PasopNegra

 Finifugal :(n.) hating endings; someone who tries to prolong the inevitable/ final moments My grandfather always told us stories of his past. Oddly enough, he always chose to dwell there rather than face the reality he was currently experiencing. Today, in particular, he preferred to recount the story of how he lost his wife. Whenever he talked about it, his deep-set eyes held a clock turning back to that time. A certain kind of pain wrenched a guilt-filled moan from his very chest. I was drowning myself in kachipembe again that day. Though the war was over, I felt like I was in the middle of the battlefield again. The stench of rotting blood, mud, and gunpowder still lingering in my nostril s. With each sip, we would teeter between reality and memory. The young boys would urge us to tell them our body counts, from our most gruesome kills to the most dangerous missions we would tell them all for another bottle of beer and moonshine. Tonight was no different, I drank till I pis...

  It slicked through the labyrinth of alleyways, its sleek form blending seamlessly with the darkness that cloaked the city streets. The neon glow of the metropolis cast eerie shadows, concealing its predatory advance. With every sinuous movement, it drew closer to its prey, its senses honed to the scent of vulnerability and fear. The city, once promised as a beacon of opportunity, now lay tarnished and sullied by the grim realities of its underbelly. Those who traversed its thoroughfares did so with haste, seeking refuge in the flickering lights and the semblance of safety they provided. Yet, even amidst the chaos and decay, there existed a hierarchy of desperation, a hierarchy that this creature understood all too well. For it hungered not for sustenance in the traditional sense, but for the intoxicating rush that only the flesh of the young and reckless could provide. In the shadows, it lurked, its craving growing with each passing moment. The stench of decay and decayed dreams ...

 river of tears the blood spilling like a torrential stream like velvet smooth like unfurling silk the hounds  hungrily devouring the flesh 'like supple flesh!' one snickered howls of laughter followed after making  an echoing sound against the space. soon it faded with their shadows soon it was silence pain was the only proof of life they saw it as art their best work yet river of tears a scream of shredding material a gurgling mewl for help the voice silenced in violence the only sound left was the unaware city scurrying rodents looking on  instinct making them understand   the river of tears  cursed with a drought we have no rain in our world to fill it hearing the temple deteriorate the crack and crunch of the pillars of dignity we flinched at the scene but out of respect, we keep our eyes connected steeling ourselves for your sake the frustration of hopelessness suffocating  the river of tears will face a drought soon the dark nights will turn to ...

When dusk is upon us The candles are lit When the sun is gone along with its warmth the space between us charged with lust The finality of when the clock strikes What a relief to hear it What joy! We shall be the source of fire that ignites the shadows within The orbits magnetically connecting us Panting Shivering Hissing Domination Submission Intertwining like vines on a branch holding my body captive The moon and the stars our only witnesses Domineering Subversion your flesh a tasty experience Unsuspecting of the cruelty that awaited thus your voice sounded elated that was my intention I wanted the screeching sonata of panic. The rising tides of frenzy Your muscle memorizing the organ  clenching and shaping to its size as my tongue danced around tasting the flesh at its freshest I felt it down my throat and gut with a final spasm You ceased  “Bravo! Beautiful!” I cheered with an applause and a wipe of my mouth I smeared your remains on my face...

I t all started with a clip from the iconic scene of Jules quoting Ezekiel 25:17 during a death scene from a mobster cliché.  Cliché…the most hated narrative of our day and age.  These days our attention span is short and we as the audience always wish for an avant-garde piece of film that will keep us asking for more. Since Tarantino spent most of his youth hanging around and working in video stores he grew to love and films. During an interview with a reporter Tarantino went on an emotional tirade about his life before he became this famous director. It is admirable that he had  no experience whatsoever  and had no education into it, by simply watching B-rated and Hollywood movies he has gained a vast knowledge in order to critique  and be able to recognize the movies’ narratives immediately is what led to him to create Pulp Fiction , the movie that led  him to glorious fame.  He talked about how he used to have discussions with his fellow co-workers...

Hysterical laughter was heard from the room… A woman just finished watching the new Joker movie and simply couldn’t help but scream in hysterical laughter, finding it ironic that the character was somewhat relatable. Day 1 of lockdown was considered a blessing in disguise, her shitty job with shitty pay and shittier hours was closed down, it was not an essential service. She got up from the couch and picked up the remote. She switched the screen to Netflix and let a show run in the background as she headed for the bathroom.  Washing her hands and she couldn’t bare looking in the mirror, it was unavoidable, so she saw glimpses of herself looking dishevelled and ten years older than what she really was. Her natural locks in a protective style from weeks ago, she couldn’t help but feel more depressed than ever. Talk Console Share Intimate Moments Debate For herself and nobody else. She had no one but herself and her little apartment. Cutting herself off further from the outside world,...

 When the sun goes down the moon shines at its brightest. There is a certain disquiet among us. No animal nor insect made a sound. The only privileged one is the wind, but even it...whistled lowly and rustled softly over the land. When the sun goes down a pale luminescent light now blocked out by the beastly shadow. Terrified of the world around them. the candlelights dimming at the sheer force of the darkness. It has come, the evil so pungent even the purest of souls (children) lay still and remain so. When the night comes the first shrill that asks for help is the most terrifying of all, because the next day you have to face your cowardice and offer your condolences. Everyone crouching in the far corners furthest from the door. When the night comes the crunching of bones and squelching bloody limbs goes on and on and on and on...the bang of another door being broken down, the familiar sound of splintering wood. The screams of desolate hopelessness. When the night comes...