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Into The Mind Of A Murderer

Good evening, unless you are not reading this in the wee small hours in which it was written, in which case helooo!

I’ve always been fascinated by psychology and what it is that makes a human being do the things that he / she does. Into The Mind of a Murderer is a short story that does just that and I include a mini snippet of the story for you to see here. I hope you enjoy.

As usual all thought and comments welcome x


Into The Mind of a Murderer

He had closed his mind to the infrequent sufferings of his conscience many years ago. Time had withered what little compassion he had left, empathy and love existing only as faded memories, regarded as pointless fiction upon the rare occasions when his thoughts were permitted to wander to such things.

He picked up the scalpel and walked over to the bed. The nurse would be awake soon and these were the moments he savoured more than most. Moonlight shone in though the skylight and reflected his perfectly sharp razor like grin on the surface of the surgical instrument.

The irony that this implement, designed to preserve life, was perhaps the most efficient tool he had ever used to torture and eventually kill was not lost on him, in fact he considered it often during his quieter moments.

Her eyelids flickered, slowly at first, before her own memories of the past few hours, like a burst damn flooded her thoughts and they snapped open.

Unable to move due to the leather restraints that bound her hands and ankles, she looked frantically left and right as though her eyes were trying to make a frenzied escape of their own. Even though he’d seen it before, this amused him somewhat, giving rise to a low guttural chuckle.

She followed the sinister sneer, slowly and reluctantly till eventually her gaze met his. There was no emotion, apart from an ill concealed show of excitement from him as he studied her shocked and fearful expression.

An icy breath of air from the howling winds outside forced its way into the room and brushed over her body, forcing her to shudder. She had been stripped naked, apart from her feeble undergarments, though modesty was now the least of her concerns.

She knew that this monster in human form was the last person her living eyes would ever see.

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Little Ruthy

Hello all…

My book (The Trouble With Time Travel) is still going well and ever closer to the finish line.

Whilst writing, as a wee warm-up exercise i tend to do a little free form to drum up ideas for future projects and I think I’ve hit on something here.

Its not complete (Just an idea at this stage) and i am interested to see if this turns into a novel or a short story.

See what you you think, hope you like it ….

As always all comments and thoughts welcome x

 

Little Ruthy

“Drink, but slowly. It’ll feel a little strange as it goes down but…”

He stopped to consider his choice of words before continuing.

“That’s what you paid for.”

He finally muttered something under his breath before turning away from his pleading image in the mirror and downed the blue liquid contents in the blue cup.

He finally chanted something under his breath.

It only took a few seconds for the paralysis to kick in; one hand grasping to the sink, the other clawing at his chest, instinctively trying to stop his blood from freezing over.

The time had long since passed for second thoughts.

The last image his eyes were to capture, as his lay on the bathroom floor gasping out his last, was the little girl in the red dress.

Stepping forward out of the shadows, she smiled sweetly before blowing him a kiss and walking out of the room.

Daddy was her first.

Father Mcdaniel mopped his brow with a handkerchief that looked as though it had serviced his nose several times before tending to his sweaty head. He refilled his tumbler and drained the contents in one smooth movement. He may have lost his faith many years ago but as an alcoholic, he had a real future.

The dreams had not stopped, and this one troubled him more than most. He looked at the telephone on his desk waiting patiently for it to ring.

‘Riiiinnngggg’

To his ears, the sound was piercing, like several broken finger nails skating circles on a blackboard. He slowly picked the receiver and placed it to his ear, knowing with absolute certainty that Mrs Jennifer Collins would be hanging on the other end still trying to comprehend the apparent suicide of her loving husband.

“Hello Jennifer dear, are you alright? Slow down dear… Have you called for an ambulance?”

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Cross Culture Mojination

A friend and I have been experimenting a bit. He’s a musician and a jolly good one at that, and I thought wouldn’t it be interesting to try to have a conversation!!!

…. And they said it couldn’t be done!!

A conversation with a difference. A conversation where we communicate using only our respective art forms….

Soo he wrote a short piece of music – which if you use the magic power of… finger and press play above, you can hear – and I responded with the first thing that came to my mind…

It’s quite abstract, but what random thoughts aren’t?

Now he must read this and get composing…

I hope you enjoy. As always all comments and thoughts welcome

TTFN x

 

Breathe

 

“Grit” He looked at her and laughed

“Come on bitch you can do it.”

She snarled at him and took more air in her lungs than he thought was available in the room.

“Selfish cow, I paid for that” he joked. “Lucky for you you’re breathing for two.”

She sat on the dining table, brown beads of sweat falling from every pore and orifice, sticking what little nightgown she was wearing close to her body.

He leered at her, perverted, as her breathing deepened and became more laboured.

“You stink luv” he said “Open your legs then, I’ve got a buyer waiting if you can push this out in time”

Taking a hold of her knees he used what little strength the dissipating air in the room allowed him and prized her legs open.

Her scream was piercing, the loudest yet by his reckoning.

“Oh baby, do that again I might not be able to wait if you do.

She shook her head rapidly and took in a big consignment of air.

“Steady on luv, there’s not enough oxygen to…” He fell to his knees struggling to remain conscious.

His eyes turned a pretty beetroot red.

She wasn’t far behind, taking what remaining air there was in the room she pushed whilst outstretching her hand for him to hold.

He reached up and grabbed her arm, just one more push and it would be over.

That night a baby cried on the dinner table.

… Then it died.

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Out In a Minute

How long has it been???  Not wanting to get too personal here I’ll say a while… ages…. too long… probably.

I write this post on the 4th December at my home in sunny south shields. It’s taken a while to adapt to my new writing environment but getting back on track.

The Trouble With Time Travel novel is going well and I am expecting the first draft to be complete this side of Christmas, then again I’m also expecting my Christmas shopping to be carried out by well-meaning pixies, so let us see how that pans out; my hopes are high.

In the meantime, I still start out every writing session with a bit of free form (Sit down and write the first thing that comes into my head, mistakes welcome…) and I thought I’d share today’s little adventure. I think it could be the beginning of something interesting??

As always your thoughts and opinions are welcome TTFN x

Out In A Minute

“Wake up Daisy”
Nothing
No movement.
The usual flaring of her nostrils every time she took in enough oxygen to starve a forest fire… Absent.
“We need you, Daisy please”
No flicker in her eyes.
The stains from the tears that ran through the damns of mascara caked to her face made her look more like an ancient porcelain artifact than a recently deceased mother of four.
“What do we do?”
This question was not directed at Daisy, but more about her.
The question was answered by the other gentleman in the room.
“Well she can’t stay here”
“Oh good, I’ll just ask her to move!”
“You know what I mean”
The other gentleman moved slightly closer and crouched over the body.
“You sure she’s dead?”
The question was met with a sarcastic snigger.
“I could ask her, and while I’m at it, ask if her cup was the one with the poison in. If she answers we’ve got a result!”
The other man nodded standing upright and straightening his tie and the name badge on his lapel:
John Plonkett – Happy to Help
“How long before she’s missed?”
Stanley the junior office assistant stood up shaking his head “Not long John. Let’s see, her four children and two sisters are on the shop floor waiting to pick her up. I’d say five minutes, three with bad behavior.”

The shop Tannoy kicked into action “Daisy Rutherford please report to the customer service desk”.

“I stand corrected, about two minutes”

To be continued…………………………

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Imagine

In at 1.15am today. Sat down at the computer and did some free form. It’s completely un-edited but thought i’d share anyway, hope you enjoy. As always all comments and thoughts welcome. x

Imagine

Imagine a world of clinical logic.

Where every action has an equal and opposite reaction.

The birth of which is a machine facilitated by yet another process following an exact and predetermined formula.

And so it goes on.

Picture the teardrops of a grown man, the composition constant, the reason biologically explained to the last detail.

Trace the evolution of his emotion.

The empathetic connection that we all crave carefully explained to leave no room but the one it already occupies.

Imagine choice to be but an illusion.

An unanswered question in search of reason.

Imagine the beating of a child’s heart to be nothing more than a cog connecting to the other moving parts.

Satisfying the sum of the whole.

It’s existence sanctioned by It’s compatibility.

Then smile

For the moment we still have to imagine.

 

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Extract from Confessions Of A Murderer

It’s been a wee while since I posted on here so thought I’d check in and share one or two ideas from a novel I’ve been working on. Be great to hear your thoughts.

 

 

“When I was young my parents told me I had the potential for greatness and I believed them.

I thought that was the reason I never quite fitted in, why I was an outcast.

The smile was only skin deep and my inner conflict grew.

My frustration gradually increased with the unchanging ever present ticking of the clock, with the feeling that my potential was never to be realised.

Then one day I did something that would change my life forever. I changed my definition of what greatness was, and with that realisation, I knew that I was the living and continued embodiment of my true potential.

We are, each and every one of us placed upon this earth for a reason.

It’s difficult to truly express the tranquility that comes from being at one with your true self, accepting all that you are. Some are born to be saints, to be good men sacrificing all so that their fellow man can thrive and some… are like me.

Like me, your fate on this world is decided. It’s best that you make peace with that”.

He picked the scalpel from the table and walked toward the school teacher…

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Melek

ImageI sometimes think as a writer I have a dual personality, Its something I learned as an actor, often observing myself as harmony and chaos collide then travel the same road together in perfect unison.

My life’s experiences both imagined and real, laid out on the page to form a new species which plays upon the red carpet that flows from my mind.

The ‘playground’ I create becomes the world in which the characters exist by amplifying true to life situations and taking them to their absolute extreme then blending them with perfect fiction with a definite idea of the emotion I want to create whilst simultaneously developing the character and moving the plot forward.

I’d like to share with you a piece from my Novel in Progress ‘Melek’ in which we take a step back and observe the serial killer as a child. Hope you enjoy, as always all comments welcome x

 

Daddy broke eye contact with her and looked at me. ‘Its my weekend, he’s my son’. He pleaded with her  ‘You cant just stop me from seeing him when you feel like it’ . ‘Well maybe next time you’ll think of this when you piss me off, now leave!’

I used to cry when this happened, but now, nothing. Mummy has taken my tears.

In the past daddy would walk out, I wouldn’t see him, and mummy, well she’d go to bed or go out into the back garden to have a cigarette, then she’d come back in and tell me what a terrible person he was. ‘I’m ten, not stupid’.

Daddy wasn’t a horrible person he just couldn’t stand up to mummy, and mummy, well she only smiled when daddy was upset.

I made her a hot chocolate when he left. I expected a violent reaction, shouting screaming, but the pills I put in her drink just made her sleep.

She never woke up.

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