The Myth…

I love to walk among them. I love to see just how they treat one another, but most of all I want to see how they treat me. I do it to feel powerful and I love the power I have over each and every one of them. Though none of these people know just how powerful I truly am. They all fail to realize that they are under my control. That it is I who controls every aspect of their simple lives. That it is I who can destroy everything that they hold dear in seconds without lifting a single finger. I control everything and they have no idea. No one can ever understand what this really means. I’m here amongst them to enjoy their mistreatment. I enjoy their displeasure most of all, but I enjoy it more after witnessing them first hand. It is fascinating to watch these simple creatures made of flesh and blood. To watch how quickly they will turn on each other over something that doesn’t even exist but inside their heads.

These creatures value money as if it has any true value once they are gone. These creatures gorge themselves on anything they can fit their mouths around all the while children starve to death as they themselves proclaim they are still hungry. Then there are the creatures that kill in my name so they can take over a land that isn’t even theirs. They destroy the very creatures I have made just to get their way. They drag my name through all the blood, all the pain, all the suffering of these creatures just so they can feel justified in disobeying me. If there is one thing, I have learned in all this time it is that there is a flaw in the design of man.

Free will was bestowed to these creatures in hope that they could control themselves. That these creatures would one day not need a God to control them, but sadly their free will is wasted on jealousy and greed. I once had a dream, but it has long been lost on man. I have given up and I have given in. Some days I wonder if it is was truly, I that has created these creatures, these monsters. These creatures say that they were made in my image, but they are most certainly not. A god does not create such dirty filthy degenerate things such as man. A god creates a world in which he wants to live in. A god creates a myth of how things should be and not how it is or so it seems thanks to man. A god may have control, but to have power I learned that I must destroy. And I have come to enjoy in that destruction, that chaos that mankind seems to enjoy so much. I have learned that I may not have made man from my image, but they most certainly have made me from theirs.

Layne Ambrose

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Post Physical…

My fist pounds. His blood splatters. My fist pounds. His cheek bone gives in. My fist pounds. His skin starts to detach. His face is nothing more than a broken mess. “What did I tell you,” I scream. My vocal cords crack from the sheer force of my scream. He mumbles inconsistent words of skin, blood, bone, and broken teeth. “I said shut the fuck up.” I lay one more bloody fist across his disgusting face. My knuckles are bloody, scraped apart by his teeth among other things. I stare at the monster I have created before getting off of him.

The room is silent though a crowd surrounds us. Camera’s pointing down upon his body before panning over to me. I break the silence as I start answering my emails once again. The click of the mouse and the clicking of my keyboard. Block them out I tell myself. I warned him before he set me off. Everyone is staring me down. “Should have done what I told him to do,” I say to the silent room. “He did this to himself. Who wants to ignore me next?” I ask and they scatter like rats. I’m not normally like this, but I’ve had a fucking enough of these dumb assholes. Someone needed to teach that fucker a lesson.

The cops show up and I don’t resist. “I just need to send this email,” I tell them. Puzzled the two of them don’t know what to say. I click the send button and get up from my chair. One of the officers handcuffs me as the other reads me my rights. They brought the paramedics with them. Silent, but not dead they load his ass onto the stretcher. In time he should be fine and maybe he will have learned his lesson. When someone says not today maybe you should back off. Of course, his dumb ass probably missed the whole point. “That was one hell of an ass whooping you put on that man,” the tall officer says to me. “I think you got in the wrong profession,” the other jokes. They put me into the car. With a bloody knuckle I write a message on the glass in front of me.

Blood and Bone
Self Sacrifice
Now All Alone
I Could Tell
You a Story
But Then You
Still Wouldn’t
Know

M.T. Billings

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Weatherman…

The weatherman calls for rain, but then again it always rains here. The rain is cold and it is harsh against my clothes and against my skin. The rain comes down and it pours, and when it doesn’t pour it turns into mist that surrounds me to always let me know that it is there with me. The rain will never leave.

The weatherman calls for rain. He is an idiot in a village full of them. The rain builds up on the edges of the streets and seeps up on to the sidewalk. The rain puddles becoming giant lakes on the ground. I feel as if I am Jesus walking on water, but the holes in my shoes bring me closer to the ground than closer to god.

The weatherman calls for rain, but what does it matter? When it rains it pours and it makes days seem like weeks and weeks like months. Time stands still here only the rain and the weatherman are a constant around me. Some days it burns and some days it heals, but its presence is always with me. I wonder what it would be like without all the rain.

The weather man calls for rain, and I assume my place once again amongst the rain.

Valerie Hannigan

This micro tale about nothing is inspired by my time in Washington State. Fun fact, it rains there a lot. I remember walking to work and dodging the tidal waves created by the city buses and passing cars. For a place with so much rain it always seemed as the roads were flooded. I often arrived to work soaking wet. It was very humbling and honestly some days I miss it. Maybe it’s the youth I miss. The time before the kids. Not caring about anything. Of course, that wasn’t even the case then. Everything seemed way more important than it ever actually was.  

Another reason I wrote this story was because I could care less about the weather. Not the environment, I care about that put your fangs back in. What I mean is that I don’t care if it is raining or not. It either is or it isn’t. So, to me weather specialist is kind of pointless. Tying it all together there might be some more symbolism in there somewhere. Not sure what it could be. 

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Beyond The Time…

In every past life, at every attempt I have failed. Every new life is nothing more than another mistake. A continued struggle that lives through me dwelling for centuries, maybe even eons. I don’t know anymore. In every reincarnation I have learned nothing new. The idea of it all seems so impossible even to me. Possible or not I am forever trapped on this plane of existence. A never-ending nightmare where only the surroundings change and not the circumstances in which I came to be. It is almost as though I don’t even exist.

Blind, the people around me are blind to their own recurring cycles. Spinning out of control together we dance in circles without the thinnest idea they have done this before. Not a day on repeat, but a lifetime of pain and suffering. From the cradle to the grave, day after day we clutch at nothing. Receiving nothing in this alleged life as yet another hand full of ash flows through my fingers. I’ve watched her die over and over again. The way may be different in each lifetime, but her eyes.

The look in her eyes never changes. They stare me down. Straight into my soul. They say, “Why?” Why haven’t you saved me? Not even once. The look in her eyes is what I fear each and every lifetime. I will continue this cycle unless I find my way out of this place. The surreal knowledge of all the pain I am destined to experience hangs over me like a dark cloud. It is years before I remember that I have been here before, that I have done this before, and the emotions flood back in. Can we really be the only ones? Could it be possible that the others willingly participate in their own pain? When did this begin? My brain wants to explode at the thoughts. Questions I have asked before, I’m sure. Questions I am still compelled to ask again.

I play my part and I do my time. Waiting for something, anything that could be seen as an answer.  There is no God in a place like this or there is nothing but God. Stabbing, digging through the life time ahead of me. Waiting for something to change other than the time. Ashes to ashes, she will rise again after I have fallen and risen once more. I will find her, we will fall in love, and then she will die. A love that I cannot shield myself from. An unbroken chain of desire. I possess no will to fight. I need to fight it.

Fight what compels me inside to repeat this cycle. Broken, my mind is broken from all the life times I have lived. Shattered into discarded pieces. I’ve gone by so many names I no longer know what my true name once was. I have helped empires to rise only to be there when they fall. A pointless endeavor. A waste of time because there is nothing beyond the time. If this is hell. I wouldn’t even know. How long can an eternity go on?…

Layne Ambrose

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Find More Short Stories… And Other Things…

Broken Thoughts Has It All…

Self Destruct… One Word At A Time…

Time ticks by without a name or face
What is it that I’m doing in this place
Lost and dying, I have no time to rest
All I want to do is lay down
Pretend that I’m dead
Peace is a word with no meaning
Who can go in such a fashion in theory
Never wanted to be here, never wanted to leave
Now the choice isn’t up to me
Hope is something I once had
Now I have nothing, never said I was glad
A feeling I once had
The world wants more than they let on
Taking a piece every day
Forgive me if I have nothing left
Forgive me if I gave it all away
Never knew any better
Thought this was what it was all about
A truth I can not speak
An idea I believe but don’t live
A dream buried deep within me
Straggling an idea
Choking at the thought of it all
Another drink and I will be
Too far gone
A place called home
A place I’ve long to become
Lost words in the idea of it all
Meaning more than I’m willing to say
A thought stuck in my throat
Know that I gave it my all
Know that all of this
Has always been for you

Something Different…

Long Legitimate Regret

There is a war within myself
One that can not be won with blood and guts
This can’t be the end
But I fear that it must
Each day is a plague within itself
A lost cause of hopeful redemption
One that could only do better with mass amputation
A removal of myself
A separation of mind from body
I hope one day for it to all go away
Though I know less hopeful things
Will come true
If this is the end
Embrace it as if holding an old friend
Too much has changed since the beginning
Your bull-headed stubbornness was cute
Now it is nothing more than sad and pathetic

Unsure

So they say
That it is the age of death
So they say
A lot of things
Who are they
That you listen too
So they say
We are all murderers and thieves
So they say
To hear themselves speak
Who are they
Anyway
So they say
That the world will end today
So they say
Anything that you want to hear
Who are they
Inside your head

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A Collection of Something Different…

A Collection of Different Things…

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Hold Me Back…

His body is still right before it slams into the hood of the minivan. The impact throws his body like a rag doll out of my view, and further into the busy street. I rush to be near him, but I have a feeling he is closer to me now than ever before. His body lays in a tangled mess of blood, lacerations, and broken bones. The man I once loved is no longer there and all that exist is his empty shell of a body.

A crowd starts to form around his body as I fall to my knees. I cry like I have never cried before. I cry as if my tears will bring him back to life and end this pain running through my body. I try to hold him, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I’m so lost and confused, and there is so much blood. Someone calls 911, but it is too late for them to do anything. The blood takes the form of a trail leading to the nearest sewage drain. I don’t know what that means. Does any of this mean anything at all? I grab his body with all my love, “What does any of this mean?”

The paramedics arrive and ask me to let go of him, but I can’t bring myself to let go of his body. “Sir, you need to let go of him. Sir, he needs to go to the hospital,” one of them repeats over and over again. They force me to let go of him and I am covered in his blood. The cops hold me back as the paramedics load his body onto the ambulance, and drive him away. Leaving me behind in a world that doesn’t understand. A world that doesn’t care what we have been through.

Layne Ambrose

Love with all of your heart… love like today is your last… never go to bed angry… and love who you want to love… life is hard enough without it… there’s no reason to make it any harder…

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