Have you ever felt like you were helping someone else hurt you? Like you were relinquishing control of your life? Like you were dating a drill sergeant? Like you clocked out of one job and into another one in the guise of a relationship? Like the devil demanded your ear and you couldn’t help but give him his due?
Here’s a poem about those charming monsters we can’t help but submit to. I wrote it several years ago about a friend who let one of them consume her.
It was five in the morning and I was hugging the museum wall. The lights were low and so was I. There was a security camera right above me. I was stuck in its blind spot, trapped inside an invisible cage that was but a few paces all around. This didn’t matter much. The air was still and so was I.
A woman’s face peered out from the dark. Her pallid skin was cracked and peeling. Her expression was vacant. The lights of her eyes had gone dim. It was Rembrandt’s famous painting the Lucretia. She stood over me in her blood stained gown, with one hand clinging to the curtain that kept her upright and the other to her dagger. Continue reading Fleeing the Beam
May I present my horror novella: Terms and Conditions.
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Find out what happens when an artist accidentally sells his inspiration to the devil.
Continue reading Terms and Conditions (A Horror Novella)