On The Outside

[ THE SHORT STORY 'ON THE OUTSIDE' WAS FIRST PUBLISHED ONLINE BY DARKRUN REVIEW. IT IS A PSYCHOLOGICAL THRILLER/COMEDY/ACTION/SUSPENSE COP-STORY MYSTERY.

MOVIE RIGHTS ARE STILL UP FOR GRABS. ANYONE?

WARNING: CONTAINS NUDITY (IN WRITTEN FORM ONLY) ]

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He whom never existed

For as long as he could remember, he didn't exist.

Never had.

He was Roger Skwishskoft. Or, at least, that's who he assumed he was had he existed.

Climbing mountains

A time ago, a bit before the time I travelled back in time (or after, with relevance to my place in time, or yours, at the time), and a little after the time I tried my hand at being a Superhero, I set myself a goal to scale a mountain.

Not just any mountain, mind you.

Mount Pichachuchutrayn. 

An Easter (cotton)Tale

I approached the door to the house through the path from the front gate that was unhinged. It was quite the unnecessarily long sentence to do so but we got there in the end. The yard was overgrown with weeds, yet barren of grass with the earth littered with holes.

I rapped on his door with a consciously friendly beat. It worked. He opened the door with a wobbly smile and we exchanged pleasantries (ie. pleased to meet you; nice tie; I like the holes in your yard; and so on).

The Morning After

A blinding light pierces through the worn curtains that are my creased eyelids. Through the green fog floating about my brain I take my time to surmise that it must be 'tomorrow' at 'some time' in the 'day'.

The Sun's rays that have cruelly taken the opportunity to enter the room as it noticed the usual defence mechanisms have not been drawn across the windows form needle-like objects as it continually inserts itself into the back of my brain through my eyeballs. Though that sentence may seem long, confusing and painful to read, it is not due to the writer's inept writing skills (though they don't hurt) but a clever metaphor (or whatever it's called) for what it was describing.

The Heat In The Kitchen

I walked into a melee in the kitchen. The appliances were bickering again. 

Apparently it all started when the pot called the kettle black, and the kettle took offence (it preferred the term 'onyx').