《Random Short Stories》


 The sickly smile, and face of despair.

    Around two to two-thirty pm I finally convince myself to get out of bed. My body snaps and pops as I stand up and stretch my legs. I navigate my way through a saw trap of a room I set up for myself. The door opens with a snap and I continue making my way through the dimly light house. I stand up straight from the hunch I started in and fully open my eyes letting in what little light there is. After I''ve made my way to the kitchen I look at the growing pile of dishes. Sticky plates and stained bowls. Pots pans and anything you could imagine.


    I walk through the tight, short hallway over to the pantry before reaching a couple of inches above my head. Three boxes one of them being a real cereal box and the other two being empty plastic ones. I grab the only full one and go back to the sink placing the box on the counter on the way. I start washing the dishes to make room to fill the kettle.


    As I wash the dishes I stare deep into the window in front of me; a hot floridian summer that''s soon to come to an end. I stop washing the dishes and just stand leaning on the lip of the sink thinking about how I wasted my time and begin questioning my own worth. Fired from an aquarium, ignored by those closest to me before I end up pushing them away like I do every year. Loneliness sets in, down deep into a tension on my back. I look back up at and out the window questioning reality. Do I deserve what I have? Am I truly worth it. No


    No.


    I push past the thoughts of all the things I could do with my hands and the things around me. I grab the kettle and tears start to well in my eyes before I wipe them pushing down on the corners of my eyes. Filling the kettle takes less then a minute and I set it on the base setting the desired temperature to 200¡ã.


    In the corner of my eye however I see something that stands out to me. A bone white thing, with stone for skin and deep cracks all over what I could see of the body.


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    "Whatever you are I''m not in the mood to deal with right now!" I shout into the "empty" house. The thing makes no noise and I turn back to the sink finishing the dishes. I dry my hands with the hand towel under the French press. Now I notice the things hand wrap over the edge of the wall before the pantry.


    "Do you need something!?" I shout at the mortuary assistant looking entity.


    "Would you like coffee?" I ask it. Now I notice the sickly smile stretching over half of his face one so ironically non-human it sent electricity through my fingers making my hands shake as I try and mix cinnamon and coffee ground to make my coffee my preffered way. I turn my head towards it to try and get a better look and a white blur appears as it whips its head around the corner.


    I continue to make my coffee as watches closely with a truly sickening smile. I pour the water and fully turn towards it. However instead of retreating toward the pantry it sprints in a six foot plus blur to the utility room. I dare to walk towards it to grab the milk for my cereal and coffee. On the fourth step a coin falls from my chest and onto the floor. I look down at it and at the top of my vision two more faces appear. One was just an eye, one was a blank face yet looking at it it seemed like it was trying to call for help. Yet it could correctly communicate it to me. The other I have already described. I grab the milk but this time looking at them provides an extremely overwhelming sense of calm.


    I prep my mug and pour the coffee before sitting in between the counters so I could see the door. When I look up at them they disappear and when I look down at my mug I see them standing in the corner of the laundry room. Normally not even one person could fit. With a safe and vacuum in the way there was less than a foot of distance in between the door and the safe.


    "Leave me and all the occupants of this home alone, human, cat, or otherwise!" I shout at the three. "Would you like coffee so we can discuss how you will occupy this space while we still live here? We have no where else we can afford to go!" Soon they disappear even if I look away. I thank them and head back to my room forgetting to make my breakfast in the process.

 The Magical Cafe.

    If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Croissant with dark magic. $2:50 for two.


    Muffins:


    Cinnamon Crunch. $2.75 for one.


    Dark Chocolate. $2.00 for one


    Blueberry. $1.50 for one


    Turnovers:


    Garmen And Cheese. $2.00 for one.


    Applettes and cinnamon. $1.75 for one

 Name#5

    His mind was oozing drown his face sometimes coming out in thick chunks and the rest coming out like a cornstarch slurry. I raise the pistol aligning the metal stumps with his heart and pulling the trigger. The recoil almost knocks the gun outta my hands; a quiet thud is the only other noise in the room after the gunshot. His body already cold now lies on my floor, blood doesn''t flow, nor ooze, in fact nothing comes out except a spent bullet and used casing. A hole was left in the wall and the casing on the floor. What was dripping and spilling out from him before no longer was. The lack of blood wasn''t too shocking, hell the sight of death wasn''t either. His blood had been drained when he was being embalmed and instead replaced with formaldehyde. The name of the body on the floor was unknown, as were the rest of the bodies which are roaming the streets. It was like Resident Evil but diluted no weird anomalies or weird mutations which caused the body to become almost bulletproof had occurred.Mr.x doesn''t exist here, yet. I walk around the room looking for something long I could slap the body with to check if I had killed it. Would it be killed? As it was already dead when I started shooting at it. I walk to my desk and grab the chair, I roll the chair as hard as I can at the body. It rolls and rolls sorta fast then taps the body.


    "Fuck it." I run at the body and kick and hard as I can at the skull. A crunch breaks the silence in the room and I can''t quite tell whether it was my foot or if it was the skull. It doesn''t move or make a sound. I take off my shoe and examine my foot feeling around the ligaments and bones hoping nothing happened. It starts to swell and feel full but nothing seemed to be broken. I grabbed what was left of the hair on it''s head and pick it up; the skull has give and even grabbing at it I can feel that it was cracked. It push the neck into an uncomfortable position and watch it''s face. It''s eyes were bleeding despite the lack of blood, the iris had turned black and orange and the scent that I''m only now able to smell was like death had took a shit in my mouth. I try and turn the body around but considering it was a fully grown man and he was double dead I struggled. Without him being alive to balance him he felt double the weight he would alive. I struggle for a bit then leave the room. I walk to the kitchen and grab a butcher''s knife. It was heavy and cold in my hands. Before this it was mostly being used to break coconuts or fabricate larger animals. Well, I guess it''s still going to be fabricating a larger animal, just, just uh, ah human this time. And I won''t be eating it, just moving it and robbing it.


    Since the start of this, what do I call it. Nothing else in history could be used as an example except for extremely specific pop culture references. Maybe the Harran virus would be a good example, or the Racoon City outbreak? I don''t know, I honestly don''t really care either. I pull out my phone and put on some music to distract me from what I''m about to do. All but scarlet is a good band to play in this situation, they write about so many things I can just listen to them and try to zone out. I walk back into my room and to my desk, I open the center drawer and look for some prerolls, or really any drug. I find a tube, the last tube and open it. Inside is a king sized joint, it wasn''t as fat a blunt but it was a big ass joint. I reach into my pocket and look for a lighter, I dig around for a little while before I find one. It was one I picked up just before this, it was purple and had Dia De Los Muertos designs on it. I place it and the joint on the desk and max out the volume on my phone. It plays a mixture of music styles, from pop to punk to metal core. I grab the butcher''s knife and start on the right arm; up, up, and up the knife goes before I slam it down into the arm. It rips through the fabric and makes a squelching noise. I gag and continue going, formaldehyde drips outta the arteries and onto the tile floors. It''s lightly tinted red and doesn''t stain the floor much. I hit the bone one last time and a sickening crunch makes me vomit. The smell and look of death has invaded my house, I get up and grab the arm gagging once again and throw it out my front door.


    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    No things are in the street luckily but, they soon will be. I walk to the utility room where I find my cat Assix and a box of kitty litter. I grab the tub and cup I use to spread it and close the door behind me. A song with an eerie tone to it plays when I enter the room, it''s almost sex rock but too metal. I pour the ground up clay over the vomit and formaldehyde before grabbing the heavy blade once again. This time I will be taking off his head. I raise the blade up over my head and yank it down onto its neck. A loud squelch and a crunch followed by another squelch and a loud crunch fill the room before his head starts to roll. This time I don''t gag but instead I stare; it''s not quite a thousand yards it''s maybe one-hundred yards but still. Much more formaldehyde comes out of the jugular and the brain. It spills out onto the floor and makes a little puddle of an opaque pink liquid. I pour more of the litter onto the floor to prevent staining, then move onto the left arm. I pull it straight and hear some small crunches signaling a condition that causes joint damage or poor care of his body. A loud click comes from the joint that signals I have made it past the worst of the joint damage. I raise the blade above my head once again and I drop it into his body. I swing fast and hard splattering formaldehyde onto my face and the walls.


    The pink spray is going be hard to get out but I don''t care I swing the blade harder and faster, the flesh is torn and the arteries destroyed. "More, more, more, MORE!" I start to laugh my grip on sanity loosening the sick joy of taking mangling somebody''s loved one is a joy that I need more of. I cut through the arm, and move to the leg. "MORE!" I scream before digging the blade deep into its legs "MORE! MORE!" I keep stabbing the leg till it comes off, the blade dented and misshapen. I laugh a sick laugh and go to my desk. I wipe my shaky hands on my soaked pants and grab the joint and lighter, I bite the filter gently and bring the lighter close to my face before lighting it. I light it then take a deep breathe; it''s shaky. I exhale the smoke in clouds and start to laugh and cough. "More" I bite the joint a little harder and grab the blade once more. I raise it above my head and swing hard and fast downwards into its flesh the noise brings me an indescribable joy. I relish the sounds the feeling, the smell. I take a deep breathe and rub my hands on my face staining it pink. I exhale the smoke and cough my mind foggy and filled with the joy of mutilating someone. I grab its torso and drag it to the front door, I open the door and drag the torso into the street. I take another hit before screaming "COME GET YOUR MEAL!" A feeling swells into my chest and I can''t help but to laugh; I laugh a sick laugh. I laugh and laugh my mind unable to stay the same. The joy this brings is one I should never have experienced. I walk back into my house taking as many deep breaths in as I can before the joint has ran out. I take the roach and throw it on to the pavement. I walk inside and grab the limbs and head taking them out and throwing them on to the street one-by-one. His body is disseminated along my lawn and I have the sickest smile on my face. I clean the formaldehyde and let my cat out before I shower. The shower''s water runs pink cleaning its blood and formaldehyde on me. The steam fogs the windows and I don''t bother to clean them.