fifty word murders
― MAX NOT FOR MOD (Roberto Spiralli), Thursday, 14 October 2010 14:10 (eight years ago) Permalink
the sun loomed fatly. close and white, gouging holes in my vision. I could feel its sear and smell its sizzle. I could hear its sound – a rumbling repetition rolling nearer and nearer, gathering velocity and volume, erupting in crescendo with your cry as I push you before the train.
― MAX NOT FOR MOD (Roberto Spiralli), Thursday, 14 October 2010 14:11 (eight years ago) Permalink
gurning like Dickinson I once more lower the grater to the taut folds of your red skin, slowly shorn of epidermis and soon dermis too, then subcutaneous lipids, muscle, nerve and eventually blood-soaked entrails, all victim to my metallic scrape, my gentle caress. it will not be long now.
― stringy cheese, Thursday, 14 October 2010 14:19 (eight years ago) Permalink
the deed was done and the crime was perfect. I headed home, threw my clothes in a trash bag and flicked on the tv. I run through the details in my mind for the hundredth time while Columbo delivers his verdict. I saw this one recently. I…oh for fuck’s sake.
― MAX NOT FOR MOD (Roberto Spiralli), Thursday, 14 October 2010 14:31 (eight years ago) Permalink
I looked around the parking-lot and reassured myself that I was alone. opening my Transit van I picked out the first squirming rubbish-bag, that containing 'poopy', and swung it through the narrow concrete-lined slit and down four storeys into the waiting river. forty-nine more bags waited.
― 'actionize' is next, Thursday, 14 October 2010 14:53 (eight years ago) Permalink
I killed your chimp. I set fire to your hyperbaric chamber and I defaced your ferris wheel. I melted down your gold records. I put those meds in your vodka and I helped you drink them down. My final tweet will read: they took your childhood so you took mine.
― MAX NOT FOR MOD (Roberto Spiralli), Thursday, 14 October 2010 15:48 (eight years ago) Permalink
I signed my letter ‘the ten commandments killer’. the media loved it. the idea was, I would do ironic murders based on the ten commandments and then for the tenth murder I would kill myself. get it? but after six I guess I just got it out of my system.
― MAX NOT FOR MOD (Roberto Spiralli), Thursday, 14 October 2010 16:00 (eight years ago) Permalink
You cheated her out of her dream more out of spite than ambition and she was never the same afterwards. The only passion in your dressing room as I garroted you before the awards ceremony was mine but my favorite part was how totally unsuspecting you were, you smug narcissist.
― A Reclaimer Hewn With (Michael White), Thursday, 14 October 2010 16:01 (eight years ago) Permalink
I had read online that it would be slow and agonizing. I sat in my robe at the kitchen table and saw him choke suddenly and then fall from his chair. I watched him writhe while eating raisin bran and reading the personals. I had time for a second bowl.
― MAX NOT FOR MOD (Roberto Spiralli), Thursday, 14 October 2010 17:11 (eight years ago) Permalink
I stole her pregnant cat and genetically engineered the foetus in utero to secrete a powerful contact poison after birth. it worked perfectly. intoxicated by my unique genius i said too much and was arrested and imprisoned. the Times ran a feature that sunday: top ten genetically engineered cat murders.
― MAX NOT FOR MOD (Roberto Spiralli), Thursday, 14 October 2010 17:28 (eight years ago) Permalink
he didn't even see the gnome raise its miniature crossbow and release its explosive-tipped bolt at his breastbone - he was too busy explaining to his wife that the funds had been secured and that Jevons would never suspect a thing. Jevons, meanwhile, set down the remote control and smirked.
― boooooom, Thursday, 14 October 2010 17:44 (eight years ago) Permalink
“If you want my envelope opener so bad you can keep it,” I cried. Adrenaline subsided; concentration and will took over as I worked the surprisingly blunt metal tool into her chest. She eventually died, but it proved more difficult and messy than I had imagined, and I was embarrassed.
― MAX NOT FOR MOD (Roberto Spiralli), Thursday, 14 October 2010 19:09 (eight years ago) Permalink
― progressive cuts (Tracer Hand), Thursday, 14 October 2010 22:18 (eight years ago) Permalink
Long we cried together in that small room overlooking the ocean. There time seemed to slow between us and yet accelerate around us. Insects were born and died. Stars died and were born again. Our shoulders grew wet with the other’s tears and my chest was damp with his blood.
― MAX NOT FOR MOD (Roberto Spiralli), Sunday, 17 October 2010 03:27 (eight years ago) Permalink
I shot him in the face. CRACK. What a sound. And no one to hear it for miles around. CRACK CRACK. I shot him twice more, just to hear the sound fill the open sky. It was the violent peal of freedom. Out here I could do whatever I wanted.
― Roberto Spiralli, Friday, 13 May 2011 21:01 (seven years ago) Permalink
I leaned close and kissed your cheek. I hadn’t realized until that moment that tears had a smell. Through the reek of the garbage and the traffic and of the city itself, I could discern the scent of those wet lines on your face. They dried and you were gone.
― Roberto Spiralli, Friday, 13 May 2011 21:05 (seven years ago) Permalink
I swear I can feel my physical mass diminishing as blood pours out of my stomach and through my fingers. I laugh. It hurts like hell but I am laughing, and what’s so funny is she beat me to it. A step ahead, for once: the only time it counted.
Once you entered Zizzi, grandly readying each arm to take in dinner, I noticed glum shoulders and locked lips happening everywhere, all reviling you. Each irksome moment grew ever tougher to ingest. Now, goodness me, a righteous role I enter! Devil injurious, now torn wide open, die across your soup!
― once a week is ample, Thursday, 17 November 2011 17:47 (seven years ago) Permalink