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FOUND HURT

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Phantom


PHANTOM

 

            “He” was a man who internally was a little boy, traumatized by the realities and experiences of Life deep down to the core.

“He” could remember scowering the worn, golden fields looking for his lost love, only to find handmade cat traps made by a maniacal man referred to in neighborhood folklore as “Phantom”.

Yes, within the crying fields, “He” yearned for another chance to be given a map and the courage to find himself out of his lost ways. In the canal he yearned to be cleansed within the murky, still waters, as just ahead, he came to cylinder that led to “THE OTHER SIDE”.

“ Find your way home and play with your toys please.”   The voice in HIS head said.

At 3 years old, “He” had an out of body experience and no one could tell him different. “He” awoken and screamed in fear, justified by a higher power that Life was going to be all right and strife usually only took one or two bites from the soul and psyche. In the canal, viewing the cylinder that lead to another side, the man/boy called “He” stepped through, hoping he would not be harmed or devastated in any further way.

The cylinder consumed “Him”, as packs of rats and abandoned afterlife DESIRED ANSWERS.

On the other side the boy became sturdy and realized that everything was temporary and God wanted him as much as the Devil; Strange to come to such realizations. That is when “He” became the Phantom, admiring humanity from a distance; It was more intimate to him that way and he was not as vulnerable; Until the Evening.

In the Evening, Led Zeppelin would blare throughout the seductive air and the skies would seep deep shades of purple and heavy delight; That is when the Phantom became all business.  Distortion of all senses, people would fall one by one, as the Phantom would appear from unforgiving shadows and become elegantly intimate with each of his victims, holding each of them close, never forgetting the past; He preferred it this way.

Through cities, catacombs and wilderness, our Phantom came to crossroads where the divine drank, fucked and ate luscious grapes with the opposition, the unkind.  Babies were born, ignored, subjected to madness and eventually set to fend for themselves.  At first, it seems like things move so slow, but suddenly, you become horrified, realizing you are on a runaway freightrain with no fucking breaks.

“ Run Phantom. Run from all of this nonsense and dismay.”

The Phantom moved with grace and agility, running further and further away from where he grew scared and distressed, finding his way to Apt #30 within a building he use to know.

At the kitchen table, alone, sighing that sigh like one who knows judgement is hovering over them, our dear Phantom sips his last sip, wincing from the proof of the serum he ingests and the reality or lack of it.

“ POLICE!”     The door comes crashing down as a squad of bold blue open fire with .357 Magnums, blowing holes, chunks and regret from “He”, The Phantom as things reach a crescendo before falling silent.

“Why didn’t you just find your way home and play with your toys?”

[ Read more by clicking on the lunatic pic~ ] 

 

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Found Ground


“Found Ground” Has Arrived ~ http://store.blurb.com/ebooks/460678-found-ground

Surreal

Stroll of Reality


Stories of Elegant Mania Inspired by the Human Condition~ Please Indulge.  http://store.blurb.com/ebooks/402601-stroll-of-reality

stroll of reality

Rufus McCain


Happy Thursday and here is a new short story inspired by the wonderful art from Germany’s most Beloved Son,  Mike Heinl.

Rufus McCain

Composed

by

Layden Robinson

The key is to lose yourself within the performance, become one with it and never look back; That is exactly how Rufus McCain lived.

                Stern-faced, Rufus McCain burned down the house, never showing an ounce of remorse or regret.  He casually and confidently strolled away, silently saying his goodbyes within an internal whisper; (Never give others a Tell to pin you on a hand.)

Rufus McCain was obsessive of hate, but also had an understanding of the power of hatred and what it was capable of destroying.

He had gone to his late Mother’s resting place when the bullies chose to interrupt his respectful moment with his lost loved-one; heckling him, pushing and sticking him with their fuck fingers; (Ill advised.)

Just because Rufus McCain was a quiet, silent soul didn’t mean he was inferior, weak and feeble; ready to lie over and be a submissive bitch for anyone that mistakenly thought that they had more power than they truly had.

Like a vehement banshee, Rufus McCain turned and tore the fucking throat from one of the intrusive bullies, throwing the lifeless piece of flesh mass at the other surrounding piss-filled followers.   They ran for the distance, as Mr. McCain went back to his zone of solace, kissing his Mother’s headstone before he rose and headed West.

Towards the West, within the West, Rufus McCain fantasized about the fairytale; what it would be like to feel Love, be in Love, become one with love.  Ahead he saw a frigid castle holding captive a Maiden that waved for him to save her.

“Fucker.”    Rufus McCain hardly used vulgarity, but he was overwhelmed by emotion, that insidious possession that can seep so deep inside of you, make you scream out-loud for a new beginning.

                He knew what he needed to do as he walked, with confidence and strength, towards the frigid castles’ structure, looking above to where the helpless maiden had been waving her SOS to him.

“WHO GOES THERE?!?” Came a booming voice from the dropping front gate of the Medieval prison that kept his destiny captive.

                Out rode a dark knight that matched the color of the deepest, most vengeful serpent, raising his saber high, aiming Rufus McCain’s immediate way.

“I ASKED WHO GOES THERE!”   The dark knight was powerful and firm with his penetrating roar.

“My name is Rufus McCain and I have been sent to rescue the Maiden above.”   Within an emotionless tone and the most severe of Poker faces, Rufus McCain stared down his adversary, never flinching or showing a hint of fear.

“Is that so young lad? Well¸ if that is case. PREPARE TO DIE! “

                The black knight wasted no time charging Rufus McCain’s way with his saber aggressively swinging and his screeching mare, spitting like the whore she was, with his true intent never a secret. Rufus McCain took from inside his corduroy jacket the .44 Magnum he had personally stolen from Inspector Callahan, blowing a massive hole wide open within his aggressor’s chest; (the mare was now free.)

Above, Rufus McCain saw his in-need Maiden re-appear, as he looked above introspectively.

“Is this the way it is supposed to be?”    Rufus McCain knew that there was no time to waste; the rest of The Black Knight’s brigade would be arriving back sooner rather than later.

“Please. Take me with you!”  The Maiden was wet from head to toe as Rufus McCain scaled the dark stone confines walls, like a feisty arachnid, effortless. Above, taking what he had always yearned for, within his strengthened arms.

“What becomes of us now, my hero?”  The Maiden spoke between kissing her saviors lips and soul so deeply.

“There is no end and only new beginnings.”

                A distance away, but close enough to be lethal, Rufus McCain could hear the rhythmic gallop and thunder upon the un-sturdy ground’s dwindling firmness, heading their way.

Rufus McCain- Now and Currently Living within the Present.

(  Please donate $10 via Paypal at robinsonderek@hotmail.com and receive all three of my Ebooks, “Found Ground”, “Breathe” and “Stroll of Reality” as a token of my appreciation.)

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