A ba donka donk
The wheel falls, thumping with rhythm to the beat of my heart.
My car upturned to the side, oil slowly leaking.
I stare, at the lake in front of me
Bubbles, rising slowly, engulphing me
my oesophagus closing in on itself
water everywhere, around me, in me
pain with every breath
I don’t try to go up
Because I don’t know how to go up
I flail mid-air, floating above the wreckage that settled to the bottom
Gravity no longer a constraint for me
For a few more minutes
I think I hear screaming around me
I look up to a world of flames, chaos everywhere
But I don’t like the sight so I start to close my eyes
Black in the midst of daylight
I hear my panicked breaths, start to slow down
The bubbles are lesser in number
I decide to extend my hands upward, one last try
And everything goes limp
And I die
When there is chaos all around,
its time to pick up the trusty bicycle
and go cycling.
Rusty gears moving in sync with each other
The tires full of air, crunching
over the gravel on the road.
And then, something changes
Because when the cycle leaps,
And when the cycle is fast
as fast as fast could be
And then anything seems possible,
as you’re whizzing past trees, people, everything
a brief moment of running away from the world
You see the sky above you, expand
encompassing everything, so big you could never touch it
feeling safe in the big blue bubble
The sun shines on your face, warming everything
Pumping your legs as fast as you can
Reaching a goal you have in mind
You pump and pump
Racing, rushing, galloping, leaping
And you screech to a stop
And you breathe
and breathe like you’ve never breathed before
even if it’s just for a minute
you feel alright.
As far as the eye can see
We look, searching for an end in the infinite yellow
We enter it, on a mission, to find where it stops
In the middle, we are, all of a sudden
sea of yellow all around us
“Lost” we say, “We are lost”
And then we giggle, for we are in the most beautiful place fathomable
And we dont know where we are
The sun bathes us in yellow rays
Our long shadows not longer than the field
Tangerine pink colors amidst the golden
Wind rushing through the long stalks,
as we trip over our feet
running like we’ve never run before
Golden swirling all around us
in rhythm with the silence around us
a place we’ll never find again,
for it is a place we never found
“Where are you?”
Static noise came from the other end.
I smiled brightly through my teeth “Do come to the market soon, won’t you?”. The static was deafening. “Oh you’re not free?” I said as I frowned. The person next to me checked their watch and looked up at me through the glass.
I frowned more “I really wish you could come. We could have bought marshmallows together!” I started to look for change in my purse as I looked out through the other side of the glass. It was a marvellous lake. “I would have loved to spend time with you by the lake”. The static kept building and building. The orange of the sun fell through the glass onto my face. I giggled “Of course I would spend time with you I’m not going to ditch you!” I heard the change roll inside the slot like a marble and continued talking.
The person looked up once more and appeared impatient. I decided to finally end the call. “Well it’s been nice talking with you but I really wish you would come! I miss you! By-”
“Who are you?”
I stopped. My body froze despite the warm air. Everything seemed to stop.
“Who are you?” The voice repeated. “Stop. You need to stop”
My mouth couldn’t open. Wouldn’t open.
“Who – are – you?”.
I looked outside. The person had left. I was alone. The sun started to set it. It was getting dark.
“You need to stop. I don’t exist. Stop this. Stop”
“I….. I don’t understand” I choked out “Who are you?”
“You know who I am. You’ve always known. You call me every time. You need to stop this.”
“But nobody knows this. Nobody is supposed to know this. You don’t know this. You can’t possibly know this.”
There was mumbling. Or static. Or noise. Or whispering.
“Hello?” I fumbled for change in my pocket and hurriedly put it inside the slot.
“Why are you wasting time with that?” A voice whispered.
I shivered. “I couldn’t hear you”
“You shouldn’t hear me. You’re doing this to yourself. Look at yourself. Look at the phone. Look at where you are”
“Stop! Stop telling me what to do!” I shouted
“I’m – not - real. All of this isn’t real. You’re talking to no one” The voice was scary. I didn’t like this. I pushed the receiver down onto the stand and my hand fell through
I looked up. I wasn’t holding a receiver. I wasn’t holding anything.
I looked at the glass noticing the big “Out of order” Sign. The man. He was supposed to fix this. What am I doing here?
“What am I doing here?”
“What are you doing here?”
I nodded to myself as I stopped talking and closed my eyes to darkness.
I was gone.
The static continued. A voice crackled out of the receiver.
“Your call has ended. Please deposit change.”
I hate summer
“….shower water. Isn’t that disgusting?”
“I’m sorry?” I shook my head.” What did you say?”
“THE OCEAN WATER IS USED AS SHOWER WATER. ISN’T THAT DISGUSTING!?” She shouted
“Yeah” I laughed nervously “Crazy huh? We never know how things work”
“I paid money to be on this cruise and I DESERVE exclusive treatment. Just give me my ocean water already.”
“A glass of wine in a beer jar” I handed her the drink, sprinkled some salt and added a sliced pineapple.
“That’ll do, Jerry” she put her sunglasses on and sashayed away.
I hate summer
“BARTENDER!? HELLOOOOO I HAVE BEEN CALLING YOU FOR LIKE FOREVER”
I sighed and moved on the next customer “What can I getcha?”
“Listen” she mimed whispered and then giggled “I think I killed someone”
“SCORE!” sunglass lady screamed while watching the playoffs
“I-think-I-killed-someone” she mimed whispered again and started laughing “I didn’t know what I was doing and I just did it”
There’s no fucking way she did that.
“There’s no fucking way you did that.”
She grinned wider “I did. And what’s more, the bodies are in my room. Also, since you don’t report me.” She pointed at the glass in my hands “That’s what I killed them with. And it has all your fingerprints on it”
I looked down. The glass was in my hands. I had started wiping it down with a washcloth noticing the wine stains which I now realize is blood.
I shakily place it on the table quietly. My mind starts racing.
“ALL I need from you, is a shovel”
I look up “A shovel. That’s it?”
“YEP. Just a shovel. And I won’t tell a soul noooooo” she giggled again
“We are at sea. This is a cruise. Where are you going to fucking dig? Through the ship!?” I raged. Sunglass lady was looking at me. I took a deep breath and switched to another glass to wipe down. She looked away.
“Why does it matter? Just give me the shovel and its byeeeeee”
I didn’t like this. I didn’t like her.
I hung my apron behind me and left the bar. She started to follow me and I led her below deck. The shovel was there around the corner. Maybe I could hit her hard enough and run up to the deck captain. Maybe I could negotiate- no that wouldn’t work.
“Here you go” I picked it up and handed it to her. She grabbed it from my hands and left. I followed her from behind as she stamped her way up to her room. She looked around suspiciously, then opened her door. I peeked through the keyhole.
There were no bodies inside. I looked at what she was looking at.
Looking at the upturned goldfish in the bowl.
Thank god I released a sigh. Thank god she wasn’t a lunatic I looked at the short bloody knife in my back pocket. It’s starting to stink below deck I thought going back down. I hate summer.
The flowers were right next to her, pink even though she planted them thinking they were yellow. She looked up at the man standing in front of her with a piece of paper. The piece of paper that was the most important piece of paper in the world. She reached outwards, her hand outstretched and-
Her eyes opened slowly. The sun was rising, shining into the dilapidated room. She heard the bicycle bell yet again. Who was here this early in morning?
She looked from her window and saw the man from her dream. Or was he the man from her dream? She headed for the door, wrapping her robe around her tightly and opened the door. The man’s hand, raised mid knock, lowered his hand “Here’s your letter, miss.”
She looked at him. She had never looked at him before. He had a mole under his eye and dimples when he smiled. His hands were oddly clenched.
“Do I know you?” She said as she looked at him more closely. He smiled and his dimples were seen “I’m your regular delivery postman?” His hands were still clenched.
She looked at him again. Why did he seem so familiar? She looked at the letter in his hand. As she extended her hand towards the letter, he handed her a clipboard.
“Signature, miss” he said as she took the clipboard. He handed her a pen. A pen with pink ink. Pink.
She looked at the flowers next to the porch. Pink. They were pink flowers. Instinctively, her hand moved over the paper. A name she didn’t recognize. Jemma.
She handed over the clipboard to him. He looked at the name and his eyes furrowed in disappointment. As she took the letter, she wondered if she should open it. Something told her not to. She looked at the postman and he was looking at the letter, his eyes wide in curiosity. She looked at the letter again, cold to touch.
She looked at it again, eager to find out what was inside and chose to open it. As she slipped her finger under the flap, a piece of paper poked out. When she started to pull the paper out, she could read out the letters-
She dropped the paper in a shock. As she saw the paper flutter to the ground, the postman looked at her in disappointment. An announcement echoed in the background barely audible to her.
Patient Jemma Staham, guilty of killing Mr David Lynn, employed at a postman position, had failed the test. She appears to move forward in the same path she did when she committed the crime. The test will reconvene with the same situation in 5 hours.
She reached for the paper, memories swirling in her head. The knife in her hand. The flowers, pink from the blood that pooled around them. Her hand extended towards the paper and when she turned it, the text was bold on the paper.
Sherlok and Wason
He entered the casino. There was jazz music playing as he leaned low over the corpse. “Dead” he said “Pitiful. She was such a beauty”. He lowered his hat and turned to the exotic waitress “Did you see what happened?”
“No! I had no idea! The police told me she had a knife wound! I’m so scared now!”
The detective raised his head and looked at her “Don’t worry little lady. If I don’t find out who killed her, my name isn’t Sherlok Homes!”
“Sherlok Homes?” his partner said
The detective looked up “Yes. Because copyright.”
“Are you even writing about the crime?”
They were at a tiny dilapidated bar. An old man of 80 was lying on the floor.
“I mean, does it even matter?” He pointed to a bald man. “THE BARTENDER DID IT.”
“I told you, I was literally with you the entire night.” the bartender replied
“Oh. Right. Or maybe you hired A BODY DOUBLE!” he pointed again
His partner replied “Shouldn’t we look at the crime scene to determine if it was a murder?”
“Hm yes. I suppose so, Wason”
“Yes because Watson is copyrighted keep up”
“My name is Bob”
“No. Your name is Wason. Now go get me a sandwich, Wason”
“There’s a dead body in the room”
“Why did I even hire you?”
“You didn’t hire me. You’re literally assigned to me.”
The detective twisted his hands through his hair “You’re annoying, Wason. Lucky for you, I have a sandwich in my bag” He drew out his lumpy sandwich “I was just testing you.”
“Sure. Do you want to go look at the body?”
“Yes” the detective drew out his sandwich “Layout the details of the case WASON!”
Bob/Wason started narrating the details of the case.“80 year old man felt dizzy and passed out at the bar last night. Nearby customer checked the pulse and called 911 immediately. Was found dead before the emergency crew could reach him. Autopsy is yet to come in but its most likely natural causes”
“IT WAS THE BARTENDER”
“I told you. I was with you. Do you not remember me serving you drinks?”
“I feel as if you mentioned this to me before as well. Wason, do you remember seeing this man?”
“Yes” Wason replied clenching his jaw
“Fair enough” The detective chomped the sandwich “Odd how his body fit directly into the chalk outline”
Wason didn’t reply. He was cursing under his breath “I hate him I hate him I hate him I hate him”
“So who do you suspect Wason?” the detective chewed on the sandwich and the ketchup dripped onto the body. “Oops didn’t mean to do that.”
Wason couldn’t take it. He burst “IT WAS ME OKAY!? I KILLED HIM. I HAD PLANNED THE PERFECT MURDER BUT NOOOOO YOU JUST HAD TO COME IN AND RUIN EVERYTHING AND ANNOY ME. I WISH I HAD KILLED YOU INSTEAD.”
The detective replied with “Really? Because” he whispered “I still think it’s the bartender.”
Pop Pop Pop
the popcorn has popped
Its buttery, crispy and really really hot
Hot Hot Hot
the popcorn is hot
I spilled the popcorn everywhere as i grabbed it from the top
Drop Drop Drop
I need more popcorn.
Let's see how best to describe myself? Whatever i'm doing now, im half eating or half sleeping while im doing it.
There. That's perfect.
I’d kill for a date
I was in the shower when it occurred to me.
I should kill someone.
I was scrubbing myself clean and when the water dripped onto the floor, I saw a flash of a past life where someone died. Or maybe it was a movie. Or maybe it was all orchestrated in my head.
Was I fantasizing over something forever and not really realizing it was real? And possible?
Why was I in the shower?
I looked down to see the blood go down the drain.
Oh wait. I did kill someone.
I should start recording this stuff so I actually remember what happened.
I examine my fingernails and realize I should have done a better job. I go underneath the shower head again and dig under my fingernails again, blood red seeping out.
How many times do I have to kill to remember I killed?
I finish up and go to the bound journal on my cluttered desk. Paperclips are sticking out the side of the page as I find the dog ear I marked for myself.
You’ll forget again so I’m reminding you.
You killed someone today.
It doesn’t matter who. It doesn’t matter how.
No matter what anyone says, you’re innocent.
You are completely innocent.
YOU ARE INNOCE-“
The pen scribbles of the page then and the writing is undecipherable.
I sit down on the bed and it creaks loudly. I trace over the writing and its many indentations. This person was very angry.
I was very angry.
I was this person.
The room around me is cluttered. I wonder where the murder weapon is. How did I do it?
Did I strangle him or her? Was it stabbing? Did I make this person suffer? Was it in an alley way? Was this person young? Old? Was I wearing a mask? Where are my clothes?
I suddenly stop.
Where are my clothes?
I turn to the laundry bag and I start rummaging through it furiously. Flinging clothes left and right as I search through them.
I pick out a plaid shirt from the bag, covered red. I shakily lift it to my nose and smell it.
The odor of paint is strong and tickles my nose. I raise my head to the white canvas painted red. There’s paint on the floor and paint tracks of my footsteps to the bathroom.
Did I kill someone today?
My journal says I did. So I must have.
But did I?
I pick up the canvas and throw it in the trash. It’s useless for painting now anyways. The red has seeped in and drenched it.
What did I want to paint? The canvas must have been out for some reason. I pick up the journal again and flip through it to find red paint on one of the pages. There is undecipherable writing again and then one word written with what appears to be a finger.
I close it shut. I put it back in its hiding place, wedged between the bookshelf and the bed. Past me was careless, leaving it out in the open.
This book convicts me of so many murders. Murders I don’t even remember.
I grab my phone on the look for my next victim. How do I find my victims, you ask?
Yes, I know you’re there. Snooping through my life. You don’t like me. I killed so many people. “He’s pretending” is what you’re now thinking. No, I can’t read your mind. I can just predict what you’re going to say. It takes practice.
I am not evil. You may already have your preconceived notions about me so I don’t want to waste my time trying to convince you otherwise. I am just stating what I believe. You’ll see.
I scroll through my phone and click on the fire icon. A face appears on my screen, the light glaring in the dimly lit room. His name, appears at the bottom and below that the description written is “crazy for chipotle yooooo”. I swipe left. Another face appears, with a wide smile. I swipe left again. A popup startles me. I matched with someone. I realize I swiped right. I guess this person is going to be my new victim.
I click on her profile and look below the name.
Now, you’ll see my process. You see, unlike other killers, I don’t discriminate. Any age is fine and any gender is fine. And when things don’t go according to plan, I just go with the flow. I’m completely harmless you see? I didn’t suddenly get angry and throw my phone against the wall. Though I really wanted too. I really really wanted too.
I shake my head and observe the location. Pretty close by. Perfect, I think. Maybe this time I’ll be able to remember it. If I did remember, would I stop killing? I don’t know. And to be honest, it doesn’t even matter.
I start texting her. She replies with a
“youre superrrrrrrrrr cute”
She’s obviously drunk. I look at her profile again. Under description it says “sophomore year is gonna be litttttt” with a fire emoji. No one will miss her.
Of course, I’m not judging her for her lifestyle. “You’re not one to judge are you?” is what you’re thinking. But you’re lying. Because you’re judging as well. You’re looking at her profile picture and thinking “she’s a ditzy blonde”. But you won’t say it out loud. You will never say it out loud. Only I will. I’m considered rude and egotistic because I have the courage to say what everyone else is thinking. So don’t judge me for judging her. Never judge me.
I look down at the phone again and there’s 2 more notifications.
“Heyyyyyyyy youre like rihgt here.”
I didn’t blur that out for you. I just don’t remember. It just registers and I go there. But even I don’t know what that place is. “You’re lying” you think again. My condition is unique. And for that reason, I believe I’m innocent. Who knows if I even committed these crimes? Random disappearances happen all the time. I could be innocent. No, I am innocent.
I shrug on my jacket and open the door. My journal is still wedged in between the bookshelf and the bed. The red canvas lies lopsided in the trash can. There’s a messy pile of clothes by the laundry bag. There’s red acrylic paint on the floor with footprint marks. I’ll need to clean that soon. What did I want to paint?
I lock the door and place the keys in my right pocket, remembering the time I panicked outside of my house. Never again. I am prepared this time. Pain courses through my body and I look down at my stomach. There’s no wound there and the memory of my injury fades away.
I clutch my keys for comfort and walk down the stairs, into the snow covered landscape.
Title: I'd kill for a date
Author name: S (psedonym for now)
Age range: Young adult (18-22)
Word count: 1167 in this excerpt
Why my project is a good fit: I think a lot of people are looking into understanding serial killers and the reason why they do what they do. In this book however, it talks about the fact that, anyone around you could be that person and it's the very fact that they're a person with emotions and empathy that scares people. This tries to look into that aspect by talking from the view of the killer and the deep psychological issues that a person has to lead them to this state.
The hook/synopsis: This serial killer uses a dating app to kill people. However, when he's unable to kill a person as he is restricted physically, he starts to develop feeling for this nameless faceless person. Does he fall in love and change his ways, or proceeds to have the same intentions as before?
Target audience: Young adult- adult
Bio: I am a college student currently studying design and I like to do creative writing by the side. I used to be a student reporter for a while and I now I mostly poetry and some short stories.
Education: Bachelor in Industrial arts and design practices (currently)
Experience:I am unpublished in fiction. I have written articles as a journalist for an online magazine as student reporter.
Personality/writing style: I tend to write dark fiction. However, I am trying to expand my genre to romance and uplifting/hopeful type of writing.
Hobbies: I like to play the piano and I also like to read a lot. I'm learning how to code and i'm finding that fun.