Mr. Granger has never considered himself to be a spiritual man. Religious though? Why not? All you need to be religious is a keen fear of death, and Mr. Granger was no stranger to the indomitable clock which seemed to accelerate through the years. His prayers remained nothing but monologues however; no brooding midnight yet had been so still, nor first snow so pure, as to give his mind a window to his soul.
Month: January 2018
Do demons lay eggs?
Me and the guys were doing a sweep of an old oil refinery when I found the eggs. I guess they liked the heat because they were all clustered right around the fractal distillation chamber, which gets up past 720 Fahrenheit when the crude oil is being heated up. The whole building was scheduled for demolition though, and it was our job to make sure the place was cleaned out.
What the blind man sees
I’ll never see her face again. If my blindness only meant scrubbing this dirty world into an ocean of black mist, then I think I could learn to accept that. Stealing my wife from me before her time though — that I’ll never forgive. It’s bad enough she’s sick and fading from me already, but not being able to see her to say goodbye is killing me as surely as it is her.
The girl on a leash
Ten, maybe twelve years old, wearing a leash attached to one of those dog training collars with the inward facing spikes. She was sitting on the balcony of my neighbor’s apartment, her dirty bare legs dangling through the iron bars. She stared at me where I sat with my book on my own balcony, so I gave her a little wave. She didn’t so much as blink in return — she just kept swinging her legs through the bars and staring. I figured the collar was some kind of ironic fashion accessory, although it hardly matched with her thread-bare summer dress.
Listening to this song before sleep guarantees a specific dream
Sleeping is the easiest, most natural thing in the world. Babies do it all the time without even being taught. It’s so easy people even do it by accident, but not me. I suck at sleeping, which sometimes feels more like I suck at being human since I’m so freaking tired all the time.
Read MoreListening to this song before sleep guarantees a specific dream
Heaven keeps a prisoner
I wasn’t ready when I died.
The first illusion death stole from me was that my body is designed to perceive the universe around me. This is incorrect. The primary function of your senses is to stop yourself from experiencing the universe, whose infinite information would otherwise overwhelm and madden you. Eyes that once simplified the world into finite wavelengths of color closed for the last time, and then I saw everything. Ears once deaf to cosmic music sung by the birth of stars, the communal heartbeat of the human race, and the haunting pop of each collapsing universe now concealed them no longer.
In the Assassin’s Orphanage – The Kill
You haven’t felt alive before you’ve killed someone. The symphony in your nerves in that moment will drown out every thrill you’ve ever had. I’ve never seen a color brighter than Mr. Daken’s blood, nor heard a sound truer than the death-rattle rasping from his final breath. And if I go the rest of my life wading through a sea of muted colors and muffled sounds, I will accept it gracefully because I know I have tasted of the forbidden fruit and hate myself for how sweet the juices ran.
In the Assassin’s Orphanage – Training Day
Sammy D taught us that there are three distinct ways to kill someone. The first is a murder of opportunity: the victim is alone on a dark night, or is blackout drunk, or some other circumstantial convenience which makes it the right time to act. Then there is the assassination: the calculated and premeditated kill which we will be training for. Finally there is the murder of passion: when the blood boils too hot and we allow rage or hatred to force our hand. This is the most risky way to kill someone, both physically in the moment and regarding future forensic investigations, and it is strictly forbidden to us.
In the Assassin’s Orphanage
My mother cost 10,000 dollars. That’s the standard price for a hit. My father was 25,000 because he was considered an “important person” — at least important enough to demand a formal investigation into his death. From what I’ve heard, the police never found anything besides the single razor blade used to cut each of their throats. Of course I know who did it — I even saw it happen — but I never had the chance to tell anyone before I was taken.
The New You
11:50 PM on New Year’s Eve. The raucous beat of the music is echoed by the pulse in my veins. Iridescent lights lance through the air all around me, and the teaming heat of pressed bodies forces me to swallow great lungfuls of heavy air thick with sweat and cheap perfume. I can’t be the only one who isn’t dancing, but anyone who notices me will immediately recognize that I don’t belong here. Smiles and sneers look the same to me, and all laughter is tainted with condescending jokes at my expense.