Eve of Death

The bloodied knife fell to the floor. Crimson filled the cracks of the tile. My eyes welled up as I looked at my hands. Covered, I knelt on the ground. The sounds of horns and numbing conversation filled the air. The flies began to gather in his eyes.

Tunnel vision as sweat began to drip from my forehead. The room went dark and my blood became thin. My breaths became shorter and shorter as I looked around the room. My heart stopped as the room spun. My lungs stop inflating. I dropped and all went black.

Sunlight poured through the window. I tried to cover my eyes but to no avail. My hands felt sticky. It was blood. I turned my head and stared death eye to eye. My heart flew out of my chest. I jumped up.

“What the hell happened?” I thought to myself.

I took deeper and deeper breaths; gripping my chest. Clenching my teeth, I turned my face away. But my eyes could not leave him. This was a new year for me; a new start.

“No!”

“No!”

“No!”

My knees buckled and I collapsed. My eyes became faucets as I stared at the corpse. His once tan skin became pale white. Lips as blue as ice. His eyes, the blank stare of death.

“I have to get rid of the body” I said.

My heart slowed its rhythm. I looked all over the room and found a bathroom. Salvation. I went over to the body. Cracking my back and my neck, i took a deep breath.

I grabbed his underarms and lifted. His body stiff with rigor mortis; dead weight. My feet rooted to the ground with each step I took. I struggled to put him in the tub. I undressed him, each peice of clothing drenched in his blood. Naked, I saw each stab wound. I smirked, amused at each nick and cut. Then I saw the kill. A gash near his heart.

My blood ran hot. My eyes widened. I felt alive again. I ran and got the knife off the floor. My eyes became fire. My smile grew. The knife gored his chest. Then his side. Then his neck. I stabbed his heart; my heart skipped a beat.

I killed him again this morning. I killed him again and again and again.

Then a knock at the door…..

2011
05/01
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Faust

The wind kissed my lips as I laid under the hot summer sun. The harsh tears of reality dripped down my face. The soft! comforting blades of grass that caressed my back were now nails that penetrated my skin. My heartbeat was silent as I took stock of what I have just done.

“Taking a little vacation there buddy boy?”

I looked up and saw a Armani Exchange-clad businessman. He pushed his amber colored hair from his eyes and gazed at me. I sat up, Indian style and refused him eye contact. Chuckling, he took a seat next to me.

“Are you ok there friend?” he asked.

He draped around me like a security blanket. My veins chilled.

“you seem very perturbed, I don’t like seeing my friends like this….what can I do help?” he asked.

“Just leave me alone” I said.

“That’s not very nice Jacob” he said.

“Ive done all these wonderful things for u to show you how much I love you and you want me to leave u alone”

“that breaks my heart” he sniffled.

“I don’t care, just leave me alone”

“I want nothing to do with you” I said.

Hatred cascaded down my face as I turned away from him. He turned my face towards him and gazed into my soul.

“I know what you’re going through, Jacob”

“It was your first murder and its changed you, but it changed you for the better…trust me.”

“I cant do this, its too much” I cried.

“Look, one thing is for sure, it gets easier the more you do it” he said.

“No, i’m not doing this, I made a mistake…just leave me alone”

I got up and turned away. Walking towards my car, I felt the guilt and shame slowly leaving.

“Listen, Jacob…you know that I just cant let you go….we had a deal!” he said holding me back.

“Well deals off!” I yelled.

“You obviously forgot the details of our arrangement”

“Now listen, I understand that you’re freaking out but you need to man up and do what I ask you”

I tried to pull away but he pulled me in further. He hazel eyes entrapped me and I became limp.

“Now you’re gonna go to your new house with your beautiful wife and relax. Wait for a phone call and follow the directions” he said.

“And what if I don’t?” he asked.

“That’s a very cliche question…lets just say that we wouldn’t want anything to happen to your blushing bride now would we?’ he chuckled.

Freed, I struggled to my car, fearing to even look back. I unlocked my Mercedes and looked over my shoulder to see nothing, but the shadow of my former self.

2011
05/01
CATEGORY
Short Stories
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Random Thought About My Writing Inspiration and Motivation

Success in one’s passion can mean the difference between a happy life and and bitter, unsatisfied existence. How success is defined is subjective. When it comes to writing, success is generally defined as being a best-selling author. But to me, i don’t view that kind of notoriety as a primary factor in personal happiness and fulfillment. Just the act of writing and having people read and appreciate my work is fulfillment enough. The way that I measure success is in the actual doing; the act of writing, composing, transcribing what is in my head to a medium which can be viewed by the masses.

As a writer, I feel successful, when I write on a consistent basis. For the past couple of months, I have been struggling to find the motivation to write anything. My mind had become a vacuum of writing concepts and precepts, tips and tricks. The advice I would hear about writing fiction and various other genres drove me crazy and I didn’t know what to do. I tried many different things to better my writing, from free writing to writing prompts. I did find a good way to get myself into the habit of writing though.

A couple of months ago, while I rode the bus to school every day, I would take my writing queues from writing prompts from various websites and it worked for me. However I abandoned that avenue of inspiration because I wished to stay true to old-fashion authorship and began writing with the pen and pad. As I was composing unfortunately, I felt not only my inspiration but also my motivation waiver. I would lay on my bed and would stare at a college-ruled notebook and to no avail. Then, my hands would touch the screen of a smartphone and my mind would fill to the brim with prose. I guess that due to this technology, my brain is used to transcribing in electronic form.

Whatever the case, I’ve seem that I am most consistent in my writing when I am writing on my smartphone. Mobile writing even when I am near a computer may be the new intermediary between the thoughts in my head and the bookshelf. And it is being consistent that I judge myself on being successful as a writer.

2011
04/19
CATEGORY
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