Aug 28, 2008

The Burning Chicken

The barn door creaked like nails on a blackboard and I hoped as hell I didn't wake up any chickens. Azz had weird tastes, when the other demons could now be sated with beer and pizza, he was still the old fashioned one. To be summoned by a simple call but if you wanna make a wish, he needed blood and suffering.

And so, chickens. For fuck's sake.

Still, he had got used to one good thing of the new world like a shark to the ocean.

Rock music.

And, this was precisely how I got to meet Azz. At one point in my life I was listening to a lot of black metal. Who knew what shit those guys screamed into the microphones, with the blast beats and distorted guitars, none of it was listenable anyway.

So, this old friend of mine downloaded an album off some satanic torrent site and gave me this weird fucked up 'music' that was all screams and chants in some language I didn't bother to understand, but I must admit, the noise was good.

I got drunk with the music playing and in my drunken haze I set a chicken on fire. Don't ask me why, I have no explanations for the things I do now, what to say of the past. It was fucking funny, watching that burning bird cluck like mad and try to fly and bump into the fences of the garden, it was like a fucking living, breathing, dying fireball.

I was laughing my guts out when two clawed hand appeared out of the darkness beyond the fence and chucked off the chicken. I nearly pissed myself in fear.

Then, his voice spoke from the darkness, I still remember it clearly.

"Delish," it said, "ask your wish boy, cuz I liked the taste of the chicken and I like your taste in music."

And so, on that eldritch night, when I asked a demon for a pack of beer, it all began.

But, that is in the past, right now, let's get these three chicken out. I got some gasoline and I feel kinda pyromantic.


This one was written without any music or internet to bother me and just to make it clear, I never really set a chicken on fire, but I have given it serious thought at times.

Aug 27, 2008

For A Chick

The matchstick flared like an explosion in the darkness around me. I lit the candle, the wick caught, and it slowly spluttered to life. I sat back in my chair and the candle's light made shadows on the wall in front of me.

"Right, let's talk." I said to the darkness and the world around me buzzed with the steady hum of power, a whisper of evil and a silent grin that would have made a shark proud.

Aazthooth's clawed fingers rested on my shoulder, drumming a slow beat to a song I'd never heard.

"It's Ozzy." said Azzthooth, reading my thoughts, "from his next album."

"This is just plain wrong man." I said, "now I'll be looking out for his next album with so much fucking anticipation."

I could feel Azzthooth's grin spread wider above my head, the bastard was enjoying this.

"So, what's it going to be this time, little brother?" he asked, neglecting my thoughts.

"Ah, you know, there is this…"

"…girl in your school." he completed.

"Yeah man, and …"

"…you want her."

"You know me Azz, and you know how it is."

"Yes, yes, I know, I know."

"I could sacrifice a chicken you know."

"Just a chicken for a full chick?" he scowled.

"Ok, two, I can't steal more man, you know my dad, he will fuck me up."

"She's a virgiiiin." Azzthooth sang with a snicker.

"Three chickens, and that's it! I'll do them on a moonless night too but I'm not topping that."

"Shake on that." Azzthooth spat in his hand and lowered the sizzling palm towards me.

I shook his hand, the warmth turned to a searing heat and the smell of my burning flesh filled my nostrils. I winced at the pain, but somehow the thoughts of getting laid dulled the throbbing pain in my hand.

"Right then," said Azzthooth, "I got to go get some spells working, you better catch them chickens!"
This piece started as a writer seeking inspiration from the demons, but wait! That was Faust!, it materialized into what you read just now. Next part? Oh surely! But I have no freaking idea what will happen in that…let's see.

Oh, and a story contest, soon…

Aug 23, 2008

Yeah, I'm talking to You.

This is not a story, I like to make that clear in non-story posts because once or twice some of you have commented on personal posts as"Hey, nice story!!!". Makes me think that I am the only living person out here and ALL(except 1,2 or 3) of you are robots controlled by aliens who are having fun at my expense! But strangly I do not seem to care.

Right, the last two stories have been pretty psycho even for me, no, it was not the amount of violence, there was very little anyway, it's not the amount of fuckedupness in those stories, its not the lack of comments that all you lazy readers do not write for the pleasure of my mailbox. IT is that I barely remember writing these stories.

Am I getting amnesia finally? I mean 243 stories and almost equal number of poems at my other blog Poetry, am I finally cracking up?( As if I wasn't a lot of cracked already) Though this business of not recalling wrting these stories is irksome but somehow I do not mind this. I mean as long as the stories are getting written, besides, I am sure that I wrote them because they are saved in my laptop only. So, that is settled.

I have been thinking about some things, first about a story writing contest, with cash prizes. Ah, that catches your attention, no? I'm still thinking about it, I do not know if anyone of you would like to take part in it. Leave a comment if you would like to see the contest in materialize here, and I will think up some fucked up rules and equally fucked up prizes.

Second thing is the color scheme of this blog, I am thinking of going simplistic. Why simplistic you ask? Well the black background takes considerably larger time to load on my internet connection, and with the widgets and all its quite a wait. Any thoughts on that? Do you have any suggestions for the blog's look? Something you'd like added or something you'd like removed? Seen any tempelate worthy enough of ASAD? let me know.

Right, so two things, contest and blog looks.

As all personal non story posts, this post too shall be removed, whenever I feel like it!


Aug 22, 2008

Escaping Illusions

In her mind Slicha wielded the SuperQuantamMegaNutrinoX in her hand and blasted through the hoards of alien Zorgers like a steel scalpel through flesh. She enjoyed the bloodshed, the chunks of alien flesh that clung to the visors of her helmet, the warmth of blood that slowly seeped in through her radiation control suit and made her happy. 

She surveyed the carnage around her, something moved in the rubble and Slicha called a nuclear strike from the built in mic of her helmet. She saw the missile approach, her adrenaline built up in anticipation of another mushroom cloud…then everything went black.

Pitch black darkness surrounded her. She opened her eyes and looked at the leaves of a tree in the park hiding the sky. The VidDrug had worn off and she didn't have any credit left in her cellphone to order more. She cast a look around herself.

Wind fluttered through the pages of her book lying on the grass. A bright sun shone on the afternoon sky, a medley of clouds made their way across the blue. The air was heavy with the promise of rain. Somewhere in distance a shotgun blast rang out and roused a flurry of sparrows from the trees.

Slicha picked up her book from the grass and stuffed it into her bag. 'fucking humans' she thought. She quietly walked through the grass, purposely smothering the grass with her shoes. 

The large building that she knew as her house loomed like a brick giant in front of her. She placed her hand on the security keypad and the door chimed open.

"Hey Slicha!" the house spoke in a cheery voice, "welcome back from school, what would you like to eat today?"

"Shit." Slicha grumbled at the cheerful tones of the house's voice. 

She walked into her room, slammed the door and put on music. Loud music, the kind that made a person's eyes bulge from their sockets and their brains melt through their ears. Slicha selected a scalper from her biology kit and fit it with a new blade, the old one was rusty with blood. Then, she stripped herself of every single piece of clothing on her body. For one crazy moment she contemplated walking out in the world, free from all the bonds of shame, respect and sanity. Then the cold steel of the scalper dragged her back to reality. She stepped into the tiny bathroom attached to her room and turned on the shower.

Trickles of blood followed the water into the drain, as Slicha dug the steel into her skin, strengthening her bond with reality.


I'm half asleep and hungry as I write this, both out of choice. And it is the most fun I have writing sometimes, writing to escape my illusions. Shit, there is no deeper meaning to the stories, so don't even bother to re-read. G' nite.

Aug 16, 2008

Rain Lover

When Ryle was a kid he loved the rain. 

He loved the way the raindrops pitter pattered in the horse shit on the farm and made the whole farm smell of wet horse shit. He knew his father would force him to clean the horse shit come next morning, but he still loved the smell.

He loved the way the whole farm turned into an unwilling quicksand on rainy days and sucked at his shoes as he ran in the rain. One time he lost a shoe to the quicksand and his father had made him dig through the whole field to look for the missing shoe.

He loved all the snakes and creepy crawlers that came out with the rain and climbed inside the legs of his half pants. Even in his later years he could not forget the incident of the poison making everything twice its size in his trousers. He still heard the hyena like giggles of the nurses.

Still, he loved the way the rain made the power lines buzz and crackle with electricity and many times the wait near the power lines was rewarded by the transformer blowing up with a loud bang. He loved the smell of burnt plastic and electricity in the air.

Above all, he loved the loud sound of the thunderbolts sticking the tall iron bars his father had dug in the field from keeping in the animals. Ryle clearly remembered the day when lightening had struck an errant cow that was standing in the field and made instant barbeque of the poor animal. Ryle and family feasted on the cow for the next whole week.

Ryle liked the way his father stank of whisky on rainy days and his mother smelled faintly of antiseptic. With years, his father smelled strongly of whisky and his mother smelled more and more of blood. 

Time passed, rain kept on falling and as Ryle grew he loved every drop of the rain.

A human mind has a great capacity to ignore the important, and distract itself with the mundane. Way to go Ryle.

Aug 13, 2008

The Awakened

We have seen ourselves grow fat, old, ugly and dead. 

Our ancient bones creak in rusting joints. The muscles knot up and we writhe in our aeon old sleep. The world that we once knew is, but a dream to us. The sky beyond our closed eyes changes colors from black to gray to black again, but we only feel, we do not see.

The things that we were once, we are not those anymore. Like fallen giants, we rot. The world we were promised, never given to us. 

So, we wait. We lie dreaming and in this dreaming we wait. We wait for the worlds to end and we wait for time itself to collapse on its feeble legs. We wait for the last winks of the galaxies. 

We wait, for the end of Death.

We wait, for the end of this dream.

And when there is nothing, we shall awake. 

To create again.


Why are you looking at me like that? 

Aug 7, 2008


She played the ever memorable chords on her guitar and in her vodka soaked voice she sang 'Comfortably Numb' to me.

I just lay there twitching, my hands and legs tied to the operating table. The walls around me decorated with sharp steel and black drying blood. I closed my eyes and tried to focus as she shifted gear into the second para of the song. She sang with a calm that betrayed the face of the woman who had stuck knives in my legs and knitting needles in my arms. I could no longer feel the pain though. It was just a dull throb that rose and fell with every breath. 

The world around me swam in a swirl of black, white and a song. She was in her element, singing to me. Swansong? A request of the dying? A good luck for my journey to hell? I do not know.

"You liked that?" she asked.

"Fuck you bitch." I replied through broken teeth.

Her grin flashed in the darkness of the room as she raised the guitar over her head and smashed it in my face. The wood broke and dug splinters into my already broken nose and sent a loose tooth in my mouth spiraling down into the void of my throat. I coughed, choked and swallowed it.

"You liked that?" she asked again.

I tried to breath in some air to hurl another profanity, but my blood bubbled into my nose. I tried to open my swollen mouth but no air came in, I tried to move my neck and a weight, heavy as a sack of bricks settled on my chest.

She was there, sitting on my chest, her hands around my throat, her fingernail digging deep into the side of my neck.

She was right where I wanted her. My face turned blue as I stopped any attempts to breathe. My heartbeat slowed, her screams thrummed in my ears, and I grinned through broken lips as my liquid nitrogen filled radioactive heart exploded through my chest and right into her.

Her heart-fucked body slumped down on me as I took my last breath and laughed.


Somedays I forget why people come to this blog, and then posts like the last post happen. When I remember why people come to this blog, heartfucked things happen.

Aug 3, 2008


They are strewn across this frigid world

I pick them up, word by word

Trying to string these slippery diamonds

Into a coherent string

They are a peep into the future

They are a fleeting look at the past

They look at me sometimes

Sometimes they look at you

They exist in this, that is not now

They exist in this, that is somewhile else

My only consolation, they exist

So I dive into the dark every night

Searching for another slippery diamond

Stained with memories of future


What writing stories is like for me.