Abandoned House by Richard Bell

15492229_1128399927272988_5179151812119092283_n

Larissa managed to crawl free from the wreckage and make it to the other side of the road, her bloody left leg and arm leaving a Jackson Pollock spatter across the wet tarmac.
Four mangled vehicles lay strewn across the winding country road and huge plumes of steam became ghost screams into the weak morning light. The sole survivor, Larissa Bartholomew, snatched a smirk as she remembered how much her boyfriend hated ‘last girl standing’ movies – with a passion!
In all directions, the Scandinavian countryside proliferated like a million biker beards and shrieking black birds darted across the gap in the skyline, bound for the other side with the dead from the catastrophic accident.
The Elk lived for a few minutes before succumbing to its massive injuries. Drunken Elks, wasted on fermented apples, often stagger into the road, unaware of the dangers.
She looked back and snatched another smirk at the tiny saloon car with a fuck off moose hood ornament!
The rains had softened the verge to mush and she slipped and fell into a gully that followed the road like racing snakes. Winter was fast approaching and the nights sunk to a madness-inducing damp chill.
“Ahoooooooooyyyyyyy!” She yelled from her supine position, fully aware that wolves and bears were the eyes in the deep black woods.
“It is a womb bearer and she sheds her scarlet waters.” The tiny voice seemed to come from behind her but she couldn’t see what it was in her blurred shock.
“This is the foretold in the parchment. Muster the unalive bearers and convey the delivered to Straahl. The ceremony has outnumbered one and ten black suns.”
A vague mist enveloped Larissa, lying in her soggy dip in the world and she wondered if the voices and the exquisite floral scent were dying memories.
She began to scream until…
The huge hand that covered her mouth was all that was needed to shut down this nightmare to a dark sleep and hiccuping breaths.
Her dream was a fast flowing river in the night under a clear sky and a myriad of lights. The stars seemed like Chinese lanterns released by the universe to remember the dead. The river increased the flow and straight ahead was a huge waterfall but flowing upwards! Her body sailed up the frothing waters as salmon swam past her at dolphin speed. As she reached the top and over the crest, her eyes widened in sheer terror as a giant hooded creature lay ahead. She could make out the glinting fangs as the river flowed right into its gaping maw.
“Wake me from this…NOW!”
Her body moved inside the great jaws and she felt herself pounding on the roof of the mouth, then the throat and all the way into the stomach, flames leaping and shrill voices pleading in agony and…
Her eyes moved independently inside their sockets as she slowly came round. She realized that her surroundings had changed but couldn’t see the skies above the treetops.
Faint pairs of pinprick lights, she understood to be blinking eyes, flashed off and on in the crepuscular tree trunk army surrounding this clearing. She could make out an oddly geometric shape in front of her but dismissed it as fallen branches and happenstance.
“Stand upright, you, child of dire misfortune. Walk of you own volition into my realm and sit by my fireplace.”
As she raised herself up, two black lanterns, suspended in mid-air, burst into flames revealing a beautifully crafted hut, exuding the mist in swirling snowflake patterns.
“Are you Straahl?” She uttered through chattering teeth, the chill nipping her extremities.
“Knock with the staff on the face of the beast and choose the number of strikes from your first instinct.”
The door was arched and blood-red with the most hideous black demonic face, tongue outstretched and brow furrowed to almost no eyes, except two deep Violet diamonds that pulsated hypnotically.
She grabbed the staff by the door, swung out at full stretch then brought it cracking into the tongue of the vile thing.
“Three more I think and we’ll see what you have in store for sweet little Larissa, crash orphan and shedder of scarlet water.” Her sarcasm rippled the mist into agonized faces and death grin skulls before returning to snowflakes upon the last strike.
“Let me in, I’m freezing out here!” She murmured.
The lanterns suddenly fell to earth, transformed into a huge black millipede and scuttled off into the inky blackness that the open door revealed to her.
“Take a seat by the fire and warm your scarlet water, crash orphan. I will join you after your refreshments.”
Larissa moved with cat-like stealth inside the dark space and, once a few strides in, the door slammed shut, cracked and disappeared as she found herself in a round room with deep red walls and a floor that was a still black pool of water.
The fireplace was a beautiful ornate stove fire with a large pewter tankard on top, steaming and smelling delicious. She sat in the chair, which was the lantern millipede, sipped her delicious drink and stared into the odd violet flames in the stove.
“This is unusual but hospitable and I thank you for saving me from the wolves and bears, Straahl. Whoever you are? Sorcerer? Hermit? Zombie Apocalypse Survivor? I thank you.” Larissa felt her wounds healing and a strange warmth fill her up from the toes.
“I am shocking to see, crash orphan…”
“Please, call me Larissa.”
“Larissa, I am an elemental. I exist outside your laws but inside your lore. I ask that you see me as something natural beyond your perspective not unnatural beyond your comprehension. They made Satyr and Devil of me in their nightmare texts, but I am the scales of the land and sea and skies. I am underneath world and high above world meeting to a harmonious tune. May I present to you, Straahl.”
The stove fire creaked and groaned and shaped into a hideous tall black cloaked creature. She instantly recognized it from her dream but it was too late. Giant jaws clamped around her torso and bore down, slicing her in two. Then a huge tongue picked up the legs and shoved it deep into its throat. Her last view was her bloody sneakers passing by to fall over the waterfall and into the flames of agony.
“Kids, they’ll swallow anything. Actually, so will I.” The creature bellowed with laughter then shot the tongue out to wipe against a rough tree bark.
“I really hate cocoa butter!” He growled before slinking into the blinking eyes forest and the realm of disbelief.

the-artworks-of-marrisa-rivera-feature1

Original written work of Richard Bell aka @rick_nightmare

cropped-freewill-writers-asylum2.jpg

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 web page/designer where it has been provided.
All images are found using Google Image Search and are not always labeled
I hold no ownership to any image used unless otherwise stated**

 

Advertisements

Nesta Scrudge by Richard Bell

451f0365c9cda03a626504961db39bda

Nesta Scrudge was ancient
Skin like sludge and sun-baked fudge
She shambled on her veiny legs and muttered ‘neath death breath

Nesta was a foundling
Left in a bag with booze soaked rags
She only knew donated love
and contact from a wicker cane

Nesta lived a road life
From army to a leathered carnie
She rode the ghost train bumper
And lost her heart to scares

When the rolling funnel clouds
Made sunder her spooky wonder
She landed in an open field
Surrounded by her terror props

With the takings from the summer months
She bought the land, spat on her hands
And built herself a palace
From her dire imagination

The bumper cars were clown cars
Beef-heart red and living dead
They’d drive into a ghost town
Where the monsters lay in wait

Creatures fashioned from the corn
A pig’s blood rain in the house of pain
The demons and demented folk
And limbless laughing gorks

Word soon spread of this bazaar
A haunted land in hell’s command
She packed it full of horrors
And twisted nightmare fuel

Pitch black run-throughs chased by psychos
Asylum surgeries and cells
Vampire towers, werewolf woods
The circles into Dante’s hell
The hungry for live flesh deceased
The unhinged and the saw blade freaks
The dollies and the puppet scares
The whispered pleas to murder shrieks

Nesta saw each sunrise burst
As people fled their wallets bled
Her vision promised complete satisfaction
Nesta Scrudge, the mother of the famous haunt attraction.

Meg Muckel Bones. Swamp hag

Meg Muckel Bones. Swamp hag

Original written work by Richard Bell aka @rick_nightmare

cropped-freewill-writers-asylum2.jpg

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 web page/designer where it has been provided.
All images are found using Google Image Search and are not always labeled
I hold no ownership to any image used unless otherwise stated**

Freewill Writers Asylum Challenge – The River’s Edge by Richard Bell

15094522_1091057247673923_4926781234605762664_n

 

Friday was the day that the fleet came ashore.
Despair.

The road is rich pickings for backpack meat. The hopeful, the desperate, the tragic and the restless. They’re dead as soon as their butts hit the seat. Poisoned quills pinch the vocal chords and then a choking fit and then paralysis.
Awake, asleep, numb but aware.
No birds sing in the cutting woods. Bloody handprints make a hideous hide across the tree bark.
The Floating Butcher is my media handle. Little rafts with parts of different people pieced into one freak carrying a devil poem in their teeth and a ram’s skull for the figurehead.
‘Hot tar blood in slice scar slit Bad meat drifter’s a dead pieced kit
Wolf jaw goat creep slays the lambs
Kill your beliefs in god made man.’
Their final breath seal’s a note to the last important person in their lives – ‘lost at sea’ and the lyrics to Come Sail Away by Styx.
I sit in my office vehicle, day after day and I hate the world that is not the river. I hate it more than my scars and my shame and the dirty things they did to me on the river bank.
The river was hell for me and it will be hell for them.
My scanner lights up with the furore. The fleet landing up and down the river and the whole force getting the call, scrambling to beat the selfie ghouls and necroweb scavengers.
Meanwhile, in the cutting woods, the bloody print trees has ripe backpack fruit hanging from the branches.
They didn’t need their feet inside my wheels so I packed them neatly in the bags.
When they find this place and the altar and the rafts and the packs and the pieces and the poem and the videos.
And the quiet.
No birds sing in the backpack trees above the red soil and saturated pain. They follow the meat on the rafts on the river.
On the shoreline.

Original written work by Richard Bell aka @rick_nightmare

cropped-freewill-writers-asylum2.jpg

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 web page/designer where it has been provided.
All images are found using Google Image Search and are not always labeled
I hold no ownership to any image used unless otherwise stated**

Asylum Friday Challenge – Pet Semetary by Richard Bell

14448853_1048199758626339_4881369002670256328_n

The Challenge  – The title says it all.
Your story or poem or even lyrics, your way using this weeks theme. Pet Sematary

THE BURIAL GROUND by Richard Bell

Strange the misspelled burial ground
A resting place to be shown around
For beloved pets the bad road slays
Beyond the tangle, sour earth waits
Broken skull night visitor
Suicidal housekeeper
Bloody church, beloved cat
Stony soil in a man’s heart
The neighbor shows the secret plot
Returned from death is church, but not
Both estranged from family
Resurrected mystery
Idyllic day for flying kites
Happiness outshone sunlight
Cut short by a tragedy
Beloved son, a soul set free
But grief and loss and violence mixed
Turn a rational mind dead sick
Reburied in the sour earth’s filth
Returned a scarred and evil will
A killer tot plays twisted games
Lure the trusting by their shame
Cuts and kills with feline guide
Terror seeks the things they hide
A shot of poison is death’s release
Beyond the Semetary’s peace
Although each second with our loved ones matter
Sometimes, just sometimes,
Death is better.

14492463_1048204625292519_5168141528817645358_n

Original written work by Richard Bell aka Rick Nightmare

cropped-freewill-writers-asylum2.jpg

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 web page/designer where it has been provided.
All images are found using Google Image Search and are not always labeled
I hold no ownership to any image used unless otherwise stated**

Challenge Yourself – 5 Sentence Short by Richard Bell

14639757_1072979726148342_7837762530137677893_n

That’s the good thing about a razor tongue stud.

You can wait until they’re all asleep and lick their veins open.

You can really taste the metal in sleep murder blood.

Just before the last spasm their eyes open and you can cut out the fright and swallow.

Who needs fangs when you have a tongue blade?

Scary-Clown-HD-Wallpapers

original written work by Richard Bell aka Rick Nightmare

cropped-freewill-writers-asylum2.jpg

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 web page/designer where it has been provided.
All images are found using Google Image Search and are not always labeled
I hold no ownership to any image used unless otherwise stated**

Freewill Writers Asylum – Friday Challenge – Nightmare by Richard Bell

Shrill by Richard Bell

14947412_1083248941788087_1060407018724133737_n

“Worthless, weak, stupid, pathetic, spineless, idiotic, dog shit!”
They pushed, they kicked, they knocked, they accused, they vandalised and slurred. They pushed and pushed and pushed and…
“It is time to show them the host.
Your good nature has suppressed this for far too long and now that nature is torn out of your soul.
There is no restraint on the creature.
You, now, are he.”
His thick fingers bent to meet the back of his hands. The cracking was masked by shrill, agonised screams of unbearable pain. The jaw dislocated and moved to the side of his head forcing his underbite to shear off the tip of his nose. Gargling and gasping for breath, the neck distended and lunged back with the head to the shoulder blades. As they met, he spat blood down the back of his legs and heaved as the spine snapped and folded him in a neat half. His feet facing east and his sawn off nose, to the west. All around the baying group, bones snapped like dry branches and blood fountains spattered the concrete yard. It was as though a hundred invisible strong men had moved among them all and began to fold the callous tormentors.
Silence like the centre of a cloud bank ran through the onlookers, only broken by the occasional crack or snap of joints and ligaments.
The great horn sounded and the folded mess of broken bullies rose to the feet and began to dance and shuffle as though they were hideous marionettes. The carnival music, supplied by a gramophone wound in a fury by bald cats, made the scene utterly absurd.
The blasts began on the horizon and moved ever closer, tearing up huge mounds of populated earth and vaporizing it in mid-air. Giant chariots carrying gods and waving royalty streaked above the blast clouds under a stampeding herd of white buffalo.
My body was liquefying and draining into the mouth of a bullfrog. I was glad to slide into his innards and the quiet dell filled with ferns and mossy trees, small waterfalls and great hosts of bluebells.
The last glimpse of the world was everybody as they were before the attack. They walked into the bright lights and were no more.
“Your true nature won the fight and here is your eternal rest. Not in the flames of horror but the pond where your family lost their lives when the car careened off the road.
Fill your lungs with the green water and sink into heaven, dear child.
You have earned that peace.”

2632013-arklow-body-csaba-orsos-390x285

Original written story by Richard Bell aka Rick Nightmare.

cropped-freewill-writers-asylum2.jpg

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 web page/designer where it has been provided.
All images are found using Google Image Search and are not always labeled
I hold no ownership to any image used unless otherwise stated**

Freewill Writers Asylum Friday Challenge – Asylum After Dark by Richard Bell

Counting The Days To Insanity

Counting The Days To Insanity

The Challenge:   The power just went out and all Asylum doors are unlocked.

The power just went out and all Asylum doors are unlocked.
Tonight my horrible honeys I’ve made you a murderer.
You writing challenge is this:
A short story or poem.
You get 1 chance to commit only 1 murder.
Make it count…

Silence 2.0 by Richard Bell

Am I Going Insane? by Syllirium

Am I Going Insane? by Syllirium

“L O L A Lola, Lola, L O L A…”
“Quit singing that fucking song! You know that I enjoy the extra surprise underneath the skirt, Streeks. These walls are thin, even with the soft furnishing and our psycho ponchos. The storm is on the way, my sinuses are never wrong. It’s going to be a big one, as in ‘lights out’ big one.”
The brick and plaster bounced echoes around the corridors of Rothenburg Asylum, delighting some of the more lucid guests with the conversation and eliciting furious howling from the ‘way beyond help’ crew in the Extra Tight.
Permit me to introduce myself, I’m Yakuza Streeks, former head of catering at Jim Jones…just kidding…I ran my own business delivering meals to the old folks. One day I just stepped out of my skull and added a dozen Carolina Reaper peppers to the risotto and the rest, as they say, is history. Forty seriously ill and two dead. The arresting officer had a grandma that I gave the fire shits to so he pepper sprayed me on the hour for a week. They tested me and threw me in here to cool off! The guy I’m singing Lola to, that’s Cold Slab. He liked the boys dressed as girls but wasn’t much of a conversationalist. When they finally raided his home, they found three chest freezers full of transvestites and his whole house was painted in lipstick – even the windows. That’s when they dubbed him the Decorophiliac! No sense of humor and a cock like a midget’s thumb. I’m not politically correct so don’t expect Germaine Greer. We’ve got them all in here, the snapped, the ground down, the ragers, a few deities and then there’s Silence.
Now there is the top of the psycho’s pyramid.
Silence amassed a body count of around a thousand, so they estimate. He started when he was ten and was a ghost taking hitchhikers up and down the west coast, killing two or three at a time and always with the same MO. He took the tongue and the little toe on the right foot. They only caught him when his lock up where he kept all the trophies got prime-time exposure when they opened it up on Storage Hunters.
True story.
“So the storms coming, eh? What time will it hit, Cold Slab…Cold Sla…”
Darkness.
The power is out and, yes, the door is open. I’m going to upgrade my status from mischief-maker to outright unhinged, full on lunatic. I’m going after Silence.
The black corridors are a walk in my memories and I figure two more turns and I’m at the cage door to Extra Tight.
I can hear Silence snoring.
Good.
I’ll sneak in like Ramirez and powder choke him. Got a fist full of plaster dust and I’m stuffing it into his throat like he’s Linda Lovelace.
I have a better idea. I’m going to skin him and walk out of here in a Silence suit.
Got my shiv and I cut and cut in the darkness. Following the contours then just peel back and step in. He smells bad skinned like fish fart breath on a week old corpse. I used to find them delivering my meals.
Door after door just swings open with no power and I find a bag in the laundry truck to secrete myself.
Tomorrow, when the storm is gone, another one will start. Silence will resume the spree as me.
Silence 2.0!

Sane Painting - Insanity by Kim Gauge

Sane Painting – Insanity by Kim Gauge

Original written work by Richard Bell aka Rick Nightmare

Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

cropped-freewill-writers-asylum2.jpg

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

Freewill Writers Asylum Friday Challenge – Cries in the Dead of Night by Richard Bell

14369899_1036204856492496_7193828185785010182_n

Your Writing Challenge:

Late last night you woke to the sound of someone crying. It was loud and frightening.
You wanted to check it out but there’s something in the room, in the dark, watching you…
Write a very short story of this situation and how you get through it.

Walk Again, Suzy Dead Legs.

“You shitting bastards! Come back here right now. Right now!”
Suzy sat in the creeping darkness and sobbed, desperate for her eyes to become accustomed to the gloom. Her isolation, now that her fake friends had brought her to this ruin and abandoned her at breakneck speed, was a pair of chilled hands around the throat.
“Breakneck!” She let out a shuddering giggle between the terrified sobs and thumped her shrivelled legs, delivering metallic twangs from her wheelchair to all corners of the cavernous place.
The rippling evening sun fell below the tree line and only shards of broken glass became visible, even to her black circles for eyes.
For a moment she thought she saw someone enter the smashed front door and glide across the garbage strewn floor.
She stared intensely, desperate to discern anyone in this salacious local landmark.
Her heart had made its way to the roof of her mouth, heightening the senses to the sensitively of a spider web.
What was that in the cor…
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrggggggghhhhhhh!”
Suzy’s fright spasm was so huge it tipped the chair sideways on the uneven floor, sending her into a pile of rags, leaves and old newspapers.
She was desperate to find out where the scream came from and if they had come for her.
She rolled herself onto her side and sat up against the freezing wall in the alcove.
“Is anybody there, please? I’m para…my fucking legs don’t work thanks to a drunk driver and I want to get home before I need to crap. Anybody there? ANYBODY?”
The bird song died with a gust of wind and silence shrivelled the echoes of the settling to faint cracks and pops.
Suzy fixed her gaze to the far corner of the room and stifled a breath.
“Hello…can you speak? I know that you’re there. Please talk to me, I’m scared and I can’t run and I don’t want to die in this shit hole.”
A deep growling hiss came from the darkness and a flash of light reflected from two blinking eyes.
Suzy tried to shuffle across the floor but her hands slid into large chunks of metal and glass and she shrieked loudly before crying uncontrollably.
The growl grew in intensity from the corner as the huge scream violently pierced the quiet.
“Please, I don’t want to die. Please help me. They took my phone and left me in this place and ran away and I want to go home. I just want to go ho…”
“I want your soul for company.”
Suzy thumped her legs again muttering profanities and imploring them to work again and let her run away from the horror.
“I want your
SOUL!”
Charging towards her from the gloom was a huge shaggy figure breathing loudly and staring at her with pulsating red eyes.
Suzy clutched her chest as red-hot needles shot across her arm and jaw blasting stars in this Stygian hole.
Her last breath was used cursing the fuckers that left her to this.
“Suzy? Suzy, are you ok? Suzy?”
The shaggy figure threw off his suit and hit the halogen lights around the room.
The others came running in.
“Did we get her? We got you Suzy. We got you goo…”
The group assembled around her body.
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrggggggggghhhhhhhh!”
The lights blew simultaneously as a deep growling voice came from the rafters,
“I want your souls!”

godmachine-creep-print

godmachine-creep-print

Original written work of Richard Bell aka Rick Nightmare

cropped-freewill-writers-asylum2.jpg

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**

Horror Parade by Richard Bell

Artist Unknown

Artist Unknown

Gathering crowds
in orange and black
Clutching their lanterns
Devilish handsome
Autumnal red smear, a carpet
for nightmares
Staring like Myers
Smiling like Manson

Through Hammer film mist swirls
The fearful tunes crawl
Off key descending
Suspense is mind-bending
The dark veil is ripped
By the flagship of floats
Silver screen monsters and
Scream queens for hosts

Sugar skull zombies girls
Chainsaw freak roaring boys
Pumpkin spiced everything
This is my anti Spring
Next through the pea soup fog
Space monster scares
From beyond furthest reaches
of deep dark despair

The crowds in their costumes
Of every dark character
The ring of the theatre screams
Rise from the horror fiends
Ticker tape bloody shreds
Demonic rain
Sky scraping towers
Are piles of the slain

Another ship sails through
The silent hill mist
Beasts that are giant-sized
Infested child, exorcised
Son of the devil and vampiric hordes
An ape and a monster fish
Mars and Earth wars

The horror parade with its floats of pure terror
Creations from minds that push past boundaries
Decades of madness and mayhem and blood
Saluting a genre of freak show born reverie

Slashers and stalkers
Lithe spider walkers
Transforming melting skin
Out of a dark place grin
Zombie walk shuffle
Demons with sparks
Bullets of silver
Stakes through the heart
Ghost face unhinged bored teens
Hockey mask brutes
Nightmares with finger knives
Killer tree roots
Spirits from videos
Dark viral feed
Ouija board deadly games
Mirrors and bees
Lunatic shrinks
Journeys to hell
Bloodbaths and torture
Deep woods dark spells
Cannibal families
Virulent strains
Spirit filled homes
Life and death games
Effigies hung from trees
Soulless cloned pods
Changelings and strange things
and made in a lab
Gore hounds and ghost heads
Madmen in mazes
Tricks for the popcorn treats
Convention crazies

Sail through the ages of our love affair
With horror,
the genre,
the thrill of the scare.

Parade

Parade

cropped-freewill-writers-asylum2.jpg

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 – Enter The Asylum

You have all entered The Asylum, received your Straight Jacket and been shown to your room.
What happens next is up to you…..
Write a story featuring someone with a strong (or problem) character trait.
Throw a wrench into their nice, everyday routine.
See what happens.
Don’t feel the need to explain the ‘how’ if something unusual is happening (i.e. talking dolls, house-hold objects that activate themselves; out-of-body/time experiences). Just focus on what it means for your character.

Arkham Asylum

Anthony Psychotic by Richard Bell

PsychoIInorman_large

“There’s a star man waiting in the sky He’d like to come and meet us

But he thinks he’d blow our minds
There’s a star man waiting in the sky..”
The gurney wheel squeaks David Bowie into my medicated mind via throbbing ears and features that have melted like a Dali clock. I’m a cocktail of meds beneath my stinking bloody skin and the strip lights above me flash a deep web message between blinks.
“The dog would eat his own shit but wouldn’t take a bite out of this sphincter chunk!” I hear one orderly quip and the other reply with a nonchalant “Uh huh!”
This place smells like bleach and piss and screams.
“There’s a star man waiting in the…”
“Quiet you twisted pissflap!” snarls the big-mouthed orderly whilst the other one mutters “Uh huh” under his breath.
The daydreams of adolescence plunge into a night sea and you sink until the sea bed clutches the blue limbs with dread. That’s when the fish swim by, just out of sight, and tell you who to kill. They whisper it through the rip tide and the sway of the kelp then they dart away to the ocean. Only then can I swim to the surface and dredge up the bad me. That’s when I’m at my bloody best. When my sea bed self rises to the surface to inflict the sickness of the depths onto the selected.
I’m bound up tight, gagged with a mask that prevents me tasting my prey and locked into a heavily stained padded room.
This must have housed some bat-shit crazies because the walls are gouged and bloody and shitty and offer some strange other-worldly philosophies.
I love the art of the broken mind.
I love the unrelenting sadness of thoughts out of reach of help. Stranded…
“The planet earth is blue and there’s nothing I can do…”
“Shut up in there, you shit pipe jizz shot!” yells the Mouth without his “Uh huh” back up.
I did some bad things to some good people and I can’t decide which me wanted it more. I can’t decide if Sea Bed Me or Amount to Nothing Me did those things. The media pigs called me Ziggy when the Police found my signature cut into the soles of the feet. I think David would approve. He was an artist like me. He was ridiculed and misunderstood but later his genius was recognised. I’m no genius though. My work is battery and gouge with hot wire graffiti on the body. Before they stop screaming, they’re just the sketch but after the glazed eye silence, they become the canvas.
My body was a hot wire canvas for mummy and daddy to work on when the booze wore off and they could focus on their dissatisfaction.
My last victim was my china girl. That’s the one that got me caught.
She put her finger on my lips and told me “Shh-Shh!” I untied her and she left. She was the only canvas that understood his genius.
Then he walked away from me.
He left Sea Bed Me and Amount to Nothing Me to face the cold truth without the music playing.
She’s in here with me hanging my canvasses around the dirty walls. They’re all here.
All with different songs and meanings, hanging in my own personal gallery.
I’m looking at her now as she stands before me. She’s messy with the juices of my canvases but she appreciates the art. Her hands clutch a plastic swastika and on her feet are red shoes.
She clicks them twice and is sucked into a black tornado.
And all at once I melt completely into a puddle on the floor that is my Dali weird world. They’re going to have to scoop me up for the trial and drape me over a deep perspective Christ.
“David, why hast thou forsaken me?” I ask before the night meds wipe the slate clean.

FIN

Alfred_Hitchcock_Psycho

**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**

Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015