Cool Lick by Phoenix Fiery

Man

Removing you from your frozen state
Long and hard
Running my warm my fingers along your firm length

slowly ripping your bindings releasing your full frozen glory
freed, I feel your hardness, slowly tracing every inch with my fingers

caressing you, feeling your firmness between my fingers.

Lips

sliding your coolness between my lips
gliding my wet tongue over your icy sweetness
You grown in length as I suck your splendid coolness
caressing it with my lips.
Sweet, coldness trickling down my throat

Tongue

as my hand grasps and my lips mold around your sticky
frozen hardness
Gobbling sweet girth, slipping you in and out between my lips
as I come to the brink of climax
and I finish you off, swallowing your sticky sweet wetness
And toss my ice pop wrapper in the trash.

Popscicle

*Kenj*

Phoenix Fiery Banner

 

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Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

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Mangia by Kim McDonald

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You come to me stiff and unyielding,

Tense, shattering under too much pressure

I know what to do to soothe you

Draw a hot steaming bath

Take you by the hand, guide you in.

Make sure you are soaking completely

In the lovely bubbling liquid,

Fragrant with the earthy oil I drizzle in

Around you.

I hum softly to you, massaging you

Gently as the oil and steam seep into you

You soften and sigh.

You are drowsy as I lift you out

You curl all up on yourself

Another drizzle of oil.

At my leisure I wrap you around my fork

Or decadently around my fingers

And slowly suck your long thin body down my throat

Satisfied..

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Original Poetry by Kim McDonald

Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

Slather by Richard Bell

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Piqué and pop my umami
More magic than a Swami
The scent it lingers on me
Oozes from me slowly
Slather the delight along
Caress it when undressed in song
The taste utopian to throngs
The flame it licks too long too strong
Turn around then turn again
Mark with an exquisite pain
Lights a city in the brain
More flavoursome when wild than tamed
Sizzle sweet my heated flesh
Melts inside the mouth when fresh
Sink inside a satiety wish
Like deep and long arousing kiss
The juices gasp and start to run
Hungry for another one
I lick my lips when I am done…
With my burger in its bun.

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Original poetry from Richard Bell

Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

Invisible David by Richard Bell

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She played with her dolls in yard with the pentagram wind chimes that lay in the soil by the pond
From under the stink of the film stuck upon it a voice whispered to her in lullaby tones
“I am invisible David, can I be your friend and can we play inside of your home?”
Her Mum and her Dad and her brother walked onto the porch unaware they were walking on bones.
The sold sign removed and the fix up it started in earnest their dream home filled all of their days
And into the crawl space behind the dark attic was somewhere that David could take her to play.
He showed the bad place she took them so she could cut from them the pieces the demons desired
Their flesh stripped to pink bones and gnawed by the creatures who fed on hysteria horror had sired
“I am invisible David will you stay awake when your family are all sound asleep?”
With him at her shoulder she climbed from her bed and down to the kitchen she’d quietly creep
She drew from the knife block a blade that shone bright with a glimpse she could finally see David’s face
“They want you to kill them they crave it” the cold words were once warm but here an abysmal disgrace
A slow tip toe menace began up the stairs as a girl and her demon muse stalked the bare boards
With one eye in terror her brother in half-light saw two evil grinning heads curve round the door
“Carve him as you carve the pumpkin at Halloween then leave me for sleep” hissed David in glee
The deed done she slumbered as David the monster dragged entrails and bones to the porch then beneath
And hour after hour David called her to finish her family then fly back to dreams
But sunlight bring memories flooding her mind’s eye as room by room carnage rung out with screams
The sirens the doctors and CSI spectres tore the place up for the horror of grim revelations
She sat in the back of the car in a jacket with wrap around arms kept in shamed isolation
“I am invisible David I thank you for bringing my dark soul to life with a wish”
Then out of her head in an instant the same way the voices inside came now callously ditched
The hospital report said she was a psychopath that switching from child to a monster with ease
But she knew the truth it was under the water and inside the porch for a new friend to meet
“I am invisible David I’m waiting for innocence unnoticed and left by their kin”
“Or am I the urge that the hunters left with us to stalk it and kill it and take off its skin”

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Original written Horror fiction by Richard Bell.

Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

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Challenge Yourself Weekend – He should have never let her into the apartment…

Start with “He should have never let her into the apartment…”
See where your mind takes you……

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The Succubus Escort Agency by Richard Bell

“He should never have let her into the apartment” said the bloody disgruntled crime scene clean up guy.
“Put me right off my sloppy joe!”
The remains of Oskar Sukarian were pretty much everywhere.
His guts were in the bathtub and vocal chords in the toilet. His head was stuck on the lamp, scooped out brains and eyes so the light shone through his sockets, nose and screaming, toothless mouth. His teeth were placed in twos on each window sill. Fingers and toes in twos behind each door and tongue, brain matter and eyeballs were inside his pillow case.
The arms and legs plus stump hands and feet were placed on his lazy boy, feet up and arms down.
His torso was hung on the bedroom ceiling fan by shredded back skin and screwed into the fan blades by his thumb bones. And all his body hair and anus were in the kettle!
“What they can’t figure out is how he was dismembered? It wasn’t a bone saw or chainsaw… or cold sores…no? Not even a half-smile, eh Jack?”
Jack Streeter was a crime scene cleaner of twenty-two years and this job was the one that broke his black humour. It was like it was a stallion getting its saddle for the first time and throwing the rider into the path of a tornado.
“This has bad karma written all over it…not to mention the weird writing, in his blood, ALL over the apartment walls, ceiling and floor. Initial assessment is that he was taken apart by…giant lizard fangs. He was gnawed into pieces!”
Jack’s glib partner, Taff, dropped his steam pad and removed the pathogen mask much to Jack’s amazement.
“Hold on…where’s his bits and bobs?”
“Bits and bobs?”
“Yes! His cock and balls. She must have eaten them. They aren’t anywhere, inside or out of what’s left! They scoured this place on hands and knees and photographed every square inch and no sign of Mr Wiggly and his love blobs.”
Jack broke his stone face with a wide grin and began to chuckle.
“Love blobs? You mean his testicles, Taff?”
“There’s the Jack I know. You were starting to freak me out.”
“Honestly, Taff, this place makes my blood run cold. Something unnaturally evil came for Mr Sukarian and it took him apart, used his blood for graffiti, turned him into a jigsaw puzzle, ate his junk then left leaving bloody footprints up the wall to the window then down the side of the building…five storeys high!”
Both men sat on the floor and stared around them in amazement.
“How did she reach the ceiling to write that and what is a Yeh hej heht uif wah ruhid cohi vuhris?” quizzed Taff with a furrowed brow that made his large head look like a baked potato.
“She walked it same as the side of the building. She has dainty feet for a maniac, I’ll give her that. What does the Septic Super call this kind of scene again…er…oh yes…an HMH.”
“HMH?”
“Yes…horror movie homage. The imagination is lacking originality in most cases as it doffs its cap to a movie or book reference. But in this case we are down the rabbit hole and being smoked by the caterpillar. This is entirely new and altogether terrifying. This appears to be outside the laws of physics and, of course, reason! They’ve got linguistic professors scouring libraries the world over looking for this language which may something new, perhaps? My gut feeling is that he was after something a little different and he found it right here. He was jaded with the conventions of normal sex and wanted to peer behind the curtain and into the very back room that is unlit. The room that they enter with a torch and unwrap the material from plain paper and polythene. The beautiful manicured world he suffered was burned away as the first glimpse of the sickening images pinched the throat, slugged the gut and flicked on the strip light hum inside his head as nausea set in. Those gentle unsuspecting souls being loved by murder and dishonoured by the power of those who see a taboo as a right. The further up the ladder to god the more perverse and grotesque the tastes become until they are peering through the clouds into paradise with the devil on their shoulders. My guess is he found a monster along his trail of conquests and invited it to finish his schooling. Come on let’s get back to…wait…what’s that poking out from behind his crucifix?”
The two men stepped carefully over the bloody scrawl and police markers on the floor and made their way to the inverted cross on the wall. Behind the upside down outstretched arms of Christ, a small white corner was visible and Jack plucked it out with his spindly gnarled fingers.
“It’s a business card and it feels old, very old. There’s a name – Luma and a number.”
“Let’s call the number” whispered Taff playfully.
“Why not? We can hang up then turn this over to the suits. May be a good lead. Give me your company burner phone, Taff then there’s no trail.”
Jack dialled carefully then waited.
A faint ringing came from the back of the apartment. The two men walked towards the sound with trepidation until they reached the walk in wardrobe. The ringing was coming from inside a tuxedo and, pulling it from the hangar, they laid it on the bed. Inside the left pocked was an unsightly bulge and Jack swiftly put his mask and gloves on to deal with it. Reaching inside he pulled out a small black purse that had the unmistakable stink of necrosis oozing out of it. The ringing was louder now and the bag had a faint light flashing on and off with the ring tone. Jack emptied the contents onto the table and stepped back. It was Mr Sukarian’s genitalia and, inside the scrotum, was a phone waiting to be answered. He quickly pulled it out of the sickly black juices and wiped the screen clean.
It was Taff’s burner phone blazing away.
Jack reached down and ended the call as Taff sank to his knees gasping like a landed fish. Jack picked up the phone and scrolled through the details swiftly.
“The card says this phone’s number but it is Mr Sukarian’s phone. It is odd. Wait…I remember the tale… When a Succubus, a female demon feeds then that place becomes hers to…”
Taff coughed and spat out a fountain of blood that covered Jack’s legs forcing him to spring backwards into the dresser. Agonising screams were jutting out of a shuddering Taff as he raised his head to the ceiling and retched. Neck and backbones cracked from within and his mouth stretched wider and wider until a long white snake slithered out of his bulging throat and onto the floor. It wound up in front of Jack and from the centre of the gigantic coil, a pair of slender arms flew up and tickled the air above. Then a mass of black curls slunk upwards followed by an alabaster sleek body and thick black pubic hair. “Jaaaaaaaaccckkk!” It hissed as the snake moved away and, as it passed over the bloody words, soaked them up into its pale skin becoming more ruddy with every letter.
The naked woman crept over to a paralysed Jack leaned against the dresser and ran her fingers up his leg and across to his crotch.
“Let me feel your death cum, Jack.”
She unzipped his pants and slid his hard cock deep inside the black fleecy mound. Faster and harder, faster and harder as the rhythm built to a tumult and Jack howled with pleasure at his hard release. At that very moment, her head spun like an owl and long needle like teeth sunk into his throat, tearing it out as her claws began to strip flesh from bone. After an hour of slicing, gnawing, stripping, cracking and gutting, she stood over the mess and wiped her mouth clean. Her white serpent had cleared all evidence away and was bright scarlet as it coiled round her. Slowly and hypnotically, she slid down into the hideous protection of its seething scaly body, licking her lips with unabashed pleasure.
Her black hair, green eyes and scarlet lips were the last to be enveloped and, as she sunk out of sight, she hissed at the inverted cross,
“I’m a greedy mare, my beautiful unobtainable man.
I always have dessert after the main meal.”

vampire-in-fog

 

Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

**Click on any Image to redirect to the images webpage/designer where it has been provided.
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I hold no ownership to any image used unless otherwise stated**

Challenge Yourself Weekend -rhythmic and rhyme rewrite the lyrics

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Rock and Rhyme Poetry Writing Exercise
The Exercise
All you need is a song.
A rhythmic and rhyme-y song without a lot of fancy runs. You’ll want a relatively simple tune. A short pop song will work well.

Rewrite the lyrics but keep the rhythm and rhyme scheme intact. You don’t have to replace the rhyme ring and sing with a rhyme like thing and bling. But you do need to find another rhyming pair (like dance and pants). Your rhymes can be as strict or as loose as you want.

If you do just a few of these, rhyming will start to come more naturally to you, and your rhymes will flow with greater ease.

Try to rewrite the song on your own, but if you’re really struggling, hit up a rhyming dictionary or a thesaurus.

Rock’n’Rhyme Challenge by Quintessence

Rock’n’Rhyme Remix.
(Set to the tune of When I’m Gone by Simple Plan)

[http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KXojkiWPFL4]

When I’m Done

I’m slayin it

I creep around here

deciding what I want to be

A human showing no care

decrepid misery

It’s like my darkness is most alluring

an encrypted mutiny

now I know deaths domination

I’ll seal your fate

you know how it’s gotta be

Oh-oh

Now I ain’t gotta play a den-mother to your clown

Oh-oh

I won’t be slack, your death is coming round

Oh-oh

I’ll have the kill come fast

gonna bring the torture

It’s grizzly, smells pungently

well so long, they’ll miss you when I’m done

Ooh, ooh, ooh

They’re gonna miss you when I’m done

Ooh, ooh, ooh

Administration, cunning whirlpools of the dead

smile it’s completely aggravating

I’ll make sure you meet your death (you meet your death)

Strife always dampens while I’m saturating in all my muses

smoother way, my other reality

but that’s how it’s gotta be

Oh-oh

Now I ain’t gotta play a den-mother to your clown

Oh-oh

I won’t be slack, your death is coming round

Oh-oh

I’ll have the kill come fast

gonna bring the torture

It’s grizzly, smells pungently

well so long, they’ll miss you when I’m done

Ooh, ooh, ooh

They’re gonna miss you when I’m done

Ooh, ooh, ooh

They’re gonna miss you when I’m done

Ooh, ooh, ooh

They’re gonna miss you when I’m done

when I’m done

Let’s go!

 Don’t hook flack

been a slay say I

crime wanna heave uh troll to blind thee

wanna rake guts fine tonight

Applause every corpse I slay becomes a pasted glance

more wanna fake out squealing fury

because death don’t wait

this mess is up for you.

Oh-oh

Now I ain’t gotta play a den-mother to your clown

Oh-oh

I won’t be slack, your death is coming round

Oh-oh

I’ll have the kill come fast

gonna bring the torture

It’s grizzly, smells pungently

well so long, they’ll miss you when I’m done

Ooh, ooh, ooh

They’re gonna miss you when I’m done

Ooh, ooh, ooh

Ooh, ooh, ooh

They’re gonna miss you when I’m done

Ooh, ooh, ooh

They’re gonna miss you when I’m done

Ooh, ooh, ooh

They’re gonna miss you when I’m done

Ooh, ooh, ooh

They’re gonna miss you when I’m done

(music fade out)

Original Rewritten lyrics by Jilly G

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Rock’n’Rhyme Remix.
(Set to the tune of AC/DC – Highway to Hell)

Rotted Corpse in a Shell by Richard Bell

I am greasy
I am green
Seething danger under rotted hide
Gasping hissing
queasy creep
Eating everything that’s still alive
Bloated wheezing
Black blood slime
Clothes matted in blood and spew
Underground
Gotta climb
It’s the end I’m coming after you
A ROTTED CORPSE IN A SHELL
APOCALYPTIC DEMON’S SPELL
A ROTTED CORPSE IN A SHELL
THE DEVIL RANG THE EARTH’S DEATH KNELL
Cursed long swine
Leaking rennet
Bloody mouth just like a circus clown
Seared veal
Rotted shitted
Drag my entrails over stony ground
Pulsating
Out for Grue
Gore dripping brain lust clan
Stinking summer
Retching breeze
Cannibal resurrection man
A ROTTED CORPSE IN A SHELL
APOCALYPTIC DEMON’S SPELL
A ROTTED CORPSE IN A SHELL
THE DEVIL RANG THE EARTH’S DEATH KNELL
A ROTTED CORPSE IN A SHELL
A PUTRID GAG CAUSING SMELL
A ROTTED CORPSE IN A SHELL
CRACK THE SKULL AND SCOOP OUT THE GEL
A zombie life overground
Hell awaits…
A ROTTED CORPSE IN A SHELL.

FIN

Here goes nothing
The Challenge by Peter Joyce

Set to the tune of Good Vibrations by Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch.

It’s the C to the V, the cheshirevenom
these are my sick sweet words, this ain’t no sermon

I like horror, the blood and the guts
It’s about the slicin the precision cuts

I like the scares, the thrill of the night
I’ll kill you all or I’ll give you a fright

my domain lasts but 140 words
standing aside from your psychobable herds

words from the heart to send you to hell
got to stop now my head starts to swell

It’s such a sweet sensation
Repeat x 3
It’s such a good vibration

no more disquises, I am out on m own
tweeting my thoughts through The Twilight Zone

I am coming, you know that is true
blood on my hands I’m blaming the Grue

death inspires me, the thrill of the kill
you can’t stop me with your red or blue pill

so it’s out there my prophecy of fate
bourne out of need rather than hate

It’s such a sweet sensation
Repeat x 3
It’s such a good vibration
It will be a revelation

you better run for your life,
this cheshirevenom is packin a knife

your Jason, your Michael and your Freddy are dead
It’s time for someone new to get in your head

you can feed me after midnight
and sleep all you need

you can walk on the moores
and sow all your seed

I wann ride your brain
and drive you insane

Over and out, going out on a high
and remember the end is nigh

It’s such a sweet sensation
Repeat x 3
It’s such a good vibration
It will be a revelation

FIN

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Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

**Click on any Image to redirect to the images webpage/designer where it has been provided.
All images are found using Google Image Search and are not always labelled
I hold no ownership to any image used unless otherwise stated**

 

Challenge Yourself Creative Writing Challenge – Haunted

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Your Prompt for this Challenge:
Everyone Fears being one of the Haunted.
Write one or two paragraphs of you being haunted by the spirit of your choice…..

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Haunted by Richard Bell
“The house is cold and filled with echoes without you, Ethel. We had so many years of happiness together and I always hoped we’d go together, hand in hand, in our sleep. I picked up your glass and you smiled at me but it was the stroke that made you smile, not my love for you. I feel like I’ve been scooped out like a pumpkin and I only have my reflection to talk to when I shave.
I come here every day to tidy your grave and tend to the flowers. They’re pansies, your favourites. The garden at home is stock still like the house now that you’re gone. You look like you did when we met at the tea dance, Ethel. Thank you for one last chance to tell you that I love you.
Goodbye, I’ll see you soon my darling.”

FIN

 

Protected by The Grue Asylum Vaults 2015

Protected by The Grue Asylum Vaults 2015

Challenge Yourself Weekend – Unearthed

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You’re digging in your garden and find a human femur.
Write an 8 Sentence Story using this prompt.

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Unearthed by Cheri Parnnell

I knew the very second I grabbed hold of the jagged femur, unearthed and splintered by mud-caked tines on my tiller, I had disturbed an ancient Indian burial ground. A tyrant rogue wind swirled around like a razored bullwhip, knocking the breath right out of my lungs. Ungodly cries of a thousand wrathful warriors seeking retribution rose up, as did their seemingly resurrected bodies in the nearby fields. As the raging natives surrounded me, I became petrified as if I were absolutely frozen in some primordial tribal dimension. Then the sea of onyx hair and painted faces parted, and made a way for the majestic chief who now stood before me, alongside a regal white buffalo. Tears flowed down my cheeks as the old one reached out with his brown leathered bony fingers and then curiously examined the salty drops that fell from my frightened innocent eyes. He nodded his head in understanding, and as eyes full of pain, grace, and wisdom stared into my soul, he took the yellowed ivory bone from my grasp. I fell to my knees on the hard sod, and as I watched the mighty spirits dissipate, I heard a chorus of harmonious voices chanting serenely beneath the wind….

FIN

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Unearthed by Richard Bell

I woke up in polythene with a breathing tube and a blinding headache. I knew I was under the earth and needed to dig myself out of this hole. Reaching through my plastic shroud, I clawed my way to the surface frantically. Flinging the tube across the garden, I grasped a bone; A bloody leg bone. The garden was strewn with chewed corpses and standing over me were five ravening zombies. One of them reached down and pulled me to my feet whilst the other four dusted me down. My eyes were adjusting but they could make out a sign ‘zombie gardening club’. As they began to bite into my flesh, I realised that they were ‘growing’ organic produce and I was the latest to be to harvested.

FIN

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Unearthed by Crimson Quintessence

Homicide detectives are investigating the suspicious death after a human femur was found in the back yard of Simon Preston in Springvale. Suddenly, you are reminded of an issue that you buried a long time ago. Subliminal messages hidden and imbedded behind an image flashes in your mind. Have you identified what the “ secret ” is that you buried all those years ago. The body, long since forgotten, hidden well within the walls of this old mansion. They won’t find him, not here, there is no reason to look for him. But why did you bury the femur in Simon’s back yard? The door rings, it’s the police,stay calm and all will be fine again.
FIN

Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

**Click on any Image to redirect to the images webpage/designer where it has been provided.
All images are found using Google Image Search and are not always labelled
I hold no ownership to any image used unless otherwise stated**

Challenge Yourself Weekend – Caged

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Your prompt is “Caged”
any way you see it.
Any way you feel it.
A verse
A poem
A short story,Let ur rip

Slipped in by Doug

A Caged Woman by Cheri Parnnell

Beat down and trained
You no longer had to force me
into your unforgiving cage
You trapped me intellectually
and fed my hungry trusting heart
I let you peek inside of my soul
and you merged with my mind
Then the starving began and
I was slowly backed up into a corner
As you let your other ravenous pets draw blood
and tear my loyal skin apart

FIN

Caged Woman

Caged by Richard Bell

Pacing my well-worn track
Perimeter prowl
Days watched by countless eyes
Mocking my growl
Under my boiling skin
Rank indignation
Fuelled by the unimpressed
CGI nation
Take down these bars and I’ll show you the beast
Run in your panicked state
Sweeten my feast
Shred your fat paper skin
Chew through your flesh
Inside this cage this king
Dreams of your death
My camouflage in my wild world
Is unseen
My pounce it outpaces
Your guttural scream
Walking this cage when my world
Should be miles
Poached as a kitten
and sold with a smile
Inside my cage I am neutered
Benign
Outside these bars
You are caught then you’re mine
Inside this cage
I am less than adored
I am pictures and masks and a
Drink with a straw
Over the bars of this cage
I am free
They run behind locked doors
They climb into trees
I’m not like those fuckers that murder in sprees
I hunt and I kill only just
What I need
Over the bars of this cage
I am king
Without their vile weapons
They’re wasps without stings
Outside I’m a monster
Inside I’m a toy
Outside I’m ferocious
Inside I’m annoyed
Cages are snapshots
They’re spirit constraints
The mighty imprisoned
And fade to a faint
This isn’t a home for a beast
So revered
My natural stripes behind bars
Less than feared
Cages show monsters
And carnival freaks
The aberrant species
With jaws and with beaks
Cages dividing the kill
And be killed
The deadly crave freedom
For theirs is free will.

FIN

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Caged I be by Deno Sandz

In a void of hunger
Hungry I be, Deno Sandz
In Life’s fictional paradox
Caged I welcome
For I am alone
Caged freedom
Key unlocked
My mind is CAGED

FIN

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Caged, Set Yourself Free by Quintessence

 Straight Jacket

 

Writers live many lives, become many characters and occasionally, have conversations with themselves until the wee hours of dawn.

During creative times writers sometimes look for and need encouragement. But there are some who, while they think are providing encouragement, actually try to cage the writer and guide them to write things they aren’t comfortable with.  I’ve seen this happen to many a fellow writer.  It’s a sad fact, it happens and for whatever reason these so-called guides become controllers and cause the writer un-do stress and the writer can become unsure of themselves, question their own work or even give up writing altogether.

These types of “guides” are not doing the writer any favours by burrowing inside the writers grey matter and manipulating them.  Things like this are done out of jealousy, control and spite.  It is purely a cruel act, especially when one becomes part of a group of writers.  Never should one be told that they are to only exclusively writing “for the group”.  Don’t ever let anyone tell you this, nor should you ever let anyone tell you what to write about or how to write it.  Allowing others to control your flow does not allow the natural creative flow of your quill come from within you.

Know that you are a free spirit and what you produce is beautiful if it pleases you.  If you are happy with what you produce then you are set free from the confines of the cage they try to keep you in.  Allowing natural flow provides you freedom and in some cases healing.

Not everyone writes to become rich and famous.  Many of us write as a form of self-therapy and through our own bravery decided to share via Social Media.  Thus connections are formed.  Touch just one soul with any piece of your work and the rewards are endless.

When you allow others to manipulate what you are writing, the style you are writing it in and how you present it, you lose a part of yourself and you lose free flow in your own creative senses.  Let your writing come from within your soul.  It’s a beautiful thing and there are many of us out there who are perfectly willing to read and share your work as you present it to the world.  Free of the cage, free of restraints, free of scrutiny and free of the sordid bullshit some would try to pull on you.

I’ve seen some pretty manipulative folk in my forty-six years and one thing I know with all certainty is that a leopard will never change its spots. Once they show their true colours you see them for who and what they truly are; liars, fakes, bullies, jealous beings, who want to ruin you if you don’t conform to their ways.  These types of people are always miserable, always talking shit behind others backs, moving from person to person spreading rumours and causing unnecessary fights amongst the ranks.  just remember if they are talking to you about others then they are talking to others about you in the same manner. This is not supportive at all, just a group of wickedness, unhappiness, ruthlessness and destruction that they cage themselves in, thus having to pull others into the hell of their existence and unhappiness so they can feel their own self-worth.

Surround yourself with like-minded people as yourself.  

Look for happiness not misery.

Seek supportiveness and kindness, not bossiness, hostility or negativity.

Most importantly – Write for yourself and not to please someone else.

If you feel it, write it

Set Yourself Free.

FIN

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Free Again by Quintessence

 Dust

Dust off the negativity

Dust off the pain

Dust off the ugliness others left on you with the rain.

Distance

Distance yourself from the binding chains keeping you silent

Distance yourself from the control that fell upon you from verbal violence.

Shake

Shake out through your fingertips the restraint of your words

Shake out inner energy that couldn’t burst through that old prisoned world.

You Are Free

You’re free now, to dance

You’re free now to take that scribing chance.

Free

Let your words flow

Let the pain go

Let the light in

Time to be Free Again.

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FIN

 

Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

**Click on any Image to redirect to the images webpage/designer where it has been provided.
All images are found using Google Image Search and are not always labelled
I hold no ownership to any image used unless otherwise stated**

 

Challenge Yourself Friday – Ashes to Ashes

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Your Prompt:
At a garage sale, your character buys an antique urn which she thinks will look nice decorating her bookcase.
But when she gets home, she realizes there are someone’s ashes in it….

Ashes to Ashes By Richard Bell

My bed became my grave above ground after her car came off the road.
When the rescue teams got into the valley to retrieve her body, it was gone.
Taken by Bigfoot, gone!
No windshield and a huge bloody smear down the front of the car, across the scrub grass and into the scots pine forest.
She was hair and skin hanging off branches, gone!
Her last call was to the guy she was leaving me for and in her little purse a ‘dear John’ letter that detailed how hard she came on Jim’s giant dick.
Never been so mortified yet so aroused.
I was about to be evicted when my parents were bestowed with the dubious honour of being the last victims of the Smokehouse Slicer. This demented creep would break into homes he’d kept under surveillance and send a dog up the stairs to the bedroom. When it reached the sleeping victims, he would detonate sleeping gas canisters strapped to its back and wait until they were unconscious. Then he’d go to work with his filleting knife slicing them up and hanging their flesh from hooks he put into the ceiling. The crime scene resembled a kipper smoke-house and their skeletons would be placed in a praying position. All their internal organs would be missing except for the heart. That was placed in each other’s mouths.
And the internal organs were found mashed up in the toilet bowl.
His swan song was belted out at my parents place.
The dog bomb only half detonated and when he entered the bedroom, dad was waiting with his cricket bat. The Police said that the Slicer’s skull was fractured but he sliced their throats and sat in dog entrails and watched them bleed out before puking and choking on blood and snot.
So, I got an inheritance that meant I could indulge my double hit of sadness in one long perpendicular stretch soaked in melancohol.
For one whole month I stumbled around my hovel bouncing off the walls, crawling from bottle to bottle and mopping up piss trails with my bath robe.
Then, about 3am on Thursday morning asleep in a bath of cold water, I heard the phone. It sounded like it was in the next town over but I slithered out of the tub and rode the stairs on my behind until I hit the hall floor, thumping my boobs hard on the wood floor.
“Bollocks! My poor tits!” I yelped and crept into the lounge nursing my bruised ego and knockers!
The phone was hammering my ears like a woodpecker in an echo chamber and I slumped on the sofa in the pitch dark lounge and sloppily grabbed the glowing handset.
“I’m still alive but my liver thinks otherwise. Tell me some good news…please!” I quipped wearily.
The line sounded brittle with an asthmatic wheeze and then silence followed by a tiny voice in agony screaming “Help me, please make the burning stop!” Then the silence met the darkness head on and left my ears with eerie sibilance.
“Mel…you’re alive somewhere… How can I find you?” I choked.
Craving a strong coffee to get back on the horse, I pulled myself together and was rising from the sofa when…
Whoosh! The chair across the room, that was her favourite seat, burst into flames and inside the red fire was her shape in blue flame reaching out to me. I ran to her, my hand touching her blue fingers briefly, then all went black and I hit the floor with the words “Red witch tree!” screaming round my pounding head.
The daylight punched my eyes like chicken pecks and my first view was her chair burned down to ash with no scorching to the room and the ash pile in the shape of a gnarled tree.
“She must be still alive in the pine forest and waiting for me. I need to get there and soon.
But I need coffee sooner!”
Throwing on my stinking suit I wore for the funerals, I jumped into my battered Kuga and typed the co ordinates of the scots pine forest at Sabrescar Fell and slammed Frankenstein’s foot on the ‘go’ pedal.
Within the hour I was parked in a lay by bawling my eyes out as streaking road and the blur of passing trees melted into her smiling face. I sat head in hands until a gentle voice followed by a familiar “She was your muse, sweetheart!” ran ice fingers up my arms and across the neck.
Glancing dewy-eyed into the rear view mirror, I jumped up and thumped my head on the roof adding a large dint near to the stiletto heel prints from another lay by in better times.
Sitting on the back seat, amongst the clutter, were Mum and Dad with huge gaping holes where their throats once were. Lodged in between them was a terrible shadow which had to be the evil spirit of the Smokehouse Slicer like the shapes in between white noise. I began to judder with fright
which was added to by my mobile phone vibrating in my pocket. I reached for it and glanced at the screen very quickly to see Mel’s blue burning face screaming at me to jump out of the car right away!
I looked back in the mirror quickly to see my parents being cut into strips and dissolve into the awful white noise that made up their killer.
A split second decision saw me running away from the car and into the woods as a huge lorry ploughed into it at high-speed, reducing the Kuga to a shitty smart car.
I was lost.
Out in the wild, my parents murdered, my girlfriend a blue fire ghost and I had to find the red witch tree, lost!
Too many colours to deal with in a dirty black suit, lost!
The sun was sinking behind the tallest trees and I made my way into the dense scots pines having realised that I’d made it to my destination and was walking blind into the last horrors she saw after the accident.
One hundred steps inside the canopy and the light was sharp spikes through scented needles and the yellow daggers were turning orange quickly.
This was a place for a million eyes and roughly half that of monsters, give or take a cyclops or two!
I strode with purpose towards the setting sun for half an hour until the trees around me began to burst into blue flames that set a course to a hollow surrounded by felled pines.
There, perched on an outcrop of thick tangled roots, was the red witch tree.
I could see from a distance the branches had fruit hanging from them until I was standing directly beneath it and retched as I looked up.
Each branch was adorned with organs and guts and eyes and tongues and heads and feet like the island of dolls.
“What took you so long?”
I spun around to see two saplings ablaze with a blue flame Mel standing between them.
“Reach into the roots and pull out a jar. Do it quickly and by instinct as you only have one shot at this. Goodbye my last woman. I’m sorry I liked cock more than you!”
She blew out like a giant draught had extinguished her and the saplings whittled to black shards instantly, hissing and stinking of burned pine.
I spun back around, circled the tree twice then slid onto my stomach reaching into the dense roots until I latched onto a metallic object.
As the sun descended below the tree line, I discerned a beautiful golden urn with a black and white lid and silver stripes running around the belly. It had a price tag with the number 16 on it and a small plaque with a name on it that I couldn’t quite see until I lifted it above my head and read the name pulsating with fear.
It was my name and Mel’s and my mother’s and father’s.
“Would you like to buy that?”
was the next voice that I heard. “It’s an antique urn from South Africa. I only want 16 for it but the gold is worth over 100. I’m moving away and need fast cash.
Want it?”
The trestle tables were filled with curios and knickknacks and still unaware of my surroundings, I reached into my pocket and pulled out my wallet.
Funny, I left that in the totalled Kuga. How did it get back in my pocket and more importantly…
WHERE THE HELL AM I AND WHAT HAPPENED TO THE FOREST?
I paid, took the urn and turned to see the Kuga like new parked at the bottom of the drive way. Walking around it inspecting it twice, I barely believed what I was seeing.
Is this the dream or the forest?
Am I still drunk?
Is anyone dead or missing?
The phone in my pocket buzzed and I reached for it instantly.
A video message…
I played it and stared…gasping for breath and swaying…
A large man in a gill man mask with a dog barking peered into the lens. He smiled and stepped away. There, tied up and gagged, were Mel and my parents. He called the dog over and pulled a canister from a pack on its back. Walking over to them he poured the contents over their heads and reached into his pocket. Pulling out a Zippo lighter, he clicked it again and again until a large blue flame shot out which prompted him to wave it in front of them as they writhed and screamed and kicked out.
The video cut out as they burst into flames and a graphic of smoked kippers slid across the screen.
I glanced at the urn and the plaque on the side and seized my chest, dropping the keys.
‘Mel, Margaret and Geoff – my whole world in a jar.’
As I hit the floor a bottle of red witch whiskey rolled into the gutter.

FIN

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Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

**Click on any Image to redirect to the images webpage/designer where it has been provided.
All images are found using Google Image Search and are not always labelled
I hold no ownership to any image used unless otherwise stated**