#mindfuck

When he emerges into consciousness, he is only aware of the darkness sheltered by his eyelids. He recognizes it as a darkness permeated only by the abstract designs from his mind, a distinct black unlike the bright blindness when the eyelids shield an outside light. He experiences nothing else.

Samantha was a young, pretty, active girl with a positive outlook on life. Above all, she was down-to-earth, didn't believe in any ghosts, phantoms, or other such things, and had a very analytical mind. She loved long forest hikes, which relaxed and calmed her down greatly, allowing her to rest and escape from everyday problems. That day, right after finishing her lectures, she decided to head down to the river. She packed her backpack, put on a denim jacket, denim pants, and sturdy, heavy…

Year 157, Near the end of the fall season. I'm not sure what day it is. I am a regular guy who lives in the peaceful village of "Unut." And today, I am helping the village elder by chopping some logs for him. "But he's not going to pay me shit." I said as I swung my axe. I'm only helping him because he's like a father to me. I was a little child when my family abandoned me. Yet he took me in and raised me to this age. "And I am going to do his chores for the rest of his lifetime."

"Skin touched skin." "Speak!" "Hands touched a pink patch of skin." "Speak! Please speak!" "Hands touched a pink patch of skin—a swarm of interjections poured out as a pink rash and loud holes, meaningless holes in space." "That was in the beginning, right? In the beginning?"

Mama was holding the goat by the horns while wearing garden gloves, still avoiding touching the horns with bare skin. “Untie those,” she said referring to the rope used to tie the goat to the column. I began to unfasten the rope from the goat’s neck. It started to jerk its head, uncomfortable with how she was being handled. “Don’t touch the horns,” her voice stern but low.

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…

Call me tasteless but I enjoyed running Southern Fried Murder. Growing up, I loved horror movies, especially slashers, but as I got older I became more drawn to true crime… To the real life monsters walking among us. Like most people, I was initially drawn to the sensationalized Bundys and Dahmers of the world but the local cases scared me more. I became more intrigued by the murders and vicious crimes that happened in my neck of the woods here in the American South. These were also the crimes…

I awoke to the sound of dripping water, it was coming from somewhere in the kitchen, the open door just a few feet away. The smell hit me, just as pungent as it was when I went to sleep. My eyes started to water at the pure concentration of the odor, and the nausea set in. How long had it been since I arrived here? A week? A month? It sure felt like forever, but time was useless for me, since I knew however long it had been wouldn’t affect how long it would be until I could leave.

I’d had them ever since I was a kid. I can remember being incredibly self-conscious about them, hiding them in my pockets under books and bags. The kids at school never said anything to my face, but I knew they were laughing behind my back. I remember asking my parents to take me to the doctor, to get them checked out. The growths on my hands seemed to be the elephant in the room back then, since they’d just say I was fine and change the subject. But I knew better.

It was 9:30 P.M on a Sunday night and I had only just left work. There was a mountain of paperwork sat at my desk that had to be completed for Monday morning, but I knew that it couldn't be done. I'd already given up my entire weekend, so it was difficult to find the energy to worry. I had grown bored of my job now anyway, so I didn't really care what my boss said; I just needed a beer. I wandered out of the office doors, through the car park and made my way down the darkened road. Then like…

I was about twelve years old when my parents sent me to that shit hole. They were so determined to get me to camp. Not just that camp but really any camp. I took it as code for “We’ll-be-at-work-all-week-and-we-don’t-trust-you-alone”. My parents showed me the brochure, it actually looked kind of fun! The picture on the front of the brochure had slides, activities, and really anything that a twelve year old kid would want in a camp. It was pretty legit. The kids all seemed to be having fun in…

Autumn was just beginning in the city of Hynensborg, one of the darkest and rainiest periods of the year. It is also a time when young people look for ways to kill the boredom, often gathering together around a campfire to tell each other dark stories. A group of chemistry students and friends—Noah, Freyr, and Vidar—decided to spend one of the September evenings of the newly begun weekend in precisely this way... Free from the worries and cares of daily life, they decided to head to a nearby…

I sit up with a jolt, disorientated. If it weren’t for the sensation of my eyelids coming together to shield my eyes, I would not be able to determine whether or not they were open. The inky blackness presses In from all angles, suffocating me. You’d think after all the time I’ve spent trapped in this murky prison I’d have adjusted. No, it’s still quite a shock to be released from the depths of unconsciousness, only to be greeted by an infinite plain of shadows.

I made a mistake. Maybe I should say it in a way that conveys how critical the mistake was— I fucked up really bad. Funny thing is that doesn't truly describe the severity of it either. I guess I'll start by letting you know that I am an alcoholic. I go to work every day and have never lost a job or relationship due to my drinking, but I feel like I must drink just to feel normal. My alcoholism is simply defined as me enjoying being drunk more than sober.

My girlfriend Amelie and I have packed for our vacation to Paris, she was excited to hear that when I surprised her on our 1 year anniversary. Our flight to Paris got her more ecstatic and her love for me was blossoming ever more slightly; I know we’ve been together only for a year but I’m going to propose to her in Paris, in a fancy restaurant and I can’t wait for her response and reaction. The flight went for 9 hours and I didn’t sleep at all, though Amelie slept soundly while I cuddled her.

One of the first memories I could recall was my father leaving the family. He didn’t speak a word to us, just walked toward the groves. I never saw him after that day. The part that disturbed me most was how everyone else took this. They all just stood there, watching on with knowing eyes. As if they knew that this day would come eventually.

Truth and trust are like a disappearing faith within some people now a day. People’s minds are clouded with darkness. Needing a lie to cover up their mistakes. With all this technology, people can have all different ways of hindering the truth from coming out. Think of it as this…. The mind covers the truth, as the shadows cover the light. The darkness in people’s minds is an unknowing truth, a truth that has no trust. Trust is like this; A lie that has become the truth…. It’s a losing battle.

“Where do you live, man?” I asked, reaching out to grab the Skol can left by the window. “Cuiabá.” “Man… that’s a beautiful city.” “You’ve been there?” “Yeah. Made a lot of deliveries in the capital.” “So why do you want to go to Nova Esperança?” “For my grandmother’s wake…” “I’m sorry, kid. Losing a relative right at the start of the year…” The young man lowered his head.

Have you ever had an experience that suggested someone else was in your house, and just thought “I don’t wanna know” and left it? Sometimes, fear of the unknown just seems like the preferable option than facing a real, concrete danger. Normally it’s nothing, though. One time, the beeper function of my wireless housephone went off, when I was the only one home. It could only be called from the living room. Another time, I swear someone took some change from my desk. They’re all probably just…

I’ve been thinking about that ever since. Weekend census was low. That’s the whole context you need. Mostly post-op and trauma overflow, half the lights dimmed in the corridors, the particular quiet of a floor that’s running on minimum staff. I was doing mobility checks alone, which is normal on a slow weekend. You develop a rhythm. Room to room, clipboard, chart check, get them moving if they can move, document, next one.