Short Stories, Flash Fiction, and Poetry: Volume 01

I’m standing in rain outside of a house with a wraparound porch and well-manicured lawn. I watch the house concealed a large oak tree. Bright light comes from a window. I approach and peer into the window through a tall bush. Each drop of rain feels like needles piercing me. I see a teenage girl sits on a couch eating popcorn. The bright light from inside still burns my eyes. I must get out of the rain.

The porch light is out. I’ll let her know. A great deafening sound assaults my hearing from the room ahead. How loud is that TV? The light from inside still burns like hot coals in my eyes. I knock on the door. She can’t hear someone at the door with the TV booming. I hammer forcefully on the door, and it collapses to the ground with a loud slam. I clutch at the sides of my head and roar at the noise of the collapsing door.

She has no idea I am inside. I walk slowly and softly towards the noise and light. My skin aches and throbs at the cold of the air-conditioned house. The loud and bright television assaults my ears and eyes. Every sensation hurts! Kill me, please! I walk into the room directly behind her. She sees my reflection in the curio cabinet and screams. “MY EARS,” I roar. I must silence the source of my pain. She flees down the hall and up to the stairs.

This couldn’t have gone worst. I’m overcome by rage and smash the TV. My eyes feel better, but there’s still too much light. I roar like a beast, as I realize that she’s calling for help. If she only understood I need her help. I charge up the stairs after her.

I call out, but no answer. Where is she? This reminds me of the childhood games of hide and seek. I hear her calling for help inside a bedroom. If she answered the door, none of this would be happening. I kick the door open and grab for her. I have to stop her!

I hurt all over, and she screams again. I cannot stop myself; I hit her hard. My fist lands on the back of her head. She becomes limp and silent. So much perfume my stomach churns at the stink of her. Teens never know when it’s too much is. Nausea, the world starts to spin. She cries out and my pain returns.

She tries to fight me, as I drag her down the steps to the kitchen. I hit her again after several attempts to pull free. She’s silent for the moment. I carry her down stairs. She wakes and continues to fight …good girl. She kicks my groin, as if every sense was not trying to destroy me. I continue to my destination.

We reach the kitchen. I throw her into a chair, and I strike her. Blood flows and my pain breaks for a moment. I watch the crimson flow down her soft cheek. She pleads with me not to kill her. Her begging sends pain through my body.

I see the large knife on the counter. Crimson flows and screams dull to nothing the moment passes. My pain ends with the wet, sticky, and embracing reddish ribbons that coat my body. Its’ warmth penetrates deep into me caressing and silencing all the painful senses. I am happy for the moment. Peace and quiet surrounds me.

A car headlight rouses me from my euphoric state in the now silent kitchen. A whisper from my mask beckons me. I follow its commands and make my way into the shadow careful not to arouse any suspicion.

The happy couple enters through the garage. I move behind them, as they reach the kitchen. She screams as she catches a glimpse of me standing behind her in a reflection off the microwave mounted over the stove. He turns, as she takes her last breath. Her head falls from her body, as my heavy blade slips past her shoulders. He and I lock eyes then terror, rage, and death follow.