Faceless Writer

A young mind with a dark look on the beauty of the world...#Horror And #Sadness is what I write about because fear and tears go well together

[storiesbyl1ck]

His body brings him on a path—a journey—one with no true beginning and no clear end within the endless corridors of an alien edifice. The similarity of each turn and the creeping feeling of stalking eyes challenges his sanity with every step. The deeper he walks into the infinite dark hallways, the more his humanity begins to fade. What is his purpose within this labyrinth of Madness? Punishment for his wrongdoings or an evil ritual put on by some inexplicable monster?

With the second book in the series coming out on Friday, now is the perfect time to read the first short story in the series! 

[storiesbyl1ck]

Ill be posting my photos on here now, heres one

[storiesbyl1ck]

To Kill a Writer

My skin had grown accustomed to my office's bleak, dreary atmosphere. My home, withering away by neglect from its owner—like its owner. But I had so little time to worry about feeble things like the cleanliness of the rooms which I alone endured, and though this was my trivial conscious thought, within me, I abhorred my home and the squalid waste which I had left to rot in each crevice of it. My work was important, I told myself—I was a writer—but most of my days were spent wasting away on my chair, legs going numb and eyes abstracted from a wandering mind; I did not know what I found in there, it had been empty for a long time, but it seemed more effortless than the page which lay empty day after day. I loathed the keys, which twinkled with illimitable potential, and the stories they told though I had forgotten their language. Now all I saw was the constituent alphabet and all its fading imagery. But I could not give up on this dream; it was all I had—all I knew. 

I remember that horrible evening when the moon grew a darker shade by the passing density of ashen vapors. The stars did not leer down upon me, vanishing behind a churning developing storm. I had, once again, reveled in isolation within my office while staring crudely at the paper, brooding devilishly about my forgetfulness. Something came down that night from the faint moon effulgence, an inexplicable ignition that caused a faint flicker of waning creativity. I fell out of deep thought, my presence staring at the page was now engulfed by an idea, and within this fever, I wrote maddeningly while the festering storm outside bellowed and whisked about, but now I see that it was the heavens laughing maniacally at me. Sleep was unimportant, and throughout the night, I scribbled loose ends and feeble plots until I had down a rough testament to a story. I believed it was ten the following morning when my phone rang. I saw on the phone it read Mom, but I had little time to answer her idiotic questions about my life; How is your writing, in this heightened voice of hers with undertones of worry and disapproval. My work, though life-engulfing, had never made me much more than a dollar, and it had become the main discussion of each family gathering; how is your writing? Which is why I stopped going, stopped calling, stopped answering. 

I believe I had been absent of a familiar for well over a year on the day I became this maddened zealot to this written obsession. The dissociative state I had found while still in my prime of artistic craving and potency had pushed my closest family and friends away, and though, at the time and even now, I believed I was better off being reclusive from anybody but the voices which spoke softly in the back of my brain. Still, though I dare not speak of it myself, I longed for a friend other than the brisk tongueless wind which accompanied me on many silent nights and distressing days. Or the immortal stars, which traded me thoughtful glances like two brothers do across a dinner table. But I would be a fool to let myself recognize the misery I put myself into, and so I continued my drift from people who loved me; but now, I could not know if they did. And on nights when the compulsion to write this oracle from the source of creation did not wholly overtake my volition, I found myself swimming in empty sheets, molding pillows to mime a pseudo-lover, though my imagination now dismal and frail sometimes it was enough. But on this path to finish this masterpiece that would imbed my name with the greatest writers of history, I slept less in the vast sea of tears and linens that swelled my bed and suffocated me each night and more by the keypad of my computer. The computer light illuminated the work of a dismal chiseler, a sculptor of a man inspired by tiresome days and harrowing thoughts which accented a face of misery; chiaroscuro emboldened these features so that even while I typed maddeningly, the face of determination was twisted to show the truth behind the depressive portals. I was my chiseler, my art piece, and the truth was I had lost my purpose.

It had been six months since the beginning of the project, and this was when I could sense poignant atmosphere shifts inside my home. A haunting presence loomed around me, and though I tried heavily to focus on this triumphant novel, the trepidation weighed too heavily on me. In the dark of my office, corners where the lamplight could not permeate through, where dense molds of darkness swirled with static imagery. When I looked into it, a daze of dreams about what was and if this had been all worth it came over me. Eventually, I would break free from the mystifying misery of phantasmagorias and exclaim that everything was worth it for my perfect book before continuing. But as each day waned into night and night waned into day, I refused to truly discern what was amidst. The immemorial sense of dread that flies with the mocking murder of crows through a sick density of ashen clouds; the triviality of a human looking in the abyss of tenebrous waters; insignificant and unimportant while one's eyes wash over the incalculable infiniteness of the cosmos; I felt it all, the closer I grew to finish the story of absolute perfection, which exceeded all and any novel ever written. 

I could say that as I began to finish the final paragraphs of my novel, a skew in my steadfast drive became apparent to me. I longed once more to hear the phone ring and see my mother's name or a knock at the door by my father waiting to catch up over lunch, and though I desired to see my family greatly, something maniacal gripped me and forced my hand to continue typing. My fingers were bruised, welted, and held a distinguishable change in pigmentation. My keys were tainted with a coagulated mess of bodily fluids which seeped from between my fingernails. 

I miss my family, I would say—I need a break from all this. But I had come too close now to stop. Words from beyond the veil told me nothing was more important than these words I was writing. It told me I had gone far past, saving a connection with people who once loved me. I saw things when I was allowed to rest, in my dreams, defiled and maimed by whatever spun my fingers against my volition—or maybe not, I had begun to concur maybe these thoughts had truth. I saw my loved ones reveling in my absence, people I knew flourishing without my presence, having previously unfathomed happiness now that I was no longer an anchor to pull them into the insufferable boisterous depressions which swallowed me and everyone who was near. This I was shown, and after weeks of complete isolation within my office, alone with the unseen shadow leering over my shoulder, I believed it. 

My office had become a squalid hole, only fit for rats and insects to breed and mutate into grotesque monstrosities, but I stayed within. Malnourished and drowsy, I was now a distant echo of who I had been, a shattered mirage of my prior self. My skin was tight, asphyxiating my frail bones and atrophying muscles. At some points within a stuporous abstraction, I would stare beyond the words on the computer monitor to the reflection of my disdainful self, examining the sharp, unnatural curves of my sunken face and the emaciated sockets of my eyes which looked upon myself with a hollow stare of misery. My lips curled permanently towards the floor, the muscles knowing nothing but a distasteful frown. 

The day I finished, the story was a day that haunted me forever, now in the past, along with art and any sort of written language. It was a nebulous night, and my eyelids had not closed in days when I found myself no longer typing. I snapped out of the daze and saw the final words on the paper. It meant nothing to me, sitting in my room without a purpose or need to be alive. I fell back into my chair with a tired slump and could feel my body decaying, every cell malnourished too, possibly an unfixable point of desecration. I thought of many horrid things, mainly ways that I could end this torture I put my body through, but that would allow a great deal of suffering to me in my final moments, I believed I deserved such a fate. A knife to my forearms, a last drink of poison, or shall the rope in my garage generously ornament me in this very room? I thought, but I was too weak to make any of these come to truth. And that's when I heard its distinctive voice, its fiendish words seeping into my ears and filling my mind with horror. You are now worthless to me. A ferocious quivering began from the computer as I watched the perfect story melt off the computer onto the floor, now a viscous puddle of black ink and wasted dreams. The vibrating mass of intangible liquid began to move to a distant corner behind my desk, where the lamplight could not brighten and where my gaze would often go, with a shiver of dread always to follow and malicious mutations of memories of people I knew now to despise me. I saw darkness take on shape and contort within itself, then, within the corner, the darkness came out and touched the lamplight, I could see its slender fingers, but it was darkness with no true pigmentation or form. My interpretation could have been influenced by the hysteria I was in or the sleep deprivation. The formless thing walked towards me, and wherever it stood, light no longer was, this was the only way I could see it, an amorphous form bounded to eyesight only by the juxtaposition which occurred. It was there before me like the emptiness under your bed is there; I looked at it like you look at a void; I sensed its presence, how you feel a malicious glare just outside your view. It wrapped something, arms I presumed, around my body and stared at me, I believed, with eyes more absent than its own existence yet a gaze more prominent and potent than the eye-lock between two lovers. But I did not love the darkness; I abhorred it, feared it like a child. I hated the emptiness which came with darkness, I hated being among the emptiness, and now it engulfed me. Its words slithered through the benighted air and filled the silence with twisted ruminations for me to fester on in my last moments. When you die, I will be there to mock your grave. Its shadowy distinction from the rest of the world began to cast around me like a blanket. I collapsed to the floor in a delusional panic, whimpering and pleading for my family. I saw the moon again; like me, it was cast behind darkness, with nowhere to run before being swallowed whole. 

The vastness of nothingness was upon me. I still curled up, cowering from the darkness ensnaring me. But now, I was the only thing in a world of utter emptiness, but it felt just like the room in which I had been held hostage for a year, the same isolation, fear, and self-scorning mockery. But something of this realm was familiar, distorting as if I had been here a myriad of times before. I picked myself up from the ground and, without reason, began a stalking gait somewhere. 

I had awoken sometime later, the time unknown to me, to the sound of indistinct voices crying out to me. Pealing through the realm I was seduced into, and what was likely the underlying reason for my awakening was that it was the voice of my mother and father. At first fuzzy, but still making out their distinguishable figures, caused me to sob uncannily, opposite to how my parents had seen me last, as a callous dispositioned man. Still, at the moment, I was nothing more than a weak, tired boy who needed a hug from his parents. They sat with me on the wretched floor of my terrible office, covered in my putrid filth with a ghoulish atmosphere. Still, not one word was spoken of this, the comforting silence washed away the previously vehement loathing. It was in my mother's arms that I cried for an hour while the hands of my fathers rubbed my frail arms, and their eyes twinkled with beautifully caring worry.

[storiesbyl1ck]

She Cheated

I knew she was cheating, she left at night looking nicer than the day of our wedding. Her eyes had that familiar glimmer they used to have when we first started dating. Our connection relied on fights and quiet dinners. If we didn’t live together our lives would have separated a long time ago. But my love for her did not change, I adored that sparkle in her eye even if it wasn’t for me anymore. I admired the spin she would do in the mirror to show her dress off. Even if she wasn’t trying to impress me. My eyes still looked for her in a crowd of a million women. But she had simply forgotten about us. But I couldn’t say goodbye, she was happy with this man. And I was happy seeing her every day. Even if she ignored me, even if she stormed out of the apartment when she was mad, probably too cry in his arms. There were nights she wouldn’t come home and I would lie in our bed, pretending it was the night after our wedding. The night she told me she wanted me next to her forever. And I wasn’t ready to break that promise, even if she already did.

[storiesbyl1ck]

My mom always asks if I’m okay, I say I’m fine because I could never tell her to her face how much I hate the life she gave me.

[storiesbyl1ck]

The Forest

Before you read the beginning of this Story, I would like to say a few words. This book, was started 3 years ago from a short story competition between some of my friends. The Story was short but I fell in love with the idea of the story. It has been my pride and joy over the past few years, as I have added chapters, rewritten many pages over and over until I liked it. To do this day I have not finished the book. I hate endings, also I am very bad at sticking to one project and with my constant push for a new story this one fell behind the stove. I would like to hear your honest opinion on this first chapter and maybe I will finish it, because god do I love this book. (If I finish it, the rest will be publish on amazon or somewhere) Thank you for reading this short passage, if you did. 

(if there are any errors, I am sorry) 

Chapter 1: Beginning

She wasn’t going to listen to her parents. Her mindless fun in the rain muffled the distressed screams of her father to come back inside. She hopped between the puddles that collected throughout the grass in their yard. As her feet impacted the water tension, she imitated a landing sound of something much larger than her, ‘boom’. She saw herself as a giant. Her imagination took over her mindful thoughts, often leaving her in between the boundary of real life and her mind. It was what her dad called a terrible blessing. She did not want to wear a raincoat, to her, there was no reason to play in the rain if she wasn’t going to get wet. She wanted to feel the water. She stopped and held her arms out on both sides. Her head facing the sky, letting the rainfall swallow her. Her dad gave up trying to get her to come back in. He closed the front door with agitation.

“She is going to catch a cold!” His voice was raised, the sound of irritation lingered in his words. Her mom was in the kitchen stirring up a warm stew, for the cold day. She let out a small chuckle.

“She’ll be fine, I mean look at how much fun she’s having!” He looked through the window to see his daughter laughing and screaming. His anger fell from his face to reveal a small smirk. 

“Well she has to come in soon, it is getting late!” He kissed his wife and began to help her cut carrots for the stew.

She ran through the backyard, back and forth between the patches of dampening grass. It made her feel like she was flying. Especially when she looked up toward the sky. The rain was getting heavier, the intense fall of water had made sight almost a useless sense. But she continued to blindly run around. Laughing and giggling. 

‘Darling... come in now!’ the voice cut through the booming rainfall. She stopped frolicking to hear the off-tone voice of her mother. ‘This way Love!’ She followed the powerful words through the rain. It now sounded like the words were coming from everywhere, no origin of the voice. She looked around through the wall of water that surrounded her. Spinning in circles trying to find her mother. 

‘We are here darling!’ She stopped spinning with her heel, digging it into the mud. Her eyes stared down a passage through the water, it had split open. A clear sight of an opening into the forest. The ground through this split was dry, like it had never been raining.

‘Come on darling I won’t ask again!’ The voice of her mother was coming from inside the entwined trees. Her curiosity spiked, outweighing the foreboding feeling found in the pit of her stomach. She slowly walked down the path through the rain. Holding her hands together, close to her mouth. The rain began to undo the path she had already walked on, closing in behind her with every step. She paused when her feet had touched a crisp press of dead leaves. ‘Come into the trees darling!’ She stood upon the woods at the end of her yard, the towering tree seemed to almost bend over her head. Her attention was taken back from the trees to the voice. 

‘Come on Darling!!!’ Her feet seemed to move on their own as she pushed forward into the ominous forest. A thick fog began to roll in from all directions moving like waves at a beach. It was like smoke, it had an indescribable smell, a smell of horrific flavors. Her curiosity was very quickly replaced with a powerful fear of her surroundings. Her soul-shaking in her own skin. She spun around ready to run back, but it all looked the same now. Her house was no longer in view. She was surrounded by a maze of leaves and branches. This was now a game. 

‘We are the only ones who love you…’ Tears fell from her cheeks landing on the forest floor.

‘Don’t cry, you are safe with us…’ 

“Where is she, it’s almost 9!” Her father was looking out every window of the house, trying to spot his daughter. 

“She is probably playing in the woods honey don’t worry.” The mom finished setting the table for dinner. “If you want, I can go look for her?” “You are getting in this huge mess and you have work tomorrow you need your sleep.” The exhaustion in his eyes showed itself very clearly. But the worried father showed, even more, it was just that look. Her mom smiled with open arms, ready to give a hug of comfort. Her arms wrapped around him as he sighed.

“She never listens…”

“You know her, she always lost in her own head.” She pushed away to see his face and gave him a gleaming smile. “Kind of like you.” She painted a kiss with her lips onto his cheek. “I’ll go find her, you go to sleep.” She got her raincoat and boots as he walked upstairs and climbed into bed. He looked out the window of their bedroom and saw his wife running into the forest with a flood lamp. As she neared the forest the only thing that gave off her location was the light. The light then disappeared into the thick brush and rain. But his mind was in and out of consciousness and his worried feelings drifted above his head. He walked to the comforting sheets and fell asleep within seconds, not hearing the screaming that echoed throughout the rain. 

‘They love us more….’

The voice rang in his head, awakening him in a sweat. His body was twitching from his pounding heart. He couldn’t catch his breath fast enough to scream, He jolted his head to where his wife usually laid. It was empty. He hopped out of bed and ran down the hall to his daughter's room. Dark, the bed was still neatly made the way she left if the morning before. His terrorized self slipped down the stairs, he swung the front door open and stood at the edge of his porch “EVAAAA...ELLIE!” He cupped his hands around his mouth trying to have his word carrying farther through the rain. It had calmed down, but still muffled his cries. After trying once more he ran into the rain and tried again,

“EVA…...ELLIE!” Nothing but the sound of the trees blowing in the wind. He searched the yard for anything that may resemble his family. The Flood lamp shined through the storm, bouncing off the hazed air. His feet could not move faster to the light. A relief pushed him to run faster towards the only hope of his wife and daughter being back in his arms. As he neared the lamp his composure slipped away with the raindrops. The lamp lay on the edge of his yard. The lamp teased the darkness with his collapsing mentality as it began to flicker in and out. Within moments he was engulfed in the midnight atmosphere. Identical to his overwhelming flush of tormenting grief. He collapsed to the wet grass underneath his feet - resting on his knees, his head fell below his shoulders. His attention began to grow inward, towards the emotional desolation and less on the physical world that was surrounding him with torment. 

“They belong to us…”

Voices began to ripple in his thoughts. Till one stood out from the rest:

“DADDY!”

He stood up with determination, the distressed voice drove him into the dark wooded lands, blind. He followed the echoes of his daughter's pleads.

“DADDY PLEASE HELP ME!”

He held his hands out ahead of his steps. He found himself in an opening, a small circular field, surrounded by sturdy oak and evergreens. A dark stump centered in the middle of the plain. A red glow resonated from the top of the remains of a once-great tree. A hushed mumbling surrounded the stub, an incoherent chant. It sounded like it was repeating the same syllables but it was not any language he had heard. His curiosity grew beyond the stump, where a motionless shadow stood. 

“Ellie!?” He pierced his throat with his dry voice, trying to yell over the raindrops. The shadow moved slightly, its head turned to face Forrus. Nothing was describable but its eyes. Headlights filled with anger, the crimson color of its oval eyes impaled his mind. A wave of panic tossed him to the ground. A loud screech came from the creature before it jumped over the treeline. 

“What the fuck…” He laid on his back, his head processing the event.

“Wake up, WAKE UP FORRUS!” he spun around and began hitting his head on the ground. 

“Daddy?” He turned to see his daughter standing behind him.

“Oh my god, Eva… I thought I lost you.” Forrus spoke between quick breathes and tears. 

“You did Daddy…Help me...” Forrus stared at Eva as she slowly faded into the rain. He grabbed for her, but she was gone. 

...

“I TOLD YOU… I DON’T KNOW ANYTHING!” “ALL I KNOW IS THEY ARE OUT THERE LOST, NOW ARE YOUR MEN GOING TO DO THERE JOB AND FIND MY FAMILY!!!” Forrus wanted to believe it was a simple nightmare, but his love, his daughter were still gone. 

 “Sir, we just need to know why you were in the forest. With no sighting of your wife or daughter, the only person on the scene was you.”

“Who...Called you guys?” Forrus’s head was leaning onto his left shoulder. As his neck was incapable of holding all the images in his now broken mind. The two officers looked to each other then back to Forrus. 

“Uh… you did sir.” Forrus looked up to them, confused. “Sir we are not saying you had anything to do with their disappearance, but…” The officer cleared her throat, “That’s what it kind of looks like.”

(Forrus was taken to court for the disappearance of Eva and Ellie, but with lack of evidence He was proven to be guilty and set free. But the image of Forrus being a murderer stuck to everyone. He was outcasted by neighbors and became isolated from the world outside the woods.)

[storiesbyl1ck]

Awakening light

My body was tired, it thanked me with an overwhelming sensation of tranquility as my back touched the gentle feel of the sheets upon my bed. The blanket slipped easily over my skinny frame, I was now engulfed in the relaxing heat from my sheets. I closed my eyes, ready for the dreams that awaited beyond the conscious world. But as I began to feel the infinite fall into the line between dreams and reality I was awoken by a change of Shade on my eyelids. There was a light that had crept slowly through my bedroom window. It was an innocent crack of light, but at 12 in the morning my attention became nearly fixed upon this beam. I had forgotten I was tired all together. I twisted my body to face the window, staring, into the illuminated void that now absorbed the outside atmosphere. It grew brighter by the minute; the feeling of ominosity began to trickle into my spine. I felt uneasy and more uncomfortable as the light grew stronger and stronger. I pushed the blanket off of my body and got up from my bed, my body begged for sleep but my brain needed answers. I hid behind the curtain as I peeked out into the night. My backyard was full of stretched shadows, the light was protruding from within the trees. It did not have the same glow as natural light, it was tinted with a white that only made the dark surroundings more pitch black. The light resembled a spotlight, but it shined down upon me instead of upwards towards the sky. I pushed my head further outside the comfort of my curtains. My head angled towards the sky to catch a glimpse of the source. As the last bit of me hid behind the cloth I saw the origin of the beam of light. A stretched out sphere floated above my home, it was almost grey with three red lights that were rotating around the side of the craft. The white light began to move, its range of illumination dwindled into a concentrated ray of light. It briefly flicked around my yard before locking upon my window. I could no longer feel my heart, my breathing had stopped too. My eyes had frozen their stare into the beam. I snapped into a burst of flight and jumped into my bed, in the moment my bed felt like the only safe place. Minutes went by before I had opened my eyes again, during these few moments I tried to wake my self up from this horrid dream - but all I did was leave a bruise on the backside of my hand. Sometime later my curiosity lingered into my head once more, it drove me to look upon my covers and see if I was safe again. As I push the covers down I was embraced by the darkness, never had I felt such comfort in the dark. Then I heard the sound of the window unlocking...

[storiesbyl1ck]

Your Heart tears open, your esophagus pushes the clog of pain down into your stomach, so it can eat you from the inside out. You feel your arms shaking and have an uncontrollable urge to scream, but when you do all that emerges is tears from the eyes that saw this coming.

[storiesbyl1ck]

Young One - Part. 2

The cargo truck pushed through the unkempt roads and rubble of war, silence between the General and the selected children was hidden by the hum of the engine. Kids of all ages, from different parts of town all came together to fight for a cause they knew little about, but at this point of the war, the cause was lost in the bullets and blood. Lives were taken by men who only fought to see their families once more. 

“What do you see, Young One.” The General looked towards the boy. He continued to hold the teddy bear, but his face was no longer hidden between the fuzz of its stomach. His eyes watched the outside lands roll by them, painting a picture of sorrow. He looked to the General, briefly, before he turned back to the outside. His eyes filled with the feeling that war left in its path of destruction. “War isn’t pretty, but it’s necessary.” He gave his words to all the kids now. “We will arrive in five minutes, then your new life begins.”

…

“These are your quarters, you will sleep together, you will learn together, and against gods will you will die together!” There Quartermaster stood in the door frame, his stance was perfect to the smallest detail. “Your Commanding Officer will meet with you shortly, do your best to not disappoint!” He turned and walked out of the room. The kids were free of the pressure from a superior, letting them be kids again. A taller boy sat across from Young One, his bootlickers stood around him begging for acceptance with laughter and false worshiping. He stared at Young One, his lips muttered something to his group. They went quiet before laughing again. He got up and took a few powerful strides forwards. 

“You brought a teddy bear? I am supposed to be in the top squad, my father would have the commander's head if he found out I was bunking with someone like you.” His words were filled with hatred, his face was tight with his lips raised, disgusted with Young One. “Are you Deaf?” The boy's hands gripped Young One’s hair tight, forcing their eyes to meet. They stared into each other's souls before the boy opened his mouth one more time. “You’re going to get sent home in a body bag.” He released his grip, Young One’s head snapped back to the comfort of his teddy bear with no change in emotion. The boy reached for the teddy bear this time, gripping its lower body with a firm pull following. “Give me it, you vile boy!” The boy raised his other hand, landing a hit across Young One’s left cheek. His grip on the bear was released from the pain that ran throughout his body. The Boy held the bear in his hand, letting it dangle in the tense atmosphere. His goons cackled in the background, he looked around the room. “NO ROOM FOR THE WEAK IN THIS WAR!” His voice carried throughout the housing, he held the bear over the top of his head; it was now his trophy to an unfair victory. But in a war like theirs, it wasn’t about being fair. Young One pushed himself off the bed, his face stared down to their feet. His hands shook with rage. He remained unnoticed by the boy, who was already absorbed by his victory. Tears quickly filled his eyes, which only blinded his rage even more. His right hand slowly reached into his back pocket. Thoughts were no longer controlling him, but an impulsive feeling that lingered in the back of his young mind. An insatiable need for revenge. His hand gripped something in his pocket. The young boy still inside that caged mind, could not stop this but only watch in horror as he slowly slips further away from himself. With a quick motion he revealed a small pocket knife. Young One jumped on the boy, entering the knife between his rib cage. His eyes were full of sadness, but he held the knife with anger. The boy let out a cry but only blood slipped through his lips. He twisted the knife, entering it deeper into the boy's chest. He held the knife until the blood stopped dripping from his mouth. The boys eyes looked similar as the light in him slipped away. The knife slipped out easily as he pulled it from the fatal wound. The stains from his kill were on his clothes and now another on his soul. Another life was lost in front of his eyes, but it did not feel as valuable as the first two. He picked up his teddy bear its chest now a shade of crimson. Young One looked around the room, kids looked towards him with horror. The first time any of them had witnessed cold-blooded murder. But it would not be their last, they were fighting a war after all.

[storiesbyl1ck]

Young One

In the corner of the room, he sat tight against the walls. Comforted by the embrace of the cold surfaces. He sank his emotionally shattered face into the arm of his teddy bear. Its counterfeit love gave the boy a sense of comfort, a place to feel safe. But it only temporarily fulfilled what he truly longed for. He looked up to watch the other kids play alongside each other. Their imaginations not yet broken, filled basic objects with unlimited uses. Their young minds stopped them from seeing the truth. They all lived among the undesired, the unloved, and the uncared for. Orphans. He watched them disregard how meaningless their lives were, filling the moments up with temporary smiles and empty memories. His mind could no longer imagine these stories anymore, his eyes had witnessed the truest of evils in the real world - death… He remembers their screams, the petrified stare in his mother's eyes as she let out her final breath. Her face stained his eyelids, the tears mixing with her blood as they dripped into a pool of chaos. The way her mouth cried out for saving but her eyes showing she knew she was going to have no mercy shown on her. He remembers his fathers face too, the look of hatred as he held the gun. His eyes were unexplainable to such a young mind, but one might say they were full of betrayal. His mom was a good mother, but not a good wife. His father made quick of his mother before turning the gun on himself, no goodbyes, just an untreatable wound that slowly grew with age. Within the few years of being orphaned a war between countries grew outside. Like his family, betrayal conflicted with friendly ties that were now soiled with mistrust. His country used its citizens like pawns in chess, but in chess, there was a point to every piece. You try to keep as many pieces as you can to keep the king alive. But his country did not know how to play chess…

“We are now taking children over the age of ten too be recruited into our honorable front line forces.” A Man in a cameo suit with a badge that read ‘USSR’ towered over the boys and girls who patiently waited for words they understood.

“Sir, most of these kids aren't even nine yet.” One of the Sisters spoke over the silence, directing her concerns to the military man. The man looked around the room, noticing him in the corner of the room.

“What about that young man over there.” The Sister moved closer to the man, whispering something into his ear.

“He’ll be a fine soldier.” The man walked over to him. Power in his step, confidence in his words. This man knew no boundaries and probably proved that on the battlefield. The man knelt next to him and angled his head to look at him while he spoke.

“I’ve seen death too kid. My mother” He paused, like the suppressed grief was beginning to flow through his veins once more. “died in front of my eyes when I was only six... Took her own life.” The Boy pushed his face deeper into the teddy bear, words of his mother only angered the young mind.

“But I am going to teach you how to use this anger.” The man smirked. “I am going to make you a soldier.”

[storiesbyl1ck]

Sheep

The windmill spun in between the fingers of the wind, weaving a scarf patterned with leaves and hay. The barn stood sharp in between the flock that grazed upon the rich field, their fears of predators and starvation long forgotten, from the life of a privileged animal. Born under a roof, which throughout their life, protected them from the weather. It gave them a place to sleep when the stars appeared. To what seemed like a perfect life, there were rules - two rules. The first rule, a sheep must never satisfy the temptation to look beyond the wooden fence. The second rule, a sheep’s day will always be guided by the human who feeds us. There were no exceptions. Once a month the sheep lined up to have their dense coat of wooly fibers shaved off. A sheep’s pride came from their full-body mane, their “baas” were filled with sorrow and embarrassment. As they walked out the barn feeling naked and used. What made them sheep was so easily stripped from them. When the crisp grasp of winter arrives in the form of fall, the sheep grew anxious. One day at the beginning of the season he would arrive, with a different face on. Throughout the year he held a caring smile above his chin, his voice was dry of age but warm from the heart. But this day he seemed cold. His eyes shivered, his smile fell deep into his soul. It was replaced by hungry lips. He held a rope and an ax. His walk was with a purpose, it was a quick pace towards the herd. His strong arms gripped a sheep by its coat and began to tie the rope around its neck. Rule two, a sheep’s day will always be guided by the human who feeds us. But the sheep resisted, realizing its obedience was for nothing. The human tugged it into the barn. Where it’s final screams were silenced by a quick swing. Their privileged life was a cover to hide there fate. Fed to be kept alive, a roof to be kept healthy. This was a concentration camp filled with blind sheep. Grown to be plucked.

[storiesbyl1ck]

Feel Something

I need to cry, but I have no tears to shed. My eyes drained of what some people would call, relief. But when I cry does it help or suppress. Does crying flush the feelings out or merely push them far from my thoughts grasp. As they build up, crying seems to help less and less. An addictive drive to feel something, as the pain corrodes me from the inside out. As I stare into my droplet filled eyes, I can see the man I once was hiding in the corner of my broken consciousness. I can see the gauze made from friends unsure words and families concerned but helpless hugs. It is not me at the controls anymore but a lost boy, with no Peter Pan to take him away from his starved heart.

[storiesbyl1ck]

Endless...

A book has an ending, that’s why I can’t write you a novel. A poem has rules that’s why I can't write you a poem. We are endless with no boundaries, that's why it's indescribable.

[storiesbyl1ck]

Unstoppable Regret

His life, torn by a girl and a decision. His happiness, or hers. He loves the taste, but blood has begun to drip from his jaw. A smile only looks so beautiful when it’s covered in your own tears. She expects him in her future, but only after conditions are made. She doesn’t want this version of him, but a version that she desires. She loves that version of him. But he has promised more than his own life to her. So now he must give her it. Even if it kills him truly.

[storiesbyl1ck]

My Fear

I press myself into the corner. Where the two walls met the floor, so I could be hugged by them. The blanket I held close to my skin gave me warmth to comfort my cold heart. I had no one to smile at, no eyes to gaze into, no hand to hold in the dark. I was willing to accept the unknown because I’d rather be scared than lonely. I would hug the man who wore a mask of makeup and colored hair, to see the individual behind the forged smile; because I know behind that grin is a simple man - with a tired frown. Spiders could crawl upon my skin, their hairy legs tickling against my nerves and id only feel that no one was there to help remove them. I’d give my life away for an abusive bond because at least someone gave their time to me. Even if their time hurts like a snake bite. Deep grass, with the dirt hidden from my sight: where the longest serpents swallowed men who dared to enter their sea of blades. Did not make my blood run cold. Their bite would remind me of a kiss, the kiss of death. This is why I also didn’t fear death because it gave me the most meaningful kiss of anyone’s lifetime. So while I sit in the corner of my room, embracing the dark which held me closer than anyone else has I realize what I’m truly scared of.

[storiesbyl1ck]

Sacrifice

The dark sketched in the room like a poor drawing. The lines of shadow engraved throughout the black. The pencil had been pressed down onto the landscape until it shrunk to a dull point. The light from the few candles drowned out the dark almost like a poor attempt to erase the darkness. He stood in the doorway his feet in a ready position to run from a danger he was unaware of. But his body told him so. To the end of the room stood five masked men. Not masked by cloth but by the low illuminated surroundings that covered their face from his line of sight. he squinted, trying to make out their faces but all that came to view was jagged scribbles and unfinished edges. A candle sat in between the men slightly giving away their torso. They wore dark cloth but it was unknown to what degree they were covered. This was a meeting, a get to together for people who sought out a place to hide rather than a place to be known. He couldn’t see, but he felt that they were staring him down. Calling him without words. He stepped into the room. His hesitant walk toward them only increased his anxiety about all this. He joined them around the spark. His reasoning to be there was hidden just like their identities. But Not by dark, by lies. With a simple surprise blow to his neck, he fell to the ground with a few lifeless twitches running throughout his now cold muscles. Their meal was ready.

[storiesbyl1ck]

The Mind of Eddie Cunderson

“You wouldn’t be able to fight, and no one would know.”

He stares over the counter - eyes locked - the innocent soul of a young boy stared at him. The child was requesting an order of chocolate ice cream with rainbow sprinkles covering the top. But his mind grew a dark shade that muffled the boy's words.

“I could kill you right now”

The store was empty, except for the boy who stood over the counter. He tried to control these thoughts but they pushed hard, knocked loud, screamed through the cracks. He pushed them into a closet - far beyond his conscious mind. But the lock was flimsy and his temptation held the key; swinging it in front of his desires with hypnotic powers. The boy points into the glass, the angling of the boy's finger shows him chocolate is what his desire craved. A small price of a few insignificant dollar bills paid off this craving, and for his sacrifice, his reward was a tasty detectable. He was not so easily satisfied, a sacrifice would be made for his immoral thoughts. They rocked his mind, scratched at the cage he poorly made out of his last strands of humanity. He would give up his life to fulfill this dark craving, not for the replacement of death but something far worse - a prison cell. His sickening daydream was disturbed by the sound of coins rattling from within the cash register tray. The transaction was complete; the boy gave a smile - a little boy like him didn’t know a smile like that was not given to strangers, only too family members or close friends; he was not that boys friend - he was what his mom warned him about. The boy walked out of the store unaware of his selfish thoughts. His hungry mind begged for a taste. He dug his nails into his palm, the pain was to delay his inevitable action. Maybe not that boy, maybe not the next - but soon. He was sick and he was scared.