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CHEW!
Written by Matthew R. Wright
Read by [Your Name Here]
All was NOT calm at Burshall Farm, Somerset. More frustration, really.
Marabelle – longstanding leader of the Burshall Bovine Belief – gave a long and exhausted sigh at the recently discovered body of Herschel; their farmer. Contorted – Twisted – Bent. His hideous form a byproduct of the Belief, of what they did one autumnal night, long ago.
They formed a hexagonal mud-circle around the remains of dear Herschel.
Symbolic – Traditional – Cultural – Purposeful.
“What now?” questioned Dottie, the least amongst the cattle; tense and full of fears. “What we always do. Bring him back,” replied Marabelle “For it is the way.”
“Remember: Chew, Moo, Chew, ftaghu.”
Silence spread across the Burshall fields.
Each cow lowered their heads in-unison and took a bite of the earth; of grass and dirt. Six points dug into the hexagon that surround the ex-farmer. The Six points – a solemn meaning.
“Moooooooooooooooo,” chanted the Belief, the floor beneath vibrating with the low, guttural, droning pitch.
“Chew.”
Every member chewed HARD into their flesh, mixing blood and dirt and spit. Dottie glanced at the hexagon as their eyes glimmered with an anicent golden hue; she could not help but ask…
“What about the fabric? With each use, we bring IT closer into our plane. Haven’t we threatened our existence enough for this…man? She had NOT been told her place.
“This IS our way, Dottie. Fabric or not, Herschel must return. Now SPIT!” The mixture dropped from their mouths and onto the hexagonal points which now formed the shape of the Red Seal nessacary for the ritual to begin proper.
The skies screeched in-pain.
“Blood given, ftaghu, for a life taken, ph’nglui. We offer ourselves to the unsilent skies above and pray you protect our keeper on his path to provide us with our earthly pleasures.”
With that another extended “Moooooo,” Marabelle and the others watched as Dottie collapsed dead and Herschal’s twisted form retook its natural shape; unbroken, remade; given new life from old blood.
Herschal awoke and stared confused at his herd.
They stared, silent, at the mud-soaked Somerset farmer.
- androgynous
*Say something you think would fit*
[Read in the style of a Journal. The wounds STILL fresh and is quick to anger. Some lines can be read with annoyance and anger should you feel like that would be the correct reading.]
Into the Darkness
Written by Matthew R. Wright
Read by [Your Name Here]
10:00PM. 10 degrees Celsius.
Wetsuit. Regulator. Mask. BCD.
2 miles from the shoreline. 25 minutes a mile. 2 hours there and back.
I entered the water from a nearby beach. Must be alone. Must not be seen.
Result-driven. Consequences be damned. I swam towards the direction of the boat. Towards them.
Just another example of my dedication. I DO NOT HAVE TO DO THIS. Just want to prove a point.
Night provided the darkness. Waves provided the cover. I hide beneath them.
I moved forward. Stroke by stroke. Closer. Closer. The ocean is calm. But I was not.
The week’s events looped in my mind without interruption:
- Hardwork never recognised.
- Overlooked for nepotism.
- Pruned by management. Long-term but "low-level".
- Gone so as to "cut costs” Boss says.
- I told Boss he could go “cut" his wrists.
I reached the boat in under an hour. Really pushed it.
I then waited. I listened.
His family slept. Silently. Ignorantly.
It was time.
I moved onto the deck. Through to the cabins. Slowly. Silently. Step - by - step.
I barely moving. barely breathed.
I found the youngest, who slept alone.
I entered his room. Found want I wanted. I ignored the others.
The boy was 9. A deep sleeper. I gently lifted him. Kept the covers. Kept in the heat.
The outside deck was cool. There's a gentle breeze.
The Boy remained asleep. I checked my mask. Still tight.
I slipped under the waves. Into the darkness.
The cold jerked him awake. Eyes wide open. He tried to move. Trapped inside my grip.
30 seconds.
Fully submerged. No chance to gain breath.
He struggled. He stroked. He kicked. He fought.
I remained still. I remained focused.
60 seconds.
We sunk further from the surface.
No light to see. No family to help.
His cried, and released the last of his air.
I hummed a gentle tune. To steady myself.
90 seconds.
His stroked speed decreases. Unconscious. Respiratory arrest.
He stopped moving in my arms. I let go. Released him to the waves.
No chance of revival.
120 seconds.
The boy remained in-place. Rested still, beneath the surface.
My point, has been made.
I turned and faced the shore. My job complete.
A hour or so to return to land.
"No time like the present" I remember I thought.
Un-phased by what I had done.
He took my potential.
My future. So I took his son’s.
*Say something you think would fit*
[TONE: Exhausted, Stressed, Paranoid] - Lovecraftian
Her
Written by Matthew R. Wright
Read by [Your Name Here]
EVERYTHING.
SHE…
NO!
CANNOT! SHE CANNOT BE ALLOWED TO…
I COULD STILL…NO!
These ACHES. Getting WORSE. I feel HER in MY MIND. WAITING.
HER way is OPENING. WIDENING.
IT WILL NOT CLOSE!
MOTHER…
SYHA’H – Forever
PH’NGLUI – Dead or Sleeping?
ILYAA – Return?
Time is short.
The DRINK, the DRUGS!
Iron keys that ONCE locked HER away. Inside MY MIND.
NO longer do they BLUR the MEMORY of HER.
Of WHAT I LEARNED. Of WHAT I’ve been EXPOSED to.
Such ANCIENT knowledge.
MG- Still
NO!
…
CANNOT SLEEP. IF I DREAM I DREAM of HER. The way WIDENING.
I AM a LEAKING SHIP. No LAND ahead
ONLY OCEAN.
ONLY HER.
DOOMED to SINK. TO REVEAL.
What HAVE I DONE?
FTAGHU – Boundary
SYHA’D – Eternity
I am FILLED FULL of my MIND with HER.
‘BTHNK – Body
The OCEAN does NOT need to ACT. It WAITS.
‘FHALMA – Mother
IT ALL BEGINS AND ENDS with HER. ALL of it.
‘FHALMA – Mother
SYHA’H – Forever
With those IRON keys, I lock myself away.
GEB – Here
R’LUH – Hidden
The FIRST of EVERYTHING. The ROOT. The NAME. The WARMTH.
A HORRIFYING LIGHT.
MOTHER to ALL.
‘FHALMA – Mother
Y’HAH – Amen
ALL RETURN to HER.
I MUST FORGET. I MUST!
DULLED and HER way is SHUT.
I AM RAW. EXPOSED.
REQUIRES MORE of ME. I TAKE what I can.
CANNOT CLOSE.
CANNOT FORGET.
My BODY is WEAK. My WILL is WEAKER.
‘FHALMA – Mother
WGAH’N – Reside
HUPADGH – Born of
LLOIG – Mind
The WAY is WIDE. The OCEAN is the SHIP.
ALL WILL RETURN TO HER
ILYAA - Mother
AS ALL DID BEFORE
ILYAA
ILYAA
‘FHALMA
*Say something you think would fit*
In the room before the other vultures, got maybe have an hour? First time. Could be my big break. Doubt it. I need this so badly. Never seem to be able to catch a break. At a glance, definitely feels like a crime scene. My tip mentioned that were was a body in a bathtub. Best check that out first. Will picture the room after.
...
Found the body. Sure as shit a crime scene, but what crime exactly?
...
The rings around the bathtub indicated that the body's been here for some time. The soap scum and fecal-matter mixed-water has evaporated at its various stages from the intense heat of the apartment’s bathroom, like rings around a tree, showing its age. Door appears locked from the inside, wanted their privacy, so most likely, this person died alone, although that's not always the case.
...
White Rabbit by Jefferson Airplane has been blasting at top-volume from a nearby portable radio, the dying batteries have pushed the song into this twisted state, where the voices and words sound more like demonic prayer than popular music. It's eerie to say the least. Intentional? Hard to say.
...
The body, in its early hundreds and typically fair-skinned, almost completely dry and near-brown in hue. Predictably bloated, its entered its fourth day dead; by-product of internal decomposition. That being said, faeries, at least I'm fairly certain that it's a faery, have a way of remaining ethereal, beyond beautiful even in the worst of states.
...
This has been the ninth TINK that's been found dead in as many days. Does this still make it newsworthy? If there's a pattern, sure. They've always been found alone, always laying on their back, their mouths coated with blood, foam, and SWEET DUST, instantly recognisable by its lemon scent and golden glitter-like powder.
Cause of death? Another overdose, most likely. Their horns and wings are missing, surgically removed. The surgical work is amateur, done on the cheap, avoiding medical bills. Trolls and other pathetic wingless creatures created the demand for these...parts...of the THINKS, their high value on the black market ensures that TINKS will harvest them to keep up their habit.White marks around the fingers suggest missing jewellery, possibly pawned to again keep up with their habit. I thank the seven that I'm not a user.
...
Their discoloured wide-eyes, and that distant stare make me feel uneasy, TINKS unaware that they're dying whilst elevated, incredibly sad to think about. Motive for drug-use right now is a blur between the whispers on the streets that TINKS may be infected with a virus that could bring about another pandemic and the propaganda peddled on the evening news. even I've covered it, everybody knows that its bullshit. Countless must've immigrated here because of the war, because of the collapse of their economy, because they are so above it all, yet are living lives even more depraved than the city trolls? TINKS have, for sure, struggled to integrate due to their cultural differences, that and the racism, New-Americans love that more than they love their apple pie.
...
That sweet-scent, was their death, for sure. Faeries are beautiful creatures, should never be made to do what they do to survive. Too many TINKS became victims of hate crimes, physical and sexual assaults, made into mules by the cartels, no wonder most turned to the dust. This one though, felt familiar. The golden strip through the hair, maybe...no way. This Faery ain't just another TINK, they're Eltmer, high-level, could even be related to the local crime family. Hope not. This won’t be the last Faery I find like this, there’ll be more. Why did it have to be Eltmer?
Dust or no dust, Eltmer or not, Faeries just want to fly. Got what I need. Better take these pics over to the printers, won't be long before this hits the air. Kinda wished Rykin hadn’t given me the tip. Don’t know what I’ve gotten myself into.
*Say something you think would fit*
[TONE: Bleak]
In small doses, TURTLE brought what most expected from LSD imitators: powerfully hallucinogenic, sensory, an out-of-body out-of-mind detacher. Bliss with a twist of flush and tremor. Turtle also brought the brain down to the power of single digits. 9%. 5%. 1%. When you Turtled, you tasted sweet eternity. Corrodes the brain, but what doesn’t? You're going to rust, do it on your own terms. Frank knew that Sophie hated him being a user, an addict. He hated it too. The world was too bleak for Frank. To Turtle was his get out. Sophie didn't know that Frank was an Outer, someone who planned to punch his ticket early. But he wanted to set Sophie free and on his own terms. To OD on Turtle was a risk. Brain slows to less than a single percentage. Heart accelerates, body overheats, dehydrates. You fully detach. Dead in minutes, perceived as days. No-one comes back from ’The Long Blink Out’. Frank had taken Sophie to her favourite resturant, talked the talk about rehab and recovery. Excused himself and necked two bottles of pure Turtle. He planned the kick for after he had returned, in the pleasant spirit of the evening. To end on a final frame of her smiling. Sure it was selfish. Frank wasn’t a good person. Hadn’t gone to plan though. Sophie was a smart girl. Evenings like this, when it came to Frank, were rare, signs of a change. She had predicted a break-up, and from a certain point of view she was right. Whilst excused, Sophie had started to cry, and when Frank had returned, Sophie was no longer smiling and had decided to be the one to leave. If Frank was going to throw his life away on Turtle, why fight? Show strength and be the separator, right? Frank stared at Sophie as she began her goodbye. The Turtle kicked in. What he saw in that final frame, as everything stopped, was of a young woman, tears streaming, lips quivering, looking away. That last taste of eternity, bitter. He couldn’t turn away.
[TONE: Bleak Reflection]
Adjusting The Moon’s Brightness Settings By Matthew R. Wright The moon lay dead, shattered into uncountable pieces, amongst the stars and the night’s sky. We all remember why. She held a special love for the moon. It was her namesake.
She was Luna, and now she was alone. She mourned, harder than anyone else.
She’d been teaching herself to NEVER look up, the hurt too painful, but she simply couldn’t stop. When she slept, which was often, she’d struggle to rest without her moon. Since birth, it was always an open-window away. Its light would always beam down with its perfect glow, and send her into some deep and peaceful sleep. Luna, now an adult of twenty-five, had to purchase those ugly black-out curtains, for what she saw out those windows led to her unbearable grief.
Curtains closed, it was a different darkness that now surrounded her, with a strange stillness. Haunted, by the lingering presence that once beamed from behind those curtains.
It was her mother, who had planted that seed, that love of the moon. How she nurtured that love – nights in the garden, glow-in-the-dark night’s sky decorations, something they shared. She always told her story, Luna’s mother, a tale of a single parent living in such a big city, being pregnant but alone. How, on the night that Luna was born, her mother had opened up her window for fresh air and beheld that peaceful silent beauty the moon provided, and how it calmed her, how it kept her company through that long and exhausting night. The moon had been a constant presence to both Luna and her mother in that moment and in the years and moments that came after. But her mother had been gone for a year, and the moon only a few weeks.
She stroked at the generated image from her iPad, a 3D rotating model of her once-whole moon, spinning away in artificial peace. Its brightness burning her eyes. Luna gripped her bed sheets tightly, trying not to burst into tears again.
She was Luna, and now she was alone.
No-one else could ever understand.
- female adult
- audiobook
*Say something you think would fit*
[TONE: It's comedic but read completely seriously, as if you are unaware of the joke]
Hey!
Food for thought. Imagine for a moment a way to be able to keep the parts of you that make you incredible. The winning parts of you. Your charming personality, your sense of humour. Imagine you could secure them in-place, unmoving, unchanging, locked-IN, so to speak.
Why fix what isn’t broken?
Imagine you could, then, lock-OUT the parts of yourself that aren’t so great, the losing parts, the
unsuccessful parts. These may be your intolerences, your bad-habits, UNPOPULAR political opinions.
The parts of yourself that you know you can’t change, the parts you and others can’t stand.
How much of yourself would you KEEP? How much would you lock away?
Want to find out?
…
Become that FOREVER YOU
FOREVER YOU is innovative and cutting edge. A service that allows you to be the you that everybody enjoys, the version of you that you know the world deserves to see.
Why settle for the version of you that’s TRIGGERED by fears or anxieties?
Why put up with YOUR mental-health problems?
Why allow yourself to cry or hurt or feel anything you don’t want to feel?
Why run the risk of being misunderstood or citicised?
Get in early, DO what we’ve DONE
LOCK IN OR LOCK AWAY.
All you need to do is sign up, we’ll take care of the rest.
We’ll book you in for a VERY MINOR invasive surgery of your behavioural and emotional control centre.
We’ll implant our E-Seed safely and securely. No risk.
We’ll even collect you.
…
Our scientists know EXACTLY what they’re doing.
Our labs are… assessed. Our technology is FDA… registered.
Trust us to help you realise the real you that hides behind it all.
If you find yourself being unliked by your peers. If you feel let down by your choices or responses. If you find yourself disagreeing with your government or figures of authority. Connect with us.
You are the sum of your parts, why not make it the best parts?
Trust us
You’ll never need to change
Perfect yourself
Create that FOREVER YOU
Click the link below.
FOREVERYOU.GOV
- english
- androgynous
*Say something you think would fit*
[TONE: Observant]
Deep. An endless forever kind of deep. It rejected light and sound. No-one remembered when or how it was found. It just was. I blamed the current government. Located at the dead end of just about everywhere, everyone had visited the hole in the ground at least once. I knew of a woman that visited it everyday after her divorce and laughed into the empty space.
The sun had set on my life long ago. I slept standing, in uniforms and conversations. Existed in the same way a discarded Dr Pepper Can exists. Just there. Just waiting to be replaced with Coke.
The evidence locker. The forget-about-it hole. The place where the lost things go. It had many names and many purposes. I had found myself there. Amongst its many daily visitors. Joined one of the miles-long queues and waited. Ahead was a man with bags of dead-batteries. Ahead of him someone pushed a shopping-cart full of expired food. Behind me was a woman holding an urn. Behind her was someone with a box of hard-drives. Everyone had their reason to be there. Things always found a way of getting ‘lost’ here.
Hours passed and in my queue I had reached its side of the rim. I watched the man throw the shopping-cart in its entirety into the hole. Heard him sigh with relief.
We all shuffled forward a bit.
The moment had come.
Reached deep into my coat and took out the large industrial garbage-bag and shook it open. I placed it onto the dirt ground and stepped inside. Pulled the two cords to close the bag around me. Surrounded by darkness I waited to hear the batteries-guy too sigh with relief with what he had now ‘lost’ inside the hole.
Three large hops brought my feet peaking over the edge. I repeated the last words my father had said to me before he left to collect his Amazon order “If you ever find an endless hole in the ground, that’s where you’ll find my love for you.”
I leant forward and fell in.
I love you Dad.
*Say something you think would fit*
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