Death's Day

 If there was one thing Jason hated in his life, it was suffering and poverty. Most of the time he was tempted to go to his parents’ grave to dig them out; he had only one question in his mind for them: why give birth to children you knew fully well you could not take of? It burned in his mind, ate him up in his dreams, this question. His waking moments were filled with worry. Living in Daltom, a town that seemed to be in a perpetual cycle of poverty and the dreams of breaking out of it was hell. It was like there was a blanket pulled over his head, a blanket that kept him static in life, and for good reason: he had three brothers he had to take care of and they all looked up to him as if he was the one that had sex with their mother. Once he had told Harry, his friend and partner at the eatery where he worked, “how can people not think before they have sex? What exactly is on their mind?” But his friend would not buy into his ideology. “Would yo

There was so much hate in Annabel’s eyes as she watched the priest leading her family in prayer. His eyes were shut, his face a cherubic expression of worship and holiness, while his hands were raised to the sky. He was her nightmare, but she was still too afraid to narrate this particular nightmare to her parents. Her parents and two brothers had their eyes shut too and were singing with their deep-throated. She hated the song and the singer.It was the expression in her mother’s face that she hated the most. It was that of trust and total surrender. She would never believe anything that she would say about this man, the priest, not when the cross was hung all over their houses at intervals. It was terrible, but her own family was afraid of her, of what she could do. Annabel shut her eyes and joined in the song; this was torture, but who would believe her if she told them their emblem of holiness was, in fact, the devil himself? She could imagine her

The priest slapped her backside as she walked past the desk again. She was wearing a black gown, the longest gown her mother bought for her. It was big on her, but still her behind was hardly hidden beneath it, at least not for the priest. Annabel did not bother turning to look at him because she knew she would find that stupid grin on his face. She could not now remember how many times she wished she had the power to wipe that grin off his face in the most painfully shocking way possible.“Go and lock the door, so your confession can begin,” the man said with an air of one who knew he would not be disobeyed.Annabel walked towards the door. At first she moved slowly, like someone hesitant on a course of action, then she locked the door with firm and sure moves, neither fast nor slow. When she turned towards the priest, there was this daring look on her face that got the priest frightened for all of ten seconds before he finally convinced himself that the g

Grant loved to fuck. He knew all the girls who were quiet and still went to the back of their houses to have one boy give it to them, hot. He would know, he was one of those boys after all. Life was hard. Added to that was the fact that he was born in Daltom, one of the poorest counties in the country. Without parents, surviving was hard. He blamed whatever was in charge of delivering new babies to their deserving or undeserving parents. The fool decided to hand him over to two poor people living in Daltom. Two poor people who could not even pretend that he was alive. There was nothing Grant had not done since he came of age and discovered he was alone in the world. His mother would rather buy new clothes than to give an old boy like him money. His father would rather spend his days in the in a pub, getting drunk. He would squander all the money he got from being a cab driver. After all, Grant was in his twenties. He was already supposed to have moved out of their house. The old man

They caused it. You were not wrong. The man had it coming.Annabel folded her hands together. She could still hear the voice of the figure in her head. She could still hear the priest screaming out in pain as she went murderously insane on him. She was looking at herself on top of the priest, an insane child, bringing the knife down again and again on the priest till his body was just one bloody mess. She stabbed the priest so much that she could not recognize his face. The smirk was gone; the authoritative stance disappeared. The last thing she had seen of the face was of unbelief and fear. The priest had looked at her as if she was a monster.“I am a monster,” she mumbled.No.“I am.”You are not.“Who are you?!”She was in a museum, which was closed by the looks of it. Just behind the entrance. She sat on the ground, allowing her gown to wipe the dirt on the floor.The voice in her head had disappeared. Frightened, she looked about th