Writing
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Gripping me tightly, she squints and spits as I stutter her name. I can feel the seed bubbling in my balls; tingling the same as the fillings in my teeth whenever I come into contact with electricity. Like if I’m caught outside in a thunderstorm, or standing beneath a pylon trying to figure out a… Read more
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Bruised skin crisscrossing her wrists. A cigarette or two sat squeezing out a turd deep in a pocket of sleepy morning. In some faraway land, a guy ate a bat, and that was that. The streets stretching from her belly to her knee are neon black. They’re smooth and taste like milky vanilla. The kind… Read more
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The movement of a body, bathed in crescent light. Light from the Mourning Star at four in the morning as it illuminates a garden belonging to a building that now exists only in memory. Laughing like hyenas, we puke on a floral carpet and then scoop the contents of our bellies into empty glasses of… Read more
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Clapping hands mixed with tell-tale moans and groans coming from an open window above a Turkish bar and grill. Not Dino’s, but Jills. There’s a Japanese ballet dancer. She has no feet, only stumps. She has hair down there, but you’ll never see it. She’s prim and proper; a champion sucker of gobstoppers. She has… Read more
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When he caught her, he washed her feet in soda water. She didn’t put up much of a fight. Not because she wasn’t frightened, but because she had seen his face before. It was mundane. Lacking in distinctive features, and above all, as harmless as a crippled kitten lagging two steps behind the rest of… Read more
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Scratching eyelashes sounding like the broken wings of a bird. Some scrawny thing scampering around in the gutter wishing for a boot to come put it out of its misery. Soon enough, the bird will be bones, and then the bones will be dust, and all the love in the world won’t be enough to… Read more
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They say he’s satirical. Perhaps parasitical. One thing for sure is that the road he walks is as long as the tongue of a toad. No, it’s almost certainly longer, but the tongues of the toads on these roads grow long indeed. It might be hard for a closed mind to believe, but these are… Read more
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There’s a guy who watches a girl who finds herself with mascara smeared across her face. Looks like claws; perhaps patterned butterfly wings. There are tiny constellations clinging to the hairs that populate her chin. You can barely see them, but he sees them quite clearly. In the store on the corner of the block… Read more
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The cymbals rush, and I bite my tongue. No blood. Some blood. Nobodies looking. I must stress that I am not diabetic. Not to my knowledge. If a part of my body displeases me, I soak it in tea tree oil until it goes black and falls off. I soak my cock in a glass… Read more
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In a bingo hall, near my old school, the outlines of people no longer around are visible at a specific time each day. It’s just after tea. Mid-afternoon. Tele and biscuits while the woman next door shaves her legs in full view of us kids on the brink of discovering the meaning behind our favourite… Read more
Author S. K. Nicholas 