Toys in the Attic

Cheer up and dry your eyes
Come join the happy games 

We can laugh' till we cry.

 "Mary, Mary come and play!"
  A childish, sing-song voice echoes from the base of the staircase, accompanied by frenzied murmurs from above. The only light in the room comes from outside, through the front door's window, giving the old house an eerie atmosphere. The wooden floors are dusty and without carpets and they squeak at every step. But Mary was never bothered by the sound, not like her Momma was. She walks with purpose towards the staircase, speaking softly to the clay doll clinging with small arms to one rafter.
  "I'm looking for my marbles, One. Have you seen them?"
  The doll called One was the first to show up when Mary went up to the attic, ages ago. She has green, beady eyes that never blink, a dirty, frilly dress with a grey apron, mismatched shoes and a pink topper. The hole in her cheek remindes Mary of the abyss. Dark and deep and full of nothingness.
  "Did you lose them again, Mary? Come and play with us and you'll find them for sure!"
  Mary has since long ago surpassed the age of playing with dolls. The thin, transparent shift she is wearing barely hides her round breasts and rear. The scars on her neck however are shielded by thick, brown hair which cascades in straight tresses to her shoulders; same locks fall in her eyes, a vivid shade of blue and always wide with something akin to shock.
  "Alright, I'll come." Just like always, after her consent, scurrying noises could be heard above, followed by giddy whispers and hushed voices.
  To get to the attic, one has to pass through the ceiling door, a heavy piece of wood which left Mary breathless and dizzy every time after pushing it open. She often came up, when she got bored downstairs- she didn't have anything to do there, apart from laying on the dirty floor, and staring off into space. One wonders why she doesn't stay only in the attic. Mary tells her it's because when she falls asleep there, she wakes up downstairs and it takes her hours of hardwork to push open the heavy door.
  They start laughing gleefully the moment they see her; tens of toys, broken and dirty, of all kinds. The rocking horse neighs and starts swaying, the jack-in-the-box laughs madly and leers at her with his big, purple eyes, puppets drag their strings and twist them around her toes, the stuffed, rabid rabbit jumps and clings to her right arm with plastic claws, stuffed kittens meowl at her feet, clay dolls roll an old carpet for her to sit on.
  A chorus of voices welcome her. "Mary, Mary welcome back!"
  She smiles, sits down and looks around. Her happy place was a large and dusty room, full of cobwebs, shadows and tainted things. And she loved it.
  One approaches her with a box filled with phonograph discs and motions for her to pick one. A song called "Dancing Mad" soon fills the space and the toys start swinging and jumping around, laughing in all kinds of ways. Mary rises to her feet, loops her arms with Thirteen's and sways back and forth with him. He is a colorful piece, made from patterned patches of cloth and stuffed with cotton and lead; his eyes are black buttons and his mouth is sewn shut but when he moves it, Mary can peak between stitches to see the same abyss present in One's hole. Taller than her but also thinner, he twirls her and they almost topple over but the shadows seeping down like hanging ropes from the ceiling expertly catch them. She giggles a thank you and feels the cold slither of darkness around her bare shoulders. They end the dance by bowing before each other and she returns to her carpet.
  " Have you seen my marbles around here? I know for sure that if I find them, something good will happen."
  " Oh i don't know" a squeaky chirp falls from a clockwork nightingale's beak.
  " Rabid was eating round candies earlier" the words come out like a sigh from above her where a fairy with a missing leg is floating.
  " He must've swallowed Mary's marbles!" Jack-in-the-box shouts accusatory.
  " I have not!" The rabid rabbit mumbles resentful, his whole body convulsing uncontrollably.
  " Yes, you did! Yes, you did!" A trio of chipped piggy bangs oink with indignation.
  " Oh I know! Mary, Mary let's play a game with the rabbit. It's been so long since we enjoyed some Knife Knife Stab!" One claps her clay hands and chuckles.
  Four, a doll resembling One but of the male variety, dressed in a butler outfit and missing an eye, puts in Mary's hand the only knife they have in the attic, old and with a rugged blade, crusted in dried blood and fabric threads. She grips the handle with purpose and her grin widens.
  "No no no, I don't wanna play this game! I don't like this game!" The rabid rabbit protests as puppets pin him to the floor with their strings. He struggles and struggles but no one pays him any heed.
  Leaning over him on her knees, Mary raises the knife above the stuffed toy and the others start singing "Knife Knife Stab", the tempo getting faster with every "Stab" shouted and the chances of getting pierced also rising. She recalls her previous games; sometimes she used too much force and  accidentally stabbed when they were chanting "Knife", other times she'd only hit the floor but most of the times, she stabbed stabbed stabbed the toy, stuffing and gore gushing out of every wound. And the latter happens this round, the toy's belly bearing no resemblance to how it looked minutes ago.
  The rabid rabbit's screams of agony, the madly laughing Jack-in-the-box, the mechanical twitters, the clay dolls' cheering, Mary's own tight-lipped chuckles make for a disturbing, loud cacophony of sounds. The game ends with the woman falling back on her rear, her head raised up to the ceiling and panting heavily. Sadly, they find no marble in the toy's twitching, shredded belly.
  "Tea for the Lady? You must be thirsty after all that frolicking." Four is by her side, holding a fancy steel tray occupied by a steaming teapot, a chipped porcelain cup which had Rubick cubes painted on it, and cookies made of clay.
  "Yes, thank you Four." Mary takes the cup and the butler pours reverently from the teapot; a murky, thick liquid fills the porcelain. It smells like gore, she thinks. Sipping on it, she almost chokes from the horrible taste.
  Four cocks his head to the side and asks with an inquisitive tone "Not to your licking?"
  "It is certainly most delicious, thank you." Mary grimaces and takes another gulp of the foul beverage.
  The butler nods knowingly, adding "Indeed. It is, after all, made from your mind." And then he leaves, passing through a cobweb and into the shadows.
  For a moment, the woman sits still, looking at the spot previously occupied by Toy Four, her mouth filled with another sip of "tea". She gulps it down and turns her attention back to the other toys which didn't seem to have taken any notice of the exchange; they either clean up the mess formerly known as the rabid rabbit or play with each other. Six, a Red Riding Hood look-alike, life size and ball-jointed, is setting up the cracked mirror. Mary springs from her spot on the carpet immediately, joy radiating from her.
  "You'll finally let me through?"
  Six turns her black orbs towards the woman clinging to her shoulder and speaks softly, but without emotion. "Maybe. Depends on how much you want to go out there."
  "Very very very very much!"
  "Very?"
  "Very!"
  "One, Mary wants to leave for the trees. Do we let her?"
  "Mary, Mary why do you want the trees? They are cruel and will do bad things to you."
  "No, they won't. What are you saying, silly One, you know the trees can't do anything."
  "But they can and they will."
  Six pulls the sheet, revealing the glass which by no means is reflecting the interior of the attic, but a very green and very luminous clearing. Laughter is coming from the other side, causing ripples to form on the transparent surface. Mary watches transfixed at the pixie like ball-jointed dolls swinging from tree branches, smiling faces with golden skin and thick horns poking from their cheekbones. Their gleaming, amber eyes speak to her: Come swim with us, come swim with us under the trees and you'll never be alone again.
   "Mary, Mary, oh sweet Mary" Six puts her cold hand on the woman's cheek, turning it towards her. "The trees play rough games. The dolls on that side of the attic aren't as nice as us."
   "I have to look for my marbles. What if they fell in the lake? I'm coming back, Six, just like always, hehehe." And with those words spoken, through the looking glass goes Mary.
  "But there's no lake in the forest, Mary."
  The laughter is amplified on that side. It's everywhere, covering any other sound . Mary waves her hand at the pixies and they circle her at once. They aren't particularly small, reaching her mid thigh, and they resemble small devils torn from the sun.
  "Have you seen my marbles?"
  "Your marbles?" They look at each other confused then shrug. "Let's play first and look for them later!" They speak in unison.
  "What game?"
  "We'll swim beneath the trees! Take your shift off, Mary, it will only hinder your movements." And the woman does as told.
  "Come under the trees now, Mary." And she goes with them.
 But when they stop at the base of a very large oak, she looks around suspiciously and asks "Where is the lake?"
  "What lake?" The pixies' synchronized voices echo in the clearing. They cling to her, binding her arms, legs and middle with their skinny hands. Underneath her feet, the earth becomes moist and, rumbling, it cracks open. They begin dragging her down and she realizes that with horror in her heart. Screaming, Mary struggles to get the little devils off, but their grip is strong and so is the earth's embrace which soon is hugging her bare thighs. Their snickers come from both above and below the ground. Panic chokes her; soon enough, the earth is squeezing her neck and before it swallows her whole, she closes her eyes.
  Back in the attic, Six and One shake their head disappointed. "Mary, Mary why didn't you listen? Now you're going back downstairs and you lost another marble."

  The syringe was cleared of the liquid then stored away in the doctor's coat. He pressed a piece of cotton to the pierced spot and waited calmly for the medicine to kick in. Another patient awaited their daily dose, but he had some unfinished business to take care of first. He looked down at the sleeping woman and started to unfasten the binding of her white jacket. She wore nothing underneath.
  He never questioned his integrity. Humans use each other all the time; it has been like that since the beginning of time. Why waste when there's no harm in benefiting from something? It was that simple.
  Mary opened her eyes. Her lips stretched in a wide grin and her gaze focused on the pristine white ceiling. The doctor undressed himself and climbed over the still woman. Like every other day, he screwed her until the medicine wore off and she went back to sleep. Sometimes, she would laugh silently and tears would leak from her eyes. Other times, she would just smile and tremble. But every time, she asked the same question.
  "Where are my marbles, doc?"

 

EnD: Murder the Past

dead dead dead dead dead dead dead dead dead dead dead i want to see everyone fucking dead.so sick of pretentious fucks and arrogant idiots. so sick of this world contaminated by humans. close-minded, selfish, self-righteous vermin.

  "Why won't you fucking die already?!" The young woman shouted while her feverish hands ripped through the throat of her former colleague. Her golden eyes were bloodshot and blazing with rage, her lips curled in a snarl. She either didn't notice or didn't mind the blood splattered on her, nor the small pieces of flesh which tangled in her long, white hair. She seemed entirely focused on what she was doing: sitting on top of a plump woman, pinning her twitching body to the ground while the poor soul struggled to breath through a destroyed windpipe, struggled to keep herself alive. Grunting and screeching, pouring her rage into the victim and smashing to pieces her life, Sasha Winterhound looked madder than ever.
  The croaking of crows sounded ominous in the suddenly silent building. It echoed off the decrepit walls and hit the terrified humans huddled close to each other and watching the gruesome scene in front of them. At the back of their minds, they knew that the same fate awaited but no one dared to utter a word, too shocked and terrified. They just stared with unblinking eyes at the criminal. Sasha sat unmoving above the corpse, head and shoulders bowed enough to let the bloodsoaked hair cover her profile. She didn't say anything for a long time; enough for a glimmer of hope to sprout in their weakened minds. Hope which got crushed the moment she looked at them, an unreadable expression settled onto her face. Her hands stayed at her sides as she approached the group, crimson dripping on the floor; a woman whimpered, catching Sasha's eye.
  "You know, I'm always paying my debts. No matter how small. And if I recall correctly, the seven of us have something to settle. It happened years ago, I bet you've already forgotten it but I haven't." Her voice was monotone as she spoke, her eyes set on the whimpering creature. And then she smiled and the whole world darkened for them, one by one. Sasha slowly extended an arm, covered the crying face of the woman, smearing it with blood and crushed her head against the cement, pounding it once, twice. The bone splintered with a sickening sound and no one moved for a couple of seconds, terror sizzling their nerves. Then the screaming began. A cacophony of sounds,bouncing off the walls, amplified by the emptiness.
  "Please, no! Please, oh, please!"
  Snot covered their red, tear-stained faces. 'They look disgusting', Sasha thought.She hated disgusting things and humans always managed to pull that look successfully. Only one of them stood stone-faced, his muscles tensed so tight, you could mistake him with a wax statue. His bushy beard masked the setting of his mouth, but she was sure it was a straight, grim line. His brows also betrayed his nervousness and horror, by how they were furrowed together, framing his guarded eyes, their whites tinged with red. He was holding back tears. With her hand still grasping the crushed head and her face turned to the side, looking past the four cowering figures, she stared intently at him. 'I want entertainment.'
  Releasing the sticky corpse, she approached the stone niche protruding from the wall nearest to the exit where she left her coat. She rummaged through the pockets and pulled out a small, rectangular box, not noticing the mess she was making of the white material. Later, she'll regret not being more careful and ruining yet another one of her favourite clothes.
  Opening the case, she picked a slim vial containing a thick, brownish substance and attached it to a metal syringe. As poisonmaster, she always had her tools with her. Even stripped naked, she could poison her enemy. In her left calf she had deposited a year ago a slim, undetectable syringe filled with cyanide which she had yet to use.
  As she approached the bearded guy kneeling in the corner, she noticed he was eying the vial with alarm. Despite the brave front he had put up until now, his bones were rattling in pure fear. He had a mad woman in front of him who savagely killed two persons moments ago and planned to do the same with the rest. He raised his head and shuddered when he saw the unsettling grin plastered on her face. Crouching before him, Sasha grabbed his right arm to keep it still- his tight binds could do so much when the man would start to squirm, trying to get away from the syringe- and stuck the needle in the crook of his elbow. Not even a grunt, but his face significantly paled; she could guess what thoughts were swarming in his head right now. "Don't worry, you'll live enough to watch your friends die." Her serene tone made his blood boil with anger, almost simmering the fear coursing through his veins. He spoke, his otherwise smooth voice now hoarse from keeping silent. " Have you no heart?" Her answer both chilled and enraged him more.
  "Of course I have, silly. How else would I be alive and killing you right now? If you wish to chat, ask intelligent questions. Don't bore me with moronic ones."  She wasn't facing him as she talked, her voice just as light as moments ago; she was looking at the three remaining victims, pondering with whom to start. She wanted to observe his reactions, the display of emotions on his face as she took out each maggot squirming before her, all the while his insides were being ravaged by poison. She liked this mix; the victim didn't even notice dying. Their brain would shut down, painlessly and when they least expected it, whoosh! They were no more.
  Back to the other three, analyzing her options- dismembering, forced suicide, killing each other, emptying their veins of blood- she lost interest. Their eyes filled with fear and loathing, their cowering stances disgusted her. Her smile fell, her eyes darkened and her white brows knitted together in a frown. Swiftly, she pulled out the Glock attached to her hip and headshot all three, no hesitation between bullets.From her side, she heard a sharp intake of breath and knew that the bearded guy finally broke. She put the gun back in its holster and turned to watch him. His eyes were wide and staring in disbelief at the dead bodies. Sasha noticed that his muscles were no longer pulled taut, but trembling underneath ashen skin. Sighing, she approached the niche and leaned on it, her hands gripping its edge behind her. 'So much for entertaining.'
  Aloud, she asked in a monotone voice "You're not gonna say anything?"
  The guy kept silent, his eyes still trained on the corpses.
  "You do know that you're dying, right?"
  "..."
  "Fine, be that way! Spend your last minutes in silence, praying to whatever God you're worshiping- he won't help you, by the way- to save you. Gah, such a bore." She began to pick at her nails, scratching off dried blood.
  "Funny thing, I don't feel like dying at all, you disgusting bitch."
  "Mm? Of course not, you won't even notice the transition. It will happen in an instant, soon enough. Now tell me something." Sasha pushed herself from her leaning position and went to crouch in front of him. "Do you remember me?"
  "No. I don't have a tendency of associating with psychotic whores." He stared defiantly back, all fear gone from his bloodshot eyes, now only unbridled rage swimming in them.
  "Chatty, aren't we?Here, let me help you." She leaned in and whispered her former name in his ear. That's when he headbutted her, not even bothering to listen. He saw a chance and he took it, consequences be damned. The pale woman stumbled back, a hand cupping her nose, the other supporting her body on the floor. To say that she was surprised would be an understatement. He didn't look on the verge of dying at all, with cheeks flushed and features scrunched up in fury. 'What in the nine blessed levels of Hell? Did I fuck up the poison? Impossible!'
  Recovering quickly from the shock, Sasha scrambled to her feet and spoke, her voice brimming with excitement, altough slightly nasal from her broken nose.
  "Well, well, aren't you a tough nut to crack? Although, I suppose you don't plan on dying today." She wiped her nose with the back of her hand, and he noticed how abnormal her blood was, thick and very, very dark, contrasting strongly with the whiteness of her skin.
  "It's unbelievable, you know? You're immune to my poison. How is that possible, I've no idea, but no worries! Ah, I can't wait to examine you." She was almost jumping with glee.
  "Not today, you bitch. Not today!" He rose to his feet and with a growl, he ran towards her, head first, planning to take her down. She evaded his attack with ease and he fell hard on his side, his tied hands ruining his balance.
  "Hmm, hmm, you are right. This will prove to be interesting- at least I hope so-. Live, you maggot! Live and hate me!" She bowed from the waist and stared him in the eye, burning madness lighting up her face, from the cruel snarl of her lips to the arch of her brows. Gripping his jaw, she chuckled. "I shall be waiting, Sheridan." His name rolled disturbingly around her tongue. Before he could spit on her, Sasha straightened, grabbed her cloak and left the building, not sparring the site another glance.
  'I made you.' Her lips pulled in a sickening grin.
  Sasha left behind slaughtered bodies and a struggling man. By the time help came, Sheridan was barely conscious. The police didn't have trouble believing him. After all, it wasn't the first time they were confronted with the work of "the insane, white as fuck bitch". What they considered a miracle was the fact that there was a survivor. She never left life behind, only death. After gathering intelligence, the team cleaned the site, their guts twisted with disgust. Everyone but Sheridan knew that this was another case that will be left unsolved, just like the many others caused by their phantom psychopath. She was nowhere to be found as if the Earth itself swallowed her. Nobody saw anything, except for what she allowed to be seen. Nobody knew anything, except what she purposely left behind. For all the world was concerned, Sasha Winterhound didn't exist.

Soul Search

 

 “Can I touch you?”

  “Go ahead.”

  She extended a cautious hand and caressed his face with her fingertips. He leaned in her touch, closing his eyes, a pained expression knitting his eyebrows together.

  “It’s been so long.”

  “Tell me about her.”

  “She is gone. There’s nothing else to be said. Vanished along with my spirit. My heart, my soul.”

  “…but I see you.”

  He froze, opened his eyes and stared at her in wonder.

  “I see your soul. It's right in front of me. Albeit resembling a corpse, it’s still there. And your heart too, I feel it. Look, your pulse is strong and humming under your flesh.” She took his hand, turned it palm up and placed her much smaller one on the translucent skin. Her voice was soft and soothing, barely above a whisper.

  He remained silent for so long she thought he slipped away again into the dark recesses of his mind. When he spoke, his voice was trembling slightly and he wouldn’t meet her eyes.

  “She was the only one who saw my soul…I don’t want to think about what this could mean.” He paused slightly then went on, his voice wavering, his head turned to the side. “Truth is, I see you too. From the first moment I laid my eyes on you, your soul was there, weaving in and out of reality.” She gasped and stared at him with a loss of words, still holding his hand. “ A nymph, that’s what it is. A ghostly, trembling, feminine body, in viridian robes, with a wan face.And it's so beautiful.”

  She blushed, her cheeks turning a rosy shade and let her eyes fall to their entwined fingers.

  “Do you think that maybe… the possibility of a second soulmate…exists?” She could almost see the rejection, his contempt palpable at the blasphemy that fell from her lips. But it never came. Peaking shyly at him from behind her lashes, she saw him pondering her words, a tired expression swimming in his eyes. His shoulders slumped and he sighed heavily, his warm breath tickling her forehead.

  “Since she passed away, I’ve been trying to lock away every thought about what we shared. The anguish, the overwhelming despair has eaten away at me… For so long, so so long that all I feel inside is emptiness.”

  “Then let me fill you.” She squeezed his cold fingers and looked past him, at his wavering soul, a decomposing phantom with weeping, hollow eyes. The kindled, small wings floating from its back fluttered weakly.  How broken must he be for his spirit to look so ill…

   Although she couldn’t see her own soul, he could and he stared with unblinking eyes as the ethereal being extended a vibrant green arm and her fingers brushed something behind him. A shudder ran through his spine and he felt warmth spreading in his limbs and chest.

  She touched his soul with her own and he felt it more than when her fingers grasped his for the first time.

Dialogue

Something underneath.

  As I lay staring at the ceiling and music is playing in my ears, I contemplate my existance. My soul appears before me as a horned creature, with long white hair and opalescent eyes. In its features I see  my traits embed. It doesn't speak, not vocally, but the mental link shows me its thoughts as it converses with me. We stand before each other in floating darkness, our bodies illuminated, making us look like beacons. It is as if a distorted mirror lays between us and I'm looking at my reflection, my soul laid bare. And as I study it, I realize I'll never know it completely, I'll never understand just how far it stretches its veins and what is capable of. I don't have enough time for that, nor enough lives to explore everything it has to offer and the revelation bitters me.
  Its golden horns stretch upwards, to divinity, then curl downwards, pointing to Earth, to mortality. The red markings on its forehead resemble flames and the blue of its skin remind me of the water I love so much to drown in. I ask:
"What world do you perceive?"
Reality.
"Which one?"
We know the answer.
"Do I have a purpose?"
Do we?
"Will you answer my questions?"
We don't have questions.
"You're right, I don't. Everything's broken."
It can be repaired. 
"I am the Destroyer."
We are the Creator.
"I'm running out of time."
Chase it. 
"When will we become one?"
We already are. We're just not completely aware of it."
"This is not enough."
It never is.
"Will I cease to hate humans if we merge together?"
Probably not. We hate them for a reason. They are selfish, impure and fake.
"Am I not the same?"
Are we?
"We aren't."
"Because we are wicked but do not pretend to be good."  We said at the same time, its words echoing in my mind as my voice carried them out into the darkness.
  As I open my eyes to stare at the ceiling, a feeling of hopelessness washes over me. But at the same time, I feel lighter.

 

Bipolar God

 I am nothing. I am everything.
 I am none. I am many.
 You can't unravel me for I am too tightly sewn.
 I can't be torn, I can't be tattered.
 I feel the fire, but I don't yield.
 I fight the shadows but I don't seek light.
 I walk between colors, I never mix.
 I am numb, I am also aching.
 I'm searching for acceptance, I deny everyone.
 I am the God of my world, my world is the only one.
 I dissolve your reality and I create mine.
 I cease to exist, I rewind and start again.
 Night and day, I accept them both.
 I shift through phases like water.
 My blood is pure, my blood is contaminated.
 Abnormalize me, adrenalize me, I stay the same.
 I'm going nowhere, I'm headed for destruction.
 There's tragedy in my veins, I seek disaster.
 My eyes are dead, they hold galaxies.
 I create worlds, I crush others.
 I have no purpose, I exist for everything this life holds.
 I believe in nothing, nothing believes in me.
 I have nonsense on the tip of my tongue and clarity at my fingertips.
 My tears never fall, they froze inside my scorching soul.
 There's nowhere to run, everywhere to hide.
 I seek the truth and receive lies.
 Black is white and blue is red.
 Blood is dripping, venom touches the ground.
 Life and death, I love and despise both.
 I run out of time everyday, it's curious that I'm still alive.
 I'm lost and found everyday.
 How much until I reach Hell? How much until Heaven falls?

I fall between the cracks. Twisted pieces of an impossible puzzle make up my self.

20

 Today was my birthday. I've been alive for 2 decades and I have yet to do something with my existance. I just wasted: time, life, creativity, patience, my humanity. I don't like what I've become and I don't have the power to change it. I hope that I can at least play this role until the end and not half-ass it.
 I haven't written in a long time; a very, very long time. The ideas are there, I'm just...lazy. Worthless like always.
 All around me, everybody changes. They're growing up, heading into directions I would never have attributed to them. And this depresses me even more. I don't like what they're becoming.
  I wonder if I'll manage to live the grand life I have in mind at some point? Or will I just die somewhere along the road?
 My 20th birthday, a wasted day. All alone, with no one around.Not even a cat.
 Tears are salty.