I Write Sins... Not Tragedies 31 - Behind Blue Eyes

I remember looking outside my window every summer day and feeling nothing but emptiness. My room, dark, yet outside the sun was always bright in the clear sky. Not that I drew the curtains. It felt like I was always drowning in something. The weight of my thoughts, expectations, dreams, friends and family was taking me deeper into that hole, suffocating me at the thought that I need to be somebody. Yet every time I let go. They come back and chain me once more to drag me to the bottom. Which is why I grew up thinking love will save me. Will give me wings to fly, to rise above it all, to help me become something more to help me be… More than I am today. Like a breath of fresh air when you feel like a stone lies heavy on your chest…. Love was supposed to save me from it all. To push me forwards into the stratosphere so I can be out of breath but this time for a good reason… Because I’m in love. Because I am for the first time happy. Myself. Because I became myself for the first time… And was happy because of that.

Yet this darkness is soothing no more. The nights I spent awake thinking of who I want to be or become. The home I had found in that darkness, feels like it wants to spit me out into the light, yet I don’t want to. Yet. I don’t like who I am. Yet. Because I feel like those around me are simply bad. People with nothing but selfish desire, unwilling to put away their own egos to satisfy someone that asks for nothing but be left to be happy. And that’s too much to ask of them. And now… I don’t know what I want anymore. Writing, living, loving, hating, thinking, responsibilities, are all now meaningless to me as they don’t want to see me for me. They just want to see what they want, a whatever fucked up worse version of myself that is on par with their shitty behavior and thought pattern. And I always imagined myself that being engaged, in love to be married would be some of my happiest of times. Yet they feel as empty and as meaningless as everything until now. Just as empty as the Christmas eves, new year day, birthday and whatever else we choose to celebrate.

I think some might call this depression. Yet I can’t help to argue against that point of view as I bask in this darkness falling. As I believe it to be a stranger induced coma. Where outside forces forced themselves on you to be what they want. For you to stick to whatever twisted version of normalcy they think is alright. A toxic environment they relish in. A place where your dreams, aspirations, passion and love dies at the hands of those without mercy. Those that loathe excellency and anything that has some mental fortitude to fight the fight they were too afraid to tackle. As they look upon others as a silent majority that nod yet do nothing. They say that the world isn’t against you, they’re just for themselves. Yet I once more beg to disagree. If the world, no matter how small yours is, is against your happiness, then it is the world against you. And just as with freedom, anything selfish that impedes the happiness of someone is beyond selfishness, it’s something worse. Something that we shouldn’t tolerate or suffer by. As is as toxic as the rest of the behaviors we start to disagree with. Yet here I am… In darkness basking once more unwilling to come out and face the world. At least here, I have some silence and peace for once…

Hope you liked this chapter of I Write Sins… Not Tragedies the short story. This chapter is quite a powerful and of course, personal one. As I drain my 2020 frustration all into this chapter of this little story about dreams. If you want to support and help keep these short stories free, you can always donate at: https://www.paypal.me/RaulFO

I Write Sins... Not Tragedies 30 - The Unforgiven

She looks at him with intrigue and hope in her eyes. He starts laughing. Why are you laughing? He takes a step back. Because you are clearly crazy. Fuming she gets in his face. What do you mean crazy? He takes a few more steps back laughing. Well, excuse you, but you let some random guy in your apartment and drunkenly shouted that you want to get kissed. Confused she follows him. So? What’s so wrong with that? He continues to back off laughing as he hits a wall. It reeks of red flags and alcohol. She stares him down. That’s just the wine, it’s innocent, and don’t bring it into this discussion. So? What’s the problem, officer? He laughs nervously. Well, you don’t know anything about me, right? I don’t know anything about you. This is reckless. She puts her finger in his face. Listen here, I do what I want with who I want and when I want it. His tone turns a bit serious. That’s not the problem, nor is it what I said. She takes a step back and sighs. I think I’m gonna go, he says.

She pulls on his t-shirt. Wait. He stops. I’m sorry, she continues. It’s fine, he says. It isn’t. You were a really chill guy and listened to me rambling and I got… I don’t know… Delusional, I guess… And well… It’s been nice to have someone to talk to. Sorry I left you with such a bad first impression. He turns towards her. It wasn’t that bad, it was just… Different, I suppose. She looks down. You are just being nice, saying that. He starts laughing. Let me make it up to you. Come on. Please. He begrudgingly accepts. Good, thank you. Sit down. What can I get you? Want something to drink? Eat? He hesitates as she continues to ramble. Anything is fine. She quickly goes into the kitchen and starts to making noise. He looks around the living room. It’s clean, apart from her a pair of pants on a chair. A few minutes later she comes out of the kitchen with a beer and a plate of some food thrown together.

She starts asking him questions about love, life, purpose, happiness and sorrows. As they sit, they continue talking, bemoaning the struggles of living from hypocrisy to irony and the uncertainty of the future from decisions past and present. He sits up to go to the bathroom. With a smile on his face, a warm feeling in his chest, he slowly makes his way as he looks around the apartment to get a better picture of it. Walking past a window he notices that there is no reflection. He turns towards the clock on the wall in the hallway to see what time it is. As he tries to concentrate, his vision turns blurry. He rubs his eyes and looks again, as the insides of the clock are melting into a disgusting white puss. He runs to the window again to look outside. There is nothing. The voice in his head starts getting louder and LOUDER. As he runs, opens the door and once more takes a plunge into the darkness…

Hope you liked this new chapter of I Write Sins… And if you did, don’t forget to like it and share it, because it would help a lot. As you can tell by now, I am experimenting with the style. Trying new things, touching on the surreal and horror elements of the story. So, I thank you for reading and coming on this weird journey about dreams. And if you’d like you can always donate to keep these short stories free at: https://www.paypal.me/RaulFO

I Write Sins... Not Tragedies 29 - Born to be Wild

Allison. He shakes her hand, looking into her eyes. Uhm… Right. Nice to meet you. She looks at him confused. Well? What’s your name? He lets go of her hand and laughs nervously. Jack, my name is Jack. She starts laughing. Like which Jack? Sparrow? Napier? Or the one from Titanic? Taken aback by her question he sits down and looks at her with embarrassment. She starts laughing hysterically. Really? From Titanic? How hilarious. So, you’re twenty too? And I don’t mean the number, obviously. He nods. And what are you working? She asks. Articles for whatever website accepts submissions. She quickly interrupts him. Oh, so you want to be a journalist or just create stuff like shitty clickbait articles? He laughs at her question. Neither. I want to write. But, writing doesn’t pay. No, what I mean is that finding a normal job as a writer is basically fiction or just as probable as winning the lottery. She looks at him with a kind face.

Let’s dance, she says. What? You’re twenty, I’m twenty. What’s wrong? He looks away from her as he scratches his brow. Fine, she says. It feels like this whole adulting thing was a mistake. Do you ever wonder why you were born? What were you born to do? Ah, what am I talking about, of course you don’t. You already know why you were born. To be a writer. Silence slowly sets between them. As they both look anywhere but at each other. She takes another gulp from the wine bottle, then extends her arm with the bottle towards him. He pushes he hand gently back, she shrugs and drinks some more. I don’t. She turns towards him. I don’t know why I was born. I don’t know what I am doing. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do it. Or if what I am doing is right. She groans. Well, now I can’t think that you’re a cool guy, if you don’t know the answer to this. She starts laughing, as he sits there looking at her.

Well, Jack from Titanic, it was nice to meet you, but I’m getting sleepy and unless you want to bone, I suggest that you go back to your place and get some sleep, she says bemused. He looks at her wondering if what she said was for real. Uhm… She turns towards him, puts her hands on the armrests. Looks him in the eyes. What? She whispers with a breath of alcoholic grapes expelled right into his nose. I think I’m going to leave. It was nice to meet you, Allison. She gets up, and starts to scream. Why are you like this? Man, what’s wrong with you? What’s wrong with everyone? Doesn’t anyone know how to have fun anymore? What is even the fucking point of all of this if we can’t live properly? Love properly, fuck properly, live life to the fullest. She continues to ramble, as he sits there listening, unsure of when it is okay to actually leave. And here I am with a total stranger in my apartment, and he doesn’t have the balls to kiss me. As she says that, he gets up and…

If you liked this chapter of the short story series I Write Sins… And if you did, please like it, share it and if you’d like to keep these short stories free you can always donate at: https://www.paypal.me/RaulFO

Killing Hitler - The Pilot Program 2020

Welcome to The Pilot Program 2020. And this month we have another short story for you, aptly named Killing Hitler. So, remember, if you like this short story then like it, comment, share it, and read it. That way, you can choose what I write as a short story series for the next year. With that said, hope you enjoy it.

I did it! I killed Hitler! I DID IT! That’s how it all started, yet before all that…

Time to change history and the world as we know it. Electricity is coursing through my body, as it turns into heat. The smell of my flesh burning is nauseating as I can barely stand on my feet. The pain of my flesh being torn apart into light is terrifying me. My body elongating and being dragged of the surface of the Earth, thrown into space as I lose my sight and become pure burning energy. I can’t breath. I can’t move. The only thing I feel is a pulse, all throughout my body going TADUM TADUM. After what felt like a few minutes everything seemed to have stopped. Then I started to move again. Faster and faster. It felt so easy to simply fall and fall. Yet all the freedom of falling, started to turn once more into a torturous ride. As the darkness and it all started to burn again. My senses started to come back to me. It is all pain. Every fiber of my being hurts. It is all excruciating, as I touch the ground once more…

I fall on my hands ready to throw up all over my boots. I quickly catch myself, cover my face with my hands, pull down my gas mask and throw myself on my back. I hold my breath for one moment, look around. The my left, dirt, dead or wounded men. To my right, men shooting one shot at a time with their rifles towards the enemy tranches. My legs are shaky as I try to get up. One man shouts in French, telling me to lay low. Once he notices that I am unarmed, asks me where my rifle is. Seeing that I don’t answer, he drags me next to a dead soldier and gives me the rifle of that dead man. Allons-y, Allons-y, he shouts at me pointing me towards the rest of the troops. Did you eat? Asks me the same man. I tell him no, since the whole journey left me on an empty stomach. He hands me a stale piece of bread and a piece of bitter dark chocolate. Telling me to eat, as he turns and goes to help some other soldiers. I quickly down them both, as an explosive hits close to the trench.

I have a few chances of doing this, but I don’t want to spend more time than necessary here, especially not years, I say to myself. A soldier next to me heard what I said and starts laughing. Yes, my friend. That’s what I told myself too when I first got drafted. That I don’t want to spend too much time here, especially not if I want to get home by Christmas, as they promised. I was 15 back then, he laughs nervously. Don’t worry I am sure, we are not going to catch Christmas here, this year, I tell him. Hell, I don’t want to even catch Halloween here, I say while laughing. Planes fly above us, explosions from all sides throws dirt on us, as we take cover. One single voice screams to attack. Finally, the boy says. As everyone around gets up on their feet with a smile starts climbing out, rifle raised in one hand, they start screaming and running towards the enemy line. Time to kill Hitler and change the world for the better. Time to live the fantasy we all had when we were asked what we’d do with a time machine…

Hope you liked this short story. If you did, don’t forget that you can choose which of the short stories from The Pilot Program 2020 can become the short story series of 2021 with your likes, shares, comments and views.

Don’t forget to also check out the rest of The Pilot Program 2020 short stories:

January: The Horrorscope, February: Tomorrow Never Comes, March: Hereditary Epidemic, April: Don’t Sleep, May: The Falling Tower: The Bloody Anthologies of London, June: Men Eaters

And if you’d like to donate, you can always do so to keep these short stories free at: https://www.paypal.me/RaulFO

I Write Sins... Not Tragedies 28 - You Really Got Me

She flung open the door expecting to see the student again, only to be greeted by a rugged looking guy with little to no life behind his eyes. Hello. Could you please keep the music down? I am really having a hard time sleeping. She looks at him with the most disappointed look on her face. Not you too. What is it with you people? Where is your passion for life? Who ate your soul, man? He looks at her with his face almost falling off. It’s because… He gestures broadly at things around him. Oh, who cares? We’re the… She too gestures broadly at everything around her. Yes, but that’s exactly the problem. If… He once more opens his arms and with broad strokes points at everything. Don’t change, then what is even the point? She scoffs, puts her hand on his shoulder and screams. WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN? The student from before comes out from his apartment, looks at them with the most annoyed look on his face. She apologizes and without thinking drags the man inside.

You can’t think like that. It’s going to ruin you and your life, she says while holding his hand. That’s dangerous thinking. She pulls him further in the apartment, sits him down on the couch, grabs her wine and continues. Don’t look at me like that, it’s true. Stress, anxiety, unhappiness does kill you faster than if you were happier, more optimistic and more open to the world around you. And I’m not saying that you should love each and every person you encounter. No. Who knows what a dick they were or are. No. I’m just saying that you can only give a little and get a little back, and that’s enough to make your life a bit better. He makes himself a bit more comfortable, leaning back against the couch. Yes, but you can’t live life that way. It isn’t possible to be happy and open all the time. It’s not normal. She looks at him with pity. I know, I never said that you shouldn’t be sad, or anything like that. But if you don’t escape it, you will be in a perpetual state of sadness, loneliness, depression.

He gets up, annoyed looks at her and tries to speak. What? She asks. It’s not that simple and you know that it is not that simple to change your entire life because someone said simply don’t be depressed anymore. She frustrated by his comment shouts. HEY! Listen to me, please. Her town slowly coming down, she continues. I understand, that’s why people commit suicide, but that’s also why people rely on friends, on a specialist, on a support group. Because it’s not easy, but nor is it or was ever your entire life. It is just a small part of the rest of your life. He rolls his eyes at those words. That’s so cliche and soupy… She gasps. You say that like it’s a bad thing. Cliches are a good thing sometimes. Because you know what to expect and you can’t be let down by something you expect, can you? He scratches his head in frustration. I guess… She laughs and reaches her hand out. By the way, my name is…

If you liked this chapter of the short story series I Write Sins… Not Tragedies, don’t forget to like it, share it, and as always, if you are feeling generous and want to keep these short stories free stories, you can always donate at: https://www.paypal.me/RaulFO

I Write Sins... Not Tragedies 27 - The Great Pretender

I am so done with this, she says as she locks her phone and throws it on the bed. I need something to drink. Her thoughts wandering about love. If destiny exists, after I die, I’m going to kick it in the dick. It’s not fair to let me look for my soulmate for two years now and not find him. And if I wait any longer, I am going to flip. Hear that, you prick? She screamed as she found something to drink her sorrow away. I don’t know why I’m talking to these walls. The apartment gets silent and lonely quite quickly. She turns on her TV, puts on some Netflix, and looks and looks and looks for something to fill the quiet loneliness with at least some background noise as she continues to ponder. But there is nothing that captures her attention, so she switches to YouTube where she puts the first video about something or other, she doesn’t know what since she wasn’t even bothered to read the title. The volume, too loud, scares her as she pushes on the remote to turn it quickly down. Now, she melts back into her couch, thinking.

Why is this so hard? I don’t understand it. You can’t take it too seriously, because if you do than you are a creep and what do you mean you want to get married in the future? Pfff… And if you don’t take it too seriously, you are just playing with them and hurting their feelings. Why can’t they just say what the fuck they want? But they all want sex. Oh please, show me those that just want sex, at least they know what they want. Her ramblings continued like it was just another Tuesday, because it was indeed just another Tuesday where she would get drunk after a bad date or after getting ghosted by a Tinder match. Frustrated and under the impression that she is already tipsy after the first few sips of alcohol, she turns back to YouTube to put on some music. She starts dancing through the night as she thinks of happiness and her place in the world.

A knock on the door, getting louder and louder. She stops from spinning and dancing bewildered by the 11 PM knock. She stops the music, goes to look who it is at the door. Hello? She asks. Can I help you? She continues as she peaks through the viewfinder. Seeing a young man, she quickly opens the door. Hey, she says with a dumb smirk on her face. What can I do you for? He looks at her up and down. Can you please turn it a bit down? She looks flabbergasted at him. The music, ma’am, the music. She starts laughing, I’m not that old, l o l. He scratches his brow looking at her. Listen, I have a PhD to write and your music is really loud at this hour, so let me give you a life hack. You can use your headphones. Same volume, but just for you to hear. She laughs at him before turning serious. Fine, this old lady won’t bother you anymore. Disappointed she closes the door behind her. And here I thought this was going to turn erotic and fun. But I’m guess now I’m just old independent strong lady. Someone should sue the porn industry and Hollywood with their romantic comedies for creating unrealistic expectations. But then, another knock at her door…

If you liked this new chapter of I Write Sins… and are curious where this is going, leave a like, share it, comment and if you are feeling generous and like this short story, you can always donate in order to keep these short stories free at: https://www.paypal.me/RaulFO

I Write Sins... Not Tragedies 26 - Otherside

Peaceful I sleep, as there is nothing around me anymore. No light, no sound, no fear around. The heartbeat in my chest is a soothing rhythm as I seem to float down this emptiness. As I open my eyes, a gentle breeze passes my cheek, yet I can’t see anything. The breeze turns into a strong wind as I catch my breath and feel myself falling. Though there is nothing around me, I feel myself catching more and more speed. Free falling into a pit of despair as the rapid currents of air make me choke. Unable to breath I start to flail, to claw, to try to grab something, anything. Yet there was nothing. My skin started to hurt as the wind started to hit harder and harder. My arms, now numb, unable to move. Eyes are watering as I fall deeper and deeper, faster and faster. I want to scream, but I hit the ground and wake up screaming.

What is it? What’s wrong? She asks. As I stand there, looking down at bed, hands shaking, mind empty, I try to respond somehow. I don’t know. I think I had some nightmare. I can feel her hand on my back, as she is slowly moving it up and down. It’s okay. You’re here now, she says as she grabs me in her arms and hugs me. I love you. I grab her arm and lean with my head on her chest as I exhale a simple ‘you too’. She starts to giggle. What? I ask, surprised at her reaction. Nothing. It’s just that… She stops. What? She gently strokes my hair and kisses the top of my head. It’s just that you finally said it. You said that you loved me. As she holds me even tighter at her chest. I stop breathing as my eyes widen. I try to gently pull back, but can’t. I am so happy that you finally said it. I’m glad that you feel the same way I do. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t said that you loved me. Her grip on me, stronger than before.

I love you so much. You’re everything I have ever wanted and more. An ideal, perfection incarnate, that’s what you are to me, my love. I am so glad to have met you. As your eyes flicker, they give me hope. As you speak, it soothes my soul. As you move, you give me life. As you are, you give me a reason to be alive. The fact that you are here, in my arms, means the world to me. And I am glad to have you, to love you, to feel you inside me whenever we make love. As there is nothing more beautiful than you are. She continues to speak words of honey, milk and sugar in my ear as she holds me tight. Her touch, careful as not to hurt me anymore, her words intoxicating. You are so big, every time I see you, I can’t help but crave you. You are so good, that my mouth waters at the thought of you. Her hands start to wander in all sorts of naughty places. As she grabs me, bites me gently, pinches me and drools all over. Disgusted, disturbed and afraid of her…

If you liked this chapter of I Write Sins… and wonder where it is going, then please like it, share it, and if you are feeling generous and want to keep these short stories free you can always donate at: https://www.paypal.me/RaulFO

I Write Sins... Not Tragedies 25 - Dance Macabre

Her voice turned to noise, as she held me tight in her arms. This is what you want, isn’t it? Her voice turned raspy, her nails deep in the flesh of my back. I gasp for air. I try to pull myself out of her hands by crawling out of the bed, dragging on the sheets. Say you love me, she whispers in my ear as she grabs my neck and squeezes. I open my mouth unable to breathe, as she shoves her tongue down my neck and wraps her legs around my waist. She lets go of my neck with a smile. Wasn’t that erotic? She asks as I cough, trying to get some air. Isn’t this just your dream? Unbridled lust, love, passion, sex and freedom of all responsibility. What a good time to be alive, isn’t it? I get up somehow from between her clutches and run into a corner, as she now stands on the bed marveling at me crawled on the floor.

What are you afraid of? She takes out from nowhere a chocolate bar and starts eating it. Words escape me, as I don’t know what to makes of what is happening in front of me. In size she grew three times, in the blink of an eye. And the she grew three times more and broke the bed under her. As she fell on her knees and arms, she looks at me. Come here. I look to my left at the windows with nothing but darkness, I look at my right, the kitchen and some wood. I slowly get up. Look at her. Petrified, I can’t move. Come here, she commands in a stiffer tone. I can’t, I simply can’t, as I can’t imagine what she will do to me. Tears start to roll down my face, as I brace myself for the worst. What’s wrong? What upset you? I thought that this is what you wanted. I am this, because I thought you’d love me like this! Why can’t you just love me? Even when I dress for you, cook for you, get naked for you… Even when I try to fulfill your wildest fantasies. This is how you treat me. You ungrateful asshole!

Her screams and wales, shake me to the ground, as I fall with her standing and screaming on top of me. I gave you the whole of who I am. And you are hiding in your hole like a scared disgusting mole. All I can think of is how I want to escape, and leave this place as my body is shaking in fear that she’ll crush me. What more do you want from me? Who should I be? What should I be for you to love me? Or are you just going to cheat on me too? I try to grow in size and rip this world apart, but can’t. I try to move, but with each word, she pins me to the ground as her screams send shock waves. My ears start to bleed. I scream, but to no avail, as she continues to wale. Minutes pass, but they feel like an eternity. Seeing that I don’t respond she stops and turns around pouting. I get up and run towards the door, I pull the door knob, and jump into the darkness as she screams after me.

If you liked this chapter of I Write Sins… the short story, don’t forget to like it, share it and if you want to do more, you can always donate to keep these short stories free to read for everybody at: https://www.paypal.me/RaulFO

Men Eaters - The Pilot Program 2020

Welcome to The Pilot Program 2020.

Men Eaters is part of The Pilot Program 2020 of Short Stories One-Shots, where you with your likes, shares, comments can choose which short story becomes the next year’s 52 week short story series.

“BANG!” Rang throughout the house as the shotgun recoiled in my hand with my brother being the last of my family members that I had to kill. It’s not fair! I shout as I kick his corpse. Why do I have to survive and live in this world? But you… Get… To… Fucking die and escape? I sigh and sit down with my head in my hands. My phone rings, I take it out of my pocket, a friend of my brother’s. Did you do it? He asked as soon as I picked up. Yeah. A moment of silence sets before he continues. You okay? I look at their dead bodies. Yeah. I just need to bag the bodies and take them to a crematorium. He laughs. Always burn the bodies, right? I sigh. Right, if they’d come for them instead of having me take them there. Anyways, I’m taking them to the one just over the hill, you’re coming right? Without hesitation he tells me he’ll be there. Well, glad to hear that. See you there in like two hours. Still have some cleaning to do.

I can’t believe this has been going on since 2010, I say as I start talking to myself in an empty house whilst moping the puss and blood off the floor. Why… Are you… So… Heavy? I mutter to myself as I try to drag my brother into the body bag. Well, fuck. Looks like we’ll have to cut you into piece. Seems like this is my last resort, I say as I rev up the chainsaw and start cutting off his limbs. Blood and puss starts flying everywhere, pieces of his bones too. Suddenly I realize what I’ve been doing and stop. Why the fuck did I mop if now I’m doing a bigger mess? I ask myself as I look at the splatter on the walls, sigh, and continue. Why did all three have to do this at once? Unbelievable! I start preparing the bags in the back of my car and bringing limbs and pieces of their bodies one at a time. A neighbor spots me and approaches me. Fuck, say under my breath as I see them get ever closer. He puts his hand on my shoulder and looks me in the eyes. Sorry for your loss, he says. I thank him and to my surprise he leaves without saying anything else. I look at my phone and see that it’s already been an hour and a half. I get in my car and drive off…

What did you do to their bodies? Why did you do this to them? Asks in a revolted tone the man at the crematorium. Listen, I say barely catching my breath, you take three people and carry them to your car by yourself. Why do you care? Just burn the damn things. He looks at me with distaste. They were human once. But they’re not anymore, now are they? I ask as he leaves. Yo, how are you? Just you and me? He asked. Yeah. He looks around. What about family? I start to laugh. Well, they’re dead. And those that aren’t dead, I don’t have their numbers. So it’s just me, and you, his old friend. He looks at me, puts a hand on my shoulder and says that it’s going to be okay. I look back at him smiling. Don’t worry, I don’t even feel guilty, we all fantasized about at least beating our siblings at once. Besides, since we’re not american, well, not me, but most of us kill with swords, axes, weird improvised weapons. Saw a guy the other day with an ax that had basically a shotgun welded to it. He starts laughing. Isn’t that just fucking impractical? I start laughing too. Probably, but it looked fucking cool. He gets serious. But who would have thought that we’d actually get to live with zombies. Actual men eating zombies. I start to rub my eyes. Yeah man. I know. But I swear it’s like nothing changed. You just have the right to kill the undead. You shoot their brains, or bash, slice, dice, cut them and then bring them to burn. Since burying them might just fucking bring them back to life… He looks at me once more. You did the right thing killing them so fast, if you didn’t, they might have become more dangerous. I interrupt him. Or, they would’ve died on their own. He interjects. That’s true, but then again, that’s just another risk we’ll never take. The man comes to tell us that their bodies will be put into the furnace. We both look up at the furnace as black smoke starts to rise, and we both sigh.

Hope you liked this other type of zombie story that’s part of The Pilot Program 2020. And if you did, remember to like it and share it. The more people read it, the bigger the chance that it will be turned into the short story of the year. And if you want to support what I do and these free short stories even more, you can always help by donating to: https://www.paypal.me/RaulFO

I Write Sins... Not Tragedies 24 - Still of the Night

She pushes me on my back and gets on top of me. Her tears hit my face, as I look at her face, I see her eyes hidden behind her hair, her smile big and tearful as she whispers something I don’t hear. She lays down on me, with her head next to mine, taking in a deep breath. I missed this smell of yours, she says while biting my neck. I can feel her hands on me, grabbing me, scratching me, enjoying every last bit of me, as she looks into my eyes with pure burning passion and her makeup ruined. I love you, she says whilst holding my hands down tightly. Speechless, I only look at her eyes as she awaits me to respond with the same feelings. Yet there’s something heavy on my chest that chokes me when I try to speak. Tears start flowing down my face, as I turn my eyes away from her. Why are you crying? I don’t know how to answer her. Since I don’t know what is happening to me. She lets go of my hands, and simply lays her head down on my chest. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.

I blink and wake myself up at the entrance of the house. Welcome home, she says with a smile as she comes to kiss me. I kiss her back and look around, outside still dark and foggy, inside warm and cozy. I look at her. She’s dressed in a apron, some warm socks, a pair of short shorts and a flimsy top, telling me to sit down because the food will be done in a minute. I look down at the table, what looks like a gorgeous hand-crafted wooden table, and see that it is not set. So, I get up, feeling guilty for having her cook again for me, to set the table, at least. No! She exclaims as she pushes me back onto the chair. You sit. You’ve worked hard today and I want to do this for you. So, please. Sit down. And if you’re going to be a good boy, I promise you for desert, something very special. I don’t know what else to do, but sit back down, and simply look at her. Who are you? I ask. She starts laughing. Good joke. Sorry, I forgot to laugh. Ha ha. A silence sets between us as she continues cooking.

Here’s your food. She grabs my head with her hands and kisses me. Please don’t play stupid games with me. You know that I don’t like it when you do things like this. It’s hurtful. I look at her, yet I still can’t recognize the face that is talking to me. My head starts to hurt badly, I turn around, put my elbows on the table, head in my hands, looking at the food. I try to smell it, but I can’t. So I pick it up and bring it to my nose, but still no smell to the food. Stop smelling the food. What the fuck is up with you today? I put the plate back down and start eating. The food has no taste either. I quickly gobble up the food, get up from the chair, go to look out the window. What are you doing? But I see nothing. I run to the door, try to open it, but can’t. I try to unlock it. Hey! What are you doing? I finally manage to unlock it, open it. And there is absolutely nothing in front of me. Are you okay? She whispers in my ear as she drags me back a step and closes the door. Come to bed with me…

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