My submission for Rebekah Postupak’s amazing blog – check her out – https://flashfriday.wordpress.com

“You can’t charge a baby with murder!”

“It killed my wife.”

“Benny, you aren’t thinking clearly. Lots of women die in childbirth. We certainly don’t punish the innocent babes for the natural process a woman has to go through.”

“But it killed my wife. She needs justice.”

“Hold the babe to your chest, you are his father. Don’t hold him out in front of you like you like you would one of your garden rakes.”

“I just…”

“That’s it, Benny. Hold him to your chest. Mary would have wanted you to love your son, not accuse him of murder. That’s it… support his head… now look into his eyes.”

“I see… Mary!”

“NO! Ben, how could you drop him? The baby is innocent! How could you? He’s bleeding. Call for the doctor!”

“It killed my wife.”

“I can’t feel his pulse.”

“Mary deserves justice.”

“Benny… I… ahem… Mr. Benedict Reynolds – you are under the arrest for murder in the first degree. How do you plead?”





I showered her with roses

Left love notes in her pocket

I looked after her in passing

And wore her picture in a locket


I asked her to the movies

and then to a dinner date

Her smile melted my heart

But she said no, I’d have to wait


I longed to touch her skin

To feel the warmth of her hand

My dreams turned very hot

It was more than I could stand


I heard a scream from the window

coming from her house one night

I climbed the tree to her aid

to save her from her fright


Her hands ran against my chest

thanking me for coming inside

I kissed her cheeks and lips

Comforted her while she cried


Her arms grasped me tighter

As I fell more deeply in her covers

My body exulted in the feel

that she and I were finally lovers


I can’t wait to see her again

My love for her won’t be denied

Better than my dreams combined

She will be my lovely bride



He flooded me with thorns

Left notes hidden in my things

Followed me in the halls

His voice in my head rings


He asked me to a dark place

And to a strange part of town

He grinned like I was some angel

complete with golden crown


He stared at me through the day

his eyes red and gleaming

I had nightmares of his presence

And would often wake up screaming


I turned over to go back to sleep

but heard a noise from outside

A man was opening the window

I couldn’t scream, I couldn’t hide


I pushed my hands against him

but he came at me like a bear

He smothered my face with his

and I struggled to get air


I clawed at him, fighting back

and struggled with all my might

But he was stronger and in charge

And I surrendered to my fright


I don’t want to see him again

in nightmares or in life

I can’t stop the fear from taking me

It’s time to find the knife


Red Sunset. CC2.0 photo by Petteri Sulonen.

It was not a dark and stormy night. It was just a regular Tuesday. The world cried black tears of smog as the roaring fire consumed the town. The flames licked its lips relishing in the taste of the scorched earth. Everything was black and red. It was beautiful.

When the black clouds cleared, the survivors of the burned town argued and cried for the heads of different suspects. Some cried to kill all the dragons. Some pointed out certain women and cried witch. Others screamed out that it was the drunken smithy, asleep at the furnace again. They all tried their best to put something or someone at fault in order to create a reasonable explanation for the chaos that had occurred.

The corner of the empty matchbox in my pocket dug into my leg. All this just because I wanted to see the world in a different color.



I remember the door. It looked rusted but it smelled more putrid, like the smell of a festering wound.

I don’t remember opening the door. Just that the smell got worse, like burning bodies in the crematorium. Or an infested meat house.

In our line of work, Brother, we deal with the dying, we know the smell s. But this was like nothing I’ve ever experienced. You asked me why I am forsaking the monkhood vows?

Inside the darkness I looked for the sick and dying, the bodies that could’ve caused the rancidness. But there was nothing. No bodies or bones. No blankets or medical equipment. No animals or fecal matter. There was no sign that life had ever been there. And without life, how could there possibly be death?

Death cannot exist without Life, but has found a way. Death made a deal with the Devil and even a pact between Life and God will not win this war.

Back Words

Mom says I see the world backwards.
I see that the dog is god
Not is still a ton, you don’t slap your pals,
war is raw, and the reward drawer is always full.
She says it’s wrong to think this way.
Wrong. Gnorw.

That doesn’t make sense.

Mom gets stressed and eats desserts,
calls me an avid diva, an attention seeker.
She sets a time for me to emit remorse
and settles into her doom mood.
I faced the decaf she handed me,
I look at the mug, she chews gum.
She tells me to stop acting crazy.
Crazy. Yzarc.

That doesn’t make sense.

Mom said I was a star, but rats, I’m not.
She said I was proof the devil lived.
She says, just stop! Change, think different.
I hear – Edit the tide, repel the leper.
She says she’s my warder, ready to redraw me.
If you love me, she says, you’ll change.
Love. Evol. Evil. Live.

That I can make sense of.

‘We are all kings and pawns of men.’ – Bonaparte’s famous quote, adapted for the screen in The Count of Monte Cristo – ‘We are either kings or pawns; emperors or fools.’ I always liked that line, don’t think it was in Alexander Dumas’ original work though. I must ask you, if you perceive me as your nemesis, your downfall, why do you insist on these meetings? We discuss and you are found wanting in every topic. We play games and you are handed your loss. As your perceived nemesis, no matter the game at hand, I will cause your downfall. Yet you call the meetings, inviting your own demise. A king kills his nemesis. A pawn is manipulated by him. The emperor runs him off. A fool does nothing. You can’t kill me or run me off, I am not manipulating you and yet you aren’t ignoring me either. What kind of fifth player are you?