Morbid Tales from Far Away Places; An odd Anthology

Though I'm not a great author, I enjoy writing things that make people uncomfortable. I'm know in school for being creepy and/or crazy. This is/ will be a collection of all my weird short stories and poems. The good, bad, and the crazy.


Author's note

A word often used when describing me is Crazy. If I had a penny for every time I've been called crazy, I'd be rich. I'm working on some drawings for some of the chapters. My drawings are crap, but I like the Idea of having this book illustrated.

1. The Man Who Murders: A Short Story

Sometimes I would dream about murder. It was never me, murdering someone. It was just, someone, murdering someone else. The dreams didn't scare me. The part that scared me was that I didn't remember falling asleep. The dreams always felt so real. Like I was sitting there, watching it happen. I know that they're only dreams, because I'm certain that I would never let another person be murdered. I know it happens all the time, but if I had the chance to stop it from happening, I would. In the dreams, it was always the same person doing the killing. I don't know who they are, and I don't know who they were killing. It was a tall man, wearing a small mask, a pair of gloves, and a plastic robe. An array of tools sit on a table next to the man. And on a metal bed, at waist hieght, a body would lay. I often wondered why that person was being chosen. Why were they dying? The man would sit and stair at a screen next to the body on the bed. The person wasn't dead yet, but they were asleep. A sheet covered them, but a large hole would be cut out. The man turned and picked up a small knife. He looked up at the screen, and then back down at the person. He would trace his gloved fingers over the skin visible through the hole in the sheet. And then he cut them open. Though their insides were now exposed, the person didn't wake up. The man looked back up at the screen, and back down again. He picked up another tool and began to move the persons organs. At this point, I didn't want to see it anymore. I turned and looked at the wall. To my surprise, the wall was not a wall, but a window. I could clearly see faces. They looked up and down and back and forth, as if studying the mans techniques. Though I don't wan't to, I turn and look back at the man and the body. The persons organs are displayed on tables next to them. The man is cutting and clipping away inside the persons body. I look at the sleeping person face. I don't wan't them to continue to be mutilated. I wish them to have a peaceful death. After a second or two, a beeping begins. The man seems startled. He moves around quickly and starts to place the organs back inside the person. The beeping starts to slow, and soon becomes a single long beep. The man stops what he's doing and pulls the sheet over the persons face. He looks at window. "Time of death, 12:45 am" The faces look down. As the man leaves the room, I see a glow lift of the now dead persons body. As suddenly as it appears, I wake up in my room. I feel as though the man who does the killing is more than a little crazy. It seems as though he goes through phases while he works. It's odd. He always seems so sad when the person dies. I lay in bed and wonder why the person who died, had been chosen. In the morning, I get dressed and go to work. I sit at my desk and shift the contents that sit on top. As I do, I see my name plate on the end of my desk. I admire the carved words. "Lord Death".

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