This is my 50th original piece of short fiction, so kind of a milestone! I hope you enjoy the story. Please feel free to leave a comment and follow our blog at Pen of the Damned, where a new story is posted every week by a different author in our group.
Author Mark Steinwachs offers a tale of damnation, titled “Hell”, on http://www.penofthedamned.com
“Hell. You think you have it all figured out. Fire and brimstone, sinners writhing in agony, cries of the forsaken. You think that’s it, but you’re wrong. You cursed me there when you drove the knife into me because I was different. You cursed me there when you watched me bleed out. You cursed me there in the name of God. I didn’t belong there. Not until your knife pierced my skin. And then I knew hatred. You taught me. As my life slipped away on the grass, as you spit on me, you taught me hate. In that moment, you sent me to Hell.”
My smile melts into a sneer. They lie in their bed, both paralyzed by my touch. His wife screams, but no sound comes out. His eyes are wide, mouth closed. Ten years have taken a toll on him, though my body is the same.
View original post 809 more words
I’d like to thank everyone who has followed my blog. Your support and likes on my posts are invaluable!
I’d like to share with you a piece I wrote for Pen of the Damned, A Growing Boy.
A Growing Boy
by Lee A. Forman
Hunger never left his distended paunch. No matter how much she brought, his gut could not be sated. Spindly arms pulled rotten meat into a foul orifice. Brown saliva and undigested chunks ran down his stained frontside into a puddle of filth. Familiarity still rested in his eyes. They followed her with affection, resting deep behind puss-filled lumps which grew around them. She wondered if he still had legs beneath the mass of pulsating skin at his bottom. But it wouldn’t have mattered. His proportions already filled most of the barn.
She took the sandwich bag of teeth from her pocket and remembered his smile. How sweet and simple he once was.
A low groan erupted from his belly. Tremors of a wanting stomach rumbled under her boots. The fly-infested supply of food nearly depleted, she’d have to find a way to feed her growing boy.