frowned as he looked at me. He approached me and knelt beside me on the bed and said,

“What's the matter, Tachiba? Are you growing bored with your dolls? Getting too old perhaps?”

The Elder's heavily wrinkled face held a look of false concern. I looked him in his deathly gray eye and said,

“No, I've grown upset by this room. I want out now! I want to go home!”

The Elder's frown reversed and he laughed as he spoke,

“Don't worry, Tachiba,” he said, “Your wish will be granted later this day,”

They were finally going to let me go free? That easily? After nearly twenty years they might just let me go free? I can see my family again! I will make up for the years I've lost to this wooden box and these glass faces.

“Why later?” I asked, “Why not now?”

“It is not yet time,” the Elder replied.

“When sunset comes, the followers and I will come to collect you and lead you to the shrine--”

“The shrine?” I interrupted, my heart leaping up into my throat, “Why?”

“Your calling, child. You will be elevated and deliver this world into glory,”

Were they going to sacrifice me? Fear gripped my tongue and I could not speak.

“Rest now, Tachiba,” the Elder leaned close to me and place his aged, yet powerful, hand on the top of my head and raised his lips just before my forehead, “You will need all of your strength for tonight,”

Then I felt his lips press against my forehead. They were slimy, warm, and-- rough. After about twenty seconds, the Elder backed away from me, looked me in my eyes and smiled.

Misurugi stood up, turned around and left from the room and the door closed and locked behind him.

The air that rushed in hinted to me that it was early morning.

I will not let them take me! I search the floor for the fragments of the doll's face but found nothing, while the elder spoke with me, the guards came in and swept up the fragments.

Damn them! Damn Misurugi and his 'Followers'!

The door swung open again and two younger men walked in, grinning at me.

“It's an honor to meet you, lady Tachiba,” the younger of the two said.

The younger one was handsome, and built. A tan hakama hung off of his powerful frame. Upon looking him in his eyes, I felt my cheeks grow slightly warm. He was not much older than me either. No, think straight, they are planning to sacrifice me. This is all part of their plan, I imagine, attempting to keep me distracted until it was time.

“My name is Hamada and I am Elder Misurugi's grandson,” the handsome one said, bowing,

“It is my honor as well, Tachiba. I am Hori. I was the guard that sat outside your door since you came to us all those years ago,” the shorter, older, balding one added, also bowing.

I said nothing.

The two lifted their heads and the three of us sat in silence until Hori broke with,

“We've been asked to come and collect you to prepare you for the ceremony.”

And so, without another word, I started forward for the door. Hamada stepped around me, however, and held up one of his powerful hands.

“But first,” he said, “You are required to wear this,”

Hamada lifted the other hand up and within his grip, he held a blindfold.

“Why?” I asked.

“The Elder has requested it.”

I nod and Hamada stepped close to me shortly after. He smelt so clean, and young. He had been the first man I've seen in years except for Elder Misurugi.

I felt a tickling in my lower belly, little lotus began bouncing around my insides and formed a warmth that had begun to sprout between my thighs. I have never felt this before and for a moment, I had felt like a woman instead of a captive girl.

Darkness enveloped me and left me with my fantasies of the young and strong Hamada lifting me in the air with his powerful arms and bouncing me on his-- no. He was just as insane as the rest of them.

–

By the time Hamada had ordered me to stop, my cheeks were burning and the warmth that had blossomed earlier, trailed up my spine.

Hamada released my arm and removed the blindfold.

“Are you feelng well, Tachiba? You're burning up,” he said.

“I'm fine,” I said, “Just nervous,”

“Don't be!” he replied, “Just think of the paradise that awaits you beyond this place as well as the paradise you will bring to all of us!”

Misurugi's grandson stepped aside and exposed a beautiful bathhouse. Indoors, of course, but very well decorated with scrolls and well kept wood. Each picture or word I saw described or depicted some holy scene of a God named-- Giyago. I had never heard of that name before, even with all of the books the Elder allowed me to have.

It was very warm here, warmer than I've felt in a very long time. Despite being so comfortable, I couldn't help but think of the loneliness that I still feel. I miss my family and I want to go back to them soon. Feeling this reminded me of a poem I once read,

The cry of the stag

Is so loud in the empty

Mountains that an echo

Answers him as though

It were a doe.

The only difference between me and that stag was that the stag had the ability to chase after what it wanted where I was trapped by wild dogs who simply muffled my cry.

I hadn't noticed where I was standing and because I was so caught up in remembering that poem, I stumbled forward and was caught by Hamada, His body had been warmer than the bathhouse, and despite my best efforts not to fall victim to his false embrace, I had anyway.

“Careful, lady Tachiba,” Hamada said, smiling charmingly,

It took me a moment but I collected myself from his chest.

He's evil! Just like the rest of this damned cult! I had to remember that. I needed to remain focus on my main objective, escape.

“I will be right outside the door,” Hamada said, “Call out to me if you need anything.”

So he left and I was alone to think of a way out. It hadn't taken me long to realize that there was, in fact, no way out except for the front door. I foolishly decided to accept the bath, thinking it would clear my head.

The family had given me a fresh white kimono to put on after the bath, a basket of apples and an apple slicer. Nothing else. Not a crack, a crawl space, no windows-- nothing. I wasn't strong enough to break through the wood in time either.

My body was already lightly glazed with sweat and moisture and the kimono was growing damp. I undid the ribbon in the back and let the kimono fall about my feet.

My body felt free for the first time in many years, it also felt awry at the same time. Some strange insane part of me had wished that Hamada would enter and see my body.

I digress. I stepped over the kimono and hadn't hesitated dipping my foot into the warm water, sending a welcoming chill up my cheeks. I eased the rest of my body in and laid back into the water. I look about the room again only to remind myself that there was no where to go. Instead, my sight fell onto the basket of apples, all freshly picked just for me. The steam had begun forming itself on the skin of the apple, defining its crisp skin. My mouth had begun to water and I couldn't help myself, so I snatched one from the basket and sunk my teeth into it.

At that moment, I felt chained to the pool. I released a trembling breath as I sunk my neck into the water. As my body had become use to the heat, I took the biggest bite of the apple I could manage-- careful to contain the rich juices within. Instantly, as the apple chunk slid down my throat, a wave of nostalgia washed over me; visions of my father's orchard on a hot summer's day coarsed itself through my being. I had a cup of tea in my hand, I watched my father bark orders at my brothers as they all slaved and-- played in the unrelenting sun. Mother was beside me, writing her haiku's that I never had the chance to read. Times were so simple as a girl, in fact, time didn't seem to exist at all. Now, all I can think about is how quick time can leave us, like a blossom falling from a tree. Oh, how I miss them. I can't wait to see them again-- but wait, I won't-- I'm stuck here unless I can-- escape!

My head shot out of the water and I stood up, stumblng the rest of my body out of the pool. I must have fallen asleep! How much time have I lost? No time to figure that out now.

I had to cover myself and find some way out if it wasn't too late.

I ran for the white kimono, kicking over the basket of fruits. I snatch the kimono of of its line and wrap myself tightly inside of it, the cloth seemed to cling perfectly to me and define my frame exactly as it should be. My next instinct decided to call out to Hamada. A little more panicked than I should have sounded. Instantly, he barged in, asking me if I was okay.

What now? What could I use? The apple slicer! It's in the pool! Why hadn't I thought of that first?

Hori had entered with Hamada. I had to fight my way out if I planned to escape.

“What is it, Tachiba?” Hori asked,

“Could I have lunch?” I said.

“It's near dinner and it should be ready shortly!” Hamada said, “In fact, why don't we take you to the dining hall now?”

“I'm sorry, but I need a little more time to prepare,”
“I'm afraid it's too late for that. You've been in here for four hours, lady Tachiba. We have servants who will fix you up properly.”

Hori approached me with the blindfold again and I immediately dove into the pool and retrieved the apple slicer.

“Tachiba what are you doing?” Hamada said.

Hori bent down to help me, but I seized the moment to drive the knife into the side of his neck. The blood pulsed out of his neck in rhythm with his rapidly slowing heartbeat and continued to do so until he ceased to moved in a puddle of his own blood. Hamada stood frozen, unable to act as I leaped out of the pool and out the door. I found myself in a long narrow hall and I decided to take a left, then a right, then another right, when I finally heard Hamada call,

“She's running away! Grab her!”

Within a Hayfield

"Fuck, baby, I love you so much!" She screamed.
"Does my throbbing cock feel good?" I replied.

No wonder she's so popular with all the other boys at school! She's tight as fuck and she knows just what to say!

"Bend me over, Ben. I want you in my ass."
"Fuck yeah-- okay--"

Kinky as fuck being out in a hayfield too.  I've never been with a girl as freaky as her. She'll take it any way I want to give it to her!

"First-- hey, baby, look at me-- first I want to suck your fucking hard dick-- get you all wet so you can slide inside."
"Holy fuck--" is all I could manage.

As I leaned back, she spared no time wrapping her fingers around my red, swollen penis and guiding it down her throat.

"My pussy tastes so good on you--" she said.
"Doesn't it?"

A low rattling began to sound out from some farther reach.

"Oh! Oh! Fuuuuuuck!" I cried as my cock exploded in her mouth.

I brush the rattling off as just some blood draining from my ears as I climaxed. She kept sucking and sucking and sucking-- moaning as my semen began to spill out of the sides of her mouth. As she pulled me out of her mouth, the rattling grew louder and seemed to be coming from behind her. Again, I brush it off as my senses returning as the stars explode.

"Your semen is really sweet," she whispered.

I close my eyes, trying to block out the coming head ache.  I've never had an orgasm that literally blew my mind.

Next thing I know, she starts screaming and the rattling is deafening.  I watch her as she begins to be sucked into some giant, bladed, rotating device. Aliens? No! Then I see the blood begin to spew out and practically cover me in a few seconds. I fell back and felt the roller ride over my legs before they come to a stop.

I was in shock.

"A-- harvester?" I mumble
"Oh gawd! Oh gawd!" I heard the farmer say as he stepped out of the cab.

He kept repeating himself and I started to scream finally, I couldn't feel my legs anymore and pain was absent, thankfully; I'm more so afraid of the fact that I just nearly got grinded by a harvester. I'm staring at my mangled, disembodied legs, bent in a way they should never have been bent, oozing and the toes are still-- somehow-- twitching.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Stupid fucking kids!" The farmer said again.

Next thing I know, the farmer climbs back into the cab and starts the engine. Instead of backing up he started the grinder then he-- started moving forward. The last thing I felt was one of the blades coming down on my dick then onto my waste-- then up-- up-- up.

SNUFF SNES

I love gory and scary games. Why do I mention that, you ask? It'll become clear after I've finished telling you my story. Let's just say, I never expected what I got.


I was out looking around at garage sales for old video games with my friend Devin. It was pretty slim pickings for the most part, sport games and movies is all there were to pick up. However, Devin got lucky with some antiques, but that's not really important. Well, we went to the last house of the day, an old decrepit looking thing that would probably collapse at any second. The old lady was packing up what remained of her things and was getting ready to close up for the day. Devin didn't recall seeing a sign though and stated that we should not bother her.

"Excuse me, are you selling anything?" I said, ignoring Devin.
"I was. Now I'm closing. Anything you're looking for in particular?"
"Just some old video games if you have any,"
"Yep, I've got one left as a matter of fact."


She dipped her hand into one of the boxes and withdrew a Super Nintendo cartridge. My heart sank until I saw that there was no label, just the words SNUFF written in bold black marker.

"How much?" I asked, without thinking.
"two dollars"

I nodded my head and withdrew two dollar bills from my wallet and handed them to the feeble woman.

"Look up the value for this one, Devin. I've never heard of this before."
"Gotcha. I haven't either."

After a few minutes he stated he couldn't find anything on it anywhere. So we decided to go back to his house and test it out.

Nothing happened the first few tries, but after I think the fifth, the screen flashed on. Odd, there were no company names, it just went directly into the game. No big deal, I thought.
I found my character staring at a door with two messages on the base of the screen, prompting me to go forward or backward. The weirdest part of this is that the game looks like an old nineties film instead of a game, but again, I didn't think anything of it because there was another game a lot like this one where you had to keep actual human beings alive while home invaders attempted to kill them.
Anyway, I went forward and clicked on the next prompt that said open the door, locked. So I had the option to kick or cancel so I decided to kick but a message said that it wasn't a good idea. Eventually, I figured out that i had to pick the lock and then when I was inside, I directed my character up a flight of stairs and into a bedroom. I find myself looking down at a girl and I am prompted to either kill her or back away. I try to back away and another message flashes on saying NO. I was automatically given the option to kill her with a knife or with a pillow, so I chose pillow and it said NO again. I was given only one option this time that said, "Slit her throat" so I obliged and did it. My character flipped the girl onto her back and pulled a knife from some unknown reach and slid it across the woman's throat, she tried to scream but only choked and another option popped onto the screen while the scene continued that said, "Stab her" but it clicked itself and my character began to stab her repeatedly. Normally, when somebody was murdered in a 90's movie, you can tell the blood was fake but the blood this time was very convincing. Before I could wrap my head around it, another message flashed onto the screen that read, "Go to the kid's room" and it selected itself again. My character left his knife inside of the woman and pulled a plastic bag just into frame, walked himself out of the room and began down a small hall.

"What the fuck, dude?" Devin said. "Don't go in there!"
"I'm not doing it!" I said, placing the controller on the floor.

The character opened another door and exposed an obvious young boy's room. Next thing I know, the character is dragging the child out of his bed and wrapping the bag around the boy's face as the child struggled. All we could see then was the boy's feet just in frame thrashing about and eventually stop moving.

"That's enough of this shit, this isn't right." Devin said.

I sat there in shock. This was no fucking game, this was a legitimate snuff film.

We called the police and went to the old lady's house, only to find that she had died the night we bought the game.

The Delivery

Took me long enough, but I found it. 2238 Maple Street. Would have been a lot quicker if they had managed to cut down some of the shit trailing all over the face of the house, covering the address. Way too much trouble for a small pizza and bread sticks. Anyway, I better get a damned tip from this. Rain too. Fucking hate rain.

I step out from the driver seat, into the pounding rain and go around to my back door, open it and slide out the delivery bag. I hate my job sometimes, until I get those days where I get hundreds of dollars worth of tips. Anyway, time to get this delivered, boss is probably going to chew me out when I get back to the store.

I approach a rotted, dilapidated gate and ease it open and begin up the path towards the front door. Erie as shit, that's for sure. No lights either. They probably gave up and went to bed, if so, then I'm going to eat this fucking pizza for my troubles.

I give the front door a few quick knocks, after a moment, I delivered a few more. Nobody's home? Damn it. No tip, but a free pizza? I guess I've gotta count my blessings. I turn and begin down the path again and I hear a creak from behind me.

“Is that my pizza?” a woman called.

“Uh-- yeah. Sorry I'm so late, I got a bit turned around. Haven't been out this way haha,” I reply.

“I'm sorry sweetheart, meant to get these vines cut, as much as I love 'em. You can come in if you want while I get your money, don't want you getting sick.”

She was a small, not-so-intimidating old lady so I figured, what the hell? I make my way forward again and step into the house. Cliche moth balls smell and the sudden, subconscious requirement to take my shoes off at the door. The house was pitch black, strange for an old lady who seems like she could be blown over with the slightest strong gust of wind.

She's been gone for awhile now. Is she alright?

“I'm going to leave your pizza right here on your coffee table alright? I won't charge you.” I called out,

“Oh-- honey I've fallen and I can't get up-- could you help me?”

“Of course! Where are you?”

“Back bedroom just in front of the door!”

Shit. Just my luck. Could this night get any fucking worse? Might as well go help her.

I feel across the wall for a light switch and find one, flicking it up, I find that the power is out. Perfect!

“Alright, I'm on my way!”

“Please hurry, I've got to use the bathroom so bad.”

Fuck. Me.

She better not piss or-- shit all over me when I help her up. If she does, I'll quit right on the fucking spot. I didn't sign up to be a nurse aid.

I reach the end of the hall and turn into the left bedroom, my foot meeting the bottom of hers.

“Please-- help me up honey--”

“Yep--”

I bend down and wrap my arms around her frail frame. She starts groaning and it almost forces me to drop her due to paranoia, but she was already too high up for me to drop her like a sack of bricks.

“My potty is right behind me-- in front of the nightstand-- set me up there.”

I do as instructed and without warning, she begins to shit-- signaling the fact with a loud fart and a few plops of muddy shit. She couldn't have fucking waited?

“Have a nice night, ma'am. Your pizza's right out on the coffee table,”

“Hold on-- Emily wants to play with you.”

“Emily? I'm sorry ma'am I really have to get back to the restaurant,”

“Emily! Sweetie, he's right here!”

I'm not playing with your fucking cat or dog, lady. I'm not going to spare a single moment getting out of this God forsaken house.

“I'm sorry, ma'am--”
“She'll be here in just a minute. Emily! Where are you? There you are, sweetie.”

The old woman finished emptying her bowels and though it was really dark, I could make out her smiling to something behind me.

“I have to go.” I simply said.

I turn, ignoring anything else she has to say and begin out of the bedroom. Time to leave her to her dementia or whatever--

What the fuck!

The first thing I seen was two white balls staring intently at me, they hung higher than the door too. Her figure was slender and her arms and legs were impossibly stretched and sharpened. A quick flash of lightning revealed set of long, jagged, sharp teeth that seemed to be drooling and-- where her eyes should have been-- there were just two dark holes. But what produced the pale glow? How the Hell is this even possible?

I froze as she started easing her way towards me.

“He's a nice boy, Emily. Play good with him okay?”

The shadowy figure seemed to nod, and after a long moment, she lurched forward and wrapped her arms around me and carried me quickly to some unknown reach of the house.

I was slammed down onto a cold, flat surface and, before I knew it, I felt my stomach begin to sting as her face buried into my abdomen, gnawing on my rib cage and, shortly after, my insides.

Exhaustion

     My hands are raw and every muscle aches.
     How do they expect me to work like this? This is slave labor at best.
     I use to enjoy doing this, back when I was much younger and more angry.
     Oh well, it's the only skill I possess and it pays the bills and then some.
    
     I don't have a wife anymore, or any kids. Sometimes I wish I did, but I would end up coming home and unable to unwind, probably dead of a heart attack already because of her bitching all the time.
     I wish this was still fun for me, but now it's just-- exhausting.

"No! Please!" He screamed,
"Shhh..  I need some quiet time," I said, gagging his mouth.

     I turn around and face my table of tools. I think I'll go with the chainsaw this time. The vibrations and violent shaking of the bodies usually arouses me.
     He's my last client, then I can go home, hire a wore and deal with myself. Release a bit of this exhaustion.
   

Mirror

I unlocked the bottom lock on my front door and slam through it, I stomp in and stumble over my family’s shoes and fall face first onto the floor. Snow fell from my hair and my coat, I’m so repulsive not even snows wants to stay with me. I lay there in front of the open door, sobbing heavily into the ground. I cursed and I questioned, turning the brown carpet a darker and warmer stain from my tears.

“Why me? What the fuck did I ever do to deserve this? I fucking hate this shitty planet. I hate my shitty self.” I cry vibrating the white, blank walls of my home, “Fuck!” I run my knuckles straight into the ground, feeling the…. Glorious sting and ache; so I did it again, and again, and again. I felt my right hand, middle finger break or spring, I don’t care, all I know is that the pain was worse and I loved it!

I began bashing the side of my head against the carpet, harder and harder every time, hoping soon I will either be unconscious or brain damaged. As I continued, lifting my head and heavily bringing it down with a thud, I felt a zit burst on my forehead, that makes me stop and touch it, puss and blood raced down the side of my head, only from the zit though.

“Can’t even knock my own damn self out, pathetic.” I whisper only to be answered by the February winter winds whistling over my house.

I got up steadily and made my way to my bathroom, entered and closed the door, I put down the lid and sat myself upon it; I looked up and focused on a flower that had multiple, small brown droplets dripping from its two dimensional, white pedals, we never bothered to clean that up or even guess what that was. 

I raised up, still hearing my heart pound against my chest and my brain scrunch with near insanity.

“You greasy headed in-bred mother fucker, kill your self, nobody on this fucking planet cares about you!” I shout at my reflection in the badly fingerprinted mirror. I looked myself in my wet, red eyes and watched as the blood raced down the side of my head and around each field of red and white headed blemish. 

I put the back of my hand up to the puss and blood coated wound and felt its contents layer on to my skin. I observed myself again.

“have you ever had a girlfriend? I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t.” they’d say, 
“Haha, look Ned he pissed himself!” their minions would say,
“No you pricks kicked me in the ass, as I was taking a piss.” I’d reply
“Sure Higgins, sure.” they’d laugh again, I would reply with a fist to the asshole’s temple and he’d go down, then his dumb fucks would jump on me, punch me in the balls a couple of times, then move to my gut and finally to my face and when I wanted to take a breath they dip my head in an unlashed stall toilet, forcing me to drink the urine and shit and used toilet paper.

I would walk around school for the rest of the day, with a head and breath smelling like feces.

Valentine’s day was tomorrow, and God do I want to shoot each one of those ignorant couples without a care in the world.

“Hi Clary.” I’d say
“Uh- hey Higgins.” she’d say
“I was wondering, since you have been the nicest person to me, would you go to prom with me? I mean just as friends, I don’t want anything more I promise.” I’d say again and she would giggle and look to her girlfriends around her,
“With you Higgins? I’m sorry, but I’d rather eat my own barf then to go with you, look don’t talk to me, you broke that chance long ago with that horrible body odor of yours!” she’d giggle and wander off with her friends.

I came back into this sickening reality and still felt my popped blemish, pulsate with anger and pain. I let out a cry and punch my reflection square in the nose, shattering the mirror and slicing open three of my four right hand knuckles. The blood dripped from my hand, but I didn’t squint, I laughed……. ‘that sting, it feels so good!’ I thought, out of good measure I bashed my head a single time against the wall, the spot went numb from the pulsating pain and I felt it grow just above my temple. I was light headed after that one and I stumbled over the sink.

I gathered myself and looked down at the fragments of glass lying spread out among the bathroom and the sink. I seen my reflection once more and I gritted my teeth and let out a sob that sounded almost like an insane laugh. 

I gently pick up a piece of glass and spin it around in my hand, it gleamed in the dying light bulb’s light. Its clean and straight lines were perfect.

The mirror, a thing to help ensure and improve a person’s beauty, will serve that purpose a final time before my mother scoops it all up and throws it away. I turned it so that I could see my fractured image reveal itself. My cheeks were raised into a grin and my eyes bulged with glee. I raise up the shard and I squeezed it tight feeling it open my palm’s surface.

I let the blood run down my arm and soak into my dark blue shirt and I drive the shard into the place my zit used to be, and I pull it down the left side of my face and guide it through my fresh welt. It stung beyond Hell, my body shuttered with pain as I went around my temple and just reaching my cheek, my horribly zited cheek. I screamed feeling my skin wrap tighter around the now slick glass and I felt my tears pour around and in the wounds stinging it further. I watched as the blood fell onto the dirty porcelain and over the faucet;  ‘I’ll be beautiful now.’ I think and laugh gently.

Before I could maneuver over my cheek bone, my brain pulsated again and my vision began to tunnel and then it all went black and I fell over and felt my head bounce off of the counter of the bathroom sink and the glass land on the tile with a ting.