Abandoned – Very Short Story

The floor was cold as I awoke. My jaw was sore and my body was stiff, and when I opened my eyes, I couldn’t tell where I was. It was dark. The walls were pitch-black but I could see a bed without a mattress. One of the springs were loose… I tried to stand, with some difficulty, and when my senses had gathered I endeavoured to move. I had no recollection of where I was or how I ended up here – whatever here was. There were large metal bars in my way that felt course on my hands. It seemed that I was a prisoner, of some sort, that much was clear. My attire confirmed my suspicion, wearing a grey jumpsuit, the one associate with criminals. I rattled the bars and felt them move. Pieces of the concrete rained on my head. A hard enough push and the bars would come crashing down, I imagined. But for some reason, I hesitated. Something was wrong. It was too quiet… Too dreary, or maybe this was common? I wasn’t sure. Had I deserved to be imprisoned? I didn’t know. Surely I was not?

In either case, I felt the bars and after some force, it all collapsed loudly on the floor. I stood paralysed as the crash echoed in my ears and through the hall, before it became deathly silence once more. I stepped out and felt cold wind on me. It whined through a broken window, which I approached. There wasn’t much of anything that I could see in the distance, only trees and an empty courtyard below. There was a lonely car parked near the entrance and I imagined it to be a means to my escape. I turned back to the hall and was engaged to find my way downstairs when I became paralysed once more. There was only utter darkness ahead, the light from the window seemed to die halfway down the hall and I shuddered at the thought of heading into it. But, seeing no other way I steeled myself and headed towards it. One could only wonder why the prison had been abandoned to begin with and why I was its sole inhabitant, so I did not, and focused instead on my escape.

Only now did I realise my feet were bare. The floor was course and a multitude of different things, and pieces, lay scattered that made me painfully aware of my naked feet. But I kept on moving, feeling with my hands on the right side of the wall to not lose my way. The wall disappeared and I imagined the hallway forked to my right, and as I was about to head that way, my feet became firmly planted on the floor. There was a scratching noise, like metal being dragged against the concrete floor and I froze. I remained still as it came closer, making efforts to breathe shallow breaths. Though I did not see it, I felt the strangers presence as it lurked past me and when it reached the light I became vindicated that I had made the right choice and remained still. He was a massive man, muscular and faceless. And the weapon, that seemed light for a man of his stature, was dragged along the floor, like it was his purpose to make his presence known. He stopped by my cell and inspected it.

I struggled to keep quiet as it searched my former abode, and when it deemed it empty, it returned the same way it came. Only when the sounds were distant did I dare to move. I decided that my only way of escape was through the window and I searched for anything to make a rope out of. I searched other cells too, though I avoided the locked ones in fear of making any sounds that would attract the monster to me. I gathered all the cloth I could find and managed a rope that I hoisted out the window. It seemed to reach all the way down and I did not hesitate to throw myself out into the world. It had started to rain, which made the climb more difficult, but I was in high spirit, when, from the window, a figured stared down at me. A moment later, I held onto nothing and I was falling, along with my makeshift rope.

They say that your life flashes before your eyes before you die. I can say with certainty that this is true, and as mine did I no longer feared death and accepted my fate.

© Christopher Stamfors

Art by ChrisCold

God is Forgiving – Very Short Story

Year 1246 of our Lord

Orwald Shilling writing:

I don’t know why I feel the need to write this. Perhaps it’s a desire to be understood, perhaps it is just one of those selfish acts which we human are so famous for? All people are born sinners, after all, and even men of God are not free from sin, however, some sins are more grave than others, naturally. Perhaps this is why I write? For the small chance of redemption in the eyes of at least one person? Indeed, that would be enough; and if this letter finds itself in the hands of a heathen, or a denier, allow me to preach God’s world to you:

God is the creator of all things, heaven and earth. He created man in his image in the Garden of Eden where humanity achieved happiness without sin. However, humans betrayed God, and happiness is now only sin. Man is born evil and everything that makes us happy is a sin. Life is meaningless because it is only in death that we can achieve true happiness, in heaven. However, sinners may live happy lives even so, blissfully unaware, or chose to ignore, damnation that awaits them.

I always thought sinners should be punished in life. Even the promise of eternal damnation doesn’t seem to deter them, nor does it give me any satisfaction knowing this very fact, not yet anyway. I remember witnessing my first execution, long ago, a thief was being hanged; and as I saw life drain from his eyes I was filled with a warmth I could not explain, perhaps it was gratification for he had resisted my words before committing the theft. I would like to believe God made him commit the crime to hurry his damnation, but then, there are those that live in excess and corruption all their lives without consequence… I know one should not question God’s will or try to understand it, even so, All sinners ought to suffer, even in life.

But alas, I’m alone in this.

God never intended for life to have meaning, for life is meaningless when heaven is forever. Thus we suffer to prove our worthiness to ascend into paradise; a test of our vigour so that you can appreciate the splendour when the gates of heaven open to you. However, the ones who fail in this test, no second chance is given… or so I thought. Surely, an outrageous act of true devotion should put you in God’s good grace once more? At least, there is no harm trying – hell awaits you either way.

Life is just pain, after all.

It is the flesh that makes us weak and women are the creators of flesh. Capturing our souls into the torment of life…

Women are damned from the beginning, I believe, their souls are lost and cannot be reclaimed. No wonder they seek to bring men of faith down with them; they do not want to spend eternity alone in the fiery depths of hell. She will not have the last laugh, though, because God has called upon me a second chance.

Where else could this idea come from than from him?

I stopped counting the bodies, after a while, there was no point to it as the act became less and less vile in my eyes. It helped, at first, to see them just as numbers but that itself was a sin, to look down on human life, even sinners are humans, after all. One should feel bad about killing, even if it is righteous. The first few victims were… difficult. I didn’t have the right touch and they screamed and struggled before they collapsed at the cut of my knife. Now, I can slice a man cleanly while they sleep.

Sleeping through one’s death… I wish my demise would be that peaceful, but suicide is out of the question and I don’t trust anyone’s hand but my own. I simply have to wait for the angels to take me, when they believe I’m worthy… My hands are getting shaky now and it’s becoming more difficult to make the clean cut like I used to. Even my back and knees hurt constantly. Growing old is a truly terrible thing. The only solace is that I’ll feel the sweet embrace of death soon, which is why I write while I still retain my sanity and a steady hand.

Don’t think badly of me. I’m but a humble servant of God, who made a mistake in his youth.

© Christopher Stamfors

Featured image by ChrisCold

I Demand Satisfaction! – Poem

Face me you coward!

Show me your true colours so that I may strike you down with vengeance you deserve

The law standing in my way

My consciousness freezing my hand by the hilt

Yet my heart yearning for satisfaction

What good is kindness when the person I value the most is gone?

I need your blood

please give it to me…

And I’ll give you mine

Life Undone – Very Short Story

It was oddly calming, being confined in this room, with nowhere to go and nothing to see; nothing to do but wait and to contemplate.

The knife pierced through his flesh, burrowing deeper and deeper until only the handle stuck out of his chest. The victim gurgled as his lungs filled with blood and with one last act of desperation, he grabbed the handle and tried to pull it out. But all his strength soon seethed out of him and his hands fell to the side.

Standing above the victim, a man watched the fruitless struggle with fascination as the light vanished from the victim’s eyes. His whole body trembled with both excitement and fear. His eyes unblinking – like the victims.

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A Jog in the Dark – Very Short Story

The tempo was high and her breath stable. The wind chilled comfortably on her sweaty skin and filled her lungs with energy, making every breath propel her feet forward.

It was almost nightfall and the park was virtually empty, save for one or two couples on the wayside; but she ignored everything around her, focusing on a bench ahead.

She grit her teeth and sped up.

As she passed the bench, her chest swelled with pride and her legs kept running. Feeling her goal already completed, she decided to continue, to see for how long she could go before she croaked from exhaustion.

The street ahead was dark, and she could only see a glimpse of light sparkle by the path. She glanced backwards and hesitated, considering turning back. But she still had energy in her legs and they wanted to continue.

As she continued onward, the thickness of the dark surprised her, forcing her to rely on the feel and her memory to keep her on the path. She tensed with the extra effort to stay on the road and she could feel how exhaustion crept into her lungs.

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Inheritance – Very Short Story

The sounds, oh the sounds that old houses make. Some of them he recognised, some he didn’t. But it wasn’t the sounds that worried him, but the how the very walls seemed to move as a particularly strong wind hit against the house, the house bending to the will of nature.

Nervously he looked out a window on the wall next to him. The night wrapped in complete darkness, the moon shaded by clouds. He tucked his blankets even tighter around himself as he heard the rain drum against the window. The bed creaking violently as he did, like the house.

Wide awake, he glanced around the sparsely lit room while trying to keep the weight of the storm out of his mind. The house was at least a century old and his grandmother had lived here all her life. Not as the owner – but as a maid!

She had been lucky, though, as the couple she’d served died with no heir, leaving everything to her. Yet, she had done nothing with the house, never leaving it, seeing nobody…

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