Thursday afternoons are my favourite afternoons. I push my key into the door, discover only silence and then bask in it. To be honest, the reality is a little less graceful than that but still, on afternoons like this, I am the King and Luke is free. We stumble into the house, drop our disguises and open our mouths to the sweet, sweet taste of Captain Crunch. As our stomachs begin to pity us, the television gives its performance. Maybe Batman is on, maybe SpongeBob is on or maybe even Thomas the Tank Engine is on… no matter the show, we watch. Luke watches because it makes him happy and I watch because it makes him happy.
The beginning of the news is our warning. He soon bashes on the door, expecting it to bow down but everyone knows that it only does that on special occasions. I pick myself up from the big armchair, his armchair, and pace towards the entrance of my Kingdom. As soon as I twist that handle though, it is no longer my kingdom. Continue Reading
That day I arrived I could see it in your eyes. It was pure impurity. You hated me. I stepped into your world, ripped down all of the walls and took the attention you held. I didn’t mean to though. It was the first time that I had met him. Your Dad was now mine. The man that had guarded you for twelve years, the man that had invested his entire spirit into your upbringing, he was now mine. I call upon the moment you denied such a reality, the morning you forced me to the ground. At first it was your eyes which nested your anguish, but now… it was your fists. Day by day you diminished my body. Each punch gave birth to new emotions. I didn’t think it was possible for a boy of my age to hold the feelings I held. You changed all of that. One punch… I question my wrongdoings, two punches… tears saturate my pillow and three punches… I turn on myself. I often thought about fleeing but I knew that I couldn’t. Nobody else wanted me. Continue Reading
Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to take something that isn’t yours? You must have had a pretty shit Mother because you took me. I wasn’t yours. I don’t know who I belonged to exactly… but it wasn’t you. It doesn’t matter anymore. You still took me from my house when I was watching cartoons. I miss cartoons. They reminded me that I was a child… you remind me that I’m tight. I have never given such thought to someone the way I have to you. I want to take your black hair and rip it from your scalp. Maybe I’ll smile like you’re always telling me to. I want to run a knife across your crotch and watch as your eyes widen. Maybe I’ll let out a giggle or two. I want to dig at your chest and see what I have always known. There is no heart in that body of yours… just an endless supply of semen. I must get rid of it all. We can’t have another one of you running around. I’m sick of these third legs sticking themselves in places they are not welcome. That’s rather satisfying actually. I still know what is wrong and you my dear Johnny are wrong.
If you haven’t yet tortured yourself with the latest episode of ‘The Walking Dead’, I suggest abstaining from this article. However, if you did indeed watch it, firstly I want to offer you my condolences and secondly, my honest thoughts.
I grew up with horror films. Judge my parents all you want but I have always been infatuated by evil. I think I was about nine when I watched the first ‘Saw’ instalment. That being said, no horror film could have prepared me for the absolute fuckery that the season 7 premiere of ‘The Walking Dead’ displayed. Continue Reading