It is 3:30 am.
I just got bitten by a spider.
(I didn't think they where allowed to do that in Britain!)
Then I rolled over onto a razor blade in my bed. (Who is trying to kill me?
) Which, sorry all you spider lovers, I cut that fucker up with.
I've given up even trying to sleep tonight.
So I wrote the start of a short story, any advice?
Hit me she muttered quietly, her voice nothing more than a strangled croak. She hadnt spoken for hours.
No. Hit me. She managed louder this time after a feeble cough, but only enough to draw a few blank stares. They went un-noticed in the pitch-black room.
FUCKING HIT ME! Came her voice, an amplified shriek this time. The sudden explosion of her vocal chords shocked even her.
It was quiet. Nobody moved.
The fist made contact just below her left eye, four knuckles sending her nose in the opposite direction. It was probably broken. A gush of blood erupted from her right nostril. Small splatters hit the wall. A fountain of rouge rushed down her chin, the metallic tasting substance tainting her wide grin.
Hit me again. She managed to mumble. Her jaw had become tight, the smile plastered onto her features was twisted.
It wasnt a fist that connected with her face this time; it was a large mug containing a brown sludge. The cold substance had once been tea. It dripped from her chin, chunks of mold and sour milk clinging to her bare flesh. A sodden fag end landed in her lap.
She probably only saw a small flash as someone turned on the light. Almost in unison with the flick of the switch, the young girl lost consciousness.
The other three gaped at the tangled mess of her body that had slithered to the floor. Only the remains of the mug where now gripped in the solitary males sweaty palm, a large handle met with jagged ends at each side.
The stare only lasted ten seconds, not nearly long enough to take in the gash above her left eye or even the shards of porcelain littering her crumpled body, but long enough for their previous hit to successfully cram all reason into that little pocket tucked back among the mess of their young minds. The part they wouldnt access until much later, the panic would be worse then.
Time for another hit then? Jon said calmly, turning to finger the browning piece of foil placed carefully in between the debris strewn across the unmade bed.
I just got bitten by a spider.
(I didn't think they where allowed to do that in Britain!)
Then I rolled over onto a razor blade in my bed. (Who is trying to kill me?
) Which, sorry all you spider lovers, I cut that fucker up with.
I've given up even trying to sleep tonight.
So I wrote the start of a short story, any advice?
Hit me she muttered quietly, her voice nothing more than a strangled croak. She hadnt spoken for hours.
No. Hit me. She managed louder this time after a feeble cough, but only enough to draw a few blank stares. They went un-noticed in the pitch-black room.
FUCKING HIT ME! Came her voice, an amplified shriek this time. The sudden explosion of her vocal chords shocked even her.
It was quiet. Nobody moved.
The fist made contact just below her left eye, four knuckles sending her nose in the opposite direction. It was probably broken. A gush of blood erupted from her right nostril. Small splatters hit the wall. A fountain of rouge rushed down her chin, the metallic tasting substance tainting her wide grin.
Hit me again. She managed to mumble. Her jaw had become tight, the smile plastered onto her features was twisted.
It wasnt a fist that connected with her face this time; it was a large mug containing a brown sludge. The cold substance had once been tea. It dripped from her chin, chunks of mold and sour milk clinging to her bare flesh. A sodden fag end landed in her lap.
She probably only saw a small flash as someone turned on the light. Almost in unison with the flick of the switch, the young girl lost consciousness.
The other three gaped at the tangled mess of her body that had slithered to the floor. Only the remains of the mug where now gripped in the solitary males sweaty palm, a large handle met with jagged ends at each side.
The stare only lasted ten seconds, not nearly long enough to take in the gash above her left eye or even the shards of porcelain littering her crumpled body, but long enough for their previous hit to successfully cram all reason into that little pocket tucked back among the mess of their young minds. The part they wouldnt access until much later, the panic would be worse then.
Time for another hit then? Jon said calmly, turning to finger the browning piece of foil placed carefully in between the debris strewn across the unmade bed.
VIEW 5 of 5 COMMENTS
~ Alien
Why, if I may enquire, was there a razor blade in your bed?
It says a lot about you that you looked upon the discovery of a razor blade in your bed as a fortuitous event since it allowed you yo use it to malkie the spider.