Tag Archive for: dark moments

Recon

/by
by Andrew McDonald

 

The sentry never heard me. I stab all the way through his neck, behind the jugular. Pushing the blade forward, I tear out his throat. He dies without even a whisper. Quietly, I drag him into the woods, away from patrols.

With my hatchet, I split his skull, careful not to harm the brain. My knife severs the brainstem. Raising the brain to my lips, I sink my teeth into it, biting off gory chunks, swallowing the grey matter.

Closing my eyes, I sift through his memories. Childhood, first love, basic training, their hidden headquarters.

I radio for an airstrike.

 

Andrew McDonald

Andrew McDonald lives in St. John’s, Newfoundland and Labrador, Canada with his wife and daughter.

 

The Body Truck

/by
by Jason Hardy

 

We find one slumped against a mailbox on Barrow, hand probing the machete notched broadside his skull. He brightens when he sees us; thinks we’re here to help. Larson helps him, alright…with a spike through the eye. We heave the body onto the truck.

On Flagler, we spot a lady in a creepy doll getup, gut-shot and groaning. She sees our uniforms and understands. Even tries to crawl away. Carney does the honours.

City’s always a bloody mess after the big night. Cleaning gigs pay well. Job’s simple: put the bodies on the truck.

Including the ones still breathing.

Jason Hardy

Jason Hardy is a financial services writer/editor (by day) and teller of strange tales (by night). He lives in southeastern Massachusetts with the ghosts of two betta fish, and has an upcoming story in the anthology 99 Tiny Terrors.

 

 

Escaping Inferno

/by
by Renee Cronley

 

Tonight, your locked doors are about as useful as mine were that night you came to me. In my heart I know the scent of the gasoline I’m painting your house with inspires the same fear in you as the chloroform did in me.

A restraining order is not justice.

I don’t have to live with you inside me anymore. That was like being dead.

When I strike the match, I come back to life. With a flick of my wrist, your hold on me goes ablaze and brings light to the darkness you forced on me.

Now I’m free.

Renee Cronley

Renee Cronley is a poet, writer, and nurse from Brandon, Manitoba. She studied Psychology and English at Brandon University, and Nursing at Assiniboine Community College. Her work has appeared in Love Letters to Poe, NewMyths.com, The Gateway Review, and is forthcoming in Black Hare Press.

 

 

A Quiet Word with the Boss

/by
by L.J. McLeod

 

The blood was still warm where it coated her skin. Crimson beads dripped slowly from her hair. She had even gotten some in her mouth; it tasted salty and metallic. When Tegan had seen her boss’s light on, she had only wanted to have a quiet word with her.

There was no one else around. It was the perfect time to bring up her completely reasonable complaint. But the woman was so stubborn and pig-headed! A soft noise made her turn, the scissors still gripped tight in her hand.

“Enjoying the Purge, hey?” the night cleaner asked.

“Enjoying the what?”

L.J. McLeod

L.J. McLeod lives in Queensland, Australia. She works in Pathology and writes in her spare time. She has been published in several anthologies and has been nominated twice for the Aurealis Award.  In her spare time she enjoys diving, reading and travelling.  

 

 

Liar, Liar

/by
by S. Jade Path

 

Frantically pulling against her bonds, Halle pleaded, “Please. Please, no.” Her voice jumped an octave, “Why are you doing this?”

“Why?” I crooned, grinning beneath the Purge mask.

I splashed petrol around her, watched it soaked into the scattered books—kindling for her pyre. I stepped close, and Halle’s panic-filled struggles intensified.

I grabbed her head, pushed torn pages and rags into her mouth, held them in place with phone cords.

Then I whispered, “Liar, liar.”

Her eyes, filling with recognition and guilt, turned to horror as my match fell.

Liar, liar pants on fire. Hanging by a telephone wire!

 

S. Jade Path

S. Jade Path is a fledgling author of short fiction, and a prolific creator of dark poetry. She has had a life-long obsession with crawling into the depths of the psyche and forging shadows into words. Her work parallels this penchant for delving into the fantastical and strolling amongst demons.

 

 

Clean Sheet

/by
by Pauline Yates

 

The Westridge football team walks the streets, searching for victims. The pre-season tradition—players can purge their sexual desires in a one-night fucking frenzy—has resulted in four consecutive premiership wins. No one reports the pack rapes, the deaths. All this town sees is the trophy.

Not me. I have a different purge in mind. From my bedroom window, I aim a rifle at the team. Tommy leads the pack. We’ve shared a kiss, talked about a future. He promised he wouldn’t partake. He lied. They all lied; town expectation their excuse.

My excuse? I hate football. Why complicate things?

Pauline Yates

Australian writer, Pauline Yates, has short stories published with Metaphorosis, Abyss & Apex, Aurealis, Redwood Press plus others. She is the winner of the short story category in the 2020 AHWA Flash Fiction and Short Story Competition. Discover more at paulineyates.com or on Twitter@midnightmuser1.

 

 

Whose Purge is it Anyway?

/by
by Tracy Davidson

 

He had waited months for this night. Months of patient planning, honing weaponry skills, studying his primary target. During the purge, he would happily kill anyone crossing his path. He wanted one person in particular. Not just to kill, but torture—punishment for deserting him.

He knew her well. Knew where she would run and hide. Becoming an instant widower would be quicker and cheaper than divorce.

The alarm sounded. Heavily armed, he stepped out of his front door. Barely saw the machete gleam in moonlight, before it buried itself in his chest.

 His wife… widow… knew him too well.

Tracy Davidson

Tracy Davidson lives in Warwickshire, England, and writes poetry and flash fiction. Her work has appeared in various publications and anthologies, including: Poet’s Market, Mslexia, Atlas Poetica, Modern Haiku, The Binnacle, Versification, Poetry Pea, Shooter, Journey to Crone, The Great Gatsby Anthology, WAR, In Protest: 150 Poems for Human Rights.

 

 

Heavy Lifting

/by
by Marion Lougheed

 

Damien huffed as he worked his shovel. The night was cold against his flushed cheeks.

He laid a diamond necklace on his growing pile of goods. Though dusty from the grave, the diamonds glittered like teeth.

One grave left to pillage. Nothing valuable here, only a broken pipe beside a grinning skull. A rat poked its snout through an eye socket.

“Hey,” the groundskeeper shouted. “Grave robbing’s illegal!”

“Not on purge night.”

“Ah, that’s right.” A shot rang out and blood bloomed across Damien’s chest. As he fell, a hand scooped up his collection. “Thanks for doing the heavy lifting.”

Marion Lougheed

Marion Lougheed is a writer, editor, and cultural anthropologist whose words have been published in print and online by Gypsum Sound Tales, The League of Canadian Poets, and The Capra Review, among others.  She grew up in four countries and currently lives in Canada. Twitter: @MarionLougheed

 

 

Rule Three

/by
by N.E. Rule

 

“We’ve now covered the two rules to survive The Purge.” Stanley announces. Taking his eyes away from the road, he smiles at Judy.

“One, find shelter as far from the city as possible.” He pulls up to the log cabin.

“Two, partner up with someone you trust.” He leans over to kiss her. Judy turns so his kiss lands on her cheek.

A woman sits up from from the blanketed backseat holding a gun to his temple. “What about rule three?” Stanley stills. “Make sure your girlfriend doesn’t find out you’re married.” She winks at Judy, then pulls the trigger.

N.E. Rule

N.E. Rule attended Toronto’s Ryerson University for both creative writing and business communications. Her writing portfolio includes software specs, marketing copy, and training materials, however, her passion is fiction. The characters in her head are getting louder and refuse to wait for her spare time to come out and play.

 

 

The Blood Purge

/by
by J.M. Faulkner

 

Pale-skinned girl runs. Pale-skinned girl trips. Pale-skinned girl shields her eyes from the streetlamp that throws a shadow on my shoulders.

“Please, d-don’t hurt me.”

Sigh… If we elders didn’t cull the young, vampires would spill onto the streets like mice. There wouldn’t be an ounce of blood to share.

I tell her, “We purge annually. Your sire should have kept you safe.”

She winces. Tiny fangs protrude over her trembling bottom lip. “Sire didn’t warn me.”

“Then he wants you dead as much as—”

Thump.

A stake in my chest.

She says, “Now the young purges the old.”

J.M. Faulkner

J.M. Faulkner is a British English teacher living in Prague, Czech Republic. It is the perfect place for him to steep himself in the architecture and tumultuous history that fuels his curiosity. Outside of work, you can find him hiking in splendid, Bohemian forests with his beagle.

My work has been published by Black Hare Press, Liquid Imagination, Havok Publishing, Trembling with Fear, and The Drabble.

Website: jmfaulkner.com