Author Topic: Short Stories To Die By.  (Read 825 times)


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    • Frogg Corpse- Actor, Poet, & Vocalist.
Short Stories To Die By.
« on: November 05, 2015, 11:27:38 PM »
The Grinning Teeth -By: Frogg Corpse

I put the gun in my mouth then pulled the trigger, just to see what was inside my mind.
The bullet rolled beyond flesh and busted skull slivers. It rested; Nestled. Where the brain once thought dreamt. Beady slit eyes, milked into the flame steady focused by the candle it was holding therein.  It laid in Fetal resting,  cradled on the walls of my ears. Resonant sounds beamed inside...I could hear the flicking of flint. Sounds disarrayed in chaos, it was that buzzing again! Again in Hi-fidelity! That antenna noise was coming at me, and I wanted to make it all end...Twenty long years it rang. I'm beginning to think that it was coming from me. That even I could be emanating this alone? That is until recently I finally found out..

That It still kept smiling inside my head all these years, and It was bound in marble.

This Creature......

 It smiled outside my mind greeting to the sky. Its crackled mouth creases, lash grieviously towards the ceiling. Grinding; its teeth in grit. Holding onto my skull with lit candle, as the buckshot burst of my body slammed onto the desk.

With a cough, squeak and a giggle.. This little smiling grin crawled out of the back of my mind...
The lasting sound only remembered  in this moment ; was the chromatic humming of one lonely  air conditioner entwined with the gurgling motor of a distant lawn mower as I fired the shot gun into my mouth. I could hear the splash of small dripping footprints and splat's pattering across the desk of my last thoughts as this thing left my body. (  My hope for this ringing in my ears, to finally be over.  It is my desire that consumed the last  of me..) It emerged wisped from the peeled skin,  behind the folds of my ears with the dripping crimson it painted. It sneered.. It laughed , it giggled, it  bobbled  up and down like a piston in front of my twitching face at light speed. Vomiting the tiny cannon ball like shrapnel from the slug back at me as it seized. 

My blood pooled eyes saw the inching grain in the desk as the creature slammed down the hot wax  on the back of my head placing a candle upon the backing of my skull as it climbed out. It mocked and laughed, sticking it's lit vigil against my face,  it hopped down from the desk, running franticly around the room wielding  the lit zippo lighter that flickered in my brain as a spark of genius.

The unfortunate situation that dare occurred in this atrocious nightmare was that as I planned for my body to flat-line the ignition damage of the slug did not cause immediate fatality, but rather; instead maimed and mortally wounded me with the curse of life and still frozen sight in my last moments of my wishful death. I had failed to preform this incursion thoroughly"......I  still could witness...And I could still think....I could still feel...And My hands could write. And this was grueling, for every time I closed my eyes I saw it peering back, striking flint in the back of my visual cortex.

 I was left bloody and immobile  paralyzed unable to speak. It bobbled about the room setting the floor curtains ablaze. My eyes rolled around the peripheral room. Chairs, tables and papers loitered the air in a mass frenzy of destruction. Books blasted off the shelving. Pages flew, ripping out leather spines into combusting ash. This creature didn't place kinetic touch with its small hands and one foot frame upon these numerous items. The only item its little hands clutched and wrapped itself around was the tiny little zippo lighter in all of its butane glory. It blazed curtain tails and tore into linen. I could lastly hear the wreaking havoc in my living quarters as the ringing kept pounding in my empty space. It cleaned out the cabinet's, destroying trash cans collecting paperweights and giggling in murmur about "better minds better minds ,must live in better minds" as the ringing fainted dimmer...

It splashed along through the hallway collecting inanimate objects from rooms tearing away all in its path while running footprints of ink along the side of the walls as it made travelling trails. It giggled while it crammed collected paperweights and assorted foundries it claimed inside the back of my skull. In the last moments of my breathe taken. I was drowning as it crammed the weights into my gaping wound. Drowning in a puddle of my own splendor, choking down the blood that ran into mouth, it pooled from my eyes. As the ringing in my ear drums dissipated and my vision now completely gone, the heat of the room increased as I could feel the small tugs of my body being drug from the desk to the floor. My hand wouldn't stop it kept writing, I was a prisoner to the pen and this creature was the warden....

I soon sensed the feeling of more small fingers perching out of my hollowed wound. They Pushed out on wet skin jumping from inside my brain throwing the tinker toys and desk ornaments about the ground while pushing out my eyes. they skipped onto the wooden floor as my body tugged down the wood paneled hall toting pen and paper. The joints & folds of my arms and legs petrified. I couldn't move. I was overcome with dehydration and rigor mortis as the hot wax bubbled down my neck and I felt so hollow and dry,.... I Knew my skin was leathering out. This was the last sound I'd ever hear as an army of ankle biters propped my body upright in a dining chair facing the mirror. I couldn't scream no matter how hard I pushed the last of my air out through the gurgling blood.... they gnawed off my tongue and I too was leaking out as the room grew deaf.

 In the hallway they Replaced the candle upon the top of my head.  I felt the giggling chatter of a single word, "inspiration."

Well if that was inspiration, it didn't care, the imps climbed back inside the buckshot surface. Finger tips dipped and slipped in carbon matter. They stared into the mirror at themselves. Laughing through the empty holes of my lifeless rag-dolled carcass as the house began to smoke. the final Imp like Goblin entered my throat, pulling down and closing the mouths mandibles, gripping the teeth while dragging in it a piece of old war torn paper I wrote upon. They dashed in the empty eye sockets chanting, flicking the flint of their lighters setting it aglow within, giggling.

The hallway mirror rippled in silver liquid, ominous two rooted hands, shadow over slowly drawing all light away from the flame, leaving only the luminescence of the candle upon my head.  As the two hands pulled swiftly , dragging my mummified body into the rippling glass. Only the candle remained rolling to the hallway floor. Doused out by its own melting wax , The body wandered in the pitch black mirror.  In front of those shadowy hands,  It forces these lost soul's here to tap back on the glass for freedom...But only as a reflective warning to passers-by who wander these corridors of the hallway unwittingly stumbling upon this left behind artifact. It binds them here taking the place of a stolen soul for the place of a feeding one. A few weeks later after the incident, the house went up for sale I could feel the realtors foot steps in the mirror as the imps tugged at me....I'm just glad the ringing stopped.