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This reminds me of Edgar Allan Poe's short story, "A Descent into the Maelstrom". These are 3 images merged together (resourced below), all having to do with hair. Of course, it became something completely different, but that was my reason for choosing these images & grouping them together.


This could use text, possibly a poem.

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It's in the rain, where he feels her presence the most.


I love both these images:  "Rain in the mountains" by Monika Dekowska & "Reach" by Shandab3ar.


So I merged them together. I think they compliment each other very well.


 

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It was in the fall, when I caught a glimpse of you. Tiny story for this photo of Kokomo's amazing art.

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"It's time. Time to finish, boys- we have a mass to give."


This is so hot! What if someone walks back here and finds us, maybe Sister Mary. I need to hurry, can't let that happen.


I hear them, the church is filling up...sounds like we have quite a crowd this morning. Of course, I forgot- it's Easter Sunday.


I hear children.


" Oh God, YES! YES!"


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"Good Morning, today is a blessed day. Today, Jesus rose from the dead..."


What a good morning it's been! Those boys are something else! It's hard not to look back at them. So amazing that I can just give mass on automatic, it's like the cruise control on a car. Thank God, cause I can't keep my mind off of them.


"We give thanks to the Lord. We lift up our hearts....."


I look so forward to these Sunday mornings we spend together. Why doesn't the parish allow me to have them all week, for every mass?  It could interfere with their studie- what a crock of shit! It didn't interfere with my studies, did it?  I mean, I know my grades weren't the best, but I don't think they suffered because of my altar boy duties. Wonder why they changed the guidelines? Oh yeah, all that priest pedophile bullshit- that changed everything! I remember how freaked out Father Paul was, asking me every time if I felt pressured.


"Let us pray. This is the body of Christ..."


The body, their bodies, so young and beautiful. Was I really that young the first time? Was my body as beautiful, so smooth to the touch?


"This is the blood, the blood of the new and everlasting covenant"


Blood. Oh yes, there was blood! So much blood. My blood, his blood, blood for blood. How could he?  I was just a child... I trusted him!


Oh my God! Am I him? Can't be. I would never want to hurt those boys- those sweet boys.  He was not sweet, and his scent- so sour. What was I thinking? Of course, he pressured me! Why else did I put such a brutal end to it, a permanent end. An end so damaging, that I guilted myself into this life of sacrifice. Sacraments. Oh shit, the Communion! Time to give out the communion- the holy sacrament.


"The Body of Christ. The Body of Christ. The Body of Christ..."


Jesus, that was just Simon's father- I forgot he was a cop! What if he finds out about what I'm doing with his son. What if he knows!


"The Body of Christ..." 


God, how many more people want this crummy little wafer! How much longer is this line?


"The Body of Christ..."


It's like a song stuck on repeat- the Body of Christ, Amen. The Body of Christ, Amen...


I can feel their eyes boring holes in the back of my head. How stupid and naive I've been, mistaking disdain for desire, and silence for consent. I actually thought their eyes were drawn to me out of lust!


Oh my God...they hate me, like I grew to hate Father Paul!


He was my mentor, my maker- he turned me into what I am today. I was just a boy! I was them, but he changed me. I'm now a slave to the Lord and a guilt-ridden whore!


Should I be concerned? Will they strangle the life out of me with my own rosary, like I did...


"May you go in peace, to love and serve the Lord." 

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It was just the two of them. She still remembered the day she found him, slithering in the aquarium with what she assumed were his siblings. They were all the same size and their markings seemed to be identical. When the shop boy asked if she wanted a specific one, she asked if he could give her a few moments to decide. He obliged and wandered off to help some other sad sap choose a fluffy companion. She closed her eyes, concentrating hard to block out all the chirping parakeets and finches. When the moment was right, when she had found that perfect peace, she pushed aside the screened lid and slid her arm inside the glass enclosure, and waited.


It didn't take long till she felt the strike. Instantly, she opened her eyes to see who had delivered the love bite. She surveyed his coiled up body, and peered into his deep black orbs, knowing he was tense and ready to strike again. At once, she flagged down the shop boy and announced her decision, her pick of the litter.


She called him Sherman, Sherman the snake.


In the early years, they shared her tiny one bedroom apartment comfortably, but thousands of mice and hundreds of rabbits later, they needed bigger accommodations. She found a cozy, affordable two bedroom loft for them to share. Although the landlord had stressed the strict no pets policy, she felt this restriction didn't apply to her. Sherman wasn't her pet, he was her companion. After all, they watched television together, napped together on the sofa, and ate their meals together. His now enormous, scaly body consumed a mouse for breakfast, another mouse at lunch time, and a small rabbit for dinner. She knew it wasn't necessary to feed him daily, but she opted for this kind of feeding schedule rather than the more conventional, bulk, weekly feeding of one large rabbit, because she hated eating alone.


Time seemed to slip by for Sherman's companion. As Sherman had aged, so had she. It had been almost 20 years since she had rescued him from the pet shop. Sherman had grown to a hefty size, he was all of 20 feet long, which was an average size for an adult reticulated python living in the wild. The loft was in disarray and the extra bedroom that had been destined to be Sherman's, was now a storage area for the many skins he had shed through the years. Sherman's companion never threw any of them out. She was a paranoid sort, and feared the landlord would discover them in her garbage. She couldn't let that happen.


Eventually, the skins took over the entire loft. This kind of atmosphere was perfect for Sherman, he thrived. It was like some bizarre jungle. It was all his. It even smelled like him. After all, it was part of him.


Unfortunately, this environment wasn't fit for his companion. She could barely get around the loft. Her feet would get tangled in the skins when she tried to navigate her surroundings, and she would often trip. She could barely see the sun through her windows, daylight became a dim haze through the scaly jungle. She could only hear her television, except on the rare occasions when her favorite shows were on. On those special occasions, she would burrow through the skins, creating a tunnel from the sofa to the television. Of course, the whole time knowing it was only a matter of time before Sherman would slither through it and destroy her view. After a while, it wasn't worth the effort.


Finally, the time had come, like she knew it would. The inevitable had fell upon her depressed soul. She knew Sherman would be worth his weight in gold, and in one swift motion,  her kindness would be returned. She could count on Sherman to do what she could not.


It took longer than she had expected, more than two weeks. She almost gave in and fed him a dozen times, but she stayed strong in her resolve. Finally, as she lie still on the sofa one evening, basking in the dim haze, she heard him, stalking, moving slowly through the scaly jungle that blanketed her. She kept her eyes closed tightly and searched for that perfect peace. Only this time, she didn't open them when she felt the strike.


 


*I recently wrote a continuation to this story. If you are interested, you can find it here- http://www.hitrecord.org/records/1280742

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The rent was a week late and the landlady was going to collect, nobody got over on her. This was the determined attitude that drove her rotund body upwards, as she climbed the steep stairway that ran up the side of the apartment, to the loft.


Sherman licked the air with his long, thick, forked-tongue, sensing the vibrations in the air. There was a definite disturbance in the atmosphere. He had never, in all his time living in the loft, felt such tremendous vibrations. The rhythmic thumping, stomping, seemed to be getting closer, closing in on him.


It had been five weeks since he had consumed his companion, and he missed her. He missed being gently stroked, and more than anything, he missed her warmth. Being a domesticated reptile, Sherman was accustom to certain things other members of his species were not. He longed for those chilly nights that he spent wrapped around her on the sofa, while they both slept peacefully. He missed the subtle hum of the refrigerator and the constant television chatter, both had stopped when the electricity was turned off weeks ago. There were certain things a snake couldn't do on his own, and paying bills was one of them.


Besides the undeniable loneliness, there was another, more dire need, bubbling to the surface. Sherman was hungry. Granted, his 115 pound companion made for a substantial meal, sustaining him easily for the past five weeks, nothing lasts forever and it was time to re-up. He no longer had anyone catering to his every need, supplying every meal. Sherman was on his own and this was his first opportunity to prove himself as an effective hunter- his first independent kill. His companion didn't qualify, that was more of a mercy killing. Sherman didn't know what euthanasia was, but he knew that prey didn't normally just lie still and wait to be eaten. Real prey put up a fight.


When the foreign noise stopped, he heard, or felt, a vibration he recognized.


The landlady turned the key, then the knob. The unmistakable musky scent of a serpent, slapped her in the face. Only, she wasn't familiar with snakes, so the distinguishable, trademark odor escaped her. Ignoring the warning, she entered the loft, trespassing on Sherman's territory.


Any resemblance to his companion, the only human he had ever known, stopped at the door, with the sound of the turning knob. The landlady didn't look or smell anything like her, there were no comparisons to be made.


"What the fuck is this shit?"


She fondled one of the skins dangling in front of her, suspended in mid-air, as if by magic. She yanked on it hard, till she felt some resistance, and realized it was hanging from one of the ceiling fan blades. As she stepped further into Sherman's world, it got darker. She felt along the wall for a light switch, but once she found one, it proved useless.


"What the hell is going on here? Is the bitch dead in here somewhere?"


She shouted out her every thought, a nervous habit she picked up after her husband's death fifteen years ago. She found hearing her own voice to be soothing. Sherman disagreed. He didn't like the tone of her voice, he found it offensive. Even more vile, was her scent. She smelled of Sunday mornings with his companion, when she would fry bacon and eggs for breakfast.


"Jesus, what has she done- covered up the windows with foil? It's a beautiful sunny day outside, no wonder she's so depressed all the time!"


Her loud annoying voice echoed in the bathroom, where Sherman was resting in the tub. The water his companion had left for him to survive on, had long ago evaporated or splashed out from Sherman thrashing about.


"My god, I'm gonna kill myself in this maze of shit!"


She swatted at the skins, she thought were cobwebs, that touched her face as she made her way through the loft.


Sherman remained coiled up behind the shower curtain, waiting for her.


"Hello, crazy lady......are you here?"


She called out, not really expecting a response.


She was in the hallway now, right outside the bathroom.


Sherman positioned his head to strike.


Suddenly, there was a giant thump that startled Sherman, and he hid his massive head under his coiled up body.


She had tripped over a substantial mound of feces Sherman had dropped, seemingly strategically, at the entrance of the bathroom a few weeks before. It was all that remained of his companion. There were bits of clothing and bone mixed with the dried, ashy feces, that could not be digested. If it weren't for the clothing, the remnants could easily be scooped up and poured into an urn, as if she were cremated, instead of devoured.


"Help! Help! I'm in here.....someone help me!"


She had twisted her ankle badly in the fall and could not get up.


Sherman had to make his move. He had to quiet her before more of her species came to rescue her and he would be discovered. He knew she was wounded, there wouldn't be much of a struggle.


She had scooted herself over to the wall, under the sink. She sat helpless in the dark bathroom, holding onto the curved pipe under the sink with one hand, and splaying the other hand flat on the floor. She was in pain, and her writhing and moaning, only aided Sherman in locating her exact position.


There was a faint shuffle, as Sherman moved past the plastic shower curtain.


"Hello?"


She perked up at the possibility of a rescuer in her midst.


Then, after hearing no response, she shrank back in fear.


"Oh my god, what if it's a rat!"


She whispered to herself, unaware that Sherman had taken care of any rodent infestation long ago. Her pulse and breath quickened at the thought of their furry little bodies surrounding her.


Now Sherman knew exactly where she was, he felt every beat of her heart and could feel the warmth of her breath on his face. He held his head steadily in front of hers, and lapped at the air with his long, slender tongue. The two wispy ends of his forked-tongue tickled the tip of the landlady's nose, and she froze. Although it felt like a feather brushing against her, she knew that was very unlikely, and her imagination ran wild with fear.


"Spiders, fucking spiders! They're always hanging out under sinks- bastards!"


Her eyes began to slowly adjust to the darkness, but she still couldn't see much of anything, just the outline of a shape here or there.


She felt Sherman's tongue again, but this time on her cheek. She tried to wipe it away with a  wave of her chubby hand.


"Get the fuck off of me, you creepy little fuckers!"


A shampoo bottle hit the floor. Sherman accidently knocked it off the edge of the tub as he moved his body closer.


She was now paralyzed with fear.


She spotted a glint of one of Sherman's eyes in the darkness, and all at once, a cylindrical form came into view and she knew.


"Oh my god- sn....."


Sherman sunk his fangs into her face and quickly wrapped his body around her and squeezed.


She managed to pry the fingers of her right hand between two of Sherman's coils and felt the coolness of his scaly body.


Sherman heard a series of snaps and cracks, then felt her body collapse onto itself.


Luckily, she had lost consciousness and suffocated before her ribs were crushed, piercing her lungs and heart.


Sherman loosened his death grip, and her lifeless body plopped to the floor.


He now had a decision to make. She was alot bigger than he had anticipated.  He knew digestion would take at least a week and he would be immobile for that period of time. He didn't know if his safety would be guaranteed or if his den was now vulnerable to outsiders. He needed to assess the situation.


He cruised cautiously through the loft, constantly tasting the air with his tongue. The sounds from the street below seemed louder than before. Something was different, and he soon found the culprit- the door had been left ajar.


*Part One of this story, "Love Bite", can be found @ http://www.hitrecord.org/records/1243783

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What to do with all these guts? guts, guts, guts, guts, guts. What is one to do? I could play scientist and stack them in jars of formaldehyde. Or play voyeur, and spread them thin upon a glass table and watch them squirm from beneath. I could play coroner, and dissect them, slicing through the esophagus to discover their last supper. And with this knowlege, I could play hunter, by using this bait to catch another. I then could play God, holding their fate in my hands, and start the procedure all over again. But my favorite part, is what is left, the skin sarcophagus. Playing optometrist, I add the marble eyes, to faces with expressions frozen in time. Looks of shock and amazement abound. To all pleased critics, I take a bow. I hear them shout, "encore!" So eager to watch again, never tire of my role as taxidermist. I'm worshipped like a god, by them.

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This is a short story inspired by a show I saw called, "Strange Love". It's a series about people with strange sexual fetishes. There was an episode a while back about a guy in love w/his car. You can check out the 15min. episode about this guy on youtube-  bizarrely interesting, sad, yet hilarious!


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                                                      Chasing Chase


 


"Don't I always treat you good, my baby?"


It was always the same greeting,  every morning, when they met in the driveway.  Of course, Toby already knew he was there, waiting. Waiting just for him, to take him where ever  he desired. They traveled the roads together, always holding each other, in their nonconventional lover's embrace. Sometimes it was just a trip the store, or to work, and back home again, but not this day. This day was a special day, it was their anniversary.


"It's the beach today, baby. I know, I know......the sand, but I promise to get every sandy particle, out of every crevice. Think of it as foreplay- I do! We're gonna take the scenic route, less traffic, more time for us to be alone. Just you, me, and the road." He pats the dash softly, while taking his eyes off the road a moment to admire Chase's body, glistening in the sun. 


He always loved that name, Chase. Chase was also the name of his favorite matchbox car, he had when he was a boy. It was red too, cherry red. Of course, Chase wasn't a Ford Mustang, like his toy. He was only a Chevy Beretta, but he was in exceptional condition. Very well maintained, with the best accessories. Only the best for Chase. The rims alone were probably worth as much as the car itself. I mean, Chase himself.


"God, you are beautiful!"


Toby began to drift off into a familiar daze. He loved to imagine them together, in different scenarios, in exotic locations, making love. He mostly did this kind of daydreaming while at work, anytime he was unable to be next to Chase. All day at work, he passed the windows, checking on him, forever fearful someone would hurt him.


"Oh my god! Watch out, Chase! Didn't you see that possum? A mess like that could've ruined our day, we would've had to postpone our anniversary! Why doesn't the state have someone pick up roadkill and dispose of it properly? What are we paying taxes for anyway? Robbery, fuck'in robbery! I'm gonna write a letter to our congressman soon as we get back home tonight, If we go home tonight. We may just spend the night together on the beach, under the moon and stars."  He smiled, as the romantic rendez-vous played out in his mind.


"Here we are, sweetheart! The perfect place, away from everything and everyone- perfect! Except for this trash! Why are people so careless and direspectful? Litterbugs! I'll be right back, stay right here." He gave a little chuckle, as he held up the keys, and dangled them in the direction of Chase's headlights.


He briefly got lost in a daydream again, on his way down the beachfront, strolling towards a large metal garbage can.


"Not much longer now," he thought.  His lips had just touched Chases's bumper, or lips, when he was pulled from his fantasy by a scream. A familiar screech, Chases screech! His tires  smoked, as he left the beach, headed down the freeway. Obviously, under someone elses control- forced! Chase had been kidnapped!


Toby stood frozen for what seeemed an eternity, but was only mere seconds, in reality.


"What to do? What to do! My phone...," he patted his jeans pockets frantically searching for it.


"Chase has it!"


Toby took off, sprinting in the direction of his lover, speaking aloud to himself.


"How? I have the keys, the keys to his heart!"


Tears streaked across his face, as he ran as fast as he could, faster than he ever thought he could.


"Hoodlums, fucking hoodlums! Poor Chase, violated with a screw driver, no doubt! I'll fix you Chase, I'll fix it, don't worry," he shouted.


Chase was nowhere in sight, long gone. Chase was gone!


He collapsed on the side of the road, holding his head in his hands.


Eventually, a  state patrol car pulled over, onto the shoulder, in front of a defeated Toby.


"Sir, can I help you?"


All at once, Toby came to life.


"Yes! Chase is gone, someone kidnapped him!"


"How old is Chase, sir?"


"Four. He's four."


The officer motioned for Toby to hold on a moment, while he spoke into his two-way radio.


"Amber Alert. I repeat, Amber Alert. The child is a four year old boy, named Chase..."


He then looked over to Toby and asked, "the last name, what's his last name?"


"Anderson."


The officer repeated the name into his radio, then asked, "What was he wearing, sir?"


"Nothing. Well he has a black bra on."


The officer looked at Toby with a very confused expression.


"A bra? Why is the child wearing a black brazier, sir?"


"He's not a child, I'm not some sicko, you know! It's on the front of him, around his headlights, to protect him from bugs and stuff."


"Cancel the Amber Alert. I repeat, cancel the Amber Alert. Could you please notify St. Joseph's, that I'm on my way." He put his radio away, then secretly retrieved the handcuffs from his belt.


"Come with me, sir."


"Are we gonna go look for Chase? We have to find him!"


"Yes, that's exactly where we're going. We're going to look for Chase."


"Good! We have to hurry though, he's very fast."


"Don't worry, we'll put the lights on."


Toby perked up a bit.


"And the siren?", he asked excitedly.


"Yeah, the siren too."

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She has her best adventures at night, flying her kite through fields of dreams.

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No longer happy with their partnership, Puppet struck out on her own.

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