“Oh, hell!” Carla frantically grabbed for the tissue box. The spilled latte had soaked her keyboard and was heading toward the annual report. “Ack! Not that!” The printer had been down all morning and her meeting was in 15 minutes. She was presenting to the Board of Directors. The promotion was so close she could taste it. Ping Her computer notified her of an incoming email. <Subject: Your presentation> “Damn. If they postpone this meeting again I’m going to scream.” <<You will want to focus in on the 15-29 year old demographic. It hasn’t been shared yet, but the whole western division is moving to target a younger audience. -A friend >> She was confused. She looked at the sender’s email address but it just said <<Unknown>>. Advertising was not for the weak of heart. With the razor thin margins of today’s companies, they were seeking to maximize their advertising dollar. But who would know about her presentation, much less be willing to help? It didn’t compute. She responded, “Who is this?” No response. She opened her deck and made some tweaks to orient it more towards that younger demographic, just in case. Later, as she walked out of the conference room, she beamed. “That could not have gone any better.” She was grateful to the mysterious stranger but still wary. The helpful hints continued to arrive at strategic moments over the next few weeks. Always signed “A friend”. The friend seemed to have a broad and deep knowledge of the company, and their timing was impeccable. She couldn’t imagine who it could be, and no one had stepped forward to take credit. She was grateful for the assistance as she had snagged at least two big accounts using the inside info. She thought it could be either Russell in accounting who flirted with her at the office Christmas party, or Greg, who just made VP and who she’s caught staring at her in meetings. Either way, she decided to not overthink it. The biennial all-company conference was approaching. Keynote speakers were being chosen in the next two weeks. It was widely understood that those who snagged a spot at the conference were almost always offered a promotion soon afterwards. Carla knew she had been crushing it over the past couple of months and had an excellent shot at a speaker role. Sure enough, the email arrived mid-August asking her to present her ideas on shifting demographics in American advertising. She was positively giddy. She accepted and immediately set about putting it all together. After a refreshing summer break in the Hamptons with friends, she came back to the city ready for action. She reviewed and tweaked her PowerPoint deck. She felt confident and prepared. As she packed for the conference in Chicago, she heard her computer ping in the other room. As she approached the large screen on her desk she could make out a new, short email. She got a little chill when saw it was from A Friend. <<I just wanted to send you a note of good luck before the big conference. I’m sure you’ve got an amazing presentation prepared. One last note on substance… My sources say that they have a surprise planned. They will unveil a new initiative aimed at a different demographic, based on a recent consultancy report. It’s been kept under wraps, but they plan to target the over 60s in several campaigns. You may want to hit that hard in your presentation and get a leg up on your competition. It’s up to you. I hope the messages I’ve sent have been helpful. Good luck! - A Friend>> She sat back in her chair and grimaced. What the hell. Who WAS this person and why were they trying to help her? More importantly, should she trust them and change her presentation? It would be tight, but she could do it. She continued to ponder this throughout her trip to Chicago. She arrived at the iconic Drake Hotel at 8:00pm. As she threw her bags on the bed, she made a final decision. She would do it. She could still keep the data in about youth, but would pivot hard to hit the over 60s. She knew where she could find the information and how she would present it—making it appear she was surfing the front of the next wave. Her palms were damp as she sat at the head table, waiting to be introduced. She was the first keynote. The Vice-Chair of the Board stood up to do the honors. “Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention. Please. As you know, we have been exploring how to expand our customer base and meet evolving challenges in the ad world. To that end, we have been commissioning studies to determine the optimal demographics for us to focus on.” Carla smiled. She was about to sink her ace in the hole. “After serious consideration, and excellent presentations from our staff,” he looked at Carla and smiled. “We are pleased to announce that we are planning to move a significant portion of resources to meet the challenges of tomorrow, and go young!” Carla’s smile froze. “That’s right, we’re going to target the under 30s and become the go-to agency for youth.” Sweat began to form on her upper lip. She was finding it difficult to breathe. “And we have just the person to kick us off. Carla Pandolfi is here to share her take on this. She wowed us at HQ with her presentation on youth, so get prepared. Over to you Carla!” With a smile still frozen on her face, she slowly stood up, using the table for support. Amid the applause, she slowly walked across the dais and scanned the audience. she arrived at the podium and gripped it firmly with two hands. Then she saw it. In the front row. Two eyes drilling into her, just as they had during so many meetings. Greg Durbin, new VP and, she just realized, competitor for the COO post. His eyes locked on hers. She felt cold sweats overwhelm her. She had been duped.
The warehouse was quiet, save for the distant hum of the city outside, as Vincenzo stepped through the door. His eyes scanned the room, every corner shadowed, but he was unbothered; his reputation had already done the work of incapacitating any would-be threats. A cold smile tugged at his lips as he walked toward the desk, where Carlo sat, trembling. The betrayal was clear, and Vincenzo knew what he had to do.
"You thought you could double-cross me and walk away?" Vincenzo's voice was calm, but there was an edge to it. Carlo stammered, begging for his life, but it was too late. With a swift motion, Vincenzo slammed his hand onto the desk, and two of his men closed in on Carlo.
In a matter of seconds, the former ally was incapacitated, lying motionless on the cold concrete floor. Vincenzo knelt beside him, his gaze unwavering as he whispered, "This is where your story ends." The finality in his tone solidified the outcome—the message was clear. The mafia always gets its due.
The wind blew her hair as she stood on the edge again.
"Why again," she questioned, ginger hair flowing in the blissful winds. "Why me?" she questioned once again, brushing her finger tips together. Distant waves smashed alongside one another, tearing at their masses of water, leaving an uproar of water shooting into the skies. Iris stared, turquoise eyes locked onto the very tides beneath her. Liquids of sapphire slammed against rocks below, as if they were attempting to over throw its glory.
The girl took a step forward, gaining views of what lies further down, "I should've done something.."-she averted her glance-"if I had, maybe he wouldn't have done that." Trembling fingers caressed the girls face in slow motions as tears streamed from her shimmering eyes, ones bearing the beauty of an underground lagoon. In horrific seconds, the images flashed past her sights.
A taken soul A man with goals A forgotten home A potential father
I step in look up at the sign "we dance in this kitchen" and then sigh gentle steps no smile open the fridge stare like I hated my view close it back take a step back and look at where the knife's are placed I remember how cutting tomatoes work how cutting potatoes work apples pears strawberries and that one time I accidentally cut a part of my finger "why not all of it?" I pick up a knife and analyze it I want to feel some kind of pain I feel numb now and I got used to the pain I want more it hurt too much that it had to stop but "DAMN IT I WANT MORE" I wish my dad could understand "we dance in this kitchen" is not the phrase I want to die in this kitchen remembering this is where I'm happy I love food but I hate preparing it I like the sound of boiling water but hate pouring it out of the pot. I love this kitchen I grew up baking with my mom I grew up having conversations with my sister I grew up listening to "did u wash your hands?" but what's the point if they're not here? what's the point? In the kitchen lay three knives one to cut the fruits one to cut salmon and one to end my life little by little when no one watches each day a new scar until I feel pain again until I disappoint my father until someone else kills me just like my sister did and mother.
The car was silent as the Clarke family raced against the clock, tension thick in the air. Mr. Clarke's gaze kept flittering between the clock on the radio and the highway in front of him. Mrs. Clarke kept tapping her perfectly polished blood red nails on the center console next to her. 12 year old twins Benji and Brielle were sitting in the back seat staring out their respective window.
Time seemed to tick away as their destination seemed to get farther and farther away. Mr. Clarke only pressed his foot harder on the pedal. They couldn't be late. Unspeakable things would happen if they were later.
Mr. Clarke's somewhat reckless driving paid off as they finally made it to the gate. He offered the guard everything he needed to be let in, and when he finally parked, the family was out and running.
They went through several other checks on their way to their final destination - metal detectors and bag checks - before being allowed entry. Once they cleared everything, however, the were pushing past the nearly unmovable throng of people. Mr. Clarke's gaze was glued his watch as the frantic family of four continue to fight their way through the hoard.
The seconds were ticking down, but their target destination was finally within view. They made one last push, weaving in and out of the crowd, their hearts beating out of their chests. They sat down in their seats right as they saw an arm rear all the way back and release the hurdling object towards the three people standing 90 feet away.
SSTRIIIIKKEE ONE!
Mr. Clarke let out a deep sigh and with relief almost palpable, panted, "We made it."
Next to him, Mrs. Clarke chuckled and jokingly chided, "You're far to superstitious for your own good, my dear. But yes, we were sitting down for first pitch, so we're obliviously going to win the game."
Set on foot identifiying on the darkened path. The wisps that are haunting will escape. She will save them, she's their hero. Its her dream to walk back and from. She had to go... Drifting into seeing or hearing of her again. Well lit path and her only life brings them back to life. They lose hope further inside the mysterious woods. What's there are lives have been seen a spirit lasting impressions. They kept talk with her they seen her and know her. She will be back this time she was seen and slaughtered to death. Her very own sight will give them their life back in a frame set by herself. They all needed to know what she of all seen its her new home; she went home. Her happy place is her own world, something that can only understand her and only her. They never met inside taking her life and making this world her way to understand, it was not her being imposed or invited. Of all that needed to rest set aside her own path and tired paws; nothing to rest a shoulder. Lifeless to her encounter. Of all can see the hearing of the winded forest of death and sports and know it like she does. the memory of her last visions ended giving her own life to plead to know what was always there going on in unknown communications. Unknown and unfamiliar awareness to what was strange making struggle to not be able to identify with the only one can be needed. Reached at out of the woods caught into a fragile state. The last spirit realm deserted without her died and screamed without her there keeping them safe. She vaguely remembers victims by name and scratched by ill fated gore. One by one put to their own death. Nothing ever rested, Nothing ever escaped. She seen the most explanation of death to their pure life and things to lose. All life treasured and used and lived growth was a path into her world. Leave it all- it was all a trap to keep them from the start. Making them wail and lose their senses in darkness. The darkened path set a frost that burned to the touch. All pry to set themself free what attempt made them slip into their life burning visible to her screaming and wailing vanish into a mist. Now they all are wandering mists. Any life they were to her was not clarifying near her own fatal captive death. The unfriendly approach made by what grabbed her betrayed her (a cat)...
The Reserved dinner is placed in a captivating town. Expecting the tourism routed path. Set on foot several stragglers making it to the checkpoint. Taking all they could carry had nothing to being expected; as arrived. They were safe and let about their travel and expectations. Further details are informed committed to later details to further their accommodations. The director had passed unconcience the one and only holding further case of the planned escape. Clutched in hand and arms finding the visible encounter blaring and unaware of who they are expecting. Walking toward the counter in line person per customer. Given the greeting and a sense of torture held their breath. Getting past the first checkpoint, going against odds. Their grocery bags set along cleared counter space. Working on a late snack that can nourish their hunger. Making silence saving their breath of half to death misery. Staying quite while the door resumed a peering of who named faced could make of what can be explained. With the handover gesture giving a warm soup a welcome to your inlet and stay. A warm bath sounding exotic. The already furnished design would be restful. Reading near dark hours a quiet silent type of activity. Disturbed sleep was often from trauma of tiredness. Instant waking to a daily schedule had in mind the minded blown riff. And planning the escape by being captivated while a travel made by tourism agents. Unknowing they even made it to their accommodations. Unexplained planned off turn route to find their self disappearing leaving least unfriendly encounter of delusional voices. Unheard to everyone looked the same angry half-eaten breakfasts. Holding on to their hope nothing seemed to be communicating with them. All they catch up being seen to team up. They did pick up a few hikers going their way. Knowing they will be separated and held against their willing ability. And to study what would be critical to find themselves drawing apart; separated and going against each other. The negative insult, the crazed laugh manic ongoing about "let's get dinner started" Hung cage-like for captured animals feeding dwells for nourishing times to keep them awake. Noticing they can all be the same; looking grungy and savage torn and tattered faces and hair. making all sound hysterical to what they really are. Now the under greeting breath would leave the unconcience waking up being descriptive and told how time changes the status of how he appeared. His satchel sat perched in their backpack. Inspired by his own plans and hope to find his friends. Miserable to find hope still. Being taunted about how they will find their way out of here. The look of fresh hooved stature and figure. Keeps them hung drifting slowly draining their strength from their over heated life. Making sipping and weak voices someone drinking out of their souvenir cup. The footsteps slowed talking to in normal conversation ability. Hearing of trophes and stories ever needed to be heard again and again. So proud til this say and bloody sport breath. Unending making motivational speech and slurs and howls. His eye lids blinking and a diving hit to his head. Foot dragging behind him, dragging him away and he lay inside a darkend room. When he wakes they will find him and doing guess work of his movement. Maybe they have a warm heart and could just be mean. A sense of out going lights droning noises and lack of movement. Door jeering shut will never be opened he senses panick ridden in this room he will be in gone and ignored.
Sleep was lousy thing to do. Working off energy and keep picking at the edibles. Imagine to be freed and making tortuous attempts to be found again and again. Some never had left had hope to die. These given sacrifices to the only living to survive past. Hinges torn and antique looked rusted and over used to sit to glare at their immaculent scene. Over looking the dock and boats. The peaceful way to never go and struggle into down river heels and survive at their opposing techniques. The beauty of it all the falling branches and ingrown flowers brushing a path freely expressions for air and exercise. Baker and Grill neatly placed and used over and over. Hearty fault used menus by ongoing traffic stopping to catch up on the warmed brew of coffee and talk. Good fellow talk stoppers stammer sometimes and fall into tears of who they were. Going against their wishes ongoing about their own life to sacrifice. Sometimes they had it all. And still seek into their opportunity by skill and enough work to keep them and busy making it in life. The nonstop will never be seen and for it all became and sat unknowing of everything else in a better place. Serving customers is a must and keeping their home a place of their own. No one to change their music or their pace ongoing pages go blurr and give up into their fright and nightmares that wont go treated and hesitate all else to give any warm wishes to keep strong and going on how they will be finished. Its manic to see what life they had been to be understood unfairly and keeping their way hearty. To be understood is underestimated. Males keep their path haunted and hard to falsify and protected. Hunting and camping news to most set unidentified trails to keep their grill going. Nothing could ever go wrong. Men kept their warm gloves and coats as if keeping what is so important to them with them and never can feel their warmth. And ever has any food became a sense of living which their biggest wish came true. They won't change from leaving their old boots for what they really deserve and kept everything to their hearts and above their belt. They had lost all what their from and have been successful to prove what their ontaking hearts can be. Proving the nightmarish theme may their wishes go as planned. They have everything to lose and kept their bedside their place of unknown rest. Set off foot a travler might seem captive any unreality making his protruding thoughts more real. When tampered and found something hassled of theirs things go wrong and overturn this world upside down. They will never be happy and are tired of it all. "It always goes to hell" They can never do nothing and to prove they all had it coming. The End of the world suffers from it all will never cease, the blaring signals and death ill related to be again and again. Overall road kill hazards win over a look over again given another chance to breath. To keep trying to look normal hearsay to break the whitenoise and waking lights. Set along paths to deny any of it will go away. We mean no harm or scare. The least bidden is nighmarish to this world. Comfort of attraction and inset ongoing. Keeping interests in difference. Nothing can be retained to remain. The many interests set upon denial and deserve the worsened pattern. Going against many wishes living without any air are light breaking through walls. The tiring wails and cries paned the walls. Bloody walls covered in death sequenced many deaths. Anything was sacrificed not a wink; not a breath, or a drop of life detected. Needing interaction and truth of life and set in a difference paths lit for ongoing capture. Coaxed and ridden by lurking offensive welcome. Made to hesitate overall given to prove any claw markings engraved floors or wisps of lifetakings. Breaks my breath of what is not even spoken.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Angie knew what Viv was doing, and she had to warn Williams. He was getting too involved, too blinded by the alluring glow Viv — that damn, charming woman — cast around her. He needed to understand she wasn’t perfect. He needed to know she wasn’t who he thought she was.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Angie measured her steps, her nose wrinkling instinctively as the sharp, metallic scent of fresh blood filled the air. The garage grew darker with every passing second. The oppressive silence unsettled her—part of her was relieved she heard nothing, but another part knew it could only mean one thing: Viv already knew she was here.
The thought made her blood run cold. Viv’s cleverness was terrifying, but Angie reminded herself why she was doing this—for Williams.
Thud! She froze.
3… 2… 1…
Turning sharply, she spotted scattered boxes in the corner. It was probably just rats in this damned garage, but the image of Viv’s potential crimes loomed over her, making her skin crawl. The smell of blood was so vivid now that Angie could taste it—coppery and bitter, clinging to her tongue and throat. Her stomach churned as she fought the urge to vomit. Whether it was the stench or sheer terror, she couldn’t stay here much longer.
Each step forward felt like a mistake. She reminded herself: evidence and warn him. Evidence and warn. That’s it.
The space cleared, and harsh yellow light flooded the room, illuminating what lay ahead. Angie’s breath hitched as her eyes landed on the gruesome scene. A table stood in the center, its loose straps dangling like silent witnesses. Tools lay scattered around it, stained with reddish-brown smears. Bags and instruments hinted at horrors she couldn’t fathom. Her mind reeled, filling in the blanks with grotesque imaginings.
She doubled over and vomited.
Her body shook as she clung to the wall for support, bile rising every time her eyes strayed back to the table. Nausea clawed at her, but she couldn’t look away.
Then, a voice broke through the suffocating silence.
It was soothing, calm—a light at the end of the tunnel.
“Angie.”
Her head snapped up. Williams stood there, perfectly still, his figure silhouetted in the yellow glow. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes pierced through her.
Angie gasped for air, her voice raw and trembling as she managed to croak, “She’s not who she says she is.”
“I know,” Williams replied, his tone steady, almost chilling.
His unyielding gaze sent a shiver down her spine.
Ella de cabellos negros rondaba por la cumbre de aquella lejana loma. La luz de la luna iluminaba su rostro moreno y ojeroso, curvado desde su lumbar hasta su cervical, desfigurado por algo indiferente de los años, algo oculto.
Un lobo hambriento a la luz de la luna sólo podía significar peligro. Éste se escondía en la hierba grisácea, se camuflaba y con la paciencia de un cazador experto removía la tierra bajo sus garras.
Una mujer y un lobo. Un asesino despiadado y una mariposa débil.
Ella saltó hacia la figura del can, sorprendiéndolo por completo. Se agarró a su pelaje y arrancó su piel. Su cuerpo cual arma, envolvió al lobo y lo atravesó con su brazo izquierdo. Los gemidos, la sangre y la luz de la luna adornaban el lugar.
La mujer usó todo su rostro y lo introdujo en el estómago del lobo, logrando que el animal de su último respiro. Se deleitó con los órganos tibios del ser y gozó de su festín, finalmente en cálido silencio.
A lo lejos, una pequeña niña perdida presenció toda la escena, ella sólo estaba buscando a su madre. Su cuerpo entero reaccionó al ver esa figura familiar devorando al animal salvaje. Comenzó a transpirar helado, se paralizó de pies a cabeza y las lágrimas brotaron desesperantes.
"Mamá" quería gritar. Ni una palabra salía de sus labios pálidos. La noche sólo proporcionaba una ventisca gélida y un silencio interrumpido por los sonidos horripilantes al remover tejidos viscosos con tus fauces. Las lágrimas salientes de la pequeña la abrumaron tanto que tuvo que suspirar por aire, soltando un estruendo dirigido directamente a los oídos de la fiera.
La mujer levantó su cabeza del vientre del animal. Su rostro estaba manchado por un líquido rojo y pedazos de tejidos colgantes en sus cabellos cual adornos. Sus labios estaban irritados por haber hecho contacto descuidado con los ácidos gástricos, lo que producía que se mezcle su propia piel con la del animal, terminando en una miscelánea escarlata. Miró en dirección del sonido, ella denotaba una mirada inhumana con dotes únicamente depredadores; esclerótica rojiza, iris de noche y pupilas inexistentes.
El peso de mil rocas se posó sobre la indefensa niña al conectar miradas con su madre. Quería correr, quería gritar, no sólo lo quería; lo necesitaba. Las más remotas fibras de su ser se removieron, conspiraron para mover al menos un músculo; pero, lo único que consiguieron es temblar. La pequeña sentía el pavor en sus huesos y no podría combatirlo aunque quisiera.
Lentamente, la mujer cargó su propio peso en sus extremidades y avanzó con dificultad hacia la pequeña. Los movimientos que sus brazos hacían eran físicamente imposibles; capaces de fracturarse en otros cuerpos, pero no en el de ella. Avanzó con peligrosos ángulos e hizo que sus ramas secas sigan en camino. Su mirada jamás abandonaba a la niña. El silencio ahora plagado del sonido de huesos rotos y torcidos.
Un hilo de saliva caía por sus labios maltratados mientras avanzaba. A su paso dejaba una estela de sangre, viceras y tela saliente de su vestido rasgado. El camino que la separaba de la pequeña se hacía más corto, y al acercarse más se podían ver las lágrimas brotando de ambos seres.
Al estar frente a la niña, un único pensamiento cruzó la mente de la mujer. Moría por hacerlo. Se despojó del espacio que las separaba y la abrazó. Besó su cabeza y disfrutó del momento. Cerraron sus ojos y sonrieron sin darse cuenta, sus propios cuerpos cobraron conciencia y se alcanzaron para prometer nunca dejarse ir de nuevo.
Ambas cubiertas de sangre y otros sentimientos gozaron del momento y apartaron sus miedos. Madre e hija reunidas finalmente.
Your eyes fall downward, fixating onto your hands. They're fidgety, awfully fidgety. You watch as you pick at the skin surrounding your nailbed. You can't seem to stop yourself, it's frustrating. With a hum, you force yourself to avert your gaze from your fingers and to look up at the people surrounding you.
Huh?
Immediately, you notice zippers crawling up and down every person's form. They look rushed, sewn onto the people's skin. And for a moment, you can't help but wonder what is beneath.
Your thoughts are disrupted, disputed and thrown into the air before you can even process them. Your eyes squeeze shut just before you hit the ground before you. You feel water soak through the back of your shirt, freezing cold against your warm skin.
A hand brushes against your shoulder, and you turn your head to see a woman with her arm outstretched toward you. You wonder what she wants, but then remember that you're on the ground, and you grab her hand firmly to pull yourself up.
Looking up to thank the woman, you see it. She doesn't have a mouth, and it seems to have been replaced with yet another zipper. You grimace, closing your eyes and opening them. Closing, opening, closing, opening. Nothing seems to work. You feel like you're going insane, and maybe you are.
Quickly, your hands move upward and grab the woman by the hair. A free hand of yours moves over to her neck, where a zipper is located. You inhale sharply, closing your eyes a mere second before pulling it down.
You shouldn't have.
Blood and.. something else you can't place, spills out from her neck. It's gross, it's sticky, and you want to run away. You can't move, though. What the fuck? It falls onto the floor along with her now almost limp body, but you can still see her, see her scared and betrayed look, as if those zippers are.. normal. They aren't. Right?
You don't realize it yet.
You gag on nothing, before hunching over and throwing up right beside her body. No. This all just has to be a dream. It can't actually be happening, right? You didn't just.. murder somebody. If it can even be called somebody.
You run a hand through your hair, and that's when you realize.
You have one too.
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