The old detective was unperturbed when he saw the bloody body parts scattered cavalierly on the ground. His partner stepped carefully so as not to disturb the crime scene. Because this was his first day on the job, he kept asking questions excitedly, disturbing the train of thought of his older partner, who seemed to be in a reverie as he contemplated the murder site. “For someone who has been on the force for so long, you sure don’t talk much,” the younger man chattered.
Rolling his eyes in consternation, the old detective realized reluctantly that his young colleague was asking way too many questions and, unfortunately, would have to be his next victim.
Poisoned by What
The Orchid colored haired Wolfendor laid on the ground with blood near his mouth. He trembled as he laid there. There also stood a dark elf the size of a dwarf.
"Why? Why did you do this... ugh. Why did you do this to me?" The Orchid Wolfendor asked as he held his blood covered hand on his gut.
"Why? You don't need to live since no one loves you. The hate you. You get in the way all the time. I am here and yet they would rather be with someone lame like you!" The Dark elf snapped back.
The Wolfendor coughed up more blood and shook some more. The Elf smiled and was fixing to scream but changed his mind. He left the Wolfendor, laying there on the ground. The Wolfendor tried to scream, but couldn't because of the blood in his throat. It burned his throat as it ran into his stomach.
He woke up with a start as he started shaking. His Anxiety was getting him. He grabbed the bottle of medicine that was on his night stand. He opened it and grabbed 3 pills out to take. His room mate, Andy the Dark Dwarf Elf, sat up in his bed and looked over at him.
"You alright, Eric?" Andy asked with a yawn.
"Y... Yeah, I will be... soon." Eric said as his vision started to go blurry as he stood up.
Andy shrugged, laid back down and went back to sleep. Eric went to the bathroom and ran the water into a cup. He took the cup of water to the kitchen, took his pills and something stabbed him as he finished the cup of water. The dark shadow disappeared and the knife dropped beside him.
The next morning, Eric's body was never found.
Since the day I was arrested, I’ve been asked a lot of questions. The most common?
What could possibly drive someone to murder their best friend?
People can’t seem to grasp it: the idea that I killed my childhood companion.
That I—quite literally—eviscerated her.
That I left her body to empty itself into the soil as she faded, slowly and in agony.
In the end, what they want to know boils down to “why,” though some poor souls get confused and ask “how” instead. Practically quivering with self-indulgent indignation, they shout, “How could you possibly do such a thing?”—a query to which I respond with a comprehensive description of the process of disembowelment. In my experience, though, such a response is usually interrupted as soon as the would-be interrogator understands what’s being described.
It’s no small amusement: to watch as the face pales, the lips purse, the eyebrows take flight. Of course, obliging woman that I am, I always remind them, “Well, you did ask ‘how,’ didn’t you?”
And let me tell you: the reactions that follow are delicious.
But I imagine that you, dear reader, may now be finding yourself in my accusers’ proverbial shoes and so I’ll throw you the proverbial bone. You ask why I killed her, and I’ll tell you. But before I do, I’d be remiss not to warn you; given that you don’t have the proper context, you may initially find my reasoning somewhat…cold.
You see, I murdered Joy because she was regrettably, unapologetically, and unforgivably boring.
where i wither away
A chance to show my worth
My feeling, my passion
Appearing on earth.
I can step onto a grand, little stage
Where my audience sips coffee
And I'm the one getting paid.
Someone enjoyed my voice
He actually heard me
Instead of just noise.
I was invited to where the talented go
He would show me the ropes
He thought I was the star of the show.
He said that I didn't have to pay
I could just pack up my bags
And live my dreams in L.A.
We arrived at his house
He pushed me inside
There was no getting out.
The lights suddenly turned on
Several women inside
Singing time-wasting songs.
They were stuck in the dark
Their faces tear-stained
And they said to me
"You should have ran away"
"He's left us for ages."
"He will leave you for dead!"
"You let his sweet promises
Get to your head!"
"What will he do?" I ask.
"Nothing," they say,
"We are his little experiment!"
For how long it takes
So trapped in a room
So trapped in a room
I wither away.
My life was coming together.
I have to live with my mistake
of the heart!
Here it's nice
and cold and dark.
up a chair
it's impolite to stare.
The lady in waiting
will soon enter
from over there
...in a while...
but for now
we hope and
and the sterile
No need to leave
your calling cards!
We'll be sure
to save your
place in line
should you stray
but if you could
be so kind...
and if you could,
your name will
If you should
find that you tire
we've got room
right back there
But of course
it has its
here on the
just step in-
side and sleep
for a while
it's nice and
cold and dark.
am I cruel for lying to a liar
A twisting blade is pushed into my back and I gasp
breath escapes me now and flutters out of reach
like a butterfly that simply
so that my desperate hands and my desperate lungs
just barely short
and I'm saying something,
and I'm wondering to myself what it is
maybe I'll never know
but I almost do and
it's almost a response to these words
that aren't mine, but for me
and I'm broken
never been more
except the blood brought by a blade is
fading fearsomely fast from
my mistaken, miserable mind and
I hear something I didn't want to hear because I know
It's the farthest thing from
and anything but
and absolutely not
and another twist from a blade buried deep in my back because I realize
what I'm saying is as blantantly untrue
and I'm a liar as well
and even more so
than who I'm listening to
because "It's okay"
is not the correct response to "I'm sorry"
when everything is definitely not okay.
But I stand and although I have been murdered,
absolutely obliterated, and I catch the butterfly breath because I am a liar
I do what my killer does not expect,
and wouldn't dare to yet hope from me.
I give a smile with my words
The Monster Under the Bed
The young woman, just turned 18, had no idea what was about to happen. She had grown up knowing that there were monsters under the bed, monsters outside of the house, and sometimes monsters inside of the house. She had often wished for the strength to defeat those monsters, to walk around outside without fear. She was a victim of that fear, of the terror of the unknown. Would the strangers outside attack her? Would her father find another reason to be unreasonably angry at her? She did not know the answers to these questions, and that gave her more reason to fear. It was dark outside now, and she knew that most people would be falling asleep, feeling safe in their beds. But she did not have that luxury tonight. Soon, after the surroundings grew quiet, she would need to take care of the monster under her bed.
It hadn’t taken much effort, which had suprised her. For her entire life, her monster had seemed to be unbeatable, something so strong that she had thought she would never be able to win. But she had done it, and in a little while she would finish her mission. She knew that no one would find what remained of her monster, and that no one would ever know that she defeated it. But that was fine with her. If it let her sleep in peace at last, she wouldn’t mind being unknown.
Her neighbor’s body was starting to smell, and she knew she would need to dump it soon. She still needed to clean up the throw up that he had produced when he ate the posioned dinner she had served. He deserved to die, and she knew that no other little girl would have to suffer his degrading touch again.
Light didn't reach here. It was dark and cold. My room. My prison. My captors led me here a long time ago. I had been an innocent child. Now I was part of human trafficking. Right now, I was in a room in the back of a store. My captors would lead rich men to me, where they would have their way. I had a client tonight. I had one almost every night, but this was a new man I think. I hoped he would be gentle. I still had cuts from the last man. I still needed time to prepare for him though.
A few hours later, I was ready. A soft knock caused the door to open, and I sat seductively on the bed. It was a man with a police badge out. Great I though. A fetish. I looked closer as he came in more. The badge looked really real...
"Police. Please put on clothes. We are removing you from the situation."
I was free. Free! I grabbed at my nightgown, and threw on a t-shirt and shorts. I smiled broadly as I was walked out.
It was the trial. I was the star witness.
"Miss Drake, you were held captive by these men?"
"Yes your honor."
A few hours later...
I was really free! I walked out jubilantly. I took three steps. Then bang. I fell. Pain enveloped my whole body.
"Got her boss."
I knew that voice. The mafia. I knew what had happened. Plan X. If they were caught, the mafia would kill the girls. I didn't think they would do it though. I yelled for help, then I shut my eyes. I didn't open them again.
I always knew. . .
That in my youth I used my words like shackles to bind her into a yes
That she had no friends. And only wanted affection and respect.
I only wanted sex.
She heard paper thin compliments, choosing reluctant solitude; slut was never really a choice.
I only saw a face and lips, and would say anything to drown out her voice.
How much of her was never seen when only her skin mattered to me?
How much I missed because I only wanted a kiss, caring little of the girl who was behind those lips?
I only hope the fire in her eyes grew stronger with every sleazy lie from every boy between her thighs.
Because of her, I look back with shame, and understand the true marks and courage it takes; to be a man.
That’s What She Said
What did he say
On that warm summer day
It's where was she led
That's what she said
His money and wealth
Took no account for her health
The pain and the shame
Though she fought as he came
The most nefarious deed
Forced upon her with his seed
A violation on her soul
She no longer felt whole
Though crushed now and broken
It seemed but a token
If they were even aware
But did they really care
Perhaps it's because
How they interpret those laws
Or why she nearly died
As she broke down and cried
All she got was a cold stare
From police who were aware
Of what she had gone through
What was she to do
But it was his word against hers
Such was her curse
On the police report it read
That's what she said...