#madness

"Guys, you gotta come see this." Cruz had just popped his head into the cabin where Tiago and I were playing cards. He had a wild look in his eye that Cruz only got when he laid down a winning hand or his horse won big at the track. As we were currently floating in the middle of the ocean on a crab boat, I knew what he wanted to show us had nothing to do with racehorses.

"Vincent, I got a job for you!" someone shouted from the other side of the bathroom door. "For me!? Can't you give it to someone else!?" "They asked for you, it seems to be one of your clients!" "Damn it, I want to go on vacation for once." His colleagues started to laugh. "That's the downside of being famous in the business" yelled one of them over the showers noise.

Fun fact: There was a time when I was, technically speaking, a “Twitter artist”. Not in the sense that I was controversial or “corny”, as some people put it, but I was an artist with a Twitter account, and I witnessed a lot of the petty drama and general fuss that came with being on art Twitter. I’ve long since deleted my account for a whole cocktail of reasons, but the incident I’m about to describe definitely helped me in making my decision to leave.

One day, my mommy and daddy decided to buy a new house so we could move out of our apartment. Mommy had just given birth to my baby sister, Anna. She was nine months old, and I was five. My name is Leon.

I never saw the faces of the men who kidnapped me. I'd been too busy working when the gang of them burst through the front door. Like smoke from an explosion, the kidnappers spread through the entire building. They demanded victims and turned our world upside down searching for them. They didn't speak outside of grunted demands and language so blue that if you could see the words spilling from their mouths, it'd be a dam breaking.

Think about this for a second, when you delete a file, a video, an image, literally anything on the internet, where does it go? Is it technically still out there? Is it in the hands of someone else? Well, I sure as hell found out.

CONTENT WARNING This story contains implicit and explicit descriptions of suicide, depression, and mental health illnesses. Reader discretion is strongly advised. You have been warned. “Why?” That question has always stuck with me. Out of all the questions of mortals, reasoning appeals to me most. Why do the flowers sing as the breeze passes by? Why does the moon borrow and illuminate? Why is the agony of not knowing harsher than the truth? Why can a heart break without touch?

11:30 am. Dreary. Heartburn. Brain ache. Tired eyes giving way to a dull throbbing, but never drifting closed. We sat in silence around our monitors and typed, when suddenly, the office room silence was pierced by Lola’s break alarm. It blared its flat, electronic tone on repeat a few times until she stood up from her chair.

They all think it is wrong to be greedy but in my eyes it is not. So what if someone else goes without just for me to gain? THEY SHOULD HAVE WORKED HARDER DAMNIT! Everyone knows those who don't work end up poor and why should I care if someone was too lazy to work for what they wanted? But you can see it my way too cant you? the glorious gleam of coins jingling in your pocket? the crisp snap of a dollar wasted to satisfy your ever growing needs? the lavish means of living and the…

In the quiet of the night, I was not summoned. I was birthed the way mold takes root on bread—a silent growth feeding on whatever Clara left behind. The first thing I knew was the sound of her crying. It echoed through the house at three in the morning like a banshee's wail, filled with grief for her late husband, Mark.

I think Captain Gold is worried that I'm losing it. Sometimes I think I might be. I haven’t seen Marty for days. He was supposed to meet me at the Larrabee last night, but never showed. I’m starting to get very concerned. Casey is gone. I think I lost her a long time ago, but now she’s gone for good. It occurs to me that I’m jumping ahead of myself. I need to stop and recollect my thoughts. There’s a lot I don’t remember, and even more that I do, but it might not be true.

“Can you sign for this?” the impatient UPS driver said after handing me a small box. “I’m not expecting anything. Who’s it from?” They shrugged. “I just deliver ‘em, man. Maybe somebody out there wanted to surprise you with a gift.” I signed, and they headed to their next stop. I looked down at the box in my hands. There wasn’t a return address. Despite its size, the package was heavy.

Before my best friend's wedding, we rented a cabin in South Carolina from a company called Moose Estates. We stayed there a full week with four of our closest buddies who were the rest of the groomsmen. The cabin was situated near Redwood Lake, and a river named Cripple Creek fed into the lake about a half mile from the property. It really was a peaceful place. I remember lying in bed and being able to hear the river babbling along if I listened close enough. There was an eerie calmness that…

Jacky's Prince Of Dreams 1.5+ Psychic Crime Fiction by Andre Michael Pietroschek Disclaimer: No warranties!

I uncapped the red pen and added another "X" to our calendar. A small one, as not to take up more space than needed. After all, the box already had three others inside just like it. Who knew how many more we would have to add?

It started suddenly. Autumn was coming to an end, the weather was rapidly deteriorating. Busy streets turned into canals filled with icy water and debris. Thin streams ran along the dirty walls and mixed with the long-term patina of rust. An atmosphere of decay, a thick, viscous feeling.

Have you ever seen the flesh of a dead man so perfectly loose with decay that it may come off of his brittle old bones as easily as cutting soft cheese with a well honed knife? let me tell you son... it is a satisfying feeling that none have been able to replicate (at least from what I've seen in my years wandering this miserable rock we call home). now I know you will yelp on about some "oh but that's so horrible!" or maybe you will demand to know "what kind of fucked up mind thinks of such…

The sound of the gentle tapping of the rain on my window awakens me. Just by glancing over at the window I can see the dark autumn sky even though it must still be around noon. Slowly I get up from the couch, I must have dozed off for a minute or so. I walk over to my kitchen to see if there is anything to eat. Opening all the cabinets and finally the freezer, I discover that I'm all out of food. Damn, I forgot, it's grocery day today... and I still have to go out with this shitty weather.

DATE OF INCIDENT: 2306-04-29 REPORTING OFFICER: Captain L. Voss, Service No. 4071, District 9 LOCATION: BLACKGULL-9A-0102-THALASSA INCIDENT TYPE: ANOMALOUS EVENT INCIDENT SEVERITY: CRITICAL

1934 was a different time. Not just in Savannah, Georgia but in America. We didn't have many luxuries back then. Or much optimism, for that matter. Not when we were in the midst of The Great Depression.