Everything You Want

“You shitty spoiled brat! Do you always get everything you want?”

I snap. My temper finally gone, I stride up to him and smash my fist into the wall by his head. “I didn’t want my dad to die!” I snarl. His expression freezes in shock. His mouth hangs open so stupidly.

Adrenaline is giving me borrowed power, sweeping away any boundaries I might have had. The pain is too recent, the wound too fresh. My anger fills every spare inch of me and my hands itch. Grabbing his lapel, I yank him down and throw him to the floor. “Don’t. Don’t ever think you know me. Don’t presume so much.” I hack up a glob of phlegm, spit it on the floor by his feet. “Keep away from me, you fucking freak,” I command him, and stride away with a new swagger in my step.


What Happened to Us?

Are you mad at me?
Or are you just tired?
Is there a lot on your mind or are you royally pissed?

What happened to us?
Where did that love go?
Did I miss your grand declaration of utter indifference towards me?

Should I leave now?
I can tell when I’m not wanted
Perhaps I’ve overstayed my welcome – or perhaps you are just a bitch.

Her Dark Revenge

“I know you…” I realise slowly. Throughout this whole scenario, something has been bothering me about this man. Now I can finally put my finger on it. “Tell me; why is your face familiar?”

His face is painted with the stupefied relief of someone who has is saved when they thought they were dead. I’m in no mood for his worship – I would rather see him cringe. Seizing a fistful of his greasy hair, I yank his head back and the pale yellow light falls on his face. He whimpers and I repeat the question.

“Where have I seen your face before, old man?” His eyes brim with tears, and I am disgusted. How could anyone this weak survived so long? Shaking him, I angrily demand, “Answer my question!”

“I used to – to be on the TV – a lot. I worked in – the govern – government.” Even thought his stuttering speech, I can hear the pride. The self-bloated, gloating satisfaction of being high up the food chain.

My anger takes even me by surprise, flushing through my body like a wave of pure hear. I pull back his hair till he screams and press my blade into his throat. “The government,” I hiss, mocking and cruel. “What a worthless life. How useful was it, eh? Your knowledge of politics. Tell me, how did it help you fight off the plague? How did it help you organise your relief strategies? How did it help you SAVE THE REST OF US?”

I’m screaming now, spittle flying from my lips in a rage I can’t control. He’s lost the look of someone saved. The emotion in his eyes is exactly what I want to see, the drug to my addict’s heart. “It didn’t. Because when as the world went to shit, you and the rest of your hoity-toity rich and famous ran for fucking cover while the rest of us scum died like rats.”

I laugh, gesturing at the ruins surrounding us. My voice sounds so distorted in the echoes, so… inhuman. “Was this part of your grand plan? Did you mean for all of this to happen, for millions to die? And what about us, the survivors? Tell me, old man, was I part of your plan?” I crouch down, the tip of my blade pressed into the heartbeat throbbing in his neck.

“No… no… no…!” He whispers, although I can’t tell if he’s begging for his rat-shit life or answering my question. My anger is cooling down, turning hard and sharp. I grip the knife handle tightly, the blade gleaming so beautifully.

“You ran for shelter and left us to die. This is everything you deserve.” With one fierce stroke I slit his neck from ear to ear, a bloody gaping grin, and I walk away.

The body sits upright, his eyes open and fixed in fear. The dim yellow light throws darkness across his skin and the blood gushing from his ripped smile is black: as black as the night, as black as his eyes, as black as my heart.

That Twisted Satisfaction

It’s destruction for the sake of destruction
It’s the need to make the world look like how you feel inside
It’s the recklessness that boarders on dangerous
It’s the power of ripping things to shreds
It’s the gratification of pain and the wholeness it brings
It’s destroying the inane world, turning it into something desperate and pounding

It’s destroying
Pure and simple
It’s satisfaction


The clock is moving so fast, the numbers flicking past like cars on the motorway. Why can’t I move? Outside the window I can see the parents run to school, then the children flood the streets, but it’s all so quick. Fast-forwarded. I can’t move. People walk so fast they blur, leaving an imprint of their bodies in the air behind them.
Isn’t someone wondering where I am? Time is going so quickly, how long have I been stuck here for? Am I dead? The sky is getting dark, clouds flitting across the sky like birds. The clock is racing. It’s 9pm, 10, 11, midnight. The moon rises. I feel like I’m in syrup – every move takes so much effort, I’m exhausted. What would happen if I fell asleep? What if I woke up and one hundred years had passed?
The stars flicker. The trees vibrate. What’s going on? Why won’t anyone help me? The minutes go by quicker than nanoseconds. The moon sets, the sky becoming lighter – the inky black being watered down and then so quickly I almost miss it, the glorious gold before the sun rises. Then the fiery ball jumps up, flies through the sky. It’s eight, nine, ten in the morning.
I struggle against my invisible bonds, straining and pulling, but nothing gives. I’m so tired. Am I invisible? No-one is coming for me. The clock mocks me, the numbers flashing past so quick. Midday. Midnight. What’s the difference? Why can’t I move? Who did this to me?
I push at my bonds, one last time, a final surge of anger and fury and desperate fear. My energy leaks from me like water. My muscles groan and creak. Clouds chase each other across the sky. The sun sets.
I sleep.