You know what word I love? …Ossify. So simple to say and it sounds amazing leaving my untrammelled lips. The word itself means to convert into bone. I don’t know how to use it in a sentence, other than the sentence I just said. Hold up, I need another drink.
Life is a beautiful sport, running for my life, being kicked around these streets, spare me, I can weight. Out of breath and looking for my perfect match or that perfect catch, each partner I team up with, up until now I have found I wanted to put a hole-in-one, they weren’t really keepers. They cast a net to capture me, but I fight back, no punchline needed. I now tackle each bottle straight for its neck, this is what they meant when they are talking about taking shots, right?
I’m sorry; I am getting ahead of myself. I am Alex. I am a writer, as you can see I love words and I am pretty sure you use them too. Now, I understand the plight of the common wordsmith, I have tottered around the prodigious pages for a while and with every autonomous stroke of pen I become incipient beyond the whiteness. Every character I create or chop down they are offshoots from the gravitas of my thoughts or sangfroid.
So this is my first post really about myself, while I sit here writing stories and drinking whiskey and lemonade, like a man. I would love to know about you. Tell me everything, anything. Have you got dreams or aspirations? Do you wish to inspire inspiration? I really have no idea what I am writing, so I shall leave it there and talk to you all soon.
I won’t leave you again. With a hug or praying hands I would squeeze my trigger until I am sent on a downward chute. I have altered my altar. I could cut my losses in a blood red gloss, gory, because he’s in a loveless story. Too wasted to waste what I want. That is a tough pill to swallow, not for me; I could gulp down a gallon, never gagging. Death will never happen, not to me, I will be that person that wins life. I am that loser. You can have all my hurt and regret, I would not want to infect your soul with my dirt. I am a broken beauty; it’s never in the eyes of the beholder, not when it’s my eye’s I will be holding. How can I escape me? These blasted memories are suicide. All I can do is stand as man and fight what I am. Just because I smile doesn’t mean I am like you.
If you or anyone is having problems, there is always help out there. You can always message me, I reply back to everyone.
Samaritans (United Kingdom)
Telephone – 116 123
Suicide and Crisis lifeline (North America)
Telephone – 988
I’m living forever, I will die as a blogging dead writer; the haze of pipedreams will eat my illumining soul and corrupt naturally my calm nature nastily. I’m flying off the walls as this is coming off my chest, as a child I ate crayons now as an adult I am chewing on the end of my pen, not much has changed. Maybe this writing business is for me, the page is laid out before me, puke. This website is my last stand, and my words are my last resort, I catch-a-phrase and head back the way. Fill these pages with shock value to fill those pockets with evil money to enrich that soul full of peace, I need a piece, please. I’m losing touch with reality because I’m thinking thoughts; won’t you step into my fantasy world?
Monsters dine here; bring your own knives and pitchforks. Flies buzz overhead feasting on what I have left; envious of them, I shouldn’t be here either. Finger-nailing the cracks of paint hang nailing off from the wall, waiting, I fester all time. I hear a man’s laughter after my manslaughter; take me apart piece by piece as if I were a Russian doll. Your holy words have unholy meanings. Beep… Beep… Beep… Beep… There goes my heart, tricking the monitor again, there is nothing there. Can you reach into my soul and pull back the goodness?
I run, run fast, until the wind is in my eyes and the cold air drags the tears over my dry skin. What have I become? This was not part of the plan. This is not me. Where did I leave my mind? It’s empty, mind the gap. They deem and demand my demon demeanour. I break out in smile and break my teeth just for them. Eat these wordy thoughts, my pages are always filled. You sleep on sheets, and I don’t lie, remember, the early bird catches the bookworm. Quiver against my quill and I shall quench your conquest for quality not quantity. This page I go Cray on, mark my words,I’m just showing you my true colours until you’ve felt my pen.
You don’t stand a chance, matter of a fact; you don’t have half the stance to stand if you stood half the chance. There is no stopping me because there’s no stop in me, I fall by my will and I know I will not fall. I’ve always been taught that minor minds cave; you’ll need miners to uncover these tough, rocked thoughts. I came from the darkness to steal your light; I really am my mother’s sun.
November 12th, 2022. Still here, time has passed, kept it together, had a few laughs, the only thing that has changed are my innards, my beliefs are still as die hard, I guess John McClane and I have a lot in common, we know how to RE-IN-VENT.
The Diary Of An Immortal
So once again, I stand on my castle tower staring at my kingdom, the sun has just set and a glow from the horizon still sits waiting to sleep, my only friend and greatest foe. The wind catches my cape and begins to make it almost alive in movement. The year was cart and corset. Humans are heading to the public house beneath me. I can hear every stretch of each leg muscle, and smell every dinner from days before on their breaths travelling on the cold air of an English dusk. The stray dogs below run in packs, chasing prey through the floor of the forests. Beyond the forest sits as an expanding industrial town which is trying to forget the past by building the future. Howls, hoots and drunken shouts control the echoes on the background of the snow enchanted mountain-side that deathly shadows the valley. The path from my home to the town moves like a serpents influence before a strike. And I am waiting for a target to capture, my patience sits on top of this world.
Hours have passed when I zoom in on a young maiden walking alone on the streets, covering herself up with her shawl from the murderous chill in the air, her black hair is knotted and her clothes are tattered, but to me through these hunger filled eyes, she is the most beautiful of creatures to ever consume my sight. The thirst almost sexual begins to take over my calm nature, my heart and adrenaline start obsessing over this being. I must have her; I must get closer and taste the music that plays within her. This feeling is almost benevolence but the undercurrent of this feeling is animalistic and dangerous. I am not an evil that you know of but I do have similar traits of them all, even though all distasteful myths dawned with me.
I step forward towards the edge of the castle. Downwards is Red Speckle Lake, which roars like violent emotions at the peak of passion when their colours kiss one another. I leap from the bounds of gravity from the structure into the air, I let its solitude drag me towards the lake for one second then with no effort I speed on the body of the wind silently towards the town; the smell in my sinuses of her overpowers any last rational judgment of human within this shell.
I land on a small home rooftop, gently stepping into a better view as I watch her, within the confines of the shadows of the chimney and darkness rays, I dare not blink. She stops in her tracks, her heartbeat beings to rush with fearful thoughts from her mind until it engulfs the world to its rhythm, then becomes deafening, killing the silent environment with the pounding. I move like an African wildcat into position. I creep towards the buildings edge, in a prowling shape; the saliva appears from my bottom lip, ready to lunge for an attack – suddenly a window opens.
“Claudia, come home!” A voice.
I retreat back to the shadows embrace, my prey escaped in a watched upon run home by one of her family members.
“Damn, it was a love not to be, Claudia.” I sigh.
But all is not lost as I am in the centre of my foods breeding ground and any human will cure my curse of starvation. I look across the town’s skyline, another beauty with loneliness within her pavement steps, trying to keep her drunken mobility to herself as she has judged the world correctly, as a dangerous zoo where true evil has no sex and will strike quietly at the weak. Her face walks the pavement to make sure her eyes do not lead in the wrong impression to other unsociable eyes. A clever action is needed in this hunt, if my mouth will become filled. I come back to the throws of gravity and begin to trek through the filth and rat ridden streets, through the crowds of drunken farmers, industrial workers and street walkers.
“You look in need of a release, stranger” A street-walker jaws to me.
I stare at her; all of her facial features are outlined with black make-up highlights, her eyes, lips and imperfections. She fidgets with her blood coloured wavy red hair, wearing an old faded purple corset, she smells of her last sex victim.
“And you look like you will die by the hands of one of your drunken strangers, that will be your release, my sweet” I reply calmly.
There are too many eye witnesses to take her life; the screams would draw attention, even though the thought had passed my hunger threshold a few times. I proceed in my endeavour.
The stars have begun to dance in the sky to the sound of change in climate. Winter is closing in, meaning longer nights and lesser days, a predator’s playground and the game will set off earlier. My eyes scream to be fed as I look for my love, she is nowhere in sight, her footsteps do not escape, her pace has quickened as she is left the comfort of the mobs. Her footsteps are like war drums heading for an unwanted battle, I was her opponent that would be revealed afterwards in this ordeal as victorious. Through the invisible crowds I pass, with a human sensation of lust and want. Her face to me is still faceless, my steps equal her own and my cape begins snapping at the air as teeth to the inedible, her presence shifts around a buildings corner; she becomes missed until my eyes climb around also to see her kneeling, picking up her purse. Her eyes rise like the sun to me, at this time set like it was extinguished by the fear of being the only life alive on the street. I react quickly as her look made me desire death.
I cross the street; if I was to approach her at that instant her voice would become loud and attractive to others. She rises, our bodies mirror on both streets pavements as we walk, both sets of eyes wander and wonder, both sets of lives are about to collide, her eyes do not leave my side, disbelief in my walking here rages through her. Voices further on the road chatter to one another, I stop and look upon the passers, scruffy and drunk as they stumble towards my maiden, I throw her another look, Beauty has only one word, you, a perfect body structure she is blessed with, brains and looks were her way forward in life, men from a distance would bow to her also, she also stops, her eyes rip through my camouflage and manifest itself within her as an idea to scurry to her home.
She charges by her street protectors, I have taken too long on my preparation for food; her brown hair ravishes her face as she runs. I run down an alley and leap to the roofs head and crawl back in the shadows in search for her, She is located at her front door, entering and slamming away the world, She walks into her living area, she is projected through her window to me through the nettings, out of breath and second guessing her motives in running from only her uncomfortable actions out in the street.
I take a few back steps until I am pressed against a chimney breast, One step then two, then I am pushing by the winds fingertips, over the streets drunken hassles but hovering above her home then gently planting myself on her roof. I listen to her, trudging around her rooms as a spoilt child does when they have been found out for their trouble dealings. Her coat of warmth is removed and thrown on her bed, a deep breath and her hair is brushed behind her ears, she gradually toes towards the window to see if her uncertain follower was still on her street, the street lights were not that clear to reveal all, but the outline of any beings come from the passed out alcoholics, propped up against the wall trying to sleep or piss.
Her double windows split to let in the night, far above people’s bodies, safety has enclosed her doubt. But like a spider to the fly I climb down my web of brickwork until I am vertically above her, I watch how she moves, her head shifting from side to side staring into the dark corners of her familiar surroundings looking for unanswered questions of why and who. She rests with a smile of self embarrassment and sigh of relief. A gust of Gods breath tears through the valley, through the fields to the streets, my cape begins to flicker trying to escape from me on the winds back. I stand from the wall, gravity is calling but its human cursed design has no effect on me because I am no mere mortal or infinite watcher. Her heart then sinks as my cape droops beside her sight swaying; her eyes follow the black shadow of clothing up to the heavens. Until faces and worlds nudge, she tries to reach for breath for a scream but I snatch the breath before it exits by grabbing her by her mouth.
“Hush, Hush, Hush, if this was not you, then who?” I hungrily imply with some respect. I look left and right, up and down the street to see if a circus had gathered, nothingness had shown its body. My stomach begins gnawing at my ribs, trying to tear a hole to eat, I falter in my intentions for a split-second; my hands re-enters the big game, one around her mouth and the other supporting the back of her skull, I begin to back, back up the buildings costume.
As I drag her upwards with depression on my quakes and a sea of regret on a tear, her dress becomes entangled on guttering. My eyes become bloodshot, sorrow almost undresses from me but then I shoot at her one look of blood from my eyes and with an unearthly scream, I pull on this woman’s head, her body rips away from the bottom half of her dress, she acrobats into the air somersaulting above me until she lands with a thud on the roofs garden. I leap upwards and land, she is lying there with pain mesmerized on her face. I walk over, with her between my leg stems and stare downwards beyond the path that I am on, she glares pleases and no’s, I kneel to her.
“Please forgive me, if there was another way, even if triple the effort, I would be there.” I recite remorsefully.
I feel her heart then cores her face; I wipe away reasons for me not to hurt her, brushing her caught, stressed brown hair from her mouth.
“What is your name my sweet?” I ask.
She is hesitant in her words, the fear and whys control her vocal cords.
“My, my name is Piper. Please, why are you doing this?” She purrs me in saddened bubbles from her mouth.
“If you let me kiss you slightly first, I will explain all for you” I whisper.
She nods in agreement to my proposal as she has run out of crossroads to run down from me to chase, my head bends down in a slow fashion, her bottom jaw begins to shudder, to my close in. Our lips meet, every feeling she has ever felt circulates through me like a wild drug, her memories that are sent to me like an unsought plague that has the of essence of love, fear and pain flowing as rogue waves. The world from me falls away in this kiss, I hold her face in my hands as the sexual rush overpowers. We part, my head rises from hers with a smile that could light the night skies, my woman forgets for the time, why I am here, and she delivers a real smile to me. I thrust my hands to the right in one quick action, with her head still placed in my possession, snap; I snatch the yelp from her neck. Death is now her gift to the world. Now with my eyes closed I hold up my hand and clench it and with one power punch, I drive my fist into her chest and take hold of her heart, I drag it out, the red shields my skin. I puncture into the heart’s fundamental nature with a hundred years of famine within my drive; I am a shark eating a peach with its juices dodging the inevitable dinner bell.
A short wait before the reality sinks into my stomach, I am and have hurt, the hunger dies away finally. My head shakes in disgust to me; I sit in distraught for a short while wiping away the blood from my fingers, palms and mouth on the maiden’s dress. Not my crave for I am my own grave.
I pick her up in my arms and rock back and forth, my tears bleed from me.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I wish there was a hell for what I am compelled to do.” I rehearse to thin air.
I press my face against hers as she was all alone, when I took her from her peace and with that, I let out a devilish roar to the stars that could tremor even the most fearless of higher functioning animals. I pick up my lady and shoot up into the opened sky with an army on my eye and criminal on my fogged breath, I am broken again. I glide through the air everything has merged to one; the rain has started to sprinkle down along with hail.
I come back to the castle in seconds and float downwards towards Red Speckle Lake, I enter the water still holding on to Piper, until I am half-submerged in its clutch. She lies in my arms; everything has stopped within her. I put her under and let the water take her the rest of the journey. She sinks further into the lagoon as its deepest of darkness clasps her. Her hair, arms and legs begin to waltz as she fades to memory. Now that the rain has slowed, I cry but one cries for her, the thunder is now the cover to the thrashing within my lung, I let out.
She has now been fed back to the world, out of sight but never out of mind. I leave the water with flight, mixed with a fleeing feeling; I gain height until I am perched back on my castles roof. I turn and look back out to the horizon, the sun has been dead for hours and replacing it is a red moon accompanied with clouds, I look back down to the town, not a pitchfork or lit torch in sight. The humans have no idea, still drinking their salaries away. My cape finally sleeps hunger filled and heavy to the rain. I go over my recollection of what had happened, if there was another door, I could have gone through to have not murdered Piper, a cage or shackle spring to mind but guillotine or hanging that would be my true test. I kneel down and place my hand on the slate of my roofs side guard, eyes sheltered.
“May you now look after her; world as she is the only one, we have.” I demand a small prayer.
I fall backwards until I am on my back, lying down; the rain beats off me as ball-bearings from one million pistols of the heavens.
I stand slowly, watching the clouds curdle, with a snap of my fingers towards the sky, the rain halts. The town streets have emptied, and I enter my home through a huge wooden door.
I walk into a candle lit passage; the excess water falls on to the dust-covered concrete flooring. I then walk down a dark narrow spiral staircase as slow as possible; Piper still on my thoughts, her face fills the dark. I enter through another door into a luxurious varnished wood and antique collected hallway. Relics from time and old country sit for show. I walk down the hallway removing a piece of clothing every few steps and leaving them on the floor to rest, for my servants. I walk further down the hallway now in my underwear; I keep pacing to my chambers.
You can’t beat someone who never gives up. – Babe Ruth
Sorry for the hiatus on the blog, sane people. I was having an awful couple of months when my brain wanted to relapse on me and want to give birth to all the evil thoughts stored up there all at once, but that’s neither here nor there now. I’m all better, once again.
But you try living in this body that wants to take control and plan for world domination, it’s not fun. But hey, I am writing again. Still no nibbles from Hollywood or Literary agents for that matter; Hey, I’m still alive, what more could I want…. More. Haha!
But my friend Eddy, who messages me from Los Angeles; he’s a Screenwriter. He was telling me I might be Tagging, Categorising or changing my slug-line wrong. I’m not sure.
But even if I don’t change any of that, I wonder if in time if I will get to the position I would like to rest and write in peace in? Hopefully is the expectation but the nibbles are not there.
Worry, it’s such a sane feeling, I hate it!
But my racing thoughts do get the better of me sometimes, I worry when I write, will I still be writing for 20 views a time when I have written over 200 posts? Maybe I should be focusing on getting my writing into the right hands, go find myself a literary agent? You and I both know, they wouldn’t even consider us if we do not have a name so in essence, I am Scr*wed. So, in theory, we must create a name for ourselves, gain a huge following of readers or subscribers and become the greatest writer of all time. – Still nothing!
I have hope; I hope you do in you!
Maybe the drugs are wearing down my thoughts or perhaps they are wearing my skin and it’s the medication that is writing this. – Awkward!
I guess all I am saying is “Am I wasting my time doing this?” Should I be keeping my work for my dream job as a creative writer or the hope for literary agent to scope me out and sell my work to a TV network? Is that what I want? Probably… But as a human, I don’t really know what I want.
All I know is what I must do; keep writing, Alex!
So I cannot be writing for anyone if I’m not writing for myself first. I guess I will have to wait and see, I mean I know I will never run out of ideas so I think I will be here for a while, just like you.
Lost on the internet, trying to be someone in a place where no one cares. This feels like life!
Hang in there, don’t quit on yourself and your dreams shall chase you!
Keep those pens busy….
A Killer of Love
A quiet family meal, Grace sits up close to me so I can wipe her mouth when the food falls off from the fork. Alan sits shovelling mash potato into his mouth, slowly trudging his way through his meatballs.
A male reporter mimes his way through a subtitled story on the television that’s been muted.
“All I am trying to say is it’s a doctor’s duty to make sure he takes better care of his patients and not shoot up on morphine when conducting interviews.” He grumbled over his chewed food.
“What’s a duty?” Gracie interjects.
I wipe her bottom lip with a napkin, gravy.
“It’s someone’s job sweetie. I totally agree with you, it’s a misuse of his power. He wasn’t diagnosing his patients properly and some of them ended their own lives as well as others. A total travesty.”
“And he was getting high from his own stash; any drug dealer I lock up knows that’s the first no-no.”
As Alan shakes his head forward into his piled food, I am the one who is ravenous inside. No one knows this but Dr. Jeremiah Rivers was my doctor as a young teen girl, he was the one to give me help when Lacy Burns was murdered – Yes, by me. – Now as I clean-up our dirty dishes and get ready to go to my second job all I know is the story of her will be on my mind. Your first love and murder usually rest on you heavier than any other.
“I will hold my heart over you.” She injures the demon within me with her words.
The date was early 90’s and lacy and I were sitting making daisy-chains in an open field just behind Donnie Larks farm. This was our spot, our time and how we showed love to one another. For teens worldwide falling for the equal sex for a time in curious nature may just be a fad, but for us it was the real deal; Lacy and Sally forever carved into trees we held each other in. Here we lay staring into each other’s starry eyes. Our ankle socks pulled up high as well as my hope for our love.
“Are we going to be together forever?” I look for my insecurity to be laid to rest, her words will heal me.
“You don’t have to ask, Sal. I love you.” She sucks her tight lips into her mouth. I should have read the signs at this moment.
My world becomes smaller and we are the only two inhabitants on it. I jerk my face quickly towards her and peck her on the lips. This is how I want my life to be until the end of time.
“Say something, I want to hear your voice.” I urge.
She turns on her side and arches up her head with her hand. I look up to the sapphire sky with lightly dotted clouds.
“Once upon a time, the sun and moon were in love; a man fell in love with the sun, but with a passion he hated the Moon. So with his magic powers he separated the Sun and the moon forever. Now the Sun shows her face during the day and the moon took upon the night, one day every thousand years they meet in an eclipse, but during their time apart they send wish messages on the wind, depending on the power of the wish, depends on the speed of the wind.”
“Run away with me.” An idea sparks my words.
“What? …Where will we go?” She squeaks.
“Anywhere as long as it’s with you, it’s you I want to be with, that’s all I know.” I pull her closer and hold her head on me.
We made plans to jump town and get on a train and head into the sunset far beyond our eyes can see. So here I am waiting under our tree, stars and moon watching over me. I am so in love, I don’t even realise she is twenty-five minutes late on us meeting.
Where should we go? We can always get part-time jobs build up our money and head for Paris, a dream you can almost touch. I look ideally at my watch to figure out what could be taking so long? Maybe her father has found out about our running away? She got lost in the dark? Kidnapped? ….Cold feet? Possibly.
After a long night of my hope waiting in the darkness as a thrown out dog, I head to my heart owners home for answers. Knock-knock, her mother answers in her 50’s style dress code, she is very beautiful.
“Hi there Mrs. Burns, is Lacy home?” I politely cluck.
“Hi Sally, I am sorry, Lace has gone on a date with Jason Stewart from school; you two are so close, I thought she would have told you.” My heart breaks, love has become her weapon to use against me, she has shot me so many times in the same spot.
“No, she didn’t mention it to me, thank you.” I turn and the door closes on me and our love.
She has destroyed my world I guess that is her nature, but revenge for this hurt turns into an idea which springs up instantaneously. Stick to the rules of yourself, do not hurt anyone to further yourself and you will live. A monster is born.
After 22 hours of persistent phone calls and door knocks she has agreed to meet me, but we must keep it a secret as I am sure this will be our break up, she can only kill me once.
Moping across broken twigs and dead plant life, her head in between her legs to show the hurt she put me through, she knows she is in the wrong.
Her hands stretched out to bargain. “Please Sal, just hear me out.”
Biting my tongue and holding back my shattered hearts pieces I hold cupped within my hand, I nod.
“I think we should just be friends, it’s not that I don’t love you it’s just that I can’t love you just yet.” Here come the water-works. “And I know what we have is special but we are living a lie if we think we can get away with it and it not slip out and have everyone call us out.”
One thousand and one things to say and she has me stumped, she really is my kryptonite.
“So why when we started to do this did you continue, if deep down you were feeling like this? Stopped me before I fell by myself in love, huh? Lead me along the road of a happy future and you hitch a ride from someone else and leave me stranded. How shitty is that?”
Nothing but the caws from crows and hoots from owls fill this awkwardness.
“Yeah well, it’s not like it was real or anything.”
Right there I become a libertine, my thoughts clear away all I want to say as my head rises to darkness.
“You bitch, that really does hurt me. You better because I am going to chase you.”
The fear of her life lies on her face, she about turns and runs for her life.
We lollop through the low branches. Pants and slight breathable squeaks shunt through the nightlife. As she turns to see her stalker she is clothes-lined by a branch is hurtled backwards to the floor. I stop my chase and walk to Lacy, she is going nowhere.
“Why couldn’t you just love me?” I sputter up the shards of hate.
She tries to show words but her mouth is battered from the impact. She reaches out her hand and tries to bring me down to help level for a makeup hug.
“You made my heart bleed for you, now it’s your turn.” I reach for a branch and crack it straight through her rib cage and have it protruding from her beautiful heart.
The love has gone.
Dr. Jeremiah Rivers was the psychologist assigned to Lacy’s case to perhaps find who did it and also give the ones she loved some mental support.
I guess he didn’t do his job properly and now from my point of view he could have stopped me years ago, I wonder what other monsters he let slip through his fingers. It doesn’t matter, I am going to pay him a visit and get the answers I want.
Time to for my dark side to take control.
Hey guys. Thank you for the messages. How have you been?
HOLLYWOOD IN FLAMES
The Serial Killer Part 2 – Hollywood in Flames.
I kill and mangle insides without a second thought, but I love Grace more than life itself. I do wonder sometimes while she is within my arms if she will ever amount to being a monster like her mother.
“Mommy’s going to work, come give her a kiss.” I urge from the hallway.
Little Grace toddles over to me, gripping the dolls hair as it’s dragged along the floor. Blonde curls and rose cheeks and a smile to ease the demon.
“What time you gon’ be back?” Gracey pouts.
I lower myself to her level; taking one of her hands and re-raising her sad face that has found refuge at her feet in a sulk.
“Well past your bedtime. Mommy has to go talk to a bad movie man who has done some really awful things. But I tell you what, when I get back home I will come and tuck you in and kiss you goodnight. Okay?” I hint with a wink.
Her eyes brighten up with a quick show of her gums. She scampers off, bare foot across the laminate flooring to her cartoons playing in the other room.
The way I look at parenthood, to protect the one thing I love more on this floating toilet I must kill like a African wildcat to ensure my pup has a safer chance of survival within this dangling rock.
I grab hold of my handbag full of torture techniques and weapons, disguises and phony I.D’s. What more could a suburban female killer need?
I enter my car and turn on the radio to Eminem, this guys lyrics hit just the right note for the symphony I will be playing with someone’s lungs tonight. My target, Jack Foreman, Hollywood actor from such action movies like, Enter the bullet, Beats of the bad and my personal favourite, Tainted. But tonight Hollywood and I will be making our debut in a new slasher-horror movie, I will write as I go with the flow called; you like to take the purity from little kids and that really pisses me off to the point where you have to die, asshole! …Good title, huh? I’m sure it will be a blockbuster hit worldwide.
I know I’m a small-time T.V. reporter for channel 43, every other week when the regular guy is sick, but hey, I’m working within a global recession. I can’t stand with all the reporting saners and still get in.
He will be locked away in his hotel room, a scared king in his castle, with over fifty networks from around the globe circling his moat, nibbling at his door handle for the chance to ask just one question or get one quote from his people. So a diversion is needed for us to be all alone, so I can take his soul he has taken from the innocent. This is a once in a lifetime, one on one converse, where all doors are open as well as his windpipe.
I pull up across the street of the Tyrann Hotel, which stretches to the clouds and camouflages into the night the further you look up. Flashes from photographers and limelight’s for the news anchors enlighten the feet of the skyscraper. I am a superwoman; they call me the woman of steel. What is a skyscraper? Probable rubble; but I always get my man and will go through hell fires to ensure this death.
My disguise on and my fury on fire; I exit the car with the master plan of extinguishing a star. All eyes of the surrounding area are focused on the media, flash riots and speculations. So I slip blindly passed the by-passers and cameras in my dock martins.
I enter the underground structure of the skyscraper, dynamite would be a great idea if I had any, drag the star down to the ground, I don’t, but this is my justice I must see through. A plan of how to enter the building still baffles me, everything is security locked and swiped.
Just before the nervousness of failure snuggled into me like a bad idea; when a stroke of luck in the sound of clonks from over within the darkness echoes through the doubt, within the shape of heels across the oil spills and tire burns on the floor. A middle-aged woman; grasping her bag that rests on her waist; her wide eyes show so much hope to the light that rest behind the door to the car park.
“Excuse me, do you have the time.” I query. At first she seems startled to my presence; a sigh of relief is puffed when she realized I am a normal girl, just like her, sort of…
“Oh God, you’re one of those reporters aren’t you?” She begins to walk fast towards the door, I slink behind. “The answer is no, I’m not letting you in, so you and your blood sucking vulture friends can fuck off. We’re not allowed to let any of you in or say a word or we could lose our jobs.” She asserts.
“I’m sorry, I have offended you.” She stops in her tracks and turns with sorrow. “But bitch, you need to learn some manners; what mommy and daddy weren’t strict? You’re lucky I don’t kill you where you stand; and I am no vulture, I kill my own prey.” With that I pummel her face until she falls over, knocked-out. A small price for her to pay to make this world a little safer from bad guys, now I know what you’re thinking but my evil is necessary.
I thought she may have been a receptionist or a cook but I have just hit the jackpot, a cleaner, with access to everyone’s room and lives.
Standing in the elevator watching the light jump from number to number, I look upon my thoughts and back track my overreaction to my addiction of murder, victim to victim. Why should the people in power take what they want? I am the result, the aftermath, the monster my dad and his friends made on that day. School was a nightmare and my dad had heavy feet, not only on my ribs but also when he walked on the floorboards of our broken home. Mom left us both for another man with another family; I guess it was her loss.
I’m stuck in a world that doesn’t understand me, I just don’t fit in anywhere; I think deep down I like it this way, alone.
“Sally, get your ass up already!” He rumbles the windows when he shouts.
I could slash out my eyes to not witness anymore hurt; I do hear that if you lose one sense that your others heighten. I creep down the stairs, tiptoeing in my sneakers upon the edge of each step.
“I’m up; I will pick something to eat on the way to school.” I report quietly.
He sits on his faded patterned, raggedy chair; an opened paper obscures his entire nefariousness to me.
“Good; make sure you get there on time, I don’t send those school cheques for you to sleep in and be tardy. You hear me, bitch.” The paper comes down. His bilious stare helps tense up my bruised stomach. Bar brawling scars echo on his nose and cheeks. His exterior is that of a builder and that is because he lost his job building after he started drinking when mom left, she has a lot to answer for. He glocks a full mug of coffee in front of me; waiting for me to step out of line somehow.
“Get out of here, and remember what I said. Oh and I am having some friends over tonight, for some beers.” The paper rises again.
I do a kind of weak curtsy to him before I make a hasty retreat to his eructs.
I have a secret. To tell you the truth, I was a girly nerd, a nerd who wanted to be more. But how can you be more when you’re in high school? Ritualistically bullied because of my body’s small build and my adventurous nature I take when I escape into learning.
I walk down the busy hallway, eye shy within the traffic jams of people, honks of nicknames and insults along with clips of closed lockers. I huddle into my homework with both arms; I stare at the floor, a meter in front of me the whole way to my class, English lit.
“Hey skank, you’re walking in my way, your bad.” I get shouldered by a Lacy Burns, the make-up queen. My life is hell here.
I wasn’t in any click or associated with any group, I couldn’t even blend in evenly. I did try to dress accordingly, a blue shirt with a black dragon logo on the back, fitted jeans and my sneakers; still wasn’t enough for the pop-kids.
I never wanted to be this girl but this is the result of my history that shifted my geography, since then my mathematical problems doubled, tripled and quadrupled and within my science all I am left with is the P.E. I learned that made me run away with a pipe-dream for bad English and dark-side of the human anatomy and biology.
I dragged the tips of my feet through the front door, unravelling my arms from my backpack. I glance into the living room. A football game, a few packs of beer and extreme whiff of weed, smoke fills the room as angry faces indented in the atmosphere.
“I’m home dad.” I chimed in over the horde of grunts and belly laughs of drunken men.
Not even a look of care. I slink off up the stairs, counting ever step to my mortifying loneliness.
An hour had breezed by, when an unnerving thought sprinkles over my skin to give me goosebumps. Silence has moved in downstairs. I waft down my Superman comic; the creeks of floorboards outside my room were deathly deafening. The stairs lead straight to my door, I don’t have a lock on it anymore; he kept on breaking it down. The door flings open to the reason of my addiction. I won’t go on and put my mental thought process over what 4 fully grown men and my dad did to me; you have an imagination almost as sick as mine, use it, but please keep it there.
I will tell you later on that night, I remember brushing my hair in stupor, one stroke at a time, prolonged and emotionless. I place my brush next to my make-up bag, not breaking eye contact with myself in the mirror. Red marks and slight scratches show off in the mirror as highlighted sex brandings.
I wipe clear everything on my countertop.
“AAAARRRHHHHHHHH! You fucking bastard; fucking evil sadistic fucker! You want a piece of me, huh?! Get you fucking ass up here and fight me like the cunt you are, Dad!” I dared him as my monster surfaced from the grave I had kept it in. I don’t break contact with both sides of myself in the mirror, looking for a familiar side of me to creep behind the shimmer.
The sound of beer can’s being trampled on and kicked to a side echo from downstairs. He is coming, the oaf. No more backing down Sal, these people have made your life hell and expected you to live in it, so why not show them the hell they so easily send you in everyday.
As he stomps I march for battle, fist clenched and teeth bared. From within my bedroom I see his head bob and weave to aside, still shitfaced. I shan’t even let him get that far, I take off running for him and by the time I know it, I am hurtling myself through the air, open palms in his direction. I collide with him and we both tumble-down the stairwell.
I remember waking up sometime later; this was the last time I was ever in his arms and also the last time he was on top of me.
And ever since I have always found and detested men or women who take advantage of their position within this world, whatever the power.
The remembrance of murder will have to wait, the ding from the top floor is about to go. I will rethink about past murders later.
I need a plan for this guy; think Sally, think… Ding*
I exit warily, peaking around the bends with my peepers. Two bodyguards are yakking to one another outside of room 126. Now I must make those cretins skedaddle for about five minutes without Jacky boy. Sally, you’re an evil genius.
I reach into my bag and retrieve a fake news reporter I.D. card and a powerful camera but the necessity must be able to carry it within my pocket. I exit the elevator, walking in the completely opposite direction; I can feel their eyes on me. My time here must be terse, so let’s get to work.
I turn the corner, my back up against a wall near to the stairwell. I have one finally look around. I pull the fire alarm lever. A shrill pulse chants through every hallway, the elevator doors close along with my back of tricks lying on the floor, I will get it later. I can just about eavesdrop on the bodyguards trying to figure out what is happening and what to do, over the shriek.
I head through the stairway door and head to the reclusive shadows of the last flight of stairs, I sit and wait. One of the bodyguards chops through the door, walkie-talkie in hand shouting orders at the security downstairs.
Round about now, an assemblage of paparazzi are edging their eagerness through the security officers and entering the building. Jack Foreman has been left all alone within his room to ensure his own safety until they figure out if there is a blaze somewhere in the building or if someone has a deadly prank to play. I strut down the stairs; the ringing of the siren imbues a ring within the ear. I trudge while the sound of screams cannot be heard.
The corridor horror-show is empty, a time to strike. I love fire alarms, when you have a system like this one, where you have to swipe electronically to get into a room, in the result of a fire alarm all room doors open automatically to certify safety is carried out.
I walk straight in through the door; from under my blouse I retrieve the black-lace with knife in it, pushing the material in my back pocket. He stands at the window wall; the skyline of the entire city is pictured perfectly from this angle. A brandy in hand, his thoughts blank out the alarm and hustle downstairs, he swigs another dreg.
I wrap my gloved hands over his forehead and press the blade against his neck, his glass drops to the floor.
“People like you shouldn’t be allowed to live!” I snarl over the racket.
Within one flash I stripe him across his Adam’s-apple, the blood sprays over the window, bloodstained glass. I look at his peripheral vision, his eyes glued to the horizon line as he has reached his own. I let him go, he shucks to the ground lifeless. A star has been extinguished.
Now here comes the tricky part, I wrap my weapon back in its lace-case and put him to bed under my waistband. I fix up my disguise and retrieve the phony I.D. and camera and begin to take pictures of him lying in a slump. The blood flood edges my way.
At that moment the Fire-alarm stops screaming. I hear a multitude of footsteps stampeding in my direction. The door bursts open.
“Oh my God is he dead? He’s been fricken’ murdered.” A male voice says.
I stand in stun. Is this security or a bodyguard or is it who I am hoping it to be? A man stands at my side, scruffy looking with long bedraggled hair, big thick glasses and a camera in hand.
“Hey, I’m Dave, channel 9, central news. Did you find the body?” Dave ponders as he winds up his camera. The party gets bigger as another several men join the carnage of the murder scene. Each taking pictures from all different angles.
Security bursts in from the door, tackling Dave and another couple of men. I stand in the corner as tussles and scraps break out between the paparazzi and the security.
“We need more security up here now; Jack Foreman has been murdered in his suit!” One security officer barks down the walkie-talkie.
And while the room turns less violent with thrown punches and name-calling, I make my retreat out of the room. The doors to the elevator open as soon as I reach them, I walk in faced down to avoid the cameras; I pick up my bag and hoop it over my shoulder. I press the G1 button on the panel, halfway home.
The lobby of the hotel has become overrun with reporters and police officers and without an effort I exit the building to freedom and scurry over a couple of roads to my parked car, away from this madness.
A sigh of relief I exhale. I turn the key in the ignition and begin my journey back home to my little Gracie, need to tuck her in and kiss her goodnight.
I stand in front of the camera, microphone in hand. I feel comely to the eye of every man surrounding me.
“3, 2, 1 and… Action.” Chris my cameraman points in my direction.
I put the microphone just below my chest.
“Good-evening, Mark. All we know at this time is the actor, Jack Foreman, has been murdered within his hotel room at some point last night. This is the man Hollywood dubbed the next Paul Newman of our time. But recent weeks of the actor’s life have been sent into turmoil after allegations of sex acts had surfaced, that is the reason behind him being held up within the hotel, behind me. His people and the police have not released any other details of the case or the why, but all we can do is keep watchful eye on what the investigators and pathologist say when they have done their reports. We know there is a strange female reporter and a few men found at the scene that the police are interested in talking to. It is a sad day for fans worldwide. All of our thoughts go out to his friends and family from channel 43 news. This is Sally Rose, here at Tyrann Hotel. Back to you in the studio.”
I am still here. I’ve been busy working on my new novel. Sorry I had to disappear on everyone. I will keep you posted.
Thanks for all the love. Drop me a message and I will reply. Be good to one another and I will see you all soon. Love you all!