M.A Rector
Bio
Stories (23/0)
Snow Days
Shovelful after shovelful, I dug a pathway to my front door. My arms throbbed from the labor and my body crumbled into poor posture. Every year this got harder. I took a swig of whiskey laced coffee from the flask in my coat. I looked out at the clean blanket of snow with its sparkling little crystals that played with the sun. They used to play with me. I looked at the ugly path I carved without care and felt the hot sensation of whiskey, coffee, and stomach acid churning inside me.
By M.A Rector4 months ago in Fiction
Do What You Must
“Ellimini, Griefa, Aborri, Incindi. Sisters! Elimini! Griefa! Aborri! Incindi! Speak the words!” Circia commanded. Each witch clasped their fingers to the outstretched hands on either side. Our voices were our own, day in and day out, to command those around us with charms and enchantments, but during ritual, they were on loan to the Coven. My lips moved on their own, and I wished for a moment's respite, to swallow, wet my tongue and cease the uncomfortable feeling of sand stuck to the inside of my mouth. The hood of my robe obstructed my vision slightly. It was too big for me, or rather, I was too small for it. I didn’t need to see everything though, over the chorus of our refrain I could hear Esme’s screams loud and clear.
By M.A Rector7 months ago in Horror
A Light for Attracting Attention
This album is a work of art, a breath of fresh air, a smile. In running from the popularity cage that was their exhausted setlist, Thom and Jonny have created beautiful noise once again. Along with Tom Skinner’s light touch, The Smile will spend no time in the Radiohead shadow.
By M.A Rector9 months ago in Critique
A Routine Robbery
My fucking hands are sweating so badly. Please someone, please anyone, stop this. I gripped my pistol so hard I was afraid I would burst a vein. Paul told me not to worry about it. He’s done this before. He handed me a pair of old white apple headphones. He told me to put them in my ears and to drop the plug into the barrel of the gun. No one will suspect a thing if they think it’s a phone. People don’t pay attention, he said. I put my facemask on first, which no longer even looked out of place in this fucked up world.
By M.A Rector11 months ago in Fiction
The Duffel Bag
My stuffed duffel bag was the perfect pillow as I lay on the familiar pavement of the road I grew up on. I gazed skyward and took a few deep breaths while the warm night air embraced me and the bag that, as of today, carried my entire estate. I wondered for a moment how long the bag would last before the uncomfortable feeling of pre-defecation snapped me back to Earth’s harsh surface. I wondered when my next chance to shower would be, as a man who I used to serve coffee, crossed the street to avoid being near me.
By M.A Rector12 months ago in Fiction
Bad Doggy
The mirror showed a reflection that wasn’t my own. My hair was ripped out in clumps. Dried blood and dirt caked the sides of my cheeks. My bloodshot eyes squinted through pulsing flesh. I saw the iron collar that hung loosely around my neck along with the short chain that bound it to the concrete wall behind me. My wrists and ankles were similarly clasped with a chain that connected all four limbs. This mirror was my only source of reality and as much as I wanted it to, it was unable to lie.
By M.A Rectorabout a year ago in Horror