The Forgotten Night_Anti-Vaxxer_Respite_Orange Alert
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The Forgotten Night
“Don’t you remember?” ….“The things that were done to you?”….“The things that were done to us?” …“Please don’t kill me…. please….”..Beep…. beep…. beep…beep……Pain was all he could feel as soon as he opened his eyes. Every part of his body was in pain. Every inch of his hands, his legs, his back, his head, his heart….However, other than the pain, he could feel a pair of green eyes on him. A pair of orbs he instantly felt a connection with. “Who are you?” His voice was a whisper, a sound that the other could only hear.The owner of the green eyes let out a smile……a dry one in the eyes of the lying...
Anti-Vaxxer
CW: gun violence, murderAnti-VaxxerBy B. B. KempCopyright 2021It’s not like I went out an’ asked for this shit-storm, but here I am, my thumb stuck out tryin’ to hitch a ride with less than a hundred bucks in my pocket. Why did I leave everything behind and go on the road? It had to do with a woman, but don’t go an’ get excited, there was no romance involved. Sometwww.onedoor.ccimes, if a man is pushed too far, he has no other choice but to take drastic action. Didn’t Cain slew Able over who’d wear the hair shirt? Standing here on the side of the road, while rain falls on my naked head, I’m convinced that m...
Respite
Ignorance is bliss, or so they say.The problem with that saying is that you don’t get to choose, not when your eyes have been open to your situation or your predicament. Once you know, there isn’t any going back.Would I want to go back? No, I wouldn’t go back and lose the one thing that counts in this gods forsaken place. She’s given me something I never knew existed, not for someone like me anyway. I stopped believing in fairy tales even as I read them. My mother made damn sure of that. My own particular fairy tale was a mother who was very much in touch with her masculine side. I dunno what ...
Orange Alert
“They had put out a storm warning,” she said looking at him as the darkness thickened outside.Her tone was viscous. It had a languor that clouded his resolve in a layer of weakness as tactile as sin. He held the rosary in the pocket of his habit, with the Cross cradled on his index, the thumb caressing the profile of the crucified form. He could feel his sweat. The rain descended in a scatter of drops on the roof tiles and picked up the rumble of the monsoons over the backwaters, spiked with the breaking of thunder. The lights went off.She cupped the flame from the matchstick until it sprung o...