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 Posted: Wed Mar 26, 2008 12:39 am
Ha, tricked you! NOW YOU MUST READ ME WRITINGS AND COMMENT ON HOW MUCH THEY SUCK!
P.S. For some reason I write really emo stuff. I don't know why. . .
Dos
By P.K. Atomsk
They awoke to find that the tape had been taken. They ran downstairs following the hauntingly familiar memory. It stirred anger and shame into their collective hearts. Anger that someone would steal something so necessary to their very being and shame that they let it happen. They found the tape playing in Ray and Lisa’s old tape deck, worn and covered in a thick layer of dust. Amber spoke before Todd, “You stupid meth-head F*CKS!!!”
Lisa kept staring at the wall and Ray barely flinched, at Amber’s sudden outburst, the hatred of the words seeming to cover every filthy, discarded, fast food wrapper and bloody piece of clothing, cling to every molecule. They seemed hypnotized by the notes that seeped from the garbage speakers. And they stayed that way while Todd, silent rage building, pulled out a large bowie knife from a sheath strapped to his belt and dived the blade straight into the two dustheads’ ribs, blood and gristle splashing onto his still emotionless face. The garbage speakers oozed out the words, “The night has risen but the sunshine feels heavy like lead…” and into Todd and Amber’s hearts.
* Copyright: © 2007 P.K. Atomsk
A Duet
By P.K. Atomsk
HER PART
The trees cast shadows that seemed to swirl into grotesque figures, figures that seemed to reach and grab for her. She shivered and wrapped her coat tighter around herself. She religiously stayed on the path, walking on a wide cement tightrope. Even though she felt soul-killing terror a perverse side of her wanted to throw herself into the gaping maws of the shadowy daemons, slowly sapping her of the life she decided that was not hers any longer.
She wanted to throw her soul to the wayside, let it float gently down the River Styx. She no longer wanted to have to deal with the tedium and the embarrassment of her life.
As she left the park and crossed the street, the opposing shadow of the ancient apartments she lived in hung like a cloak around her shoulders. The sound of traffic and sirens roared and squealed but they never reached her ears, all sound muffled, shielded by her nightmares. To her it was silent and she waited for the crescendo, the upswing, the spike of sound that would bring hell down all around her. And she waited to welcome it with open arms.
And she waited, she waited as she unlocked the door, she waited as she walked up the ten flights of stairs, the elevator didn’t work, never had. And she waited as she unlocked the door to her apartment and walked in.
HIS PART
He woke up with the sun pouring through the large window, almost filling the room with sunlight. He moaned and pulled down the blinds. It didn’t help, the sun still streamed through. He grabbed a dark blue comforter and stuck it into the blinds, creating makeshift curtains. It stopped the sunlight and he looked a lot less tense.
It wasn’t that the sunlight actually burned, but it sure felt like it. He sat down at the small breakfast table, in near darkness and lit a cigarette. He tried to remember why the comforter wasn’t there in the first place. He always put it up before he fell asleep. The sunlight, strong and fierce, still burned in his mind.
He threw on some clothes, maybe clean, maybe not, and left his building. He stuck close to the large brick building, slowly creeping in the shadow. He had to watch a couple of places but was pretty sure which one he was going to do. It was a small apartment, but the owner was a trust fund kid and kept regular hours. If he was lucky there would be a plasma TV and he could eat well for a couple of more weeks. Human flesh wasn’t cheap.
DUET
He slowly walked through the apartment with a large suitcase, the kind with rollers, and carefully looked through each of the rooms. It was what he regularly did, checked every room for valuables and then rushed through grabbing what he had already marked worthy. The gun tucked into his jeans kept scratching his back. He adjusted it and headed back towards the living room.
She unlocked the door and walked in. A man was standing there unhooking her Tivo. He turned and she waited, he pulled the gun and she still waited. And then the crescendo arrived, the cacophony of sound blasted through the small apartment, the stab of strings as the horror monster attacks and she waited no longer.
And he could feed.
* Copyright: © 2007 P.K. Atomsk
Killagawog
By P.K. Atomsk
He felt like he was in pieces, and then he realized he was.
He was put back together by soft, gentle, loving hands and wrapped in plastic wrap. He was set carefully at the bottom, juice box settling on his chest. A small bag of Cheetos and it was dark again.
Light, his casket was opened. The Cheetos were clawed away, along with the juice box. He was spared, no one wanted him.
Rustling, a high pitched whine. The sneering, tinny voices, daring, double daring. Small, grubby fingers grabbed for him, his plastic covering. Ripping, tearing. He could see. A blender. His death.
The blades cut him. Sheared bits of him off, but he did not bleed.
* Copyright: © 2007 P.K. Atomsk
Dead Man Walking
By P.K. Atomsk
The spit always burned. Like acid. And he knew what acid felt like; China started using it to exterminate dissidents in the mid-21st century. But he always hated when he was a *****. There was only shame in the execution.
The electric chair. He laughed. The two guards flanking him looked surprised, bewildered. He glared at them and returned to his thoughts. Well, at least it wasn’t a flaming stake.
Thinking back to all the times he made the same somber walk to oblivion, he wished it was the guillotine. He loved the guillotine; it was a clean, glorious death, and he got to be royalty.
* Copyright: © 2007 P.K. Atomsk
G vs. S
By P.K. Atomsk
Their black beady eyes always scared me, dear. I’ve wanted to catch one for a long time, crush its furry head beneath my shoe. Pressure, pressure until its eyes popped out and its brain was nothing but jelly. Could you catch one for me, dearie?
Oh, you got one! Thank you, dear. You always were such a nice boy. Take this dollar and go back home now, nice boys don’t need to see things like this.
Oh, ho, ho, it’s just me and you now, you twitchy piece of s**t. Time for you to die.
* Copyright: © 2007 P.K. Atomsk
Hurt
By P.K. Atomsk
Bright light, blinding almost. A deep voice, soothing, warning that it may hurt a bit.
Rolled sleeves. White scars on pale skin, like a new constellation. Explanations, Grandpa’s cigarettes taught him about pain.
* Copyright: © 2007 P.K. Atomsk
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Posted: Thu Mar 27, 2008 10:56 pm
interesting... I like it!
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Posted: Wed Apr 02, 2008 5:23 pm
Nice. I like it. The anecdotes are short, but they say a lot in just a few words. Your tone reminds me of my own writing style, actually. Anything else you'd like to share with us? I'd love to read it.
And I refuse to vote in that poll, on the basis that your writing does NOT suck in the least. Your grammar alone accounts for that, and your style compliments it nicely.
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Posted: Thu Apr 17, 2008 3:15 pm
This isn't finished in the slightest but I really don't know what to do with it. I don't think it would be hard to start back up on it but you get to a pint where you want to do something other than just write, you know? I've had a couple of my friends say they were interested in sketching out a storyboard for a comic but nothing ever happened. So it just lurks around in various notebooks of mine, silent but awesome.
Chapter One- This Is Not The Matrix (Really) or WTF!
My eyes blazed with the bright neon lights that reflected off of the puddles of stagnant water that littered the alleyway. My eyes burned, partly because of the lights and partly because of the cigarette smoke that slowly crawled towards the ceiling of the ramshackle van. I took the cigarette from my lips so the stinging in my eyes would stop, then snubbed it out. My hands shook. The cigarette had helped, but my nerves still rattled like a loose muffler.
The ringing in my ears had subsided and I could feel that the barrel of my Smith & Wesson had cooled. I knew I had to of hit at least three vital organs. None of this made sense.
I had been doing this for six years, maybe the stress was getting to me. Yeah, that's what it was. I needed a break, maybe Jamaica. Stacy, my on-again/off-again girlfriend, had gone last summer and said that it was nice.
Just as I was thinking of sipping rum in the shade of palm trees, a clawed and bloody hand pierced the roof of the van. s**t! I had been palming the Smith & Wesson the whole time out of habit and I was glad I had. I kicked open the back door of the van and leaped out backwards, pulling back the hammer of the revolver and firing at the. . . something. As I landed hard on the asphalt I could see that the, thing, had stopped moving.
I rolled over and pushed myself up onto my feet. I checked and reloaded the S&W as I lit another cigarette. Gunfights always made me jumpy, even if I was the only one shooting.
Chapter Two- A Bloody Beheading or Pricks
The body had landed, legs splayed open, on the windshield. Cracks littered the glass, making the corpse look like a fly stuck in a giant spiders web.
I recoiled, which I hadn't done since I was a rookie, after seeing the ten or so bullet wounds scattered across the something's body. The large caliber revolver had blown gaping holes all over its torso. Rotted organs hung out of the holes like a rancid pinata. It was the most disgusting thing I had ever seen.
It seemed that the only body part that didn't get a bullet in it was the thing's head. That doesn't mean that its head wasn't disturbing. I ticked off the list of creepy things about its head.
Pure black eyeballs with no irises, check.
Two-inch canines, check.
Some kind of funky writing all over its skull, check.
As I tried to read more of the writing I felt two sharp stabs on my hand. I flinched and dropped its head, tearing away some skin.
It was awake. I took one step back, drawing the Smith & Wesson, and straightening my arm. The thing sat up and tried to rake my face with its blood encrusted claws. It didn't even make it off the hood. The shell casings made a tinkling sound as they hit the cement.
I hacked off the thing's head with a long piece of jagged, rusty sheet metal I found in a nearby dumpster. The thing didn't bleed.
Chapter Three- Strange Looking Bowling Ball or I Don't Think That's Normal
I didn't want to leave the body behind, but I didn't want it in my car either. So I just took the head. I held it by the hair, an arm's length away from me. I had just bought the coat I was wearing and I didn't want to get any rotting brains on me, which is what the thing was leaking.
Luckily I had parked my Impala into the alleyway, if someone saw what I had I wouldn't be surprised if they had a heart attack.
I opened the trunk and saw what I was looking for. My trusty bowling ball, nestled snugly in its bag. I set the head down on the concrete and took the bowling ball out from its bag, carefully, and set it on the passenger side seat.
I picked the head back up again and stuffed it into the bowling ball bag. I set it down into the trunk and slammed it shut. I walked over and opened the driver side door, getting in and starting the car. I buckled the ball in.
Chapter Four- Talkin' To Balls or WTF is Bob
The streetlights provided a steady trickle of illumination, each small pool only lighting the inside of the beat-up Impala for a few seconds. I lit a cigarette and looked over at Bob, “ So what hell do you think that thing is, Bob?”
Bob looked straight ahead, staring out at the dirty streets, “ I dunno, Jack. I've seen some pretty messed up s**t in my life but, god damn. . . This takes the ********' cake.”
I accelerated and shifted into third, the Impala tearing down the empty midnight streets. “You're right on that one Bob, it was some definate heavy s**t. . .”
My heart still hadn't stopped beating, bump-bump-bump-bump, even after I pulled over, smoked half a pack of cigarettes and took a couple of swigs of the emergency Jack I kept under the drivers seat. I felt hungry.
I started the car back up and pulled back onto the road. I drove absent-mindedly, not really paying attention where I was going, or even if I was running red lights. All I could seem to do was focus on my hunger. It felt like a red-hot knife had been buried in my gut. I needed food.
Bob whistled sharply, “ Hey, hey Jack. You with me?”
I ignored him and pulled into the drive-thru of a fast food place. A line. A ******** line. I slammed the accelerator, crushing the back end of the Subaru hatchback in front of me. The screams coming from the car in front of me brought me back to reality. The reality of what I had just done, and the reality of the sirens squealing behind me.
Chapter Five- Movies Aren't Real or Need New Tires
I yanked the stick back and jerked the Impala into reverse. With my foot squarely on the gas, I spun the wheel in a tight circle. The streetlights melded into one linear smattering of illumination. As the Impala's engine started to redline, I felt as if I had reached a trancendant state, a form of being that needed nothing but the road, and someone chasing me. I loved it.
My attention snapped back to reality, the screams of the near-exploding engine did me that favor. I made a hard left, tires squealing from the strain. I made it. I looked into my rear-view mirror, expecting to see a few cruisers tailing me, but instead I saw nothing but the long heft of a semi's trailer, with what looks to be a police car stuck underneath. As I slowed and turned into another dark, wet alley, all I could think was, " Wow that was lucky."
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Posted: Thu Apr 17, 2008 10:40 pm
Wow, that's pretty good. I think it would make a good book.
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Posted: Sun Apr 20, 2008 9:33 am
wow glad i was tricked everything was pretty good dont see you as the emo type though jackalope biggrin
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Posted: Thu Apr 24, 2008 8:25 pm
Something that isn't really that emo.
~his angel~
Iguana leaned back in his in his chair, slowly reached for his cigarette, which was nestled in the dirty brown ashtray and took a long drag. He watched as the smoke he exhaled slowly made the perilous journey to the ceiling. He wondered if the smoke felt it when it was cut in twain by the dull wooden fan blades. He looked over at the waitress, specifically her a**, and gave her a wink when she looked back at him.
"Do you have a problem, sir?" The waitress had hate in her eyes and a slow southern drawl. She was beautiful. Iguana was struck by just how blond her hair was, just how green her eyes were. He wanted her forever.
He averted his eyes, afraid he might go blind from her beauty. "No, no problem, ma'am, sorry to trouble you." Iguana stammered out. He paid the bill, left a large tip and stepped outside. The cold night air was refreshing, the stars like faint refrigerator lights. This was his kind of night. The kind of night where you really felt happy. The kind of night where you felt like everything was all right with the world.
As much as Iguana loved the cool night, he hated to drive in it. So he slept in his truck, cowboy boots hanging out the passenger side window, hat pulled down over his face.
He awoke with the sound of shouting, yelling, cursing. He lifted his hat and looked through the window. It was her. His southern angel. She was being pushed around by a beefy guy in mechanic's coveralls. She didn't have a top on. Her exposed breasts shone in the ******** WHORE! YOU'LL DO WANT I WANT YOU TO DO, b***h!" The stranger shouted. It hurt Iguana to hear a lady being called such foul names. He grabbed his .44 from the glove compartment, opened his door and jumped out, tucking his gun into the back of his jeans. He walked slowly towards his angel and the stranger.
He held one hand behind his back, holding the revolver light in his hand. "Come on now, son, leave her alone." Iguana was going to give him one chance.
"Or you'll do what, ********?"
The stranger had wasted his one chance.
The sound of the .44 echoed for miles, but no one heard it, except for Iguana and his angel. The stranger fell. Iguana pulled the trigger again, the gun hot in his hand. He emptied six shots into the man, his angel never screamed nor said a single word.
He emptied the shells from the chambers and reloaded it, flicking the safety to the on position. His angel walked closer to him and kissed him. She kissed him like he had just saved her from a rabid wolf, a vicious wild animal. She loved him, and he loved her. He picked up her ripped top and handed it to her, she replied with a thanks and another kiss.
They left the body in the empty parking lot and got into Iguana's truck. Iguana backed up, pulled onto Highway 34 and they both drove into the rising sun.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"To heaven."
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Posted: Fri Aug 15, 2008 10:21 am
The first stuff was intense...
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Posted: Fri Aug 15, 2008 11:56 pm
Didn't notice you added more stuff *sweatdrop* I really like it. Short, sweet, and flows easily. Hoping to read more of your work sometime.
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