Psychological
The Sound Beneath the House
There are sounds which a man may hear and forget, and there are others which enter the mind with such dreadful force that they become a permanent portion of it. I had always possessed an unfortunate sensitivity to sound. The smallest disturbance could command my attention for hours, and the faintest movement beyond a wall could keep me awake long after the rest of the household had surrendered to sleep. I had spent much of my life regarding this affliction as a weakness that could be mastered through reason. On the night of the storm, however, reason proved a frail defense against what came from beneath my chamber.
By Tim Carmichael3 months ago in Fiction
Three Shots. Runner-Up in Last Call Challenge. Content Warning.
Content warning for: murder-for-hire, suicidal themes, abuse, animal death, alcohol usage, adult language …etc. David sits alone in a dark corner of the bar, right leg jumping, fingers drumming endlessly on the grimy metal table, regardless of the beat of whatever tune blares around him. He doesn’t even notice the bustle of the rest of the night owls who continue lingering as the hours dwindle. His phone rests inches away on the unsavory, sticky table surface - when he isn't constantly checking the otherwise blank screen. He picks absently at the scabbed, split skin on his right thumb from a knife cut he got the week prior.
By Megan Baker (@thegothofsawpit)(@shadowsitheghoststrikebwr)3 months ago in Fiction
Pugilistic Portrait
"Are you alright, sir?" I felt as if I had been punched by a heavyweight, and one without gloves at that. I tried to focus. I was propped up on a low chair or stool of some sort and was looking up at a middle-aged man who seemed somehow familiar. There was nothing familiar about my surroundings.
By Raymond G Taylor3 months ago in Fiction
The Unknown Chase
Beneath the colony’s artificial dawn, a weary, scruffy-faced man lay with his eyes closed and pretended the alarm was not sounding. Beyond his sealed window, crews in pressure suits crossed a surface no unprotected human could survive. On the nightstand, dim light caught a bottle of brown liquor, a pack of contraband cigarettes, and a metallic semi-automatic pistol. He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. It felt far too early, but exhaustion—not the hour—was the problem.
By Jason Morton3 months ago in Fiction
The Pain Of The Last
Rolling through the countryside was fun just a year ago. In the time on this Earth one is given, that's an important thing to find and experience: a way to make a fun living. They say if you can find work that you enjoy doing, you never work a day in your life. And that was the case. It didn't feel like work.
By Jason Morton3 months ago in Fiction
