Hate Read online
Page 5
Chow
by Nicola Currie
Take the worst dog and I guarantee they are better than the best human. Even ones that bite are like that because they weren’t shown better, because they’re scared.
What’s your excuse? What scared you about Finley, big-eyed, non-stop wagger of a puppy that he was, still tripping over his paws, who probably licked you a kiss before you twisted his little legs, burnt his soft fur?
Didn’t you know I had another dog? We stick to country walks. She’s a difficult one, had to bite her share of men like you to survive. Developed a taste for it, actually...
NICOLA CURRIE is from Cambridge, UK where she works in educational publishing. She has published poetry in literary magazines, including Mslexia and Sarasvati, and short stories in various anthologies. She has also completed her first novel, which was longlisted for the Bath Children’s Novel Award.
Website: writeitandweep.home.blog
The Man Within
by K.B. Elijah
I glared at him with clenched fists, the plastic handle of a kitchen knife pressed into my palm.
The hatred I felt for him was incapable of being captured by mere words. It was, instead, swells of emotion, of loathing and disgust and white-hot anger that burned within me. All that mattered was him, and the scar on his cheek that had been my wife’s last desperate act in this world.
“Go to hell,” I spat, and raised the knife.
Deep gouges cut into his skin.
We died together, me and him, our bloody wrists pressed to the bathroom mirror.
K.B. ELIJAH is a fantasy author living in Brisbane, Australia with her husband and three cockatiels. A lawyer by day, and a writer by...also day, because she needs her solid nine hours of sleep per night (not that the cockatiels let her sleep past 6am). K.B. writes for various international anthologies, and her work features in dozens of collections about the mysterious, the magical and the macabre. Her own books of short fantasy novellas with twists, The Empty Sky and Out of the Nowhere, are available on paperback and Kindle now.
Website: www.kbelijah.com
Instagram: k.b.elijah
In His Hands
by T.W. Garland
He sits in the High School lunch room, holding an insulated tumbler, the liquid warming.
Echoes of the past drown the noise. Years of booming taunts. Contorted faces constantly spraying spit and insults. The chant of nasty names following his pained silence.
Attempts to escape prevented by tall figures. A fist slung into his stomach, a push, a shove, a grab. Again.
He waits. The tumbler in his hands, ready.
“Hey, Tubs...”
His arm shoots up. Liquid jumps from out the bottle.
The acid burns flesh and hair. Horrifying screams scatter the crowd. He stands over the suffering and watches.
T.W. GARLAND has a stack of Victorian novels that taunt him with their unbroken spines. He has published stories containing monster hunters, supernatural creatures, steampunk adventurers, aberrations of nature, crazed criminals and psychic detectives. He buys more books than he could hope to read and is glad not to have been born in the nineteenth century or in a novel by Dickens. One day he hopes to live in the real world.
Website: twgarland.wordpress.com
Slow Burn
by Chris Bannor
It was a slow burn. Hate drenched her every thought. She kept her cool, let the heat of it fill her, consume her until she thought her very touch would ignite fires.
To the world, she was polite. Shy. Complacent.
Inward, she seethed. Passed up for another job when she was better qualified than the jackass who stole the position she had been working so damn hard to get.
She smiled as flames danced under the men who had thought her too quiet to notice, tied to their desktops as they gradually roasted.
Yes, a slow burn would do nicely.
CHRIS BANNOR is a science fiction and fantasy writer who lives in Southern California. Chris learned her love of genre stories from her mother at an early age and has never veered far from that path. She also enjoys musical theater and road trips with her family but is a general homebody otherwise.
Facebook: chrisbannorauthor
Website: ChrisBannor.com
A Hateful Spell
by Shawn M. Klimek
Seth’s weak eyes and chin contrasted with a strong crush on his co-worker, Melody. He secretly thanked his lucky stars for whichever bastard from her past must have made such a beauty shy of confident men like Chet. Unlike the latter’s bold advances, Melody never shunned Seth’s more circumspect flirtations. Seth’s genius was a series of famous love poems left on her desk, each conspicuously missing a letter, which, once reassembled, would reveal the words: “Seth Adores Melody”.
It enraged him to find Chet and Melody sharing the poems and a notepad, laughing over such anagrams as: “He’s Sodomy Related”.
SHAWN M. KLIMEK is the middle child of seven creative siblings, a globetrotting, U.S. military spouse, an internationally best-selling short-story writer, award-winning poet, and butler to a Maltese. More than one hundred and fifty of his stories and poems have been published in digital magazines or anthologies, including BHP’s Deep Space, Eerie Christmas and every book so far in the Dark Drabbles series.
Website: jotinthedark.blogspot.com
Facebook: shawnmklimekauthor
Seikel’s ‘Hobby’
by Stuart Conover
Rachel had caught Seikel’s attention.
She was interested in his “hobby” as she called it.
Hobby, a rudimentary name for his passion.
A passion from his childhood.
He was an entomologist of great renown.
Her interest was unmistakable.
She wanted to know more.
To know everything.
He was hesitant, yet she persisted.
Asking him.
Harassing him.
Finally, he relented.
So yes, she would know it all.
First-hand.
Just like the insects he captured.
She wanted to know more.
And so she would.
Nailed down.
Preserved.
To view whenever he wanted.
Just like the insects.
The ones who killed his mother.
STUART CONOVER is a father, husband, rescue dog owner, published author, blogger, journalist, horror enthusiast, comic book geek, science fiction junkie, and IT professional. With all of that to cram in daily, we have no idea if or when he sleeps or how he gets writing done! (We suspect it has to do with having evil clones.) Stuart is a Chicago native and runs the author resource Horror Tree.
The Envious Mother
by D.J. Elton
A summer night and the mean lady comes visiting. She tenses the air.
“You look like a little trollop.” Her face shows disdain as she readily scolds me, her daughter. Father is kinder, but he’s gone away.
“Let’s do your hair.” She pins me down while she snips my long red hair. All of it. Short and withered.
I can’t condone this jealousy, this cruelty. I may be only nine, but my dad’s mother showed me how to protect myself. A few strange words, a quick snap of my fingers, and she’s flying in the air, right out the window.
D.J. ELTON is a writer living in Melbourne’s west. As a child she came from England to Australia, on the last boat down the Suez Canal, where she underwent a sacrificial dunking ritual in the court of King Neptune, and has never looked back. She likes creating speculative micro fiction and short stories, as well as random essays. Her work has been published in several anthologies, and she has written a historical fantasy novella, ‘The Merlin Girl.’ When not playing with a pen, she likes most of all to go to the green country.
Ruffles
by Vonnie Winslow Crist
It began with Ruffles, thought Hugh as he sharpened his ax, the clown from
across the street who thought it was funny to sneak up on kids, scream, laugh, then hand them a balloon.
His pulse pounded as he thought of his neighbour and every other clown who derived joy from terrorising kids.
“You claim you’re trying to be humorous,” Hugh said to the bound, gagged man in motley at his feet, “but we both know that’s untrue.”
Ruffles, now an old man, widened his makeup-enhanced eyes.
“But who’s having the last laugh,” asked Hugh as he raised the axe.
VONNIE WINSLOW CRIST is author of The Enchanted Dagger, Owl Light, The Greener Forest, Murder on Marawa Prime, and other award-winning books. Her fiction is included in “Amazing Stories,” “Cast of Wonders,” “Outposts of Beyond,” Killing It Softly 2, Defending the Future - Dogs of War, Midnight Masquerade, Chaos of Hard Clay, and elsewhere. A cloverhand who has found so many four-leafed clovers she keeps them in jars, Vonnie strives to celebrate the power of myth in her writing.
Website: www.vonniewinslowcrist.com
Meeting the Devil
by Abiran Raveenthiran
He had one simple question that would determine the man’s true self. “Tell me, human. What drove you to commit the atrocities you did?” Yama questioned the mortal.
A smirk grew on the man’s face, exposing his yellow, if not missing, teeth. A few strands of white hair fell in front of his face, and through them, two malevolent eyes burnt hotter than the inextinguishable fires of hell. That look alone extinguished the doubt within Yama.
“If it’s one sin or one thousand, I will be sentenced to hell. So why not commit one million and come here a legend?”
ABIRAN RAVEENTHIRAN is a first-generation born Canadian as many are in the cultural melting pot that is Toronto, Ontario. He has one foot in the culture of his past and one foot in the present culture with views into both. His works are written in a way to merge concepts of the eastern and western culture together; a product mirroring his own identity. Abiran has previously published works of non-fiction essays through The Lemon Theory and TamilCulture. Abiran has also published a short story, Daybreak, as part of Mystical Girls Anthology that is set to be published in June 2020.
Instagram: lightweaversreads
Goodreads:
goodreads.com/author/show/18247229.Abiran_Raveenthiran
A Man of His Word
by Frances Tate
Eric didn’t ‘do’ ultimatums. When approaching, ‘it’s that or me,’ something mysteriously happens to that. In defence of many thats, I caved.
That changed when that was my beloved Landy.
Which would I miss, first husband or first car?
I ripped a leaf from the book of I Am Unanimous, pre-empted confrontation. Landy and I ran over Eric while he walked his snooty pug. I fed Eric’s corpse to the pigs. Traded the pug for a friendly deerhound.
“He said Landy or him.” I replied—truthfully—when asked.
FAMILY AND NEIGHBOURS believed me. Everybody accepted the world according to Eric.
FRANCES TATE is a British self-published writer of vampires and drabbles who lives in the north west of England. She enjoys gardening, exploring historical sites, cinema, reading and travelling. She’s taken pleasure in flight-planning a cabbage white butterfly approach to careers, preferring to generalise rather than specialise. She trained as an Economics high school teacher and has a private pilot’s licence amongst other things. Currently she writes (very restrained) overhaul instructions for an engineering company.
Deadly Sweetener
by Peter J. Foote
Stella pours crushed glass into the sugar bowl and mixes the two.
“Where’s my coffee?”
“Coming Mr. Lelacheur.” Stella hurries with the coffee tray, the spoons clank and coffee sloshes when she puts it down.
“Careful! You’re still not pouting, are you? I need you in the office, the merger and everything. You don’t want to go to a boring funeral, it was a cousin or something right?”
“My aunt, Sir. She raised me.”
“Oh, yes?” Mr. Lelacheur spoons in sugar.
“She was the only family I had.”
Stirring his coffee, Lelacheur says, “Thank you, Stella, that will be all.”
PETER J. FOOTE is a bestselling speculative fiction writer from Nova Scotia. Outside of writing, he runs a used bookstore specialising in fantasy & sci-fi, cosplays, and alternates between red wine and coffee as the mood demands. His short stories can be found in both print and in ebook form, with his story “Sea Monkeys” winning the inaugural “Engen Books/Kit Sora, Flash Fiction/Flash Photography” contest in March of 2018. As the founder of the group “Genre Writers of Atlantic Canada”, Peter believes that the writing community is stronger when it works together.
Twitter: @PeterJFoote1
Website: peterjfooteauthor.wordpress.com
Stung
by Frances Tate
You. Selfish. Bastard. My career died funding yours.
“We can’t afford reciprocation.”
You never intended to sacrifice anything.
Planning your reciprocation was invigorating. Sleep revisited. Brighter possibilities beckoned.
Sunday afternoon, gardening-gloved, I handed you an open beer can. Leaving French doors open, I returned to weeding.
Did you consider, as you killed each other, that the wasp mightn’t have been drowning in alcohol by choice? By chance?
You hunted desperately for the Epi-pen usually kept in the kitchen drawer. Tossed cutlery. Yelled my name with a tongue too big for your mouth as the venom slammed you into anaphylactic shock...
FRANCES TATE is a British self-published writer of vampires and drabbles who lives in the north west of England. She enjoys gardening, exploring historical sites, cinema, reading and travelling. She’s taken pleasure in flight-planning a cabbage white butterfly approach to careers, preferring to generalise rather than specialise. She trained as an Economics high school teacher and has a private pilot’s licence amongst other things. Currently she writes (very restrained) overhaul instructions for an engineering company.
All’s Fair
by Carole de Monclin
Our weary boots trudged down the stinking mud.
At the bottom, a soldier lay half-buried amid corpses. His moans alerted us to his presence.
His comrades fled the lost trench with such alacrity, they’d abandoned him behind, probably thinking him dead already.
He was the enemy, yet also a man. A prisoner, who deserved common human courtesy. Hatred must sometimes be put aside.
I brought my canteen to his cracked lips. A stuttered word followed avid swigs, “Danke.”
To my surprise, he grinned then. Wolfishly. Chillingly.
Too late, the explosives hidden under his jacket caught my eyes.
Oblivion devours me.
CAROLE DE MONCLIN travels both the real world and imaginary ones. She’s lived in France, Australia, and the USA; visited 25+ countries; and explored Mars, Ceres, and many distant planets. She writes to invite people on a journey. Her stories can be found in The Arcanist, The Deep Space Anthology, and every volume of the Dark Drabbles series.
Website: CaroledeMonclin.com
Twitter: @CaroledeMonclin
When the Blood Spills
by Rowanne S. Carberry
Scribbling out his eyes, my pen eventually goes through to the table beneath. Hot tears fall, smudging the ink.
“I hate him, I hate him, I hate him!” The tears fall faster.
My chest starts to constrict. I struggle to breathe.
Stabbing down at the paper, I try to quell the anger inside of me. Footsteps echo down the hall and I shove the papers aside.
“Pull yourself together.”
He’s not even through the door.
“It’s an inconvenient time for this.”
He’s leaning on the desk.
“Get over it.”
There’s blood on my hands.
H
is eyes are empty.
I smile.
ROWANNE S. CARBERRY was born in England in 1990, where she stills lives now with her cat Wolverine. Rowanne has always loved writing, and her first poem was published at the age of 15, but her ambition has always been to help people. Rowanne studied at the University of Sunderland where she completed combined honours of Psychology with Drama. Rowanne writes to offer others an escape. Although Rowanne writes in varied genres each story or poem she writes will often have a darkness to it, which helped coin her brand, Poisoned Quill Writing – Wicked words from a poisoned quill.
Facebook: PoisonedQuillWriting
Instagram: @poisoned_quill_writing
The Argument
by Chris Bannor
They said it was a bad idea to give them emotions. Robots weren’t made to feel. Machines were meant to make human life better, not to replace it. There were protests and pleas made, quoting everything from the bible to James Cameron as reasons to keep emotions from the mechanical.