Looking to my right, I see trees. Lush, green tress with a bird’s nest on it. On the left, I see more trees, and a mountain full of green. A sight to behold, indeed! Exploring the beautiful place, I came across an unfamiliar object.

Living in isolation for over 30 years, I had never seen another human being since I left my house. This place hasn’t been ruined by man. Yet.

I studied the object. It seemed to look like a beast. One with 2 arms, and 2 legs. It was leaning next to a tree with an object piercing through its stomach. Maggots were crawling all over its body. Dried blood around it suggested it had been there for a while. I carefully removed the object from its stomach. As I did, a bunch of insects came out of it. It looked like a human. I thought it deserved a proper burial, so I took it to the beautiful place near the trees. It took me a while to dig a deep enough grave, but by the the time, I did it was night. I put the body in the grave and covered it. I went back to my cave and fell asleep.

World War II

June 9th, 1944

---

There are daisies beside me. Two of them, in fact. My daughter’s name is Daisy. My wife chose it. I think it’s a beautiful name, well-suited for a girl.

I’m lying on the ground - it’s hard, and rocks dig into my back.

I can’t move much, or else it hurts. I can feel something gushing out of my chest. I think I’ve been shot.

I touch the spot on my chest to make sure. Sure enough, there is blood. A lot of it. He must have shot me more than once. I should have been paying attention, but I had stopped for one second to reload. One second too late.

I saw his face after he did it. It was blank, expressionless. Merciless. The effects of a long, drawn-out, bloody war. But I don’t blame him. I would have done the same thing. Every one of us would. There are no feelings in war.

My face is dirty with soot and gunpowder.

I’ve had a rough day, and I’m not sure I’ll make it home alright.

But that’s okay. I’ve done my duty.

Funny. I always thought it would be painful, to get a bullet through your chest. But I don’t feel anything besides the soreness of my legs and the pounding of a migraine. My body and mind are numb from the constant drilling, battles, and fear of death.

But now, in the face of it, I do not think I fear death. Now that it’s here, I think I accept it. I let my arms fall beside me, and I squint up at the sky where the sun is gleaming overhead. Ironic how the sun still shines over a battlefield where hundreds of men are dying violent deaths. Or how a daisy still grows in the midst of pain and suffering.

People all around me have died. Every one of my friends that I’ve made here, gone. If they have done it, maybe it shouldn’t be so bad. Right now, death sounds like a deep, restful sleep . . . and I am so, so tired.

I think of my wife at home, baking bread with our daughter. Their clothes are messy, my wife has her hair in a bun, and Daisy’s nose is dotted with flour. Oh, my sweet girl. And the unborn child I will never get to meet. I hope it’s a boy, I hope he’ll have my eyes.

With little strength I have left, I take a torn photograph out of my vest pocket. It’s them, it’s my two girls. Daisy is smiling, her mother is, too. They are happy, and I want to smile, but I am too weary. I look at them for one last time before I see them again, and when I get there I will hold them all in my arms as they shout for me, for Daddy.

Maybe it’s a horrible place to die, but then again, maybe it isn’t.

My soul will go up along with the others that I have fought so desperately with, the ones that I have cried with, and shared my last moments of joy with. These are the men that I will die with. And I am happy for that.

Sometimes, there is peace in tragedy.

I close my eyes . . .

And I think . . .

How lucky I am . . .

To lie here next to a daisy.

The wind blows upon the water,

Setting off ripples, the coys don’t care.

The leaves fall, their flutter unheard.

No one will come again.

They all died.

I realize the fish will die off soon,

When winter sets,

and no one there to feed them.

Shame about them.

We used to enjoy throwing them,

The leftover stale bread.

You chose the place well.

Oh. It still hurts, make no mistake,

A hole in the lungs. Thanks.

But at least you did me the favour,

Of this last moment.

And what will you do now?

Sure, you’re a survivor ,

But this is the end.

Hope you make the most of it.

I would recommend things,

But you don’t need that.

So walk on,

Past the fake stepping stones.

Walk out of the end of my view,

And hope yours is as calm.

Thanks for the whiskey, by the way.

I take a gulp and feel the warmth.

Not hard to breath anymore.

No pressure, dry mouth,

I think I’ll close my eyes for a minute...

Age had been a long-time friend of hers.

She had known that,

Eventually,

Age would kill her.

That wasn't a problem,

Though.

She knew all things must end,

And she was ready to move on.

She had her snack before bed,

As usual.

Toast,

With butter and jam.

She laid in bed,

Knowing she would go.

She let herself drift off.

Smiled,

When her friend woke her.

"It's time."

It said.

With one last breath,

She said one last thing.

"Goodbye."

And she closed her eyes,

Slipping from this world,

Forever,

Into the next,

Where she was met with peace.

The clouds roll gently over the serene scene. They taste the sweet breeze that cools the air makes the grass russle. The girl enjoyed the sound, the sound of the grass, picturing rushing water, feeling and seeing the waves of grass bring her spirit up and down. She knelt down, breathing in the sweet scent of yellow irises.

They can’t reach her here, not here, in the tall, verdant grass. The breeze seems to beg, whipping the girl’s hair around her upturned face. Please, begs the breeze. Turn around. The girl never hears the warning.

It is too late.

The man breathes down the girl’s neck, and she finally notices the contrast. The field fades to silence. Her screams ring out, replacing the twittering birds. Irises stained red and earth turned to thick, pasty mud, the flowers weep. The cool breeze turns hot with the smell of death. The grass russles, every blade shivering with terror, and the clouds roll over the scene. Serene, if you don’t look too closely.

Albert walked up the hill his breath heaving and sweat dripping down his face. His back aching from carrying the two heavy baskets up the hill with him. The baskets were whicker which meant the smell of the fresh fish didn’t stay in the basket. Stopping before he started his descent down the hill he looked all around him and let the beauty of the sight around him sink into his bones. The clouds that kept the sun from overpowering the day. The red and white sails of the boats that dotted the rippling waters were collecting fish and voyaging off to the passage that would bring them to the sea. The forest with the trees that bent in the wind was turning red with changing of the season.

He felt apart of the community and at the same time, he felt like he was just starting his adventure which in a way he was. He picked his baskets up again and turned to descent down the hill at an angle that would best drop him off at the mouth of the forest. The wind picked up a bit cooling him off a bit and making him wish he had pulled off his shirt before he had started the walk so he could feel the wind against his bare skin. Making it to the bottom was easier than making it to the top had been which left him with extra energy to pick up the pace to make it home.

The forest was quiet but not devoid of the sounds of the birds or the streams nestled in the forest. The safety and clarity that came with the crisp air and whispering winds were not disturbed by the crunching of leaves under his feet. It felt like no time was passing and the smell of the fish stopped bothering him after a while. Slowly a house of wood and stone peeked out at him from beyond the trees warmly welcoming his return.

The promise of fresh food that came with the smell of bread that wafted in the forest surrounding the house perked him up even further to the point that despite the weight of the baskets and the exhaustion hammering into his muscles he was jogging to the house. Opening the door he kicked off his shoes and looked around the house noticing the distinct absence of his two favorite people.

“Bourbon!” His voice was warm as he called out to his dog. The blue tick hound mix would have been eagerly waiting by the door or underneath the feet of Graham who should have heard Albert come home. “Graham!” The silence of the home only interrupted by the sounds of birds. Walking into the kitchen and setting the fish off to the side of the table Graham had made for their home once they moved in he noticed a note that said Bourbon had run off into the woods to chase a fox so he was out to find her before she stepped in a bear trap or got in a fight with the fox.

This wasn’t the first time she had done this so he wasn’t too worried about their safety. This was their woods so he wasn’t concerned about them getting lost. However, after waiting long enough for the oven to go cold he went out to look for them. Taking a flashlight in case they stayed out. The nights here were always beautiful so he could see them wanting to spend some extra time outdoors. The stars were gorgeous out here and the moon’s light made everything look magical and romantic.

The night hadn’t fallen yet but the sun was turning orange and dousing everything in golden light as it warned of its descent into the sea. Ahead of him, he noticed a long tail wagging and shortly after heard barking. Running out Bourbon was obviously chasing after a fluffy bear cub. Whistling a few times he was able to get her attention but not able to get her to come over to him. Jogging forward he lopped the dog leash he brought with him in his hands trying to get close enough to get her in it. Not noticing the metal gleam of a trap his foot slammed down on it as he lunged catch his dog once he heard the sound of something much bigger heading their way.

Snap!

“Ahhhh!” Falling to ground he laid still for a moment slapping his hand over his mouth hoping to stop any further noise that would draw attention to them. Bourbon stopped chasing the cub and bounded over to her human parent’s side walking over to his ankle and licking it. The bear cub had stopped running and looked like it was waiting for something. Look over he noticed the large mama bear that was moving towards him.

Bourbon started to growl and her hackles rose as the bear took another step toward them.

She lunged forward the minute the bear made another large step and got clawed across the chest sending her flying into a tree with a crack. The bear looked at him briefly before picking up her cub and running off into the woods. Albert’s hand that was over his mouth started to shake as he sobbed from the pain he was in. The smell of fish smothering his senses but he didn't care. His ankle bled into the forest’s soil but he didn’t care.

The sun was shining down on the freshly mown green grass. Birds were flying about, chirping along happily. Clear blue skies, with a single cloud gently trailing along. Rolling hills hid the small group of people on the other side of the hill, who were chatting about what an odd bone their dog found.

Upon looking up, you might notice that the birds looked well-fed, as if they had had a feast. Some ravens, a few crows, and the very colourful starlings, at least compared to the pitch black birds mentioned earlier. Their stomachs full, some were nearly incapable of flying!

There are only 2 things in this scene that could ruin it. One is the sound of flys, which annoy everyone. And the other is the half-rotten body, that is missing a femur; guts thrown about; greyish pink brain that are quickly going a mossy green covering the ground. It looks as if the dude, if it was a dude, you can't really tell anymore, not with the waist in literal pieces; was shot by a shotgun multiple times, in as painful-looking a manner as possible.

If someone was to walk upon this scene, all they would see is blood scattered about. Torn off flesh layering the ground. And a body covered in holes in many different spots, although not every part is recognisable as belonging to a body. But that might be a blessing in disguise.

Yes, a truly picturesque scene, one any person would want to remember. A lovely day, that only comes a few times in one's life. One where there is so little wrong, it could nearly be said to have nothing wrong at all. Nearly.

#picturesque

#shortstory

#gore

#AAW

The stars hang suspended in the universe and she’s beginning to wonder if maybe she does, too.

She’s drowning. Not in blood or water, but in moonlight. She’s bathing in it like it’s milk. Everything is painted pale, and it takes several seconds for her to realise that it isn’t the world that’s turned upside down—it’s her car. She’s lying beneath a blanket of snow and shattered glass. Resting in her puddle of moonlight. Catching cold white flakes in her eyes like the bottom of a snowglobe. It hurts to breathe. Why does it hurt to breathe?

Might have something to do with the bit of windshield in her side.

With the fuzzy, languid thoughts of a fading mind—a dying mind—she considers how pretty the snow looks. How she had never quite appreciated it before. How, were she able, she might urge her arms to meet above her head and her legs to come together, and then to spread out again, to make an angel. She thinks of fairy lights. Christmas Eve. Fire pits and winter weddings. Obnoxious supermarket carols. Her mother’s home cooking. She thinks of a love like something out of a sappy Hallmark film, and she suddenly wants it more than anything in the world. She wants it so badly it’s like broken glass inside her heart. She wants to pack the snow against the palms of her gloves and make something beautiful. Something different.

Her eyelids feel heavy. She watches drowsily as each breath plumes from her lips like clouds against the moon-stained air, and, tentatively, she opens her mouth to catch a snowflake on her tongue. To taste something other than flesh and iron. She doesn’t notice when her eyes close.

They say stars die before they’re ever truly witnessed by those on earth.

She’s beginning to wonder if maybe she did, too.

The pressure of the water only grew stronger around my body as I continued to sink. The shining sun of the surface became farther and farther away. I stopped fighting it and closed my eyes.

I was going to die. That was just a part of life. The end of mine.

While it was becoming weaker, I still felt the sun against my face. Reflecting off a million different waves. It was saying goodbye. And I was ready to let go.

I sunk deeper.

The ocean water was cool against my skin. Almost calmly like the smothering hug of a frost giant. It enveloped me. It accepted me in the way the human world never did.

I sunk deeper.

My eyes flicked open. Something touched my leg. Swiveling, I got a glance of it. A simple manta ray. With a flat, grey body a sharp tail, it gracefully passed me. Reminding me, this was his world, not mine.

My feet hit the sea floor.

Wet sand squished under my toes, squeezing itself between them. A few bubbles escaped my mouth. Seaweed, dancing to the beat of a current, caressed my calf. I glanced around, taking in the brillant shades of blue and green. Memorizing the coloful details of every tropical fish I saw.

My lungs burned like a wild fire, crazed by a desire for oxygen. But my body was chilled, calm, and soothed by the same current the seaweed was.

The ocean was drowning me, but not just me. It drowned my troubles. My problems. It drowned the stress of my insufferable debt. Of my failed marriage. It took it all away with the current. I never felt more free, than when I was surrounded by the deep sea's pressue.

I opened my mouth. Perhaps to say thank you. Water rushed in. It cooled my lungs and stopped the fire. Finally, I closed my eyes for the last time.

Jacob begins tying the rubber band around his arm. He then grabs the syringe beside the bed, and proceeds to shoot up the last of his heroin. Immediately, Jacob begins to lose consciousness. Simultaneously, Lauren begins to shake him but the frame is still blurry. Jacob then realizes he’s overdosing, and starts fighting for his life as he hears bits and pieces of Lauren’s pleas for him to fight harder. Unfortunately, Jacob had shot up in a abandoned crack house all by himself. Lauren was never there. I mean, she may have been with him in thought but not physically. Physically, she was at home awaiting the man she ignored Jacobs phone calls for to only be stood up by this unnamed character. Jacob was committed to somebody that truly didn’t care for him so much so that he was gifted the potential reality of love, as a means of compensation for having to deal with the messed up reality he called daily life. It wasn’t his fault for having been born into a home that was completely revolved around drugs. It was the only life he knew, so when he tried to escape it of course Lauren showing him The tiniest bit of attention meant the world to him. She came to him crying about what bothered her the most, which on bad day was the fact her mother didn’t respond the way she wanted. Then when he had the worst day imaginable, and tried calling her for comfort. The same attention he had given her wasn’t received. Leaving him complacent, to the extent of not wanting to deal with life anymore. Understandable when put into Jacob shoes, but not even fathomable when put into Lauren’s shoes. Especially after seeing the way Jacob viewed things, you would be prone to feel hate for Lauren but can’t. He never meant anything to her, so of course she didn’t hesitate to ignore his calls. She may have confided in Jacob, but confiding in somebody meant two completely different things to the both of them. How could you not place Jacob into nirvana considering the circumstances? Jacob had no understanding of the individual characteristics that make up each and every persons reality. So whenever the delusion of Lauren saving him was inserted into his psyche right as Jacob was dying. Jacob accepted it with ease. Thus entering his own personal reality where he peacefully dies in the arms of the women he loved. His life was so incredibly depressing that the option he chose was honestly the only logical choice he had left. Why would he continue to put himself through this incredible pain of life, when his life wasn't his because of the people that said he was an addict. Considering both of his parents got clean, and decided to start new families excluding every part of their past life including Jacob. It was never Jacobs fault, but he never felt like it wasn’t. When the people that did this to him decided to forget about him, he started to question his very existence. Which he now viewed as meaningless, resulting in the forgiveness of such an act deemed atrocious by society. How could you honestly banish someone like Jacob to “hell” based purely off of a decision he felt was his only option. He made that decision within an instant, where there is no time for reflection. Yet, is frowned upon because nobody could understand why Jacob would be pushed to these measures because their life is so effortlessly spent obsessing over themselves. As Jacob transitions into death, a smirk can be seen changing into a slight smile. Then nothing, as an eerie silence begins to take control of the abandoned house. I suddenly wake up from this grim dream and as I slowly gain consciousness, the only image I see for the first couple of seconds is the depressing image of Jacob’s smile. All though it was a sad and lonely way to go, I couldn’t help but sympathize with this smile. Jacob’s life being as it was, leaving this brief smile to be the only happiness he was able to find. Finding comfort in knowing that he no longer had to endure another day of it. This seemed to be the perfect ending, lacking only in time. Being that his discovery of happiness and it’s warm embrace was short lived to say the least. His final moments weren't spent at a picturesque location, nor were they comforted by the presence of family members but if you were to ask me. I would tell you that in that specific moment, Jacob saw something so beautiful it transcended location. Making an abandoned drug house into an ideal resting place for someone such as himself, and calling my idea of beauty into question entirely. As it should for all those who still can't fully understand the beauty of death in an abandoned dope house.