by Henry Sheperd 11 months ago in fiction

A Collection of Morbid Short Stories



I tried catching up to him. He pushed further, trying to lose me in the distance.

"Marco, please..."

He turns around to tell me to go away but I don't listen. I knew he wanted something.

"I can't just leave without talking to you first."

I wasn't sure of myself anymore. So I keep my distance.

"What is there to talk about? I told you it was a one-time thing and I never wanted to see you again."

I was hurt by what he tells me but I don't care.

"You wanted me. I know you wanted me and I want you too."

He pulls away from an utter lack of courage and stares at my hand. I know he wants to hold me but he doesn't because he's ashamed.

"Do you really think I would want somebody like you?"

"Do you honestly hate me?"

Nathan kicked at the rocks laying scattered on the ground, like the hundreds of lives that had been torn apart in the exact spot they stood now. He could remember how hot the day was, like two bodies that were melded together woven into each other's arms and legs until they were one indistinguishable pile of limbs. He couldn't say this was something he craved because it was too sad to admit it to himself.

"Marco... I'll leave you alone now."

He would turn to go. It was fireworks all at once. Marco pressed his lips so close to Nathans he tasted the mint of the gum he had been chewing earlier for the words he was forcing himself to swallow. And he steps away.

"Marco...do you love me?"

He says he doesn't and turns away. I didn't realize he was dead until the light faded from his eyes as my hands tightened around his throat.


Stop! Right there and remember it. Remember how you felt and the way you looked at yourself before you were fine. You were fine before, can't you remember? I know you can. Because you have it trapped inside you. I can't tell you how to get it out because it would be too easy. You're so fragile.

Can't you stop it? Stop it. It hurts me so much to watch what you do to yourself. Why do you do it? Why? Why does it hurt so much? It was an open wound but why didn't you stitch it up? Why did you continue to let it bleed? Let it go. Please let it go. You're so beautiful. And I know you think it too because I see how you stare at yourself in the mirror. When you look at yourself and you never want to stop because it's all you have. Nobody would ever do it. Only you can do it for yourself. Why do you let it bother you? If there is something you needed or if there was something you found so dark you couldn't handle, don't let it bother you and stay inside your brain.

You feel how you think and you think how you feel, which way do you want it? Do you want yourself to be happy? Was it ever something that was possible? Or was I a player in a game where all my cards were dealt with the intent I had no chance of winning. I can't even fathom a single sentence that has any meaning to anybody let alone myself. Or yourself. By yourself. All alone.


"Are you paying attention?"

Jonie blinked several times trying to understand where the sound was coming from.

"I said are you even paying attention to me?"

Chelsea looked over at her friend, she was tired and had no patience.


Jonie wasn't sure where she was or how she got there. What happened last night?

"Jonie, why do you always do this? I can't even finish a fucking sentence and I've already lost you."

Chelsea got up and walked over to serve herself a drink.

"I suppose you want one?"

The thought of alcohol seeping into her bloodstream excited Jonie, she might even be coherent enough to conversate today.

"Yes please. Bourbon."

Jonie was complacent now. Perhaps she needs Chelsea for something now.

"Here you go."

Chelsea set the drinks down and continued talking, she was bored and she wanted to leave. Jonie downed her bourbon and stared at the walls.

"Hey, Chelsea?"

She was startled, had she actually said her name?

"Jonie? Your talking today..how lovely. Here I suppose you want another drink."

Not today.

Jonie blew a hole in Chelsea's head with the pistol she kept hidden on the inside of her thigh. She knew nobody would find the body until the next morning. Perhaps she would stay.

"What an odd assignment this was..."

Jonie stared at the lifeless body of the woman who paid her seven million dollars to pretend to be somebody who couldn't stand listening to her, but loved to drink.


She burned the top of the body with acid. Maybe then something could be seen if one looked closely.

How does it work?
Read next: Run Necromancer
Henry Sheperd

Just a simple dude wishing to love and be loved. 

See all posts by Henry Sheperd