Dark Ramblings

A demon’s own hand silences its own torture

The reach of chaos from where best intentions turned hope to soured pain

Screams never hold volume when only the one in pain hears their own cries

Oceans of ash to stamp into history all the bridges burnt in quest for companies hand

A demon’s blood as red as a mortal’s own life giving liquid

Dust and poison in viens carry forth the continuation of dismay as no knife can pierce the skin of stone bound to sin

When all the above begin to burn words uttered by crowds of tainted spirits into the very air you breathe out

And all the words waiting to be cast as judgement below scorn with venom a name as simple as the one I own

No matter the will to carry torches of honesty and better cause if only the mob’s quiet stares ever want your presence

So a demon’s own hand once more is required to mark the flesh to which it is attached

And pain forever more falls silent to the lies of illusion you show the world

Farewell humanity

You never did fit in me and all my own hand will end

Endeavour to find a vessel worthy as mine decays from within

Creative Writing Course 2013: Guilt Pt2

Fair warning, this is a rough cut and yet to be oracle approved

Part 1

With John having just wrecked the plan and playing the bloody hero however, a pain in the fucking arse, Eve was thinking out loud “I suppose I don’t have to shoot him in self-defence now, makes life easier” always looking for the bright side, “You were going to, w.. w.. why would you even consider something so… that’s just…” John nearly recovering his senses, Eve quick to silence his incessant whining “The money, that deadweight is worth a small fortune in the divorce courts” ever the opportunist.

At first it had been great, cheating on her husband had made the ‘ok’ sex John was just about capable of barely achieving really edgy and exciting, to be honest though it was just unsatisfying now, almost as annoying as when John got pathetically needy and Eve had to fake it every time “You just don’t care; I beat up a man for you, to save you” John’s annoyingly continuing hysterics grating on her nerves “why did you let me..”. “Shut up already” her tone easily more manly than his “have a drink to calm yourself will you, it’ll make you sound less of a women when you phone the police” John finally fell to silence, Eve looked relieved.

This guy really had no idea, and though Eve just wanted him to make a phone call she had to spell to it out for him “I get him to hit me” pausing as if talking to a child “shoot him in self-defence” revelling in John’s emerging frustration “divorce lawyers not needed and I get a few months off” the exhaustion heavy in her tone “bright side, you just saved his life and I get everything anyway”. John was livid, though given the talk of shooting cooled his tone “So it’s a con, just an act… and me, was I just a tool?”, Eve grinned “You were the reason I got this” pointing to the less painful, more annoying injuries on her face, deciding to keep his performance reviews in the bedroom to herself.

After an eternity of awkwardness, John just too astonished by her ruthlessness, Eve broke the silence “You cash in with me, make a little call, and get thirty percent of this chump’s wealth” her head nodding towards the mess on the floor, cold eyes fixed on John further disrespecting her ex-husband, attentively reading his reactions like a cat ready to pounce “or tell the police everything I just told you”. John looked at the viper resting on the bar stool, one finely manicured hand gripping something in her purse, the other outstretched with a phone, then John’s drifted to his guilt stained hands, blood turning cold against his skin.

True it would tougher to explain how John had defended her and then tried to finish the job her husband started Eve thought to herself, but after eight months of hard graft this saint wasn’t going to ruin it, as the gun sat comfortable in her grip, deep in her purse, not so deep that John could close the distance between them in time however, or Eve had a new partner.

For John it was a simple choice, as for the first time he proved he felt like he had a pair, cast iron to boot.

Creative Writing Course 2013: Guilt Pt1

Fair warning, this is a rough cut and yet to be oracle approved

Eve had chosen the bar where they had first met, nice and quiet as the owners had gone bust and closed up, her husband in his five-eight power house glory had thought they were going to make up, talk about how he felt so guilty for hitting her. When he hit her again and tore her dress however the ‘other man’, John, had burst in from nowhere and laid into him, the knight in shining armour now frantic as the felled, soon to be ex-husband, crumpled to the floor.

The torn dress no longer had much integrity as Eve retreated to a bar stool, too stunned to hold her posture as she leant upon the dusty bar, the bloody bruises on her face would take ages to heal, the luxurious silky hair she worked so hard to maintain had a chunk missing, at least the dead weight on the floor had a clump of it in his giant paw to convince the police that John was defending Eve’s honour and with her injuries the jury would lap up the ‘victim’ act.

“Are you ok, does it hurt” John looked to the victim, Eve’s tearful eyes calming his tempest like nerves “it’s going to be ok, he’s going to be out of it for a while” but something was off as a perfectly steady arm coolly wiped away the tears, seemingly un-phased “Damn that hurt, I forgot he use to be a boxer” unexpected first words to say the least “must get photos before the medics clean me up” such a callous after thought completely shattering John’s false calm.

Eve knew the guilt should be worse; maybe normal people had some sort of extra ‘remorse gland’ or something that made it feel more relevant, but she was a freak of nature from the get go. Even as a child the sight of people fighting, her father the enforcer beating the living shit out of junkies and pimps, made her laugh and giggle and she never even considered having a problem taking things from those who let themselves be taken as fools either.

Eve’s blank expression was the opposite to John’s stare of petrified horror and raw shock, the total desolation of your sense of reality would do that, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to fake that sense of caring “Fuck, fuck, I just.. he was..” panic exhaustively obvious in John’s painfully high-pitched screams “don’t smile, why are you smiling” he screamed, confused by how his traumatized form standing over an unconscious man, a man she claimed was the guilty party, made her happy.

The pathetic excuse of a man in front of Eve was transfixed by the blood on his fists, she considered him less worth than the blood stains on her new heels, a perfectly good eighty pounds ruined “I would have expected you to be on the floor, but that’s my marriage dealt with at least, so it worked out” a comically surprised twang evident “and after all these weeks I’ve known you, I can finally call you’re a real man” the acidic remark hitting John’s already fragile state like a sledge-hammer.

It wasn’t a total lie, the sack of shit on the floor had been a lousy husband and getting him to hit her in the first place had taken a small ice age, if his divorce lawyer hadn’t got evidence of the affair with John Eve could have stuck to the plan and claimed he was insanely paranoid. But in the end it seemed events had a way of playing out, that sack of shit would still lose everything in the divorce, even his dignity.

Part 2