#mindfuck

When people who died and come back to life say they saw a bright light, they are full of shit. It’s not necessarily their fault though. The mind has a difficult time figuring out things it has never experienced, therefore the mind cannot understand. I’m one of the special, select few who have experienced death and rebirth…often.

Ralphie had just received a letter that irrevocably changed his life. A letter intended for him to receive almost ten years ago, though it had only just made it to him now, lost by unforeseeable forces of time. The letter itself wasn’t entirely out of the ordinary, it had been written by a girl who had once loved him and whom- though Ralphie wouldn’t openly admit it- he still loved quite a lot.

Since around 1999, I’ve lived across the street from an old sawmill. It’s sort of assumed that the family who still own and operate the mill have owned the hundred or so acres it sits on since the beginning of time. The owner’s sons, now into their 30’s, have always sort of been “wild” boys. They like old muscle cars, dirt bikes, fireworks, things like that. They even built part of the largely-unused land behind the sawmill proper into a motocross track, just building up the dirt to make ramps,…

The darkness. It's all there is. This deep, endless black that would make a moonless night seem blindingly bright. Never would I have imagined that such a darkness as this could exist. But it does, and now it's all I know. I stopped searching for the light a long time ago. It's kind of funny. . . Because I actually thought I knew darkness before. I was wrong. The pain.

Sam loved owning pets for as long as he could remember. After his son and wife were killed by a drunk driver, he was left emotionally and mentally scarred. He tried seeing psychologists, but the medicine they prescribed did nothing to ease his pain. All the pills managed to do was make him nauseous and cloud his memory. However, Sam discovered that pets have helped fill the void that the tragic accident left in his heart. Sam had failed to protect his family, so the idea of caring for and…

10:00 A.M. (Tuesday Morning)

Moving at the end of my high school career is not what I imagined. My mother and father insisted that we move a few towns a way. Far enough to escape poor memories, yet close enough to the ones we wanted to keep. The town we reside in now has a decent enough track record, and the crime rate seems to be pretty low. My father has become so quiet now, so sallow. I swear, my mother's complexion will never come back.

It’s been nearly twenty years since I had a conversation that would change my life. Twenty years since that boy came into my office and told me perhaps the most fantastical story I would hear all my life. A story that’s stuck in my mind so clearly all of these years. Of course, I didn’t believe it then; but now, after so many years, after the life that I’ve lived since that conversation, I cannot help but think back on that day with guilt and regret, and now finally fear.

I used to love Lucid dreams but I could only seem to realise I'm dreaming when it's a particularly scary dream, I can always fly away from the threat. That's how I know I'm dreaming, I can then stay and control the narrative. Now I just force myself to wake up. It started with rules. I'm not sure how I know about them, how they were made up or who by.

“So what’s your story, morning glory?” he asked her, staring into her big brown eyes. They were like two magnets pulling him in. Of all the juke joints in town, he had to walk into this one. Where he would see this exotic gold skinned beauty in a dress that could cure cancer. It was a red dress. One that had seen its share of blood and lives fucked up beyond redemption. If dresses could talk, this one could write an encyclopedia of misery.

You know those sounds you hear when no one is home? Those sounds only you hear. When you’re alone. I do. I hear them everyday. The creaking. The noises. The paranoia of my mind playing tricks on me, but is it really?

When I woke up in the morning, I knew something was off. Pretty soon I realized that I was missing a tooth. Upper set, one of the front ones. I'm not a particularly vain person, but losing a tooth upset me a lot. My anxiety flared and my mind exploded with reasons why my tooth could've fallen out. Was it because I only brushed my teeth once a day on the weekends? Or was it something with my gums? I went through the day with my upper lip curled over my teeth and my mind filled with every…

I can't stand when someone is walking behind me or simply that feeling of being watched or followed. It’s not pleasant at all, and personally for me, it’s unbearable. Let me begin by saying that the reason I practically hate it is due to the fact that's how I felt that during most of my childhood. All of the events that I will tell you actually happened so you probably will understand that for protection purposes (yourself, my family and mine) I will avoid providing any names or locations.…

The magician strides onto the stage, tall and elegant, wearing a bowler cap and a black blazer to match his pants and suspenders. He smiles, an empty smile. One that has been repeated every day for a different batch of little whiny brats. The magician raised his hands and the children continued yammering away. The twerps didn't even notice him. He hated going after the clowns. But this time, something is different. One child, a little girl wearing a dark dress stares intently at the magician.…

The thick gray clouds blocked out most of the light giving the street a dark appearance and making my heart race. It was a strange feeling, to be so afraid with no conscious reason to be afraid. I walked quickly watching as the clouds swirled and moved in odd patterns that I’ve never seen before. I was used to New England winters and the cold that could creep in unexpectedly, but this was different. The wind was fierce, but not cold. The clouds were uncommon, the dulled daylight that managed to…

One There were originally nine of us scheduled for the spelunking expedition, but Murphy’s Law dictated that two of the group had to pull out due to various issues. It was a disappointment having fewer members to share in the experience, but then again, there were benefits – less logistical problems, more space and so on. I, personally, wasn’t that affected by it; while most of us were close friends, I hadn’t known those two well.

I know you're not going to believe me, but I've decided that I don't care at this point. I need to get this out. Whether you believe me or not, this has to get out.

I'd like to tell you a disturbing story I heard from people I know or have met. I was living in the southern part of Sydney four years ago in a big house. One day, I advertised to share the house so I could save some money. The next day, a young Indian-looking guy around thirty came to the house. However, he wanted to leave quickly after I showed him the spare room.

It was a late night, and I could not remember where it was that I had been prior, but I remember that I had escaped from extreme violence- (perhaps the reason I couldn't remember?) In retrospect, I do, honestly, remember what happened prior, but at the time I didn't, so for the sake of letting you experience the narrative through MY shoes, I did not, in fact, remember.

Hope. It really is the most powerful yet dangerous and cruel of human traits. It forces us to defy logic, sometimes at great cost. Other times it guides us through treacherous waters and back into the arms of our loved ones. We cannot live without being in its presence yet we can die tragically while being draped in it. It is truly a paradox.