Tuesday, March 24, 2015

Seduced by Evil

Seduced by Evil
By Nomar Knight

     During the waking hours, Blade was a control freak hellbent on stealing innocence from the weaker sex. He had lured his prey on lies and false hopes until they bowed to his will. Turned on by whimpers and screams, fear became his addiction. It wasn't long before he looked to dominate in my realm with fantasies designed from the bowels of hell.
     Entombed in the world of dreams, Blade’s arrogance masked his vulnerability, seducing me for yet another night. My identity, obvious yet obscure, haunted his fabricated chamber of love.
     "Who are you?" he asked.
     His curiosity coaxed me to abandon the shadows. At first, he smiled, thinking that I too would succumb to his whims. His sapphire eyes glowed in anticipation of another victim falling for his shallow charm.  
     The image I projected of beauty beyond words weakened his knees. I caressed his smooth face, puckered my lips, and with tenderness, planted a kiss.  
     "Is this real?" he asked.  
     Unaccustomed to having his way so quickly, I saw his eyes sparkle with a diabolical contentment. Lulled by a false sense of reality, he allowed me to stroke his curly hair, nibble his earlobes, and plant kisses along the back of his neck.  
     My core burned with desire and I smiled in anticipation, delighted at his naive nature. The heartless made such easy prey.
     As soon as he opened his essence, the distortion, which my spell cast, lifted with slow, deliberate malice.  
     "Huh, what are you?"
     The new illumination brought forth by darkness revealed my true identity. Panic enshrouded his face and a cloud of fear seeped from his soul.The rude awakening sent shock waves throughout his body, empowering me even more.
     In my domain, surprise became my biggest weapon.  His jaw dropped when I plunged a dagger into his chest.
     "Scream my Sweet, for in the realm of dreams I am the only one who can hear you."
     He shrieked--gripped with terror, not knowing what to do as his adrenaline intoxicated me with sheer pleasure. Somehow, he gathered the strength and shoved me aside to flee, only he tripped over his own feet.
     "Trying to leave?" I whispered in his ear. "We're just getting started."
     This time I lifted the blood-coated dagger and listened to his screams. His expression changed to repulsion when my face turned from a model’s beautiful glow to a hideous abomination. Euphoria consumed me as I listened to the rhythm of his heavy breath blending with fear’s exciting crescendo. 
     Drip.  Drip.
     Again I struck, slicing his outstretched palm, basking in the symphony of my demonic lust.
     Drip.  Drip.
     "Please," he begged, "let me wake up."
     He reminded himself as if reciting an incantation that it was just a dream, just a dream.
     By now his body moaned in his sleep and turned over in his bed.
     I lurked above him, wiping the blade, mixing his fresh blood with mine and cooed in rapture. Its intoxicating scent filled my mind and quenched my thirst. With the essence of our precious liquid infused together, I lapped up every single drop until the blade sparkled. The delicious ritual left me breathless and him weak.  
     Aware that I couldn't allow my slave to wither away, I disappeared into the shadows, releasing him from my bond. I smirked as he awoke confused and disoriented. Satisfied, I let him be, counting the hours until our next rendezvous. I beamed with devilish delight, completely aware that soon he would be foolish enough to allow me to take another piece of his soul and claim it as my own.  

© Copyright Nomar Knight 2015. All rights reserved.
A Knight Chills Flash Fiction Presentation.

Thursday, March 12, 2015

March Madness: Red Rose

Welcome to my version of March Madness. I will post several brief scenes showing characters embracing insanity. Here's the first.

Red Rose
By Nomar Knight

     Phil Daly never forgot the night a weird stranger came in to the diner he worked at. As a short-order cook, Phil observed some strange people, but none like the man in the black raincoat. It was a humid night, and the place was filled with prostitutes and johns looking to regain some energy. The occasional police officer would stop buy for a quick coffee and the usual small talk with Thelma, the fifty-nine year-old waitress. Thelma was busy serving the other patrons and flirting with cops half her age. The weirdo took a seat located in the middle of the diner. He sat quietly, rocking back and forth.      
     It seemed to Phil that something wasn't quite right. The man's salt and pepper hair was disheveled. He maintained his coat on and appeared to look straight ahead at an old jukebox that was playing Return to Sender by Elvis.
     When the officers left, Thelma finally approached the man and greeted the stranger with a smile until she got a close look at his face. "What will it be, mister?"
     The man maintained his stare at the jukebox and said, "All I want is a red, red rose."
     Thelma glanced at Phil and shook her head. Then she said to the stranger. "We don't sell roses here. Would you like some coffee?"
     The man remained silent so Thelma took it upon herself to fetch him a cup of coffee. Then she went over to Phil and whispered, "Something about that guy gives me the creeps."
     "Take care of the others and give him some time. Maybe he's trying to decide what to order."
     She rolled her eyes and did as Phil suggested. After a few minutes she went with pad in hand and asked the stranger, "Are you ready to order?"
     The man continued rocking in place, staring at the jukebox as the Beatles played Let It Be. He spoke louder, "All I want is a red, red rose."
     Thelma put the pad in a pocket in her apron and sighed, "Sir, there's a flower shop two blocks from here, but they don't open for another four hours."
     "All I want is a red, red rose."
     The man practically yelled.
     Thelma shot Phil a worried glance. Just when Phil was about to call the police, a pair of uniformed officers entered and greeted Thelma. She took them aside and explained the situation.
     They both approached the stranger. The younger of the two said, "Do you need help, sir?"
     "All I want is a red, red rose."
     The older officer asked, "Are you lost? Is there someone we need to call on your behalf?"
     The man stopped rocking in place and for the first time, shifted his stare from the jukebox directly to the officer's eyes. 
     "My wife."
     "You want us to call your wife? What's her number?"
     The man looked back at the jukebox and began his rocking, but the older officer placed a hand on the stranger's shoulder then removed it.
     "We want to help you."
     Again the man turned to the officers and said, "My wife is mad at me."
     The older officer grinned, "Shucks, I'm married, my wife is always mad at me. Is that why you want the red rose?"
     The stranger smiled and slowly rose from the chair. He acted as if a burden had been lifted from his shoulders.
     "All I want is a red, red rose."
     The younger officer said, "The flower shop is still closed, but you can buy her one when it opens. Why don't you let us take you home?"
     "My wife," the man fidgeted on his feet. He glanced around as if the walls were caving in on him. "I broke her heart."
     The married officer said, "I figured that. Don't worry, the flowers should help make things like they were."
     The officers looked at each other then back at the stranger. The married one said, "Nothing is impossible."
     The stranger put a hand inside a pocket and pulled out a red rose. It was soaked with a red liquid.
     "Is that blood?" The younger officer's eyes bulged upon seeing the flower.
     The man reached in his other pocket prompting the officers to draw their weapons. Then he opened his hand. "This belonged to my wife."
     The stranger held a human heart. 

© Copyright Nomar Knight 2015. All rights reserved.
A Knight Chills Flash Fiction Presentation.

Tuesday, March 10, 2015

Walking on Quicksand by Nomar Knight

Walking on Quicksand
by Nomar Knight

I'm walking on quicksand
I'll never understand
Why dry spells come
Keeping stories undone

Deeper in quicksand
With pen in hand
Blank pages my foe
I just don't know

Need to break out
Not scream and shout
Change the routine
Instead of being mean

Quicksand pulls me deeper
Can sense the grim reaper
With scythe in hand
Words so bland

Kill me please
No need to tease
Fuzzy images appear
So close not clear

Must rise from within
Explore my own sin
Use the topic's flow
Watch the story grow

Good-bye quicksand
Had to take a stand
No more horror unsaid
Meet the walking dead

©2015 Nomar Knight. All rights reserved.
A Knight Chills poetic presentation.

Sunday, March 1, 2015

Silent Rage by Nomar Knight

Silent Rage
By Nomar Knight

A quiet storm raged inside me. Students laughed at my expense. I wanted to get up off my knees and punch Carlos in his face. Instead, I begged him to leave me alone. 
“Kiss my boot!”
He had six inches and fifty pounds on me and from that angle he seemed like an ogre.
“It was an accident.”
A red circle formed above his right eye. Blood-filled cheeks confirmed that I was seconds away from getting pummeled. 
He tossed the dodge ball in the air and caught it without taking his vicious glare off me. 
“You threw this ball at my face on purpose.”
I raised my hands, begging for mercy. 
He growled, “I should make you eat this.”
I laughed. As soon as his expression changed to utter shock, I grabbed my stomach and almost keeled over. I couldn't stop laughing. 
“Jerome, I fail to see what’s so funny.”
Students circled around us. I heard one of them wonder aloud if Carlos was going to let me get away with making him look like a fool.
Carlos slammed the ball on my head. “That’s it! You’re dead!”
He pounced on me, rolling me on my backside. He grabbed my shirt, formed a fat fist and threw a punch at my face. I moved my head away and was relieved when he missed. The floor wasn't kind to Carlos. The sound of his knuckles striking concrete, then instant bone crunching was quickly followed with loud howling.
“That sounded painful.” I gathered enough courage to push him off me. 
The students chanted, “Kill him! Kill him!”
Tears filled the bully’s cheeks. Meanwhile, I got back on my knees, cackling with delight. 
Carlos tried to hit me with his other hand and nipped my nose. He screamed, “Somebody hold him for me!”
One of his cronies grabbed the back of my shoulders. I spun and squeezed his testicles. With the second bully’s howling another fit of laughter consumed me. The crowd grew quiet. 
Somehow, my emotions were scrambled. On instinct, I took off my belt and rapped it around Carlos’ neck. Using my weight, I crouched over him, laughing as his face turned blue. 
A student yelled, “Someone get Jerome off him.” 
Another added, “The crazy guy is going to kill him.”
Just as the big guy’s body stopped thrashing, my head got hit with something and I no longer was in the schoolyard. 
When I regained consciousness, a paramedic was applying a cold compress on my head. 
“What happened?”
The school’s principal, Mr. Gordon, said, “You hit Carlos with a dodge ball in his eye and he beat the daylights out of you.”
“Did I kill him?”
“Hardly, the students said Carlos beat you good while you kissed his boot.”
I checked my pants and saw my belt was still strapped in place. 
“Jerome, I called your mother. I’m suspending you for three days. Now stay out of trouble.”
I thought about exacting my vengeance upon my return. I pictured slicing Carlos’ throat with a knife and laughed and laughed.

© Copyright Nomar Knight 2015. All rights reserved.
A Knight Chills Flash Fiction Presentation.