Tag Archives: YA Fiction

True Evil Holds a Pen


I am flirting with fire; from normality I had cold-feet. I am a kerfuffle of trouble, there’s no saving me now as I have mushroom-clouds for thought bubbles. They lacerate my world believing they killed me, I’m letting slip my dogs of war until they know me as a reformed super villain. Challenge Completed, Planet Earth; I’m spinning out-of-control, no fault of my own, I couldn’t keep hold. I’m a libertine shoulder barging my way through the captive creators; I’m writing on black paper in the dark.

No brain freeze or frisson, picking up lightening-bolts and throwing them at the pages of rapture I capture. This is merely reverie I reveal and unravel, I time-travel back and thwart all my enemies plans for me. I am no poltroon, I pollute pages personally I made it personal because I am no longer a person. The rain trickles down and washes away all my plights from my face, I change my mind and change my face and I am giving the world hell again, true evil is holding a pen. My calm levels are unstable, upon this page I have too much sycophantic horsepower, I bucking-bronco my way out from this web of life.


In school, after Maths was English class where I jotted down my aftermath from the bullies pulley, I guess I’m pure vile and puerile, I’m not a Transformer I can transmogrify. Rambunctious to my soul’s battery core; setting my switch to self-destruction. A man can only receive so much failure in his life before superiority takes over his eyes focus. Insanity is a gift from the Gods; I wield and shield it against sanity.

This world sees what they want to see; I could have charming characteristics, suave and soigné, hats off to me, my undercurrent is currently a catastrophe. All passengers, we have a slight insurgence for turbulence and wizen, please, fasten your seatbelts and come join me within my plummet. Its drizzling green and yellow pills, I’m dancing in the pain, I jump in blood puddles and reappear in sky tunnels of bliss. This hurt in my head I play it over and over again, until a joker smirk arises on my face, I’m no longer insane, isn’t life splendiferous.

insane 12

Within my writing I cannot be a stentorian, so I must visual lies my memory video-taped life, transplant and transport all of my supercilious kisses of life, these pages are where my wishes go to find a place to die. This world should have boxed me in early, now I can create topsy-turvy from everything that profoundly promotes to hurt me. Here comes the valetudinarian again, turn away, don’t dare turn that page, it’s all of the same. I could be a beacon of silver-lining light, but the doctors beat my head in with a rock to keep me under it for eternity. I am a writer, this is what I do, keep bringing you words and I shall sit here and laugh at you.

This image was selected as a picture of the we...

This image was selected as a picture of the week on the Malay Wikipedia for the 44th week, 2009. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

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Filed under 2014, Articles, Author, Blog, Blogging, Blook, Books, crazy, Creative Writing, Fairy Tales, Fiction, Guest Posts, Interview, Life, Literacy, Literary Agent, Love, Mental Health, Misc, Movies, Music, Novel, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Random, Story, Tales, Uncategorized, Writer, Writing, Writing #2

The Murder of Crows – Short Story

List of birds of Western Australia

List of birds of Western Australia (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Hey guys, sorry it has been a couple of weeks since my last confession with writing. I have been battling some personal demons, these things don’t know when to quit. But I am back with a short story for my fellow followers about one of my favourite animals, the crow. Hope you enjoy. Comment – rate and please like. Thanks. Your writer friend, me!

The Murder of Crows – Short Story

Peer pressure and wayward ways, we were called the Front yard boys. There was Jimmy “Pecker” Peck, he was our leader. The toughest kid in school but the weakest in his household, every time we met up he always had a fresh-cut or shining sable eye. He was always the first into conflict and last to leave our gang when the streetlights flicked on. Troy “Peeps” Epson, he was the brains of our operation, he let us copy his homework which he handed in on time and received full marks. Don’t let the thick rimmed glasses fool you; he takes them off every time we fight for school yard territory or rep.

Stevie “Ste” Banks, he was the fastest runner in our school and always excelled in every gym lesson we had. He was the only black kid in school, so he hung around with all of us so no one got the wrong impression to make fun of his colour when the adults weren’t around. And for the nineteen thirties Idaho, it was rather a big deal for some eyes.

And then there was me. Derek “Mazie” Maze, second in command to Pecker, we were that must have best friends we finished off each other’s sentences and usually saw eye to eye when it came to having fun and causing mayhem.

In a lined formation we four already bored on a gloriously saffron morning of the best day of the week, Saturday. We walk down the dust alley at the back of our neighbourhood, we hung out there, telling jokes, looking at saucy magazines one of us had stolen from our big brothers, or let Peeps come up with a great ways to cause havoc in our town without getting caught.

“God, I’m already bored and barely even weekend, tell me if this is what getting old means then life can keep it, cause I never want to be bored.” Pecker spat, chucking dust rocks at trash cans.

Peeps lay on the grass opposite the trash cans. I sat wracking my brains, trying to figure out how not to waste this perfect day with my friends. Ste dribbles a half crushed coca cola can with his feet.

I pipe up. “Peeps what’s on your mind buddy?” With his hands placed behind his head he stares up at circling birds.

“Did you know when birds hatch from their eggs they imprint on the first bird or creature they see.”

“That’s it!” I leap from the trash can. “I’ve always wanted a pet but my mom is allergic to cats and dogs and money is kind’a tight but she always said I could have a bird.”

With his arms opened in an order to us all. “Well lets go get Mazie a pet bird.” Pecker urges.

We all arrive at the Gershwin Tree, the biggest tree in all the state. My dad used to tell me the story of the Gershwin Tree before bed. Legend has it the tree only homes crows, crows help deliver souls to the other side once they had passed. Hundred of crows flock around the area where we stand; the tree is a shrine for them all. It feeds and homes them. Caws and flapped wings are all you can hear. More than a dozen birds a keeping watchful eyes on us from the floor as they forage in the ground for worms.

“You want it Mazie, go fetch.” Pecker commands with a pointed finger.

Is it a bad time to reveal this is a bad idea?

“Yeah Mazie, good luck teaching a stupid bird anything buddy, why not get a grass snake their probably hundreds in this field to feed this murder.” Ste amps his smirks comment at me.

One or two birds are fine to be around but when I am climbing up a prison full of these murders my thoughts will begin to race. One – two steps; I am standing in the shadow of the godlike conifer tree. The calls of the birds echo deep within my soul, a wild fear takes hold of my breaths. I reach my hands up and take hold of a furry terracotta branch and begin to hoist myself upwards. Every level of the colossal tree no less than five birds flees their homes from this unwary invader.

“Hurry up you wussy!” The hollered yells egg me onwards and upwards. “Just pick one all ready!”

Deep within the confines of overlapping corbeau branches sits a nest; the sunlight peers in ever so slightly to look upon the secret bird which tweets away chirpily to itself. I creep closer, hanging on for dear life.

“Hey there little guy.” I introduce my head, blocking out the rays of light. The tweeter stands shocked, facing away from me, his left eye glued to my motion. I hesitate for a sec before I unwittingly take which is not mine. My hands clamp around the body of the chirper whilst it squiggles his or her jerking head.

“Hey he’s got one, hurry bring it on down here!” Heckles make my mind made up.

I clamber down the maze of shedding bark and cobwebs with one hand, as I reach the last few meters there is a three meter drop blocking my freedom from this cell of bird droppings and screeches from beyond the grave.

“Just Jump it, don’t be a wimp now Mazie, you’re so close.” I can see in Peckers eyes that was an order. I take in a few breaths before I take a leap into gravity but just as I take flight downwards a blur of atrous feathers clouds my judgement and senses, I plunge down, wafting my arms in a frenzy of defence against my attacker from the sky.

“Mazie, are you okay? Damn bird tried to peck out your eyes.” Ste picks me up to my feet as I shake off the bad landing. “Look…” Peeps sputters crouching in the grass, his unblinking eyes fixed into his cupped hands.

“What is it, Peeps?” The boss ponders. We all gather around him and from up here we all see a lifeless crow chick, my mind musters and flutters into one thousand pieces.

“What have I done?” I confess my soul. “It was an accident Mazie, don’t worry about it, death happens” Pecker assures me with his arm slumped over my shoulders. “Let’s split guys.”

Peeps places the chick back on the fingers of grass gently and shuffles away. I stay staring at the bird; I have done a bad deed. The flaps of wings still circle, an immense fuliginous crow lands on an empty branch, the weight of the bird almost snaps the trees arm. The bird doesn’t break eye contact with me I can see her flammeous eyes burn through me. She begins to screech within her caw, it almost bloodies the ear. The clouds curdle and the suns candle is blown away, a storm is coming. I back away slowly, still in shock. The Front-yard Boys have walked on ahead. I cannot escape this ringing of the bird’s cries. I run.

I ravish the sheets; my mind has too much guilt to rest my soul for the night. I squeeze my eyes tight, hoping the discomfort would keep my eyes closed until daylight. I am too warm under my covers and too cold outside of them. All I can daydream about is the chick dying by my foolish actions.

A thud at my window makes me shoot to an upright position, my eyes widened to the possibility of fear. Clicks and taps at my window make me question to investigate or hide under my covers.

I sluggishly tiptoe from my bed to the window; the curtains hide my glass knocker. Shall I gradually open them or swiftly shift both sides. I stick with the second.  I promptly push the curtains aside. Sitting upon my windowsill sit the crow from earlier, my heart sinks to the depths of despair and my thoughts lead only to revenge upon me. I attempt to frighten off my terror, roaring and throwing plastic soldiers and socks at my window to make the bird take off. I look in her eyes and with her black eyes she glances into my blackened soul.

I give up.

The bird jumps to the centre of the window and turns around, she begins to caw out into the twinkle night sky. I look over the bird into the distance and see the night blur darker. I squint in scrutiny, what is that? The rumble of noise soon becomes apparent; hundreds of crows are coming for me. I stand in stagger; you cannot run from whatever the sky provides.

The claps of tinkered talons chip on my rooftop, creeks from the shabby ceiling and wood walls elongate through my ears as fingers of noise. All of the crows must be working together to unwrap the head of my house. The top corner comes away from my bedroom. I am opened to the elements of raining crows. The mother bird enters my bedroom from the gaping hole, perched on my chest-of-drawers next to my comics and figurines.

“I know why you’re here.” I caw at the crow, she talks back.

An army of wings and black beaks swoop down and clasp on to my pyjamas. They lift me up into the air, through the bird made break. They carry me in through the clouds over the rooftops of my friend’s homes.  I can see the Gershwin Tree in the foreground.

I took her chick from their home and killed it, they kidnapped me to suffer the same fate. This is my own entire fault.


Filed under 2013, Author, Blog, Blogging, Fairy Tales, Fiction, Literacy, Misc, Short Fiction Stories, Story, Tales, Writer, Writing, Writing #2

The Diary of an Immortal. Chapters 6 – 9

Chapter 6

We are on a rock held road which is the cause for me to be mildly thrown side to side in this fast paced box; I peek out of the curtain of the carriage. The sun is dangling on the mountain’s peak getting ready to plunge from its balance and hide behind the panorama, the stars are faint in the sky as nights sky is fitting into its clothing.

Suddenly, it jitters through me like being struck by a lightning bolts will, my motor functions become unmanned, unpredictable with a slight proportion of paralysis. My hands grab anything that I can constrict. The night has its hold, I snap back to the hell and tedium of this world with the gritting of my teeth, but Beth is still dancing in the back of my mind. The horse’s pants are every two gallops of their hooves.

“Ease up, ease it!” The driver chases at the horses ears.

The door flings open to show a gigantic home, clinging to the buildings skin is dying ivy, murdered by the weather.

I step closer to the building with a disruption of patience, I did not want to be here, I could leave, but I must keep up my appearance to these people. People descend from their carts, like rain drops from the skies. The women wore dresses of many colors, but some stuck to the traditional white, to me they all looked like upside-down flowers, with their honey located in their special of places, passing it out to whomever takes fancy to them, when the nectar of alcohol curses their extremities to sexual desirous acts. The men with them are no better, covering up their homosexuality with marriage and the search for an heir, in the wombs they had no pleasure in delivering life towards.

I stand out-of-place in front of the carriage watching the greedy hearts meet and greet one another, they do not take well to money, they do not suit even the pockets they inhabit, just like the dinner table they are full but still seeking more. I skim through the main window people are gathered, holding up glasses to one another; congratulating their greatness, in the bottom right window they are dancing in synchronize with turns and twirls. At the top, a couple are in the middle of a kissing contest, ravishing each other’s faces with the thought of what they are doing is named as passion. I turn my head only catching a glimpse of the last window in my withdrawal; I face my carriage and put my arm out to leave, with a peculiar notion. I spin around.

“Did I just see her, the girl from the market? I only caught her tone and smile, but it is unquestionable as the notion I feel was her.”

I retrace my backwards steps and walk up the path, to the doors, to the woman. The light from the main door unrolls over the ground, filching my steps and imagination. I pace through the arch way, making myself known to the There he is. I revolve, inspecting everything and one. The house was modern, oak flooring kept warm by ruby carpets that only took up parts of the walking space and ghost like walls with hanging ghosts.

“Special guest presiding – Lord Maze Celestial!” A speaker shouts from the top balcony.

Everyone stops, the music stops and the dancers halting their twirls, waiters and waitresses hold their platters and everyone else just their stares. The new money and quietly rich, get in their standpoint, just to claim a look at the most successful man ever to live, in their minds. I place the back of my hand at the lower of my spine and begin to float through the quietly spoken love and dislike “There he is…” and “How much money do you think he really has…?” and “I wonder what he is like under the sheets?” even “It is unlikely that someone who well-to-do became that prosperous by working inside the rules, he had to have stolen it or killed for it, they say that his father died of unknown circumstances, I am thinking he was probably sleeping and he came into his room with a pillow and held it over his father’s face, that should give you a great bank account number.” But with money comes envy.

I have to acknowledge them, I do with slight bows and smiles this has no longer become a banquet to praise me but to perhaps get a name from the kiss I received earlier.

“Maze, you are finally here, I would like to introduce you to a few well named people over here.” Verntro says while ushering me towards strangers with half a glass of scotch but by this morning climbs back I would have forgotten their faces and names, so they could not have been that well named.

“This is Lord and Lady…” Then I zone out staring through these people with smiles and nods looking for her.

Others adore me with pats on the back as they walk behind me. My patience was finally tested by all of this. Verntro stands on top of a chair.

“And here he is ladies and gentlemen, the man of the year, Lord Maze. I knew this young man’s father and I am not jesting, he has broken from his father’s shadow and forged a new destiny and surpassed his father in every ways of charity within our beautiful flourishing country. And in honor of us on this splendid evening of evenings, we or should I say all of us would like to give you a token of our appreciation.” Verntro says slurring his words; he must have had a few glasses of a vineyard’s finest before I arrived.

A young woman, it is her, walks over to Verntro and hands him a darkened wood box with a glass lid, he takes the box from her and indicates his hands outwards towards my space. My eye shift to the box, in the back of my mind I don’t want this box in my hand just her in my eyes, trying my hardest not to glance up. I take the box and stand in near death to be taking a gift from the lowlife that were made from the money and effort of the true workers of the communities. Inside the box was a medal with a lion crest pressed into the metal.

“Thank you all so much, from the deepest gorge of my heart, I am a little lost for words at the moment but thank you all, I will treasure it always.” I manage to throw out.

A round of applause circulates through the main room, I stand in smoke and mirrors with my smile, I look through the crowds, market girl is pressed against the wall at the back of the room with the largest applaud, she stood out to me as if she truly meant it, hers was the only one I counted.

I had dealt with the escape from Verntro with ease introducing him to someone more intoxicated than him. I diagonally walk through the other drinkers; she has her back to me with a silver platter, carrying booze for the unthankful guests of Verntro’s. She is wearing a grey blouse and long black skirt, down to her feet, in her hair she has a white cloth that keeps her hair back and her face exposed.

I am right behind her, should I tap her on her shoulder? Excuse me, Miss, but do you remember me? I cannot say that, it implies that she should remember me. I could always ask her how the ring fits. That’s awful; it has only been a few hours.

She spins around, at first she does not know my face; there is just a blank stare that she had shown to perhaps one hundred people tonight. She stops her thoughts that she would like to speak.

“Would you like a beverage, sir?” She asks.

“No, but I would like to talk like we did today in the market place, miss.” I say hoping for a positive response.

“We met today sir? I’m working, the only thing I am allowed to do is ask if you would like a drink, Master Maze.”

“Don’t call me that ever, it is just Maze to you, I do not care about your job title or how any person in this building thinks. I just want to talk.” She is deterrent still and walks away with no answer.

“Today in the marketplace, no woman at any time in my life has challenged my word and finished it with a kiss, a friend is all I want, I pledge, you will not get in trouble.” holding my hands together in a praying action. She stands rubbing the frustration from her brow and begins to nod.

“But we have to go upstairs to the balcony, so I don’t get caught. There is fewer people up there.” She says.

“Lead the way.” Holding out my palm to show her the direction to the stairs, she looks around to see if she would be seen. The working woman in her is saying, no, do your job, but the market girl in her tells her, yes, have some fun. I traipse up the stairs and walk behind the woman to the outside balcony.

We both post ourselves at the wall, staring out towards an endless black sky, sharing the stars and seconds of silence together. The wind quiets down.

“I am Bethany Sampson, but people around here just call me Beth.” She tells me.

“I am guessing I don’t need an introduction, but it’s such a great relief I now know your name.” I say, she laughs.

“I did not think for a second you were, Lord Maze, perhaps a banker or solicitor, but nothing close to the richest man ever to walk these lands.”

She has a slight disappointment in her eyes.

“Believe it, but to tell you the truth, I do not want this life, I feel poverty and failure coursing through me, but when you have a lot of money, it’s hard to get rid of it than to attain it.”

“I will have it, if you do not want it” We both laugh at her joke.

“I won’t give away my money, but if you let me I will show you the effects of happiness it can bring, if you let me.”

“What do you mean?” She is confused with a stare.

Embarrassment drips waterfalls over me, Just say it, Maze.

“Have dinner with me, any food your heart desires, any wine your tongue requests, it will be yours.”

She stands stunned, picking up her empty silver platter and walking in a runaway, did I say something wrong? I quickly grab her dangling arm. She tries her hardest not to share eyes.

“No, I can’t, the results could be real bad for me, if it was to go wrong, I… I don’t think I can.” She pleads for mercy from what I want.

The ring, I see it wrapped around her neck on a piece of string. I hold it in-between my fingers.

“It kept on falling off, every time I put on my finger, so I put it around my neck to keep it close to me.” She says.

I remove her head-scarf and comb back her black hair, removing it from her face to see her blossom in my memory. Her thoughts are giving into submission, she lifts her head, her bottom lips tries its hardest not to quiver in a nervous fit, either that or the cold had really gotten to her. I remove one of my gloves and blow warmth into it and place it on the side of her face, her head moves into it with her eyes closed, she tries to hide an exhale, it prolongs from her as it was her first and last. Her hand cases mine keeping me there for as long as possible, we are here forever it feels.

“Oh, my lord, you are chasing after the help, I would never have taking you for loving, dirties, Maze; if you wanted a woman, I could have arranged one that didn’t wear a head-scarf, by the way, where is yours?” Verntro had come looking for me, glass in hand, feathers on his feet and no order in his movement.

Beth stands back from me; her eyes are hooked to the floor. Verntro stares at her and her two smudged sisters.

“I think you better get back to work, my little slave girl.” Verntro sights rest upon Beth’s position in this world.

“Verntro, it is not her fault, she is who she is, just leave her be. I was the one who instigated our meeting, do not blame her.” I implore to him.

Beth takes back her scarf and grabs her empty platter and speeds away downstairs, back to the gathering, she strikes at the tears that slid down her face and hangs on her top lip. Verntro slithers up to me.

“I now know that you are not better than me, because I have something you want and I promise you that I am not willing to part with my possessions, like you, oh, Beth told me about the ring you had given her, extremely charming.”

I throw my face in front of his.

“I am not in the mood for this Verntro, I will be partial to whomever I am attracted too and you and no one else will tell me different.” I say with ferociousness, its evil hold slowly tiptoeing its way back to my imagination. I could pluck out his eyeballs so he could never put his ugly look upon Beth again, I could heave out his tongue so he could not speak wrong words of her again, take his fingers from his hands so the last thing he felt was his own fear. His eyes are blood hounding me but are being led away by the devil whispers of alcohol.

“I will let your words go as you are not of sober mind, Verntro, consider this your warning, do not underestimate me because of my sober actions.” I say to him, bringing myself back to tranquility. Verntro’s head bobs in midair like waste in water, he is not worth my effortless hunt.

I break our eye exchange and pace slowly away with clenched fists I keep by my side, undeterred in each step to lastly let him know that he has unaffected me, trailing his red carpet I reach the edge of the stairway, finally I turn and have a look at my enemy for the night. He sways like a tree in the wind, with a bowed head and angry narrowed eyes that tear strips from me and my intentions, but it is no longer my intentions that I am fretting over, it is shown in the corner of his small smile; he has a plan. I must forget about him.

I trudge down the stairs almost in a stampede; I must get out, not letting this atmosphere on my behalf hold me here any longer than I need to be. I reach the bottom step; Beth is nowhere in sight, just the reality that these people are ugliest of the low, not in beauty but nature. The under-toned women stand behind their spouses against the wall areas, ghost whispering about their bedroom brawls and unsatisfied sexual antics. The women pan the room trapping with sexual desire young adolescent men who have recently been established as wealthy as a passed away relative has left them their inheritance, plus into the bargain the women would always disgrace their marriage when their husbands are working, leaving them with a young man’s body upon their used skin.

The low laughing men gather in groups in the middle of the rooms, strangling their brandy glasses in one hand and attached to their fingers are imported cigars, their stance is power filled and uncaring, badmouthing the world that has giving them everything, but never enough, hiding the fact they have homosexual feelings for one another, I am still farfetched from the root to their attraction to other men but I have come to the conclusion that it is either their own vanity and have fallen in love with the mirrors of themselves or just their penises against another’s penis.

I barge by the crowds; they notice the dwindling tone of my mood and lack of eye contact by my vertically aimed eyebrows. I break out in a burst for freedom to the outdoors, the cold air calms me, the unsightly try to entice me back with supple looks to lure me back to their cave of eternal darkness, no. My heartbeats were galloping and I couldn’t slow the shakes of what I should have said and done. I speed walk towards the carriage, Benjamin flicks away a cigarette.

“Sir, has the banquet finished already?” He says replacing the smoke with fresh air.

“Yes, the company I keep should be better thought out, because you never know what they are truly thinking.” I reply.

“Home?” He says; fasten up the buttons on his overcoat.

“No, not for me, you go, I will get a horse from Verntro; just need some cold air to settle my frame of mind. Have a nice night.”

“Thank you, sir… Come on, lads!” He climbs on to the seat of the carriage and begins to whip the leather harnesses and trots away.

I stare back, I finally realize I do not need this world, this world needs me. Smile blessed and free, a breath living within my lung and saved wealth within my bank, what more could I want… Beth.

I walk in the opposite direction to my detention named, Verntro Manor, towards a wooden fence, the moss on it has grown and evolved in to its own nature. I jump it and walk until I am in the void of the valley that is infested with grass that rises to the waist. Not even the sharpest of eyes could see me from here, I stare back anyway as history has always caught up to the present, time and time again for not being cautious when I feel untouchable. Verntro’s home was a black jewelry box that emanated light to the forests around it. I reach into my overcoat and pull out a pair of black gloves and a large piece of cloth; I kneel and fold and re-fold the cloth on my knee, then wrap it around the bottom part of my face, nose and mouth, tying it behind my head, I slip on the gloves. I spin around and charge for the heavens with both fists, the cold airs pincers latch on to my visible skin, the sky seems endless as I glare into its millions of eyes but beneath me seemed empty to the movers of the world. I slow to a halt; I can see the glow of Kingston lodged in-between two monstrous mountains; the churches steeple gives it away as it is the only building I can place my vision upon. A black sheet of secret kept the ground asleep.

The calmness of the world scares me; it reminds me of my third wife, Amyala, a true beauty.

Chapter 7

Brown hair, wide wild brown eyes that pull you towards her, she was like a love poem that you had to read four or five lines before the plot became apparent. It was about three thousand years ago in Greece, the weather for the time of year was especially warm, the country had just gotten over a drought that had taken a few lives, but we were in the midst of a long needed storm that had been like a vengeful God in the sky for three whole days, throwing lightening everywhere and shaking the floor with his genuine voice. The sun had been dragged by ropes beneath the end of the world’s line. I lived on a cliffs edge next to the sea, which was often raged with Poseidon’s wrath.

The home I lived in was only a wooden box, with one obscure hole in the wall for windows, a dining room, bedroom and a cooking area. I was a sheep farmer and was enjoying life. My memory of this time had faded and details of her had just been overtaken by time.

I come bursting through the door, ragged and filthy, with a leaking bucket of water; I waddle to a ceramic bowl and pour the water in.

“Petra, you’re home; I thought you had gotten swept away by the current.” she shows her head from the bedroom.

“Lucky for you, I did not” I say out of breath.

“Yes, lucky for me…” She says in a sarcasm tone.

“Does my love bestow a joke on me?”

Amyala runs over to me throwing her arms around my neck and locks it with a kiss from her warm lips.

“Jokes and kisses… I must have done something right, for a change.”

“No, nothing, just for you being you, plus you need all the love you can get as your wife of twenty-three days may steal it and run with it forever.”

“She would not dare… But as I think about it, she does seem like the sort.” I put on the face of a scary mythical creature that haunts caves and eats virgin girls. She is impervious to the laughable mask.

“Have you brought in the herd? I don’t want them to wander in to Eldorado’s land again.” She asks.

“Done and dusted, do not worry, I have taken care of everything, we shall eat then go to bed, without a worry on our minds.”

She kisses me again and releases her grip, turning and walking into the kitchen, I stare at her perfectly made body, her skin had been breathed on by the sun, her beautiful backend swayed like a butterfly on a gentle wind, I cannot help but stare. I walk over to a cylinder pot and pull out two spoons.

I take hold of my chest, my heart attempts to bash through my chest, I feel the tears rush to my eye line, the animal behind my ribs were thrashing and snapping at all of my other insides. The two spoons fall to their doom and my breath becomes cursed by the evil within my heart, which leads me to the idea of food. I hadn’t eaten in one and a half moons. Amyala was silent in the dark of my secret, the reason was she was an innocent and I longed for normal.

Amyala retreats back to the main room with two bowls of soup, she see me in agony and quickly places the bowls on the old dried-out wooden table.

“What happened?” She says, holding up my head so we were eye to deranged eye. I manage to catch one breath that sets my lungs back into their rightful place.

“I lost my footing.” She wraps her arms around me once again, picking me up to my feet, I cannot blink, the frenzy had taken shape as a thought I had banished to the recesses of me, I did not want to hurt her, but there are forces within my world more powerful than love. Half of me wanted to run but the other needed its taste of love before death.

I bury my head tenderly into her hair until I am nestled in her neck. My body quivers as I unbolt my doors from myself. I place my hands on her shoulders and push her back; she takes a few back steps and is stopped by the wall. I fall back to my knees.

“Do not you come near me, you run, run now!” I shout at her sight, I must hate her.

“I will stay by you, I can help.” She replies.

I look up; she is still beautiful in her worried state. My eyes begin to build up and send tears to their suicide and turning my pupils black with truth.

“Please tell me what to do, Petra?” She asks with tears and a quiet voice. Petra? …Not anymore. I jitter and jerk, trying to hold back myself.

Nothingness is my strength but love has no place within me, she is not love, she is but routine, a face I have placed in my memory enough times to think she is my one. Trickery is her technique, which she shines on a fragile man’s heart. A favor gifted to this world, if you do what is in my nature. I am strong enough to conquer but not to say no, making my nothingness also my weakness.

It stops, moisture hangs on a line from my bottom lip. I raise my right hand up above me and use the table as my support to bring myself back to my feet. She looks on in cower, should she help? Should she get help? Should she heed my words and run? These things troubled her as they dart into one another inside her final judgment.

I collapse in tire; my chin is bowed into my chest, closed eyes, my nose touching a rock dusted floor. My hands are covering my head as my spine jilts me forwards with spasms, every other second. Suddenly it stops; she kneels with watchfulness, a warm hand of hers takes a steep to my level. As if her hands can heal this hurt, I shoot up until her eternal tears reflecting in her eyes mirror the hell within mine. I run through the opened door, I run and run and I ran, through the branches and jagged stones that attack my feet’s bottom. I am brought down and down again by this inhumane famine pain, crashing me into plant life and rocks, that cut, spread blood and open me, I bleed on the elements. The clouds begin to brew in the sky with the dark colors of black, blues and purples; the ocean is the first to lose his temper throwing punches at the cliff side.

I lose ground as I come to an edge; I stare down, blackened razor-sharp fingers stick out from the water. If I end this now, I cannot have her. My world bypasses my eyes; it just sits in distortion, I know it’s still in motion but its gathering dust. My murderer’s breath is shared with the sea air.

“Life or death, neither would survive within me if only I had committed to my true nature.” I stand, giving guilt to the sky.

There is no one in sight, with a world so large and with so many born and walking, why do I live with this feeling of loneliness. My arms and eyelids seem heavy and my legs want to snap with my evil weight. I take a leap with no faith or effort; I fall towards the rocks, hoping for impalement. The clouds shift together and cover up the stars; this fall seems like forever to end.

I hit the rocks, no impalement, just immense pain, ripped and broken, half in the water and half not, unable to move. The water comes in and drags me with its waving hands, pulling me in with its shift then throwing me forward back into the rocks. Black…

I am awakened by screaming birds and a seething light that wheedles its way through an opening in the twig roofing. How did I get back home? It is peculiar, I feel normal as normal would give. I lift up my hands, clothed in dry blood. No, I couldn’t have, could I? Not Amyala. This is not possible; I was dying in the water. There is no way in this world’s hell I could have brought myself back from the brink of Hades. This maybe a dream or perhaps last night was a dream? Then whose blood is this. I thrash my hands all over my body to see if I was wounded, nothing. I sit up from my hay bed that has been bagged in cloth for a sleep. I climb off from the rustles, the floor was damp the house must have gained a leak as the roof wasn’t that able to hold off all the water because of the gaps. I peer around the corner in to the main room. Blood, red, insides, body parts, scarlet drips, Amyala was everywhere, nothing was recognizable. Her blood was in puddles on the floor and smears on the walls. The main wall to the hut had been reduced to rubble, only a demon from Hades could have done this diabolical act, It must have been me, I was that demon… Forgive me Amyala.

Chapter 8

I come back to the now. Still airborne from Verntros banquet, still with disgust for Verntro, to this day I ask for forgiveness from Amyala, she just never knew. A gust of wind slams against me, a cold fear was carried on it and it was coming from Kingston. My eyes fix and I shoot like a bolt towards the town, passing clouds and night birds, weaving through them. Once I reach the town, I slow just so I can either see the trouble or hear the screams.

“HELP!” A scream comes from a few narrow streets away. Chimneys are at full burn and make fake clouds; I land on a pubs roof, stepping on the edge, staring down at the street. I hear the hard breath of a woman; I run over to the other side and glance down, am I in time to do my job? A young woman has been cornered like a wild animal by two drunken poachers. They both are taunting her with their hands, trying to grab hold of her dress but she is strong and knows she must put up the fight.

“Get away from me, please, get….!” She fights with her words.

One man manages to get hold of her, he head butts her; she falls to the ground with a crack to the back of the head due to the cobbles, dazed eyes and blooded face. The two men circle and shadow her, staring at both of them, she knows their next move but which one will do the evil first? Both men look at each other with the idea of rape; one speedily kneels, already grunting to the idea of forced sex as holds the young woman’s arms down, while the other wriggles with his belt with one hand and with the other ripping and trying to pull up the woman’s dress.

She screams her hardest.

No more, I leap from the buildings top with opened arms with a somersault roll before I land a few yards from the culprits and the young woman. The man waiting his turn, picks his head up slowly to my direction, mouth opened with no teeth. He is kneeling, watching the war in my eye, the other man is still figuring out how to undo his belt buckle, so I am unnoticed by him. I run in for battle with so much rage in each footstep. The knelt man is shock-stunned to my advance, too bad he had no teeth as I kick him full pelt at the bottom part of his jaw, something’s broken, sending him flying from the ground like a paper ball, through a glass window of the pub. By this time I am seen by the other, he had finally gotten his trousers down to his ankles but after he had seen what I had done to his partner in crime, sex was off the menu for him.

He stands and about turns without lifting his feet, trying to gather his trousers up to his waist. I run after him, grabbing his jumper behind his neck and carrying him off in flight across the street, threw the opposite alleyway into the darkness, now he is the one who is screaming for help, I climb higher and higher and he cries harder. I am about half a mountain side up in the air when I let go, fear must have cut off his tongue as there was no scream going back down from him.

I stare back, is that woman in good health to make it home? I better check… I speed back to the alleyway where she laid and land on the street in front. She is still lying there, shaking. I stare closer as familiarity grips me. I know her, it is the street-walker from a few days ago, the one who propositioned me and I had told her this would happen. I will not gloat to her, she may remember my face and that is the last thing I need.

I pace up to her, she tries to shuffle away with the balls of her feet on the wet ground, through puddles.

“My dear, are you in health to make it back to your home by yourself?” I ask in a deepened voice.

She stops and looks at me queer, she nods, her lips quivers with the gash.

“Yes, I think so, yes… Are you going to kill me, like those men? Please, please don’t.” She says, with tears on her speech.

“You have nothing to fear, my dear, if I wanted you dead, I would have let the scum take you. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Another nod, I bow back, my service is done. I stare back up to the sky and leave the ground, my long coat trails behind me, flickering like a rouge flame and cracking at my feet.

Bethany, if she knew me, the true me, she would not want to know me. I shouldn’t even try, one day she will die and I would be left with the lost gap again. It would save a lot of hassle if I just made sure I never went near her, let her live her life without the pain. She doesn’t need any trouble like that. And what would happen if one month I could not control myself and take her, like I did Amyala? A woman like that is not meant for such a fulfillment. Beth, stay away, you will be far safer…

I fly home, back to my guilt; back with Verntro’s circulating words, back to my world, back in the black…

Chapter 9

Sitting at the table, I should eat myself. When will I put this knife down trying to put an end to this endless life? Drunk spits at my mirrors reflections. Pick up your whiskey and toast to death. Congratulations, you are now evil. You can now let your soul fall from your mouth and lock it in a jar with no air, shake it and threaten it with fire. I need a sharper knife. You have opened your armor, dumb wittingly within the moonlight, showing this world a beast, and also your love within the same mouth. Howl at the sun to make sure there is no night. Spiral your fingers around your throat like a suicide snake. Lash another wrist. What came first in my life? Time or death, time or death, can’t have one without the other. I guess they come from the same cut.

A pleasant knock comes from the door.

“Maze, are you here?” Arthur softly asks.

“Yes, for the time being, but not for long.” I chuck my words.

I put my feet on my table and take another mouthful.

“There is a young woman at the door for you. She said her name is Beth. Do you know her?” He comes in closer.

“Tell her I am not up for visitors at this time, too ill with this world to make host today.”

“You have been drinking?” He exclaims as I pour another drink and down it in one.

“Vey observant, it doesn’t stop this pain, but it makes me numb to its jab.”

He walks in closer to with a shame shot from his eyes.

“I am going to tell you this because you know I care, let it go, stop feeling sorry for yourself, it does not become you. You have had more chances than anyone to conquer what is inside. Grow up, sober up. You can tell her that you do not wish to have her in your company yourself, she will be waiting downstairs.”

Arthur storms out the room with a thud of the door. I didn’t even look at him once and I won’t be chasing his shadow, just take another drink and deal with the problem of emotions that is waiting downstairs for you.

I stand at the top of the staircase with intentions of battling love on its own battle field. But I am so drunk I have to hold on to the banister to make sure it does not look that obvious.

“Miss Beth! How is one of my most favorite persons today?” I cheerfully shout.

“I am good, all the better to see you actually, Maze.” She says with her hands cupped at her waist.

I have beaten the mountain of stairs and all I must conquer now is to keep Beth still in my sight.

“Why is it better? Has this day produced something that any other could not? Have all your hopes and dreams come to pass? Or perhaps all of your enemies have been slain and slaughtered by another’s blade.”

“No, I am just doing some shopping for the house.”

“Ah Verntro, he is such a prick, don’t you think? He just lacks that push, you know, a push-off a cliff.” I stumble to the right.

“What is the matter with you?” She asks.

“Nothing is the matter with me; it is this world full of bastards that’s the problem.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Of course I am, wouldn’t you be when you live in such a place like this one?”

“Well perhaps I can change your view of this world and carry on our conversation from the other night.”

“No need. I know. I know what has to be done.” I slur more saliva than words and rub my sleeve over my mouth.

“And that would be?”

“Terrific question, see you’re so smart, so so smart. And the answer is… I can’t see you anymore or talk. You see we are two different people living in the same world.”

Her facial expressions change so drastically from happy to what is happening?

“You mean you’re rich and I am poor and you are afraid of what people may think. I knew it was a mistake coming here.”

“No! It is nothing like that; I’m just not allowed to love you. That is all. Just scratch me from your memory, it would be safer.”

“What do you mean you are not allowed to love?” She comes in closer for a feel of my hand.

“They made me so I could not love anyone, not allowed. Eventually it’s taken from me.”

“What? Who are they, Maze? You are the richest and most powerful person to ever step foot on this world; you should not be intimidated by those who are not here now.”

I fall to my knees, this heap suits me good as I try to cry.

“You just don’t understand. You don’t, do you? Please just go. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“For now I will go, and when you have lost your drunkenness I will not be far, you hear me?” She let’s go of my hand and walks to and through the door. Please come back. I didn’t tell you I need you. Even for a wee while. Save me, save me, please. Black.

(The other chapters are below:)

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Psychological Fiction Writing for Teens & Adults – The Serial Killer Part 2 – Hollywood in Flames – Written by Alexander Kennedy

So here it is, the second part of Alex Kennedys “The Serial Killer” Stories. We have been overwhelmed by the emails from fans of psychological thrillers asking for me. So the wait is over. We hope you enjoy. Like, Comment and Subscribe.

Caution Advised: Bad Language.

The Serial Killer Part 2 – Hollywood in Flames.

I kill and mangle insides without a second thought but I love Grace more than life itself. I do wonder sometimes while she is within my arms if she will ever amount to being a monster like her mother.

“Mommy’s going to work, come give her a kiss.” I urge from the hallway.

Little Grace toddles over to me, gripping the dolls hair as it’s dragged along the floor. Blonde curls and rose cheeks and a smile to ease the demon.

“What time you gon’ be back?” Gracey pouts.

I lower myself to her level; taking one of her hands and re-raising her sad face that has found refuge at her feet in a sulk.

“Well past your bedtime. Mommy has to go talk to a bad movie man who has done some really awful things. But I tell you what, when I get back home I will come and tuck you in and kiss you goodnight. Okay?” I hint with a wink.

Her eyes brighten up with a quick show of her gums. She scampers off, bare foot across the laminate flooring to her cartoons playing in the other room.

The way I look at parenthood, to protect the one thing I love more on this floating toilet I must kill like a African wildcat to ensure my pup has a safer chance of survival within this dangling rock.

I grab hold of my handbag full of torture techniques and weapons, disguises and phony I.D’s. What more could a suburban female killer need?

I enter my car and turn on the radio to Eminem, this guys lyrics hit just the right note for the symphony I will be playing with someone’s lungs tonight. My target, Jack Foreman, Hollywood actor from such action movies like, Enter the bullet, Beats of the bad and my personal favourite, Tainted. But tonight Hollywood and I will be making our debut in a new slasher-horror movie, I will write as I go with the flow called; you like to take the purity from little kids and that really pisses me off to the point where you have to die, asshole! …Good title, huh? I’m sure it will be a blockbuster hit worldwide.

I know I’m a small-time T.V. reporter for channel 43, every other week when the regular guy is sick, but hey, I’m working within a global recession. I can’t stand with all the reporting saners and still get in.

He will be locked away in his hotel room, a scared king in his castle, with over fifty networks from around the globe circling his moat, nibbling at his door handle for the chance to ask just one question or get one quote from his people. So a diversion is needed for us to be all alone, so I can take his soul he has taken from the innocent. This is a once in a lifetime, one on one converse, where all doors are open as well as his windpipe.

I pull up across the street of the Tyrann Hotel, which stretches to the clouds and camouflages into the night the further you look up. Flashes from photographers and limelight’s for the news anchors enlighten the feet of the skyscraper. I am a superwoman; they call me the woman of steel. What is a skyscraper? Probable rubble; but I always get my man and will go through hell fires to ensure this death.

My disguise on and my fury on fire; I exit the car with the master plan of extinguishing a star. All eyes of the surrounding area are focused on the media, flash riots and speculations. So I slip blindly passed the by-passers and cameras in my dock martins.

I enter the underground structure of the skyscraper, dynamite would be a great idea if I had any, drag the star down to the ground, I don’t, but this is my justice I must see through. A plan of how to enter the building still baffles me, everything is security locked and swiped.

Just before the nervousness of failure snuggled into me like a bad idea; when a stroke of luck in the sound of clonks from over within the darkness echoes through the doubt, within the shape of heels across the oil spills and tire burns on the floor. A middle-aged woman; grasping her bag that rests on her waist; her wide eyes show so much hope to the light that rest behind the door to the car park.

“Excuse me, do you have the time.” I query. At first she seems startled to my presence; a sigh of relief is puffed when she realized I am a normal girl, just like her, sort of…

“Oh God, you’re one of those reporters aren’t you?” She begins to walk fast towards the door, I slink behind. “The answer is no, I’m not letting you in, so you and your blood sucking vulture friends can fuck off. We’re not allowed to let any of you in or say a word or we could lose our jobs.” She asserts.

“I’m sorry, I have offended you.” She stops in her tracks and turns with sorrow. “But bitch, you need to learn some manners; what mommy and daddy weren’t strict? You’re lucky I don’t kill you where you stand; and I am no vulture, I kill my own prey.” With that I pummel her face until she falls over, knocked-out. A small price for her to pay to make this world a little safer from bad guys, now I know what you’re thinking but my evil is necessary.

I thought she may have been a receptionist or a cook but I have just hit the jackpot, a cleaner, with access to everyone’s room and lives.

Standing in the elevator watching the light jump from number to number, I look upon my thoughts and back track my overreaction to my addiction of murder, victim to victim. Why should the people in power take what they want? I am the result, the aftermath, the monster my dad and his friends made on that day.  School was a nightmare and my dad had heavy feet, not only on my ribs but also when he walked on the floorboards of our broken home. Mom left us both for another man with another family; I guess it was her loss.

I’m stuck in a world that doesn’t understand me, I just don’t fit in anywhere; I think deep down I like it this way, alone.

“Sally, get your ass up already!” He rumbles the windows when he shouts.

I could slash out my eyes to not witness anymore hurt; I do hear that if you lose one sense that your others heighten. I creep down the stairs, tiptoeing in my sneakers upon the edge of each step.

“I’m up; I will pick something to eat on the way to school.” I report quietly.

He sits on his faded patterned, raggedy chair; an opened paper obscures his entire nefariousness to me.

“Good; make sure you get there on time, I don’t send those school cheques for you to sleep in and be tardy. You hear me, bitch.” The paper comes down. His bilious stare helps tense up my bruised stomach. Bar brawling scars echo on his nose and cheeks. His exterior is that of a builder and that is because he lost his job building after he started drinking when mom left, she has a lot to answer for. He glocks a full mug of coffee in front of me; waiting for me to step out of line somehow.

“Get out of here, and remember what I said. Oh and I am having some friends over tonight, for some beers.” The paper rises again.

I do a kind of weak curtsy to him before I make a hasty retreat to his eructs.

{High School}

I have a secret. To tell you the truth, I was a girly nerd, a nerd who wanted to be more. But how can you be more when you’re in high school? Ritualistically bullied because of my body’s small build and my adventurous nature I take when I escape into learning.

I walk down the busy hallway, eye shy within the traffic jams of people, honks of nicknames and insults along with clips of closed lockers. I huddle into my homework with both arms; I stare at the floor, a meter in front of me the whole way to my class, English lit.

“Hey skank, you’re walking in my way, your bad.” I get shouldered by a Lacy Burns, the make-up queen. My life is hell here.

I wasn’t in any click or associated with any group, I couldn’t even blend in evenly. I did try to dress accordingly, a blue shirt with a black dragon logo on the back, fitted jeans and my sneakers; still wasn’t enough for the pop-kids.

I never wanted to be this girl but this is the result of my history that shifted my geography, since then my mathematical problems doubled, tripled and quadrupled and within my science all I am left with is the P.E. I learned that made me run away with a pipe-dream for bad English and dark-side of the human anatomy and biology.


I dragged the tips of my feet through the front door, unravelling my arms from my backpack. I glance into the living room. A football game, a few packs of beer and extreme whiff of weed, smoke fills the room as angry faces indented in the atmosphere.

“I’m home dad.” I chimed in over the horde of grunts and belly laughs of drunken men.

Not even a look of care. I slink off up the stairs, counting ever step to my mortifying loneliness.

An hour had breezed by, when an unnerving thought sprinkles over my skin to give me goosebumps. Silence has moved in downstairs. I waft down my Superman comic; the creeks of floorboards outside my room were deathly deafening. The stairs lead straight to my door, I don’t have a lock on it anymore; he kept on breaking it down. The door flings open to the reason of my addiction. I won’t go on and put my mental thought process over what 4 fully grown men and my dad did to me; you have an imagination almost as sick as mine, use it, but please keep it there.

I will tell you later on that night, I remember brushing my hair in stupor, one stroke at a time, prolonged and emotionless. I place my brush next to my make-up bag, not breaking eye contact with myself in the mirror. Red marks and slight scratches show off in the mirror as highlighted sex brandings.

I wipe clear everything on my countertop.

“AAAARRRHHHHHHHH! You fucking bastard; fucking evil sadistic fucker! You want a piece of me, huh?! Get you fucking ass up here and fight me like the cunt you are, Dad!” I dared him as my monster surfaced from the grave I had kept it in. I don’t break contact with both sides of myself in the mirror, looking for a familiar side of me to creep behind the shimmer.

The sound of beer can’s being trampled on and kicked to a side echo from downstairs. He is coming, the oaf. No more backing down Sal, these people have made your life hell and expected you to live in it, so why not show them the hell they so easily send you in everyday.

As he stomps I march for battle, fist clenched and teeth bared. From within my bedroom I see his head bob and weave to aside, still shitfaced. I shan’t even let him get that far, I take off running for him and by the time I know it, I am hurtling myself through the air, open palms in his direction. I collide with him and we both tumble-down the stairwell.

I remember waking up sometime later; this was the last time I was ever in his arms and also the last time he was on top of me.

And ever since I have always found and detested men or women who take advantage of their position within this world, whatever the power.

The remembrance of murder will have to wait, the ding from the top floor is about to go. I will rethink about past murders later.

I need a plan for this guy; think Sally, think… Ding*

I exit warily, peaking around the bends with my peepers. Two bodyguards are yakking to one another outside of room 126. Now I must make those cretins skedaddle for about five minutes without Jacky boy.  Sally, you’re an evil genius.

I reach into my bag and retrieve a fake news reporter I.D. card and a powerful camera but the necessity must be able to carry it within my pocket. I exit the elevator, walking in the completely opposite direction; I can feel their eyes on me. My time here must be terse, so let’s get to work.

I turn the corner, my back up against a wall near to the stairwell. I have one finally look around. I pull the fire alarm lever. A shrill pulse chants through every hallway, the elevator doors close along with my back of tricks lying on the floor, I will get it later. I can just about eavesdrop on the bodyguards trying to figure out what is happening and what to do, over the shriek.

I head through the stairway door and head to the reclusive shadows of the last flight of stairs, I sit and wait. One of the bodyguards chops through the door, walkie-talkie in hand shouting orders at the security downstairs.

Round about now, an assemblage of paparazzi are edging their eagerness through the security officers and entering the building. Jack Foreman has been left all alone within his room to ensure his own safety until they figure out if there is a blaze somewhere in the building or if someone has a deadly prank to play. I strut down the stairs; the ringing of the siren imbues a ring within the ear. I trudge while the sound of screams cannot be heard.

The corridor horror-show is empty, a time to strike. I love fire alarms, when you have a system like this one, where you have to swipe electronically to get into a room, in the result of a fire alarm all room doors open automatically to certify safety is carried out.

I walk straight in through the door; from under my blouse I retrieve the black-lace with knife in it, pushing the material in my back pocket. He stands at the window wall; the skyline of the entire city is pictured perfectly from this angle. A brandy in hand, his thoughts blank out the alarm and hustle downstairs, he swigs another dreg.

I wrap my gloved hands over his forehead and press the blade against his neck, his glass drops to the floor.

“People like you shouldn’t be allowed to live!” I snarl over the racket.

Within one flash I stripe him across his Adam’s-apple, the blood sprays over the window, bloodstained glass. I look at his peripheral vision, his eyes glued to the horizon line as he has reached his own. I let him go, he shucks to the ground lifeless. A star has been extinguished.

Now here comes the tricky part, I wrap my weapon back in its lace-case and put him to bed under my waistband. I fix up my disguise and retrieve the phony I.D. and camera and begin to take pictures of him lying in a slump. The blood flood edges my way.

At that moment the Fire-alarm stops screaming. I hear a multitude of footsteps stampeding in my direction. The door bursts open.

“Oh my God is he dead? He’s been fricken’ murdered.” A male voice says.

I stand in stun. Is this security or a bodyguard or is it who I am hoping it to be? A man stands at my side, scruffy looking with long bedraggled hair, big thick glasses and a camera in hand.

“Hey, I’m Dave, channel 9, central news. Did you find the body?” Dave ponders as he winds up his camera. The party gets bigger as another several men join the carnage of the murder scene. Each taking pictures from all different angles.

Security bursts in from the door, tackling Dave and another couple of men. I stand in the corner as tussles and scraps break out between the paparazzi and the security.

“We need more security up here now; Jack Foreman has been murdered in his suit!” One security officer barks down the walkie-talkie.

And while the room turns less violent with thrown punches and name-calling, I make my retreat out of the room. The doors to the elevator open as soon as I reach them, I walk in faced down to avoid the cameras; I pick up my bag and hoop it over my shoulder. I press the G1 button on the panel, halfway home.

The lobby of the hotel has become overrun with reporters and police officers and without an effort I exit the building to freedom and scurry over a couple of roads to my parked car, away from this madness.

A sigh of relief I exhale. I turn the key in the ignition and begin my journey back home to my little Gracie, need to tuck her in and kiss her goodnight.

I stand in front of the camera, microphone in hand. I feel comely to the eye of every man surrounding me.

“3, 2, 1 and… Action.” Chris my cameraman points in my direction.

I put the microphone just below my chest.

“Good-evening, Mark. All we know at this time is the actor, Jack Foreman, has been murdered within his hotel room at some point last night. This is the man Hollywood dubbed the next Paul Newman of our time. But recent weeks of the actor’s life have been sent into turmoil after allegations of sex acts had surfaced, that is the reason behind him being held up within the hotel, behind me. His people and the police have not released any other details of the case or the why, but all we can do is keep watchful eye on what the investigators and pathologist say when they have done their reports. We know there is a strange female reporter and a few men found at the scene that the police are interested in talking to. It is a sad day for fans worldwide. All of our thoughts go out to his friends and family from channel 43 news. This is Sally Rose, here at Tyrann Hotel. Back to you in the studio.”

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Fairy Tale Writing For Teens & Adults – The Tale of the Not-So Grateful King – Written By Alexander Kennedy

Here we have another small tale for people who love fables.  About an ungrateful king who doesn’t know what he has gotten until it is gone. But Alex has promised he will be posting another “The Serial-Killer” Story later on today or Friday night. Like, comment and subscribe.

The Tale of the Not-So Grateful King

There once was a king of Sluinn who was in love with the most beautiful black haired maiden in the land. He made the young maiden, Lucia, his queen, post haste; as he knew that he could love no other and nothing as much. At this time he was a gracious king, he helped feed his kingdom, he kept a clean and prosperous land which no other line beyond had, all his lands people loved him.

One day as the king and queen rode horse-back in the woods; an assassin sprung an attempt on both their lives. The blackened mask of the assassin had the emblem of a scorpion; he was from the evil tribe of Pion, far beyond the snowy mountains of the north.

“What do you want? Guards! Guards!” Lucia chants.

The king motioned his horse in front of the Lucia’s to protect her. The assassin drags his sword from his holster, taking swings at the king’s feet.

From out of nowhere a spiralling blade propels from the bushes, sticking into the hired-knives neck, killing him.

The guards finally arrive, circling the king with their spears and swords. A ruffled man exits the cobwebs of branches, without a care in the world upon his face.

The king bypasses his supposed guard and trots up to the scruffian with so much pride stance within his stare.

“My name is King Orwin, I rule Sluinn and everything that has colour within our beautiful world. You have saved mine and my wife’s life, name your price and it shall be granted.”

“My name is Gossoon sire and all I ask is a few pennies to see my belly get full tonight.” He pleads with his hands together.

“My fellow saviour, I have left my pouch back at Castle Grey, we have no money here. If you return back with us I will fill your pockets with as much gold and bread as you can carry.” The king proclaims with a bow of his head.

“My gracious king, I am on a path home, I have not seen my family within ten years, and if I return with you it will be another day too long. Forgive me.” Gossoon bows his regrets.

“Well you will not go free without a token.” The king insists.

“Sire, I will be arriving back here within one year, if possible I can collect my reward then?” Gossoon gulps in hope.

“I now know that the tribe Pion are advancing an attack because of this attempt and you have saved my life. Within one year, you can return and ask me for anything within my world and it shall be granted, young Gossoon.” The king, queen and troops turn and hike back towards the castle and Gossoon continues on his travels.

A war broke out within Sluinn between the king’s army and the tribe Pion. It raged on for several months. But in the end, the king was victorious. He had now become the wealthiest man upon the planet, his country size doubled. And it was all because of one man’s kind nature to save another human being.

Now the king had become so powerful and rich, he had also gained paranoia and an anger problem, thinking people were going to try and steal what he had taken in conquer. It had reached the eleventh month of the year and the king started to over think everything, believing the stranger who saved his life so long ago, would come and bow at his feet and ask for his full bank.

The king commanded his guards to arrest the stranger on sight and bring him forth to the king. As the twelfth month gleamed and died, the stranger travelled back to Sluinn to collect his reward. He was captured and chained and dragged to the king’s court to be heard. Gossoon was thrown on the floor. The king sat next to his wife Lucia within giant golden thrones.

“You have come to take my money, haven’t you stranger?” The king hisses.

“Sire, no, you asked me to return to claim my reward, so here I am” Gossoon stammers in fear.

The king rises from his cushion and looks down with an odious stare, pointing at Gossoon.

“You will receive nothing, you deserve nothing, you are to be banished for eternity, and if you return back to my kingdom you will be beheaded. Do you have anything to say?” He addresses.

Gossoon shed one tear and looks upon the queen; she rests ever so quietly as both their eyes connect in gaze.

“Sire, from this day on I hope you find yourself, once something that means so much to you is gone, you will try your hardest to get it back. But I will leave with something that has no weight or colour within your world, something that does not belong to you.”

“If it is not mine, you can have it, now leave and never return!” The king bellows.

Gossoon is picked up and lead from the castle. The king sits, gripping onto his armrests with apathy tapping on his fingertips. The queen leans over.

“Husband, I am feeling rather lightheaded, I think I may take my leave from court and go to bed, my love.” She says ever so gently.

The king leans in for a kiss.

“Yes, my dear. Have your bed maids escort you to our room and I shall be there soon.” The king whispers.

The queen stands and shuffles herself out of the side door, five maids cluster behind her.

That night the king flings his sheets open and creeps into bed next to his beauty. He looks upon her face, thinking he could never love something or someone so much. A kiss upon the lips for the queen.

The queen awakens, squinty eyes at first, she shoots up bright eyed.

“AAAAHHHHHHH! Who are you? Who are you?! Where am I?” The queen falls out of bed and with the balls of her feet she scrapes backwards to the corner of the room.

“My love, my love. It is me, the king.” He pleads with her to know him.

“I have never laid eyes upon you, sir, or this place.” She cries.

“You do not remember me? Is there anything you do remember, my love?” He sobs.

“One thing, I will leave with something that has no weight or colour within your world, something that does not belong to you and I have already taken it; only those words, sir.” She replies rather hypnotized.

Moral of the story, you don’t what you have got until it’s gone and something’s in life are worth so much more than others.

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