The Last Time- short horror story written by me…..

       How many times do we say, “…blah, blah, blah, this is the Last time….”?? Yeah? Well, how many times was that particular fucked up circumstance really, actually, THE LAST TIME??? Well, THAT my friends is why the world is so fucked up. 

      Like so many of you unfortunate minds, APPARENTLY, I couldn’t learn a lesson even if the possession of my soul depended upon it. THERE WERE SIGNS, I mean OF COURSE there were. But you know the mind of a soul when the heart is in charge…long dried out and shriveled. Fuck what the shrink is going to say about the signs and different colored flags. It was different. It was worse.  It was TOXIC. PARADOXICALLY  toxic. It was hot, yet cold. It was affection, yet rejection. It was euphoria, yet purgatory In nature. It was unconditional love, yet discoursing hate. But then again, what are marriages supposed to be right? Isn’t that the running joke in relationships? You’re miserable, and then you die…

         Before we get to all of that and all this decoration of the yellow tape variety,  let me first say that I am in no way, shape, form, or fashion even attempting to imply that I am not responsible for the actions I’ve taken thus far. I don’t regret them in the slightest. In fact, to suggest otherwise would further slight me, and you wouldn’t want to do that. GIVE ME MY CREDIT. Let us agree that I’ve received nothing in way of understanding, so afford me my credit due, in the least. 

           I told myself this was the last time. I simply wouldn’t allow this any further. This, this toxicity…. Its lethal. Its damaging, physically and mentally. And that’s the part that’s so often misunderstood; the psychological aspect of relationships. The real power. And somebody’s got to attain it. Somebody’s got to wield it. Somebody has to be compromising in the face of power. And that person who always was forced to bend, to contort, to become pliable, OF COURSE, WAS ME. 

          There’s nothing worse than tasting freedom; dipping your toes into the sea of free will is truly liberating. To know that your life is exactly what you say it is simply because you stated it to be is a  powerful feeling. The invincibility. The possibilities. Everything is a swirling cloud of euphoria within oneself. But to simply taste freedom only to have the cup smacked viciously from your mouth is a death endured while still breathing. Its purgatory to be placed back into the chains of self doubt and resentment. And that’s where we pick up…

          He knew this was the last time. I know he did and yet he tried to call my ‘bluff’. What a dumbass. But of course, there were signs for that as well… If he would’ve just taken me seriously, I swear that’s all I wanted. That’s all I ever wanted. Take me seriously. I am a person. I do a lot for our family.  Just see me as a person. I’m not a robot or machine. I have feelings. I feel pain. But you NEVER cared to understand. You NEVER even tried. I saw that; I chose to ignore it. ‘one day he’ll get it’, I kept telling myself. As the years drown on, that whispering voice began to shout; ‘JUST WAIT, THE DAY IS SOON’. I cant help but to expect the storm of the century to freeze hell over thrice before that day comes… where’s my hope you ask? Well, ‘hope is a thing with feathers’. It picks up and flies away. It has a habit of migration. It flees the lonely, cold, darkness in search of warmth. That’s a perfectly understandable, its simply the nature of things. Just as a flower is incapable of thriving growth in the bleakness of an Antarctic environment, it would have been ludacris to expect the seed of hope to germinate in such an equally desolate inhospitable environment.  It just wasn’t going to happen, and I had accepted that long ago.

            This was THE LAST TIME. This was the last time I allowed you to flex you power in my face so unabashedly and  brash; it was a full palm slap across my face. And it was the last time. This is the last time I ALLOW YOU TO MANIPULATE ME into being a monster. This is the last time I allow you to make me feel as I must fight for my peace tooth and nail. This is the last time I cry because I feel empty, because I allowed you to empty me of every uniquely  quintessential thing that made me ME… This is it. The last time…

         I DIDN’T KNOW HOW LONG IT TOOK. HOW LONG HAD IT TAKEN ME TO DECIDE AND ACT? HOW LONG DID IT TAKE TO COMPLETE THE DEED? DOESN’T MATTER, BECAUSE ITS NOT IMPORTANT. IT TOOK YOU THREE MINUTES TO DIE. I WATCHED EVERY SECOND. I TRIED SO HARD NOT TO BLINK. I WANTED TO SEE EVERY MICROSECOND OF YOUR FROTHY GASPS AND GLASSY GAZE. I HATED THAT I LOVED YOU. I HATED YOU. I HATED MYSELF MORE FOR ALLOWING YOU. I JUST HATED FEELING; INADEQUACY,  SHAME, RESENTMENT, LONELINESS, DEVALUED,… ALL OF IT. 

       AND THEN THERE WAS RED; YELLOW CAME AFTER RED AND BLUE…  THERE WAS BLOOD EVERYWHERE. YOU SPRAYED THE ROOM IN ITS ENTIRETY. NOW, ISN’T THAT JUST LIKE YOU; FINAL LITTLE FUCK YOU, I’M THE VICTIM TYPE MOVE. YOU ALWAYS WERE SO FULL OF SHIT…JUST THOUGHT I’D HELP YOU FEEL AS EMPTY AS YOU’VE MADE ME. I JUST DIDN’T THINK SO MUCH OF IT WOULD ACTUALLY COME OUT. GOD BLESS THE CAROTID. THEN THERE CAME THE RED AND BLUE. FINALLY THE YELLOW. NOW ALL I SEE IS ORANGE. OH WELL. IT WAS WORTH IT. 


     K.delaine 

Thanks for reading. 

 

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The Anxiety-  short story written by me 

As I sit here staring at her picture, I almost can’t believe it…

        I’ve been on autopilot since the Sheriff’s press conference announcing the discovery of your body. The funeral was a blur of polite faces and equally kind and semi sincere condolences, that I can’t bring into focus for the life of me. It’s as if it never happened, but there’s a sense of déjà vu like it did in fact occur, but was merely a figment of a dream. But it could’ve easily been of imagination just the same. Listen at yourself, it’s like you’re losing it. Pull it together. If you continue staring through everyone they’re going to declare you insane with grief. Or maybe just insane. But I have to keep playing it over in my mind…. What exactly had the sheriff stated during that interview? I suppose it didn’t really matter…but what if it did? What if I’m questioned? What do I say? I really should listen to what these people are saying…but I simply can’t. If I try to focus all I can hear is that sound. God, that dreadful sound. It wasn’t a snap. But it wasn’t a crack either. The sickening crunch haunts me even my sleep. ‘There is no rest for the wicked’, isn’t that what mother always says? It IS just like her to always say it isn’t it… but what would she say if she knew? She’d probably just called me a wretched wicked girl just like she always has….. Yes. Probably.  But as I sit here staring at her picture, I almost can’t believe I killed you. But most importantly, I cant believe they’re too stupid to have not figured it out yet….
                                                          K.delaine
It wasn’t much, but it felt good. Thanks for reading. 

A friendship that kills

Poor little George was a quiet lad

With one friend he was often sad

Now poor George is a lonely lad 

He cut out that friend’s eyes when he got mad.
       When I was little my best friend was a kid named Jamal who lived down the street. He disappeared when we were twelve. Even though his family spent months searching everywhere for him, they never thought to check under the floorboards in my room.

        I didn’t want to hurt Jamal. But I had to. He had something bad inside him. My friend wasn’t my friend. It just wore his body around like when I pretended to be Iron Man gfor Halloween. Except Iron Man didn’t hurt anybody. Iron Man wasa man inside a machine. It was a shadow inside of Jamal.

          The shadow hurt people, except Jamal got blamed for it. Like old Mrs. Dillinger’s cat that ‘disappeared’. It was the same cat Jamal’s mother found in pieces in a box under his bed. Or like when Tina, Jamal’s little sister, ‘fell’ down the stairs. She yelled his name as she tumbled and there he stood just as triumphant at the top of the stairs; still smiling. But it was when Jamal stabbed his dad that I knew I had to help. His dad told everyone what happened.

          Jamal looked so scared when the police were questioning him. He wasn’t completely shadow yet. He still had some good in him that would take over sometimes. But It was stronger. They were going to lock him away with the crazies come the next day. So after the cops left I snuck over to Jamal’s house. I was afraid, but it had to be done.
            By the time Jamal came outside, my stomach had done all the flips it could and had settled. We walked to my house. I knew my mom was asleep and my dad was still at work. I took Jamal to my dad’s workshop behind our house. I went in first and stepped quickly into the darkness. I knew he wouldn’t be able to see. I knew this workshop better than my dad did. As soon as Jamal stepped into the pitch black of the shed, I slammed the door behind him.

               Yeah he cried and begged me to stop. I kept swinging the crowbar until the last little movements.

             We were twelve when Jamal disappeared. His family spent months looking everywhere for him, thinking he had run away to escape the crazies. But they never thought to check under the floorboards in my room.

                                       k.delaine

Thanks for reading guys. Its rough as usual. I used 2 short story starters 

Reflection (used idea from wattpad) 

I just saw my reflection blink…..

It didn’t think I noticed. I turned my head for just a second, but not my attention. The movement was slight, but not as slight as it thought. It’s been slipping up lately. More movements have been noticeable.

If I can just play fool a little longer…I think as I smile into the mirror. The reflection smiled back.

It doesn’t even suspect a thing… I decided smugly. 

As I began to turnto walk away,it’s smile vanished coldly. I flick the switch off and turn away as if I didn’t notice. Back towards the mirror, I can feel it’s glare piercing me like knives. 

It knows…. The thought paralized me with fear. A startling realization hit.

I’m out of time….

                                                                                k.delaine

Sorry it’s been so long! Thanks for reading! More stories to come ☺