Mind Hemorrhages: Dark Tales of Misery and Imagination

by Dane Hatchell

  The girl handed him the shell. It was upside down and full of clear liquid. “Here, Mikey, drink this. It will refresh you.” Her light red lips looked plump and soft. Mikey felt a curious attraction to them.

  Without question, without words, he took the shell and drank a mouthful of liquid, keeping his gaze on her. When he finished, he let the shell drop to the ground as his body began to tingle.

  His vision blurred. He removed his glasses thinking he needed to wipe them again. But once off, the world came into new focus. The beauty, his Princess, was still there.

  “You see, Mikey. I told you would feel better,” she said.

  “I do . . . I do feel better. And I don't need my glasses anymore,” he said without his usual confusion.

  “All things have a reason, but all reasons are not evident. You do understand that don't you?

  “I guess so,” he thought a moment. “I know there’s a reason why I see you. I just don’t know what that reason is.”

  “All reasons are not revealed, and those that are, are known only at the proper time. How would you feel if your mother read you the end of a story first, and then wanted to read it to you from the beginning?” she asked.

  “Well, I would know how the story would end and it wouldn't be as much fun.”

  The girl took his hand and sat him down on the beach. Mikey's heart fluttered with emotions he had never felt before. A shy grin crossed his face as he blushed a spotty pink.

  “Lie next to me,” she said.

  Mikey did. The girl nestled by his side. With her elbow in the sand, she propped her head in her hand. She reached out with the other hand and rubbed her fingertips on his cheek. Her fingers felt soft like the satin pillows on his mother's bed. She lowered her face near his.

  Her breath lingered over his lips. It was an earthy, arousing sweetness that unlocked things hidden in his brain. His body once again flooded with unfamiliar feelings, of passion, wanting, and animalistic urges of desire.

  Mikey's penis started to stiffen. “Oh, no!”

  “Mikey . . . Mikey, what's the matter?” she asked reassuringly.

  “My pee pee is being rude . . . when my pee pee is rude, Mommy tells me to run cold water on it.”

  The girl lowered her head and gave a tender kiss to his lips. Mikey's tense body immediately relaxed, and all the distractions of anxiety melted away.

  She gave him more kisses, longer and deeper with each one. Mikey returned them in kind, trying to match her slow methodical pace.

  The girl worked off his swim trunks while continuing to soften his protest with her passion. The hormones flowed through Mikey's body and sent a slight buzzing through his head. He became totally lost, drifting in a dimension unexplored.

  A sudden warmth engulfed his penis. He opened his eyes and saw her sitting on top, and felt the slow movements of her hips.

  She rose above him, moving her long brown hair away from her breasts to behind her back. This was the first time Mikey became aware that she was naked. He watched through his partially opened eyes as her mouth opened. Soft moans of lovemaking oozed out.

  Mikey flowed with the enchanted rhythm. Their bodies moved as one. His breathing increased and he felt an urge that both excited and scared him.

  His release sent waves of pleasure through the girl, her body quivered as she cried out in orgasmic triumph.

  In Mikey's mind and body, something wandered into nothing, and an incredible expansion of heat inflated into the nothingness. It happened for an instant, lasting seemingly for billions years. Heat of an incredible magnitude consumed him and gave way to forces creating matter. The tiny atoms joined hands. The more that touched, the faster they collected, until blazing suns formed and hurled away from center point. The suns lived and died. Explosions rocked the universe. The death remains resurrected to build galaxies, solar systems, and planets.

  He saw an unseen force rip the moon from the forming Earth and hang it in perfect orbit to guide the life that would soon appeared on the privileged planet. Comets streaked toward the surface, bombarding the fiery rock with its quenching ice. Oceans formed, chemical compounds chained and replicated. Cells were born and joined, evolved, and invaded the land that had risen above.

  The sounds of waves crashing on the sand pulled Mikey back to the present. The girl’s head rested on his shoulder. Her hand touched his chest. He rolled on his side and gave her a soft kiss, watching the top of the sun disappear over the horizon.

  "It's time for you to go back home to your mother," the girl said.

  The beach, the sand, the thoughts of his mommy, all of the things in his world pushed against the mystical experience. But he didn't want the memories to go. He wanted to hold on. It felt like holding on to a dream when he would first awake, as if trying to hold water through open fingers.

  She rose and took Mikey by the hand. The two walked into the Gulf and washed in the ancient waters.

  “You must go now.” She stopped ankle deep in the surf as Mikey retrieved his swim trunks and hat on the beach.

  He put on the trunks and adjusted the hat on his head. “I have something I want to give you.”

  “You can give it to me the next time you see me. Goodbye.”

  “Your name. I don't know your name,” Mikey said.

  “I am, Ocean. I am the mother of all.”

  Mikey turned, feeling compelled to leave. He glanced back a time or two to see the girl still on the shore, as if waiting for him to leave from sight.

  The sunlight faded fast. Mikey quickened his pace home. He knew his mommy would be worried.

  The young woman used her big toe to etch a single line in the wet sand. She pulled her hair back behind her head and stretched her arms up to the sky.

  The salt waters of the ocean poured out of her ears, nose, and mouth; and then from the tiny pores of her skin. Her flesh withered, shrinking until it was reduced to a mass of fertile goo.

  The waves crashed over the seed, and washed it out to the warm waters of the primordial womb.

  *

  Estelle had been worried sick and was just about to call the police when Mikey finally arrived home. She noticed something different about him immediately. He didn't even seem like her son, but someone older that looked like him. She didn't scold him for scaring her like that. Mikey just walked in, and said, ‘Sorry I'm late. What's for dinner?’ and went and bathed without being told.

  He was never the same from that day forward. He spent most of his time walking the beach as before, but always carried his cardboard with the tiny little doves glued to it with him.

  A few months later, Mikey became very, very sick. He could no longer walk the beach in search for his elusive love. He would spend the day on the porch in his grandfather's rickety rocking chair. The gift for his love held tightly in his hands.

  One afternoon, Estelle brought out a pitcher of lemonade and some gingersnaps for a snack.

  Mikey's head tilted unnaturally to one side. His gray-blue eyes stared in the distance, his mouth unusually open, with droll clinging to his chin. She knew he was gone and felt a peace from within.

  Estelle closed Mikey's eyes, brought his favorite blanket, and wrapped it around his face and shoulders before she called for help. And even thought she looked all around the porch and all around the house, she never found Mikey's cardboard of treasure. She never understood why those brittle pieces of calcium held him in such fascination, but they did.

  *

  Time is a river that sweeps all mankind along, waiting for no one. History repeats itself as the oceans rise, the volcanoes erupt, and asteroids and comets bombard the Earth.

  The eons pass unabated. Time and tide wait not.

  In the new beginning, the spawn of Mikey and the Ocean that lay dormant in the deep waters begins to multiply. Chaining one nucleic acid at a time, and forming molecules carrying the message of self-replication. The seeds produced a new host of swimmers to rule the ocean; a new array of crawlers to dominate the land; and a n
ew collection of flyers to command the heavens.

  The man and woman walk hand in hand through the garden. A variety of delicious fruits hang low from trees. The two enjoy the simple pleasure of sharing a meal.

  The lamb lives with the wolf. The leopard lies with the goat. The calf and yearling plays with the lion. The tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil is nowhere to be found.

  The End

  Do Unto Others

  Nick Ott wanted to shut his eyes and blank out the image of the room and the implements used to inflict his suffering. Not that closing his eyes would do anything to quench the pain. He grasped for any type of relief from the excruciating agony his entire body had been suffering.

  His anguish was so intense he could not remember what normal felt like. The constant abuse kept his mind impaled to each succeeding second. He hoped if he could just close his eyes that somehow he could recall memories of pleasant times or create a fantasy that offered some respite. To somehow distract himself by blocking the images of the ghastly devices that were used on him as if he were a corpse on an autopsy table.

  Never had he imagined the panoply of pain the body was capable of feeling. He was in horrid wonder of the creative methods of his torture. Such ingenuity, as one area of nerves became overloaded to the point of numbness another set would be targeted to overwhelm. The pain continued to be fresh. The pain continued to be unique.

  Nick thought about death, the various ways to die. Drowning had always terrified him. The thought of not being able to breathe used to break him out in a cold sweat. Burning at the stake would engage every pain nerve in the body. He had feared death by fire the worst. However, the pain the blow torch brought to his genitals while it roasted to a black crisp lasted longer than if his whole body had been doused in gasoline and ignited. How he wished he had been set on fire. His life would be over now.

  Nick never imagined finding himself in such a predicament. Events such as these happened in ancient times, or by ruthless military regimes in backward countries. The portrayals of sadist capturing and torturing people were nothing more than fictitious creations of authors and movie directors, designed to sell the next book or the next sequel to the movie.

  What demented mind thinks like this? he wondered. His body felt fresh waves of pain as his mind uncontrollably recalled the abuse endured.

  The knife used to split his tongue in half was dull and chipped. Nick had felt the cold blade as it traveled every individual millimeter. Blood mixed with saliva drooled down his chin, dripping down to the floor like unholy rain.

  Through the haze of shock, he wasn’t able to identify the next tool his abuser chose from the table; an odd device that resembled a pear with a long threaded screw on the end. Nick winced in anticipation of being bludgeoned by it. Instead, the man stepped behind him, and he heard the sound of liquid squirting from a bottle. He was unprepared as the pear-shaped object was shoved deep into his rectum. Burning pain shot through his groin area. If the sodomy alone had not been severe enough, the outside halves of the pear widened at the turning of the screw. The pain grew exponentially, until he felt as if his bowels pushed up to his throat.

  Nick had heard of death by one thousand cuts. He wished so badly that it had come true. His captor used a box cutter with the barest of blade exposed to make tiny cuts over his entire body. Surely he had been cut a thousand times ten. Every cut a sharp maddening pain, fresh each slice. Over and over again, until it felt like an army of ants consumed him one bit of flesh at a time.

  Other things had been done to him. With hammers, with saws, clamping tools, and pointed objects of every variety. Toes crushed, soft tissue mashed, cuts as deep as bone itself. His captor was thorough, ensuring that each individual fingernail on both hands had its own sliver of bamboo shoved underneath.

  Nick’s throat was sore from constant screaming and so dry that if given the chance he would cut his wrist to drink his own blood, and invite the darkness of death to comfort him.

  His torturer had told him the reason for his unfortunate fate, but he could no longer remember. The cruel man now sat across the room with elbows propped on the arms of an ornate mahogany chair, enjoying a cigarette. The stale smoke mixed with the metallic smell of blood and the pheromones of fear.

  As he hung by his arms from chains attached to the ceiling, Nick went to speak—to beg the man for mercy once again. Whether the mercy came in the form of being released or a swift end to his life he didn’t care anymore. He hadn’t cared for a long time if he lived or died. He only wanted relief.

  His torturer stood from the chair and adjusted the arms of his dark suit. He walked to the table of implements and chose what Nick thought was a pair of pliers. He was mistaken.

  The man seemed refreshed, eager to return to his work. With the fish skinners in hand, he maliciously peeled the sin off of Nick’s entire body, starting at the face. Most strips were small, the tiny cuts having weakened the tension of skin. As the skin peeled off, the man dusted the exposed dermis with table salt. It added to the pain, and minimized the much needed blood to preserve consciousness.

  With his laborious task complete, the man stepped back to admire his new creation. He acted very pleased.

  A full length mirror in its black stain stand decorated with chrome knobs faced the wall next to the chair. The man carefully retrieved it and moved it in front of his victim. He positioned it so the victim could see the masterful artwork he had created.

  Nick saw the image. At first his mind couldn’t grasp the reflection was of a human being, much less that he was looking at himself.

  Despite all the horrors he had experienced, seeing himself reached a hidden part in his mind and snapped the last bit of remaining sanity.

  Hoarse laughter gurgled from Nick’s throat as he twisted his body with new found strength.

  Realizing his victim was beyond the threshold of pain, the man made two incisions on Nick’s abdomen with a surgical knife. The intestines fell to the floor in a bloody mess. The man tied the large intestine around Nick’s neck and removed one of the chains from around his wrist. Tying the intestine to the free chain, the man then pushed a button on the wall which lifted the chain and tightened the intestine around the Nick’s neck, cutting the air from his lungs completely.

  ***

  “Hey, handsome. Looking for a date?” the small framed woman asked, after the clomp of her six-inch heels on the pavement came an abrupt halt.

  A thin faced man propped against the window of a poorly lit jewelry store. His black derby shadowed his eyes but did nothing to conceal neither his large nose nor the festering sore on its tip. He made no attempt to look in the direction of the woman’s voice.

  Even in the night the paleness of the woman’s skin was evident. Skin that hadn’t seen the light of day for months, if not years. Her deep purple blouse plunged at the neckline revealing flat sagging breast and the outline of her ribcage. She chewed gum in rhythm with her heartbeat, shifted her weight to her left knee, twirled her jet-black hair with her finger, and waited for an answer.

  The man was as motionless as a mannequin. He dressed in a black wool suit with perfect fit and fine detail. The two-button jacket sported thin lapels, four-button cuffs, and front flap welt pockets.

  A match exploded in yellow flame directly in front of his face and cast aside to the ground after lighting the cigarette. The man took a long drag from the cancer stick and offered the woman one from the pack held in his other hand.

  The woman took the cigarette without a word and pulled a lighter from the side of her handbag, and set it burning. Taking a puff, she asked, “You want to go down the alley or back to a room?”

  The man tilted his head back, and their gazes met. His gaunt face and thin mustache made her left eye twitch in repulsion.

  The man’s eyes widened. The frozen features on his face contorted in animation. “My child, it is a dark and dreary night. A time of night not fit for men of respect or women of virtue. Has life not offered you man
y paths? Is not the world teaming with opportunity? How is it that you have become a random piece of debris floating down a river of human sewerage?”

  An unusual feeling overtook the woman. Cold fear laced its damp tentacles around her insides. Her mind told her to run, but her legs were somehow paralyzed by the mysterious man’s presence. An engulfing power surrounded her, and penetrated her mind. It was if he were reading her past of all hidden sins.

  “Speak,” was all the man said.

  Like a repentant child, the woman confessed. “I’ve been scared all my life. I’ve been afraid that no one loved me. Not my parents. Not my friends. No one. I was a burden to my parents as a child. My father never wanted me, and my mother resented me because of it. I was always in the way. Always a wedge between them and the other things they wanted in life,” the woman paused. Tears trickled down her face and dripped off her chin. “But I tried. Really. I tried to make them love me. I listened to what they said. I did everything they wanted me to do. I just wanted them to love me. But it was never enough.” She stopped as her tears turned to sobs.

  She wiped her face with her hand and sniffed back snot, took another puff from her cigarette, and composed herself. “I tried to win friends, but all they did was take advantage of me. I tried to get men to love me, but all they did was use me and throw me away. I had no one,” she paused again. “No one! Do you hear? No one!”

  “Yet I find you on the street. You are certainly with purpose now. You are no longer alone, are you?” the man asked.

  “No . . . not since I met, Raoul.” She lowered her head and formed a bitter smile. “I showed up in this town off a bus with nothing. He took me in and took care of me.” The woman looked back up at the man. “He had me believing that he loved me. But he was no better than the rest.” She resisted tears. “Who are you? Why am I telling you all this?”