The storyteller’s maniacal contract of retribution

I present here four stories each of 100 words. One of them was supposed to be submited for Lily Childs Friday Prediction but due to some techinal difficulties I didn’t meet the deadline. All credit for the chosen words which are Riddle, Hook and Venus goes to her. Two of them are horror as requested.

First attempt at this, not sure if I do it properly or not.

Anyways here you go, and I hope you enjoy them.


 I sit on a bench in a park, reading her letter. Wild leafs chase each other as the old, nortth wind blows, but I keep staring at the words she wrote

With love and all, Venus”.

My eyes widen.

She never loved me.

Her eyes never looked at me, her lips never spoke to me.

A corpse is simply not capable of such…

I am motionless.

A strong blow steals her words from my hand, taking them on a journey far away.

Nevertheless the message is engraved in my mind.

I’ve already bitten the hook and will play her game.

* * *


The two figures walked guided by the light in the sky that was Venus. One of them moved faster ignoring its companion.

“Slow down Lavi!” a male’s voice hissed in the night.

She stopped under a street light, half her face in shadow, the other in fear and tears.  He took her hand.

“We need to think this over…”

“No! I’ve decided. We’re giving the cord, the needle and the hook to the Riddle. It’s the only way Karem.”

Her breath felt warm on his cheek. He saw determination behind the fear. Karem nodded and they continued towards the mansion.



- Tell us another one Wendy! – shouted the pirates gathered up around the little girl in pajamas. She looked at their scary faces, all grown man with beards, bad teeth and ruffled hair, but with eyes filled with child’s curiosity, and felt more important. Grownups usually didn’t care much about fairy tales and once they’ve become lawyers or doctors they’d completely forgotten them. But not these. They wanted to hear more. She glanced and Captain Hook and he smiled at her.

-         Have you ever heard of Venus? – The pirates shook their heads- Listen to this riddle-tale then…



The Crimson Joker hung his last deception on the free hook swinging melancholically from the ceiling.

He turned on heels, humming a lullaby of deformed nightmares and walked towards the tied up girl on the floor.

The bells on his ragged hat accompanied his every step with a single, dull “ring”.  The Joker grinned at her, and licked his lips with a tongue made out of thousand words.  He kneeled before the child of the one who tricked him.

Triumph, at last!

A vulture with a smirk he said:

-         Daughter of Venus, allow me to ask you one riddle.

Truth about terror

Friday flash time :) 

Enjoy this short piece telling you the

Truth about terror

These damn rope handcuffs are killing me.

I feel like they’ve literally grown with my skin, making my wrists bleed constantly.

I can imagine how my flesh peels with every deeper touch.

I can even smell the scent of dead meat on the rope. How pathetic.

Every movement is another wave of torment.

For how long am I struggling to rid of them I cannot tell… it feels like eternity.

After every attempt I can tell the handcuffs have tightened.

I breathe out a desperate sight, allowing one more stinging sensation to take over and shake me.

My whole body experiences these spasms of agony. I can’t ignore their momentum torture nor can enter some sanctuary in my head.

Becoming accustomed is a myth.

Once the pain has reached unbearable state it remains like that, to make sure pain is all I know.

Slowly I’m becoming embraced in this torture sensation, blind and deaf.  Will it devour me entirely?

I’m scared I will be forever captive in this terror delirium.

Time has stopped existing, completely forgetting about me, leaving me here do decay.

Nevertheless I keep some hope for salvation in my shattered consciousness.

And it makes my brain tick once again in my need to figure out a way to get the handcuffs off, to untie the rope before I go insane. Before I cry out, beg for mercy and give up.

Maybe, just maybe this last time, if I try this…

He turned to the left cursing in his sleep, for a moment colliding troubled dream with blurry reality. He swore again, something more of a mumble and removed the tight bracelet Amy had given him few years back. Why he still had it, he couldn’t tell.

Sentiment perhaps?

He tossed it across the room still half asleep, half awake.

Then he switched position and continued to sleep, freed and dreamed of some beautiful and distant Caribbean beach.


Passing on what was given


Last Tuesday I was given a very lovely award- Liebster Blog Award.

For that honor I am to thank Jack Holt.

Jack is one of the first people whose blog I’ve read and really loved and enjoyed every single story. He is a wonderful writer, blogger and friend. I think he is making a pretty good breakthrough with his 101 fiction stories, which are fantastic by the way.

This award was a surprise to me, and it is truly an honor to have been put beside these brilliant writers! For that again I thank you Jack, and am glad you have found something you like in my wacky stories.

Now for the Liebster Award itself:

The Liebster Blog Award originated in Germany
(Liebster means “favourite” or “dearest” in German)
In accepting this award, the recipient agrees to:
1. Show your thanks to the blogger who gave you the award by linking back to them.
2. Reveal your top 5 picks for the award and let them know.
3. Post the award on your blog.
4. Bask in the love from the most supportive people in the blogosphere.
5. And, lastly – have fun and spread the karma!

Do indeed spread this wonderful tradition and have fun while you’re at it!

I did have a bit of though job deciding whom to pass the award to, and that was simply because I do enjoy so many blogs, so many writers and their work. But I will give credit to those who I’ve been enjoying a lot recently. Here it goes:

1. Morgen Bailey- Morgen’s blog is wonderful as a whole, but here I will be specific on one section of it- Flash Fiction Friday. That is one place of multiple genres, a taste for everyone and I do enjoy reading the stories posted. I couldn’t help myself but to give the award to Morgen, thus giving it to all whose stories appear in the blog.

2. Nerine Dorman- I’ve been introduced to Nerine’s works very recently, but her stories are incredibly gripping, rich and simply wonderful to read. I will continue reading in the future! You should check them too!

3. Icy Sedgwick-Author of many wonderful stories, different genres but mostly horror I think. Great fun to read and get chills!

4..Sonya Clark- Once I set a foot into the magical, musical world of Sonya and took a few more steps into it I pulled a chair and decided to stay in.  Always pleased to read her stories.

5. Emma Newman-Nice lady, author of the amazing series the Split Worlds which I love now! And plus that she is a Neil Gaiman fan.

Heh wow, this has turned into a feminine award giving! But what the heck :) I really like all these blogs and the stories in them. No regrets there.

And that is all from me- am passing it to you 5 ! ;)

The things I do for love

Saturday flash fic with a very short horror story!


The things I do for love

-         Meowww!

He looked down at his cat.

-         I can’t give you more Fluffs.

There was another persistent long and loud meowing, more of a low grow with an oddly disturbing ring to it.

He gave a glance to the red eyes of his beloved Fluffs, then turned to cut another finger from the bleeding body on his kitchen counter and threw it in the metal cage.

Strangely altered

Friday Flash story is with you, this time with a bit of a sci-fi theme in it. 



 Strangely altered

The hunter drew the string of his bow.

He aimed precisely at the drinking water deer, breathless, only counting in mind before the release.

The tip of the arrow was sharp, hungry for blood.

The hunter breathed out and freed the tin string.

The arrow flew straight.

Something flashed and the hunter couldn’t see his prey.

To be sure he took out his knife and ran to finish off the deer.

When he reached the spot, his dinner was gone and so was the arrow. He searched for blood but only found running hoof prints dug into the dirt. Baffled and confused, and with an empty stomach he left the woods.

His arrow was still flying.

And it was gaining speed.

A hole ripped through time and space, opening a portal, and the arrow developed a very peculiar trajectory.

It went through Aristotle’s Physics Book VII with a loud hhhrraaapppp leaving a big hole in it; knocked the poison off Hannibal’s hand; hit the falling from a tree apple; broke the lock of a zoo cage holding a particular type of mammal known as wolf and also tiger; pierced through the heads of a dozen strangely dressed man throwing chests overboard; then it entered a final portal, before finding its stop by hitting a solid white wall and breaking into few burning pieces.

-         We messed up big time didn’t we doc? – Asked the young assistant taking the tip of the arrow with a metal tong.

-         I’m afraid we did… – replayed the doctor staring at his computer screen, while red alert sounded throughout the whole laboratory.

Bunraku for the warrior: Under the sakura tree

Friday Flash! 

A love for Japanese culture, theatre, music and anime!

Here it is:


Bunraku for the warrior: Under the sakura tree


The wind gently blew through the fragile blooming branches of the cherry blossom tree. Its pink flowers danced in the air for a little while before falling on the covered with white moss phlox ground.

Yoshiro slowly pulled out his katana. The blade cut one tiny pink petal into half. His black eyes were fixated on the figure before him.

The Dragon Lord Ryuu was smiling at him. His playful grin showed sharp, demonic teeth. His eyes glimmered in yellow; half of his face was covered in golden scales.

His black katana was already in his right hand, its tip resting on the flowered ground; the blade reflecting the other man’s figure.

The smooth touch of the shamisen* accompanied by taiko drums filled the vast surrounding with ancient motives.

Yoshiro took battle position. He couldn’t risk. He raised his sword holding it with both hands. His grip was strong.

Ryuu tilted his head back and yelled at him:

-         Sa! Kakatte koi!**

Yoshiro ran towards the Dragon Lord with a roar.

They fought with equal skills, performing a dance of sharp blades and fast moves.

Neither of them could win.

As the sun threatened to set soon, Yoshiro stepped back, breathing heavy.

The dragon was not tired. He only hissed at his rival.

-         Are you afraid of a dragon little warrior? – He asked.

Yoshiro didn’t reply. He charged at Ryuu again.

But as he did something happened.

Ryuu’s body started twisting and growing large, becoming a blend between green and golden, shaping itself differently, transforming into a beast- a real dragon.

His nostrils burned hot air; his eyes were two yellow sapphires.

The demon- dragon laughed at him.

Yoshiro jumped back. His headband fell off.

Time slowed down as black eyes pierced into yellow with no fear.

A warrior does not feel fear.

Yoshiro closed his eyes and emptied his mind. Then he opened them and looked at the long narrow path leading down the valley, straight to the mountain covered in clouds- his way home.

Home he thought while removing his red plate armor and tossing it aside.

With the power of the wind captured on his blade, he made one final battle dance.

His body moved light, his mind was clear, his katana forged with fury.

The Dragon Lord Ryuu roared one last time and stroke with sharp golden nails.

A hit, a piercing sound, a choke, a fall, than nothing. Silence.

And silence was all there left on the little Sakura hill.

Yoshiro landed on the ground behind Ryuu’s back. His katana was crimson red with the color of the dragon’s blood.

He turned around with his hair in his eyes to only see nothing but a man lying on the ground, dead.

The battle was over.

Yoshiro had earned his returning home.

He smiled.


*           *            *


There were loud applauses.

Red confetti flew in the air as the two-faced puppet of the Dragon Lord fell down.

-         And the legend of Yoshiro the righteous ended with a victory! The man who searched for freedom- The shamisen player on the right pulled the strings gently and dramatically- found his way home, becoming a hero!- Finished the chanter and there were more applauses.


The Bunraku for the warrior ended.




*shamisen is a three- stringed Japanese musical instrument played with a plectrum called a bachi.

** “Sa” is usually an interjection used before some actions or at the top of a sentence. It is used when inviting someone (as what’s the case in the story); in hesitation on a response; when expression determination; when surprised, pleased or confused.

Kakkate koi!”   in the story means “Come at me!” in meaning of come attack me. It is often used this way in many Japanese movies and animes.

Bunraku is a form of traditional Japanese puppet theatre.

The Island

Flash Fiction Saturday!

 A piece inspired by not a few books, and same not a few movies/ tv shows.

Enjoy :)  



 The Island

Waves splashed somewhere very near. They were probably just calmly touching the shore, but to the man lying on the hot beach they sounded like falling thunders. Salty water was burning on his lips, and tiny pieces of sand were like pinned to his cheek.

It was hard for him to open his eyes.

The sun was right above his head, making him feel even more sleepy and tired.

He put all of his remaining power to raise his head and open his eyes.

After a few seconds of blurry pictures his vision cleared but what he saw was not what he’d hoped to see.

Paranoia and fear made his heart beat faster than an African drum. He stood on elbows and knees with water dripping from his ragged clothes.

The wild life of the melancholic jungle greeted him again.

The same jungle.

Someone blocked the sunlight and reached a hand to him:

-         I told you there is no escaping from this island Vergil. You’d only kill yourself trying. Come now. I’ve cooked some meat for today. For your returning.

Vergil opened his mouth and closed it again.

He stood up with shaking feet and gave the sea an unspoken pray. Hope was all there left for him.

Then stumbling, he followed the other man.

The Collector

Flash Fiction Friday with a story about a different type of collector. 

Here it is. Enjoy! 



The Collector

He carefully unlocked the mahogany vitrine and slowly opened its glass wings. The sun shined directly on the upper shelf, playing its usual tricks on the trophies aligned there. He liked calling them trophies. They made him feel happy, somehow rewarded, even blessed.

He gasped like many times before amazed by their magical glamour. Then he reached a hand and gently touched the surface of one of them with the tip of his finger. It was cold and smooth under his skin.

It was perfect. He knew it was perfect. It had its own individuality, its own specific shine and content just like each one of the trophies. The sunshine got caught in its glass covering for a bit longer, burning like fire, chasing itself like sunflower petals blown by the wind in the summer. There were fields of golden crops in it, under a sky wide and blue and silent. The smell of freshly baked bread touched his nostrils, reminding him of some forgotten home.

He remained entranced by that beauty just a bit more.  A warm feeling nested inside him until his eyes moved away and focused on the next trophy.

It had the color of the ocean. It was the ocean; deep, sad, distant, with the scent of many memories, of thousand autumn nights, and the taste of salt and strong scotch. He could almost hear the water splashing into black, solid rocks.

Cold soaked into his bones and made him shiver.

He bended a little bit and moved his sight away from that haunting vision of a place far, far away.

Now his eyes were looking at the bottom shelf.

He licked dry lips.

Temptation grew like a little monster in him, reaching out to touch, to grab the forbidden fruit. He accepted it, and allowed himself to take out one trophy.

He held it on his eye level, trying to breathe less not to steam the glass.

This one was green, but not entirely. There was grey concrete. He felt it like concrete. Like children’s playground in a garden, with crawling flowers behind the wooden benches.

He felt the loneliness. Yet it was a sweet one. In the blink of an eye he almost felt himself there. He heard the crying sound of a swing making the shadow of some child dance and jump on the black asphalt underneath.

He sat down leaving the trophy beside him. Tears ran down his cheeks.

-         So powerful! So beautiful! – He whispered to himself. He couldn’t speak out more words. His voice was trembling.

The feeling from all those emotions being breathed into him was simply amazing.

He looked down and glanced at his trophy, at the little glass globe he’d left on the wooden floor.  Then he slowly stood up and returned it to its given place.

For a moment he just stood there continuing to adjust it carefully. A second later he took a step back and looked at his precious collection of glass globes.

He couldn’t help but smile.

There all the glass spheres glimmered, shinned and whispered something in remembrance to the many lost lives, dreams, desires and memories which were entrapped in them; they were all there for him to drink from,  maintaining his existence, making himself feel human again. It was like having the world and its best emotions on your shelf.

He closed his eyes letting the euphoria surround him.

He felt complete now.

Pleased he opened his eyes and wiped the remaining trace of the dried tears from his face.

The clock on the wall raised a ticking voice which resonated in the room. He looked at it.

Time has slipped away again! How fast it flies he thought to himself while closing the wings of the vitrine. He putted the key in and turned it two times.

His face reflected like a ghost in the glass.

It had an even wider grin.