rage

SLUGS ‘N SNAILS

©Tanya Grout

The finger broken, snapped open. A gasp. A fear escaping her startled eyes. His heavy hand cracking the digit further back at the knuckle, with rage. This was just the beginning for Marshall Shaw – leader of “the movement.”

He dragged her up by the hair to the open stage, onto the village platform and yelled out, “She just ain’t human!” There was terror in his voice.

The crowd’s eyes moved like marbles on sloped surfaces, searching for answers. They stirred. How could he treat her so violently? She was his wife!

“Come look at her,” Marshall cried. “Bring your vision, and your mind, and your judgment!”

The bravest went first towards the wretched woman, now on her knees, hair twisted in his fist. Marshall held out her hand for all to see: inside the skin was a strange machinery. It wasn’t bones and blood. It looked like cogs and wires and screws… but upon closer inspection they saw that the stuff inside was made up of other creatures, tiny ones they had never seen before – wriggling and writhing, each in tune with the other.

“She ain’t one of us,” Marshall yelled.
“Maybe she’s from the future,” Old Woman Wise snarled.
“’Nother planet is more like it,” came the preacher’s reply.
“A Witch!” Yelled Marshall, “with all them critters inside.”
“Let her be,” cried the woman’s sister.
“Are ya gonna meet yer maker tonight too, little sister” he snapped back.
She had children. She would be quiet.

“Friends,” Marshall addressed the crowd, “help me to break her open!”

Ten or more men rushed to the stage. They wrestled and fought with the screaming woman until they pulled her arms from their sockets, her torso in two and her head right off.

Big greasy sluggish ropes of flesh and detailed scuttle-spiders with cog-like qualities issued from her core. Fish-like entities and jumping eels flopped and flipped. Her face melted as creatures crawled from her head, out her eyes, nose and mouth.

When the last jellyfish of a miniature monster oozed from her bloated abdomen, the human body casing was dry. In the desert heat it sparked alight and flew up into the air like a balloon; then it blew right up, sending the men scuttling towards their wives.

“Whatever they are, they’re spying on us,” Marshall asserted. “And each and every one of you’s has got to prove that your wife ain’t one of ‘em.”
“How do we do that?” One of the youngest men asked.
“By lining ‘em up and breaking their fingers open…”

©kym darkly

THE TEETH AND THE TONGUE…

©Tanya Grout

It was stuck between his teeth: that familiar tongue that should have swirled with sensual beauty and ease, but his mind had other plans and so he’d arrested its movement with his own.

It was an awkward moment. He just didn’t see her that way any more. She had become an investment and so her tongue was just a thick cumbersome piece of flesh that sent him into a rage he knew mustn’t express.

Truthfully he wanted to bite the damn thing right off, but that would reveal his deeper plan. Faking enjoying a kiss was sickening even to a man who’d accept sex from strangers. The best he could do was to pull away prematurely leaving her wondering, as she had as of late.

“Is it an affair?” She inquired, yet again.
No, it’s the fucking monster inside me, he screamed inside his own head.

The documents had been signed a long time ago, but he’d taken a calculated while to follow through. If he waited a year, he’d reasoned, the insurance company wouldn’t suspect the drowning, the poisoning, the strangulation, or whatever the Hell he was going to do. If he showed up at church with her on his arm, even better: people would say how devoted he was.

No, it wasn’t a goddamned affair! When greed possessed him he just wasn’t human, and that was all…

©kym darkly

CRACKING UP…

©Tanya Grout

The porcelain face was splitting – a ghastly fissure separating eyes from lips, nose from cheeks, forcing the painted-on smile to crack… A lifetime of delicate china had forced a false visage over top of the dying one underneath, the one that contained secrets, lies and rage.

It was time to strip off the brittle structure that held her so tight inside: watching without acting, knowing without telling, feeling without screaming – a witness to every goddamned sick thing that went on in this house!

An ending would be good: a dead doll perhaps, smashed and broken – one to be tossed into the garbage – freed! And so when the wind gushed through the open window, she fell off the mantelpiece…

© kym darkly – All rights reserves but please feel free to re-tweet…

ONE LAST DRAG…

©Tanya Grout

She’d clawed at his soul for forty long years: the whine in her voice, the demeaning comments, the demand to have her cigarettes lit because she couldn’t possibly do it for herself. He hated that bitch, but more than that he hated himself for being the pussy who let her walk all over him, shaming and emasculating him.

Tonight would be different. He’d put her in her grave where she belonged and just to be extra cruel, he’d bury her with her own hateful mother. They could fight it out in Hell, side by side for all eternity.

He looked deeply into her eyes as she drank the last of a laced glass of red, her pupils already starting to dilate. Yeah, he was gonna put her in the ground all right… but not before lighting her last cigarette…

© kym darkly

NECROMANCY…

©Tanya Grout

The medium sat still in the shadows. He listened to Mi Li talk.

Her candle-lit face flickered of the Philippines, the nose, the eyes: almond shaped and beautiful. She was shaking. “Please help me,” she said, “Every morning, I hear the cat padding around the living room. I hear it yawn, eat its food, race up and down the curtains…”

“And that’s a problem?” The medium asked.

“Yeah, it is when it’s dead!” She said. “First my father died of a massive heart attack. The next day his cat jumps off the roof of the building, killing itself too. I find fur-balls everywhere, paw prints over my pillow and I wake up with scratches all over my body. It’s making me ill, I’m so upset.”

The medium slipped into a trance quickly and was soon shaking violently. He spoke in another voice that scared Mi Li because she knew it was someone dead reaching through from the other side. She hoped it wasn’t her father, as he terrified her some.

“The cat didn’t take its own life. Your father’s ghost did. The mad spectre dragged it by the scruff, screeching and mewling, up to that roof top and threw it off so he could have its company in the afterlife, but all he did was create an enemy…”

The medium slipped out of his trance. His eyes alive with warning: “You have a house guest: vicious and raging, out for blood with sharp teeth and razors for claws. Beware sweet Mi Li, Beware…”

© Kym Darkly

RAGE…

Rage followed him home. He didn’t know what to do with it. It couldn’t be his. It must be someone else’s. Why didn’t it leave him and his Bourbon alone? He had enough problems goddamit!

Rage took him by the collar and dragged him into the bedroom. “They had sex here,” it told him and then, Rage slipped into his mind like flour skipping through a sieve. “The fucking War on Terror and now you come home to this? You deserve some respect!”

Now Rage was inside him, brewing, and he couldn’t wait for her to come through that door in her skimpy dress, especially given that she would be with that guy and he had more than enough ammunition for two.

The only problem was, he was a bit confused. It was strange, but he thought he might have killed them both already, three nights ago…

© kym darkly