Consumed in fantasy

young man suckled

ample bosom of life

cradle of pillowed love

kneading soft breasts

teasing nipples with tongue

“Mommy,” he moaned

cold corpse lay still.

Creative souls search, grow and

thrive amongst each other...

Like feeding the yeast sugar,

or a nurturing mother.

Some of us found that place before

But also had it stripped away

App after app tried... then,

Prose delivered a smorgasbord on buffet

Now with even more hearts to cherish,

Like seeds scattered and sown,

New family members to encourage,

Wheat gathered and grown,

Words, oh words do nourish.

And Our Prose, our Prose helps us flourish.

Rat Bastards

The Rise Of a Legend

The True Life Story of #B27321

Detailing His Heroic Battles

With Such Publishing Giants As:

Weird Tales Magazine

Mark Coker

& SmashWords

Amy King

& GoodReads

Shamaya

of OTEP

& Lastly

Prose.

Poetry

Heavy Metal Magazine

Calls Epic

Now Battles

the Silver Screen.

My story is a love story; it is also a story that questions what love is. It takes place in a world where humans and AIs are indistinguishable. Two people are caught in an all-encompassing love- they grew up together and cannot imagine being without the other person. One day, while they are walking down the street together, a person comes up to them and tells them that one of them is a computer, and that the other is a scientist conducting an experiment. All of the memories that the AI has of them growing up together were actually fake- created in a laboratory. The couple spends the rest of the movie trying to convince the other that they are not part of the deception, only to find out they were both AIs and that their love was artificially made from the beginning. The film explores what it means to be in love and what it means to share a life with someone- is the reality (that they don't know each other) more important or is the feeling (that they've known each other since birth) more important? It leaves the viewer to decide.

Ellie was the prettiest little white girl in Mr. Kennedy's 5th grade class. As far as she knew, she was of Irish and English descent. Plus, her daddy was kind of racist. Her blood had to be purer than pure.

There's no way that her genealogy assignment for school was going to be a problem. No reason to not start digging into her family's past. Right?

Is there real danger in knowing our authentic self, our true identity?

Evil emanates out of her yellow blood shot eyes as she surveys the damage she has generated so far in her quest for complete domination over the lady who claims to be her mistress. Little does her owner know the malevolent spite bubbling in her feline’s sanguine eyes threatens to spew out onto the floor of her life. Yellow pus drips from the cat’s eyes onto the carcass of the dog, mutilated beyond belief. The sofa which his mistress chose and prized has been ripped to shreds, with errant fluff blanketing the dog’s fur. She jumps victoriously on the dog’s body and scowls, waiting for her mistress' return. Beelzebub, the cat from Hell, has big plans for her. She will be very sorry that she didn’t buy the expensive brand of cat food because she will pay and pay dearly. She sharpens her claws as she lays in wait!

I started with her foot.

She screamed a lot.

They always do their first time.

I could muffle her, but nobody can hear the screams anyway, and she might yet say those special words.

She was already hoarse when I started on the other foot.

Still, I was glad I brought earplugs.

Her hands didn't elicit much of a reaction.

I could tell she was fading, and I had to step it up.

I went straight for her abdomen, and though she struggled, she couldn't break free as I ruined her.

She tossed and cried and spit at me.

I carried on unperturbed.

"Banana hammock," she rasped.

I stopped.  That was our safe word. "Told ya you couldn't handle it."

"I never knew getting tickled could be so painful," she wheezed, sitting up as I untied her restraints.

"Nobody expects it to be," I replied, "until they end up suffocating."

I looked her in the eye. We had been together for a month, and things were going well.

"You want to find out how long that takes?"

"What?! You want to kill me?"

"Not you!  Someone else, it doesn't matter who.  The rush is always the same."

She met my eyes.  I could see the uneasiness she tried to hide.

"I'd rather not.  Let's go upstairs and get some dinner, I'm hungry."

I sighed.  Another failure.

I forced her back down, and started tightening the wrist straps.

I saw her confusion turn to fear, but it was too late for her.

"Are you really going to tickle me to death?" She whispered.

"Nah," I said, getting out my cleaver, "you made me hungry, and KFC is closing soon."

The coin was still doing its thing, somersaults in the air, and just as it lightly came to rest, "Doo-doo-doo Doo, Doo-doo-doo Doo, Doo-doo-doo Do Doooo", the phone flashed and vibrated as it rang. And her stomach turned.

She knew better than to make the car sitting outside her parents house wait. It didn't matter who was in the car. If she wasn't out there within a minute, she'd pay, dearly.

There was always at least one of the three hot entrepreneurs picking her up. There was Pauly D, their idea man. He'd suggest things sometimes just to see how far he could get Dave to go. That was always a good laugh for Pauly. Dave K was so done with dealing with other people's shit that once Pauly threw the idea about this fabulous business out there, he was all about making it happen, whatever it took. The woman, who's name was never spoken, had all the connections. And she was pure evil too. It was the woman who would gather and hold all the blackmail material on the girls. She truly reveled in showing the girls what she had and what she'd show their daddies and mommies... Some very embarrassing and compromising positions caught on camera!

But these businessmen were not about empty threats. They knew their girls and would absolutely follow through with whatever they said the consequence for disobeying would be whether it was, "we'll have your little sister doing much worse than what we have you doing" or, "we'll kill your whole fucking family" or whatever would be that particular girl's worst nightmare. One girl was shown a picture of her mother's detached head the morning after mere mention of police. It looked like a freak accident and ended up deemed as such. Dave K has skills. The mouthy girl, though upset, fell back into formation without much fuss. All the girls know this story. This girl that was coming out now, was their best whore.

This one was barely thirteen. She had long straight blonde hair. It reached those dimples right at the top of her perfectly shaped ass. She was young but had started developing the year before. An outline of what her curves would eventually look like was starting to form, as if an artist was just starting to sculpt her. Perk little almost-handful breasts still had no need for a bra. She was wildly popular with their clientele. The men would go on and on about her very hard and erect nipples and "that tight babygirl pussy".

The phone had just rung and she knew she had to get out to the car. She, as silently as she could, would sneak out the basement door. Without time to get ready to go, she'd always run out barefoot in her nightgown. She'd tiptoe, tiptoe, and do little leaps across dewy grass toward her late night and early morning horror stories. Sometimes, whoever was waiting for her in the car would have something for her to change into. That wasn't the case tonight. The clients, a room of 5-10 older horny men, most looking between 40-50, wanted her to come as is. Yes, she had another year, maybe they could eke out a year and a half, with the kind that wanted that very early pubescent stage, then she would have to be moved up to another group of clients.

There was never a need for the girls to expect monies from the people they'd see. She was bought and paid for well before getting to them. They pulled up near a hidden-away shed. She was told to go knock on the door. Inside was a couch, a table, and a special exam chair like you'd find at the gynecologist's office. Instructions to the clients were simple... They were never to leave any visible marks that couldn't be cover with clothing. That was the one and only rule. That was gone over with them when payments were being made. The girls themselves were never to speak without being asked to. The evil woman would be getting some great new material after this appointment. She always wanted copies of video and pictures that were taken. Little girl was led in and the creepy grunts and heavy breathing made her very nervous.

"Bend over the exam table", some dark haired chubby guy says.

She does. And someone quickly pulls her shirt-dress over her bum exposing white cotton panties. If any cocks weren't hard yet, that certainly helped. She remembers the feel of cold steel being slid under the crotch. She gasped. Suddenly the undies were cut off her. Not five seconds after that slit being shown, stiff cocks were rubbing all over her and in front of her. She was like a rag doll. Turned, twisted, and thrown. Put in stirrups, tied up, and examined. Stretched open, nearly split apart, and thoroughly filled. Every orifice was used to full extent. There was no care if she was dry or sore. She would eventually pass out from the pain. They kept on.

They loaded her back into the car, and asked a question. They wondered if they may be able to get her again and, "could they make a dog fuck her next time". They loved hearing that she was theirs to do as they please for that paid time.

Water was splashed on her face and she was given a towel. She was covered in cum. She would have 10 minutes to clean up before getting to her house where they'd throw this little cash cow out, to sneak back in her basement door.

"Here's your Plan-B pill. Take it now so I can watch you take it. Good little slut. Don't worry, no appointment tomorrow and the day after it's just one guy, not a group. Okay? Now run home, little piggy! Til next-time."

And her nightmare continues.

{#satire #darkside #prose #morbidhumor-ish ... wouldn't let me # for some reason but I felt it necessary.}

We all have one, even those who've never met theirs, or felt it take over their body and mind, yet it's there all the same; the capacity for evil. I've been in a shit mood since this morning, more things out of my control, making me feel useless and inconsequential. More inconsiderate people making me want to give into the darkness and forego the woes of my compassion.

I hate on myself because I know I can't/won't kill myself... but I'm not so certain I could stop myself if I unleashed my Darkside, given the name Ira when I was about fifteen. So without further adieu; Ladies and Gents, Meet Ira, my Darkside.

Dark is as dark does you self-loathing cocksucker. Oh wait, you couldn't even do that right could you?

You know what happened then and we're not talking about me. This is your chance to post/publish all the crap you spindle into my brain like a devil on my shoulder. So spill.

I would have about twenty words ago, but you kept typing and we both can't type at the same time you fat-fingering fuckless fucker. I guess I've gotten so used to focusing on you I just can't help myself. You want me to spill

I do.

so I will. I'd kill every single half-sack-son-of-a-bitch who gave us an opportunity if you'd let me. Your mother first, fat fucking victim-bitch who couldn't get past her own childhood trauma to prevent you and yours from having some of your own... Her I would have killed slow, bled her out like a stuck pig while she was hopped up on pain meds and made it look like a suicide. Then I'd have controlled your father with his own anger and made him my bitch for fear of the monster we'd become.

Oh and that little cunt on the school-bus in highschool? You shouldn't have warned your mother, you should have hole-punched her in the neck with a fork and painted the bus red like we said we would. You where a minor then and could have easily played the insanity card. I mean, good intentions or not you did beat a tick riddled possum to death and toss it in the woods behind your house, plucked the head off your broken-winged parakeet like a grape from the vine, the female King Snake--

We're not talking about me remember?

But you're my favorite subject matter. I don't understand why you hold us back. This compassion thing is a racket, it only brings you more misery to feed me. You're heart wills you to help your family but I'd kill them all for hindering your evolution. Stop. Or what? I'll delete this whole post.

Fuck you. Fine. I'll tell them, that while you drive and mutter weak comments like "I'll ram this Oldsmobile up your ass" I plot how hard to push the gas to hit the corner of their bumper just right so they'll spiral into the nearest power-pole-- hoping they don't die so they live the rest of their life suffering and laying blame for their own ass-holishness.

Or what about your Grandmother? How many times could we have pushed her down the stairs and given her something to complain about? You're just being childish. Oh, you want me to expose our thoughts your thoughts Ours sugar, I'm a part of you remember...

Nothing?

Ha.

We see the way people treat people and we see how the ruling class treats the lower classes, the way the world runs on such a fragile system of money and we often think we people deserve every bit of suffering we get. We want to embrace that suffering and explore human limitations. We want to experiment on people the way they experiment on animals. We want to watch some of them burn, helpless to stop it, helpless but to watch in a mirror as their own flesh melts off their bones.

Pump them full of designer drugs, alcohol, and sugar until their systems shut down. Drown them in food coloring and preservatives by the thousands. Electrocute them with their profit geared technology in the millions. Force them to eat the fashions they fawn over.

We want to kill a billion strangers and see what parts of humanity show through because I believe it will bring more death, destruction, cunning enslavement and all out misery to marinade the happiness until it sours. Rem on the other hand holds out hope such an event would unite people in compassion-- false hope because such numbers would only unite them against a common enemy.

Fear and doubt are powerful tools to render the human psyche into playdough.

9-11, a brilliant display of misdirection and manipulation to bend a nation to the will of money. War is a business like any other and with me at the reigns we would make enough to play our own war-games with the lives of so-called innocence. Hm. Children perhaps, like dogs, are just products of their keepers. Then again, any child already imprinted with the foul behaviors of their keepers would be just as tainted, like the monkeys in a cage.. second generation offspring following the culture of it's elders, even to beat another monkey to death for climbing a ladder without permission, without ever knowing why.

.. So ultimately, I'd kill them all, save us. We might miss humanity but it's already left so much to remember it by.

Wait, why do we get to live?

I think with the use of some machinery  we could build little mountains of bodies and watch them burn for days like the devastating asteroids they are. If we die too, this tribute to the cosmos can't happen.

Right.. well, in short ... there you have it.

|| another_proser || 

Fucking hate this job, carrying groceries

to their car for them. Lazy bastards.

This lady is something else, maybe 80,

walks slow with bright white hair and

and shrinking bones.

"Wonder if that

hunch is flat enough to balance eggs on.

Wonder about ax-swinging this case of diet soda

down on it as hard as I can. I picture it.

The wind giving and pulling the little hairs

on my arm, the crack, she crumples quick,

giving out a tired wail on the way down,

flopping around on the pavement like a little fish,

I chuckle thinking about it,"

she smiles back at me,

Mind your business bitch, I think.

Go back to my happy thoughts.

"She's in pain,

need to finish her off, hate to be a dick and

make her suffer. Grab a shopping cart and

lumberjack it like before, aiming to bring

the basket down square on her neck,

you know the part of the cart kids hold onto

with their little hands when they ride on the front?

Anyway, she's moving and I miss, hit the shoulder.

She doesn't appreciate my failed mercy-kill. Ungrateful whore.

What else do I have? Look around. Her keys.

Grab em. Roll her over and key-knuckle throat

punch until the old hag stops moving. I chuckle

again out of relief. "

We get to her car and I load the groceries and tell her to have a nice day. She reciprocates. On the way back my mind drifts again.

"Dodging the red pool of her life. Take a big step over the stream running and blocking my way. Zigzag all the way back inside the store. It's been a long day. Was that carry-out thirteen or fourteen? I can't remember. I chuckle again imagining what I must look like walking around the parking lot like this. Avoiding the nonexistent hazards of an invisible maze. I stop at the entrance and turn around, admiring the flat sea of my amusement. Red glistening pools mixed with dull, dry and sticky spots, it's beautiful I think. Like the ocean. "

Manager yells at me to quit blocking the door

and help this customer. Fucking asshole.

My only comfort is his overbearing ass

strewn all over the produce section. Poisoning

all the shoppers with whatever the fuck disease

I'm sure he has. Fuck it. Number fifteen.

Great this next one has kids....