Innocently he mistook the look in her eyes as passion and lust.

“I want to drain your life giving fluid from you,” she whispered softly.

The reality of the truth hit him like a bullet to heart as her teeth sunk into his neck and she began to drink.

Copyright: authorchrisbrown


A dark story of history repeating

A male child, born with no given name, to a mother than cried heavily at the mere sight of him. He was forever a contanst reminder of his father that forcefully planted his seed within her virgin womb before disappearing into the depths of night, leaving her shivering and broken. What chance did this child have when even his mother found the sight of him abhorrent? She couldnt love and nourish him, and so he found himself abandoned to the mercy of whoever could.

He was named Samuel by the elderly woman that would call herself mother, though he refused to accept either. He fought her love, rebelled against the sanctuary of homeliness she’d created for him. The years of his growing were a constant struggle, and yet she refused to abandon him as his mother had. Even when his school refused to educate him she stayed at home in order to school him.

He resented and despised her, and yet with each passing year an infatuation grew within him. There was something within his DNA that compelled him to obsess over being around her at inappropriate times. He would spy through the keyhole as she undressed, and yet would refuse to join her at the table come tea time.

It was upon a random evening late in the year, rain lashing down upon the panes of glass and the occasional flash of lightening illuminating the otherwise dimly candle lit room that he appeared before her as she was in a state of undress.

Instinctively she cowered away, covering any exposed flesh from his unblinking eyes, and yet he reached out and pulled at her night blouse. As she fought his advances, sharp nails scratched her breasts drawing crimson lines across them. Crying in shock and pain she could do nothing as he exposed them, his hands gripping tightly the area directly around the nipple.

As the tears rolled heavily from her heartbroken eyes, and her requests for him to stop went ignored, he forcefully pushed her backwards onto the bed. She knew what was coming next, and yet was unable to stop it. Pain soared through her body as he entered her. Emotionless he satisfied himself within her as she sobbed uncontrollably, her clothes torn and blood flowing from the wounds received as reward for her attempting to resist.

He said nothing as he left. A dark figure disappearing into the depths of night, leaving behind a broken elderly woman whose womb began preparing for the unwanted gift she’d been given.

Copyright: authorchrisbrown


Finding Reason


To my left stands an Angel tending to my tears. “What did you do?” she asks soothingly.

On my right a Devil. “It’s not your fault!” he says rubbing my shoulder with his talloned hand.

Like an island isolated by a maddening sea, I stand resolute understanding their words, yet let them fall upon my ear, waves upon a rocky shore.

Copyright: authorchrisbrown


Brave the Shave 2019

This me. A hairy tattooed lover of heavy metal.

This time last year my mother passed away after a brief battle with cancer. In her honour, and to raise money for the Mcmillan Nurses who eased her pains during her stay in hospital, I have decided to undertake the Brave the Shave 2019.

The long hair and beard will all go, and be donated to a charity that makes wigs for cancer survivors.

My hair loss will be temporary. The loss of my mother permanent. If you can, and only if you can, spare a little loose change to make a donation, it is all going to such a deserving cause.


Thank you for just reading.


Word / Genre Challenge #5

Word: pinwheel

Genre: post-apocalyptic

The moon had set fourteen times since setting off, making this day fifteen and probably the hottest so far. Provisions had all but run out, with fire making material having been exhausted two nights a go. Though the days were hot, the nights were bitterly cold. Water I was having to ration. Sanctuary needed to arrive soon.

With the sun at its zenith, I took shelter within the shadows of a derelict building. Travelling across the urban wasteland was difficult enough without the heat of the midday sun burning down on your back.

Cleanliness was never going to be a major concern, especially with clean drinkable water being sparse, so it was probably my delightfully pungent aroma that attracted it.

I heard the snarl first, which allowed me to ready my makeshift spear; a hunting knife lashed to a long sturdy pole. A second knife hung from my belt, just in case. The snarl seemed menacing enough for my heart to quicken and sweat to pour. Typical then, that my throat was dry.

I don’t know what I was expecting, a doberman or rottweiler perhaps. Maybe even an alsatian. What stood above me on a overhanging ledge was a scrawny light brown chihuahua. There was no doubting it was hungry and would have a nasty bite, but I thanked whatever gods were looking down on me. A couple prods with the spear and it soon turned tail and ran. Times had not gotten bad enough for me to have considered eating rabid dog.

With the sun and temperature dropping I chose to push on further into the ruined city. It was almost picturesque the way nature had already begun reclaiming the land where once concrete and steel stood dominant. It certainly put a new meaning on the term ‘urban jungle’.

Carefully rounding a corner, spear in hand, my attention was drawn to a reflected light shining a little way off in the distance. Was it glass catching the sunlight? If so was it a signal of some sort? It didn’t appear to be using morse code, more a constant light.

Tentatively, more out of curiosity than necessity, I edged my way closer. My heart was almost bursting out of my chest, my grip slipping on the pole of the spear, such was the extent of my fears making me sweat. That was until a laugh crossed my lips.

The light was coming from a pinwheel that had been attached to a child’s tricycle. I pushed it with my hand, watching as it went round and round. On the floor was a rucksack with a teddy bear’s head sticking out. It had been well loved with fur patches and an eye missing. I opened the bag tossing the teddy aside, no one was going to love it anymore.

Inside the bag was a can of Coke and a few sweets, praise be to kids and their sweet teeth. With the bag being in good condition, I transferred some of my belongings into it before adjusting the straps and slinging on my back. Who was going to see me carrying a Princess Unicorn bag!

Copyright: authorchrisbrown


Word / Genre Challenge #3

Word: Flip Flops

Genre: Dark Comedy

They were always within easy reach of my mother’s hand. No matter where she was, even though she wouldn’t be wearing them, they were always reachable.

I’m talking about those battered, once favourite, rubber and plastic foot attire. The ones where the toe separator has popped out, and though you push it back through the hole in the sole, it still pops right back out.

Not that you’d want to touch the sole, as it still has the indented remnants of your mother’s feet permanently ingrained upon them.

For years they tortured your hearing, the *thwack-thwack* as they slapped against the underside of her feet as she walked, then they filled you with fear if you so much as said a wrong word or misbehaved.

For something so light weight an un aerodynamic, they could be hurled with amazing accuracy to bounce off the back of your head when you weren’t looking, and heaven forbid you were close enough to be caught.

No amount of padding could numb the pain of those slabs of rubber being brought down with force upon young spungey naked ass cheeks.

Copyright: authorchrisbrown



So I just read post on Facebook that deeply offended me, but then also had me questioning my own past views.

A young woman posted about her recent experience using a well known dating app and a response she received from potential, or so she thought, connection. It read along the lines of, “Sorry, I could never go on date with you as, at best, you rate as a 6. Ad I am an 8, obviously I’m looking for someone equal or higher to my rating.”

First of all, who rated him an 8? Secondly, if I were to be objective, I’d score her higher than a 6. However, beauty is subjective. What one finds beautiful is not always seen the same way by another. Using this guy’s rating mechanic and his goal to date equal to or higher, what makes him think a 10 rated woman would want to be seen with a 8 rated male?

The whole thing is preposterous! Beauty is very much within the eye of the beholder and should not be subjective to a dumb ratings method.

I’d like to think I’ve rejected the chance of a relationship based on compatibility, not because of looks alone.

Thoughts of: authorchrisbrown



I feel the hurt portrayed in your eyes
The spiralling descent into nothingness
An abyss of depression
The fight lost
Over as exhaustion consumes you

The rut you were once in widens
Looking up from a chasm of constant similarity
Everything’s the same
The wheel of time turning
Fragments of yourself trodden underfoot

There is no anger to consume you
The fires of emotion extinguished long ago
An empty shell
Meandering along
Trapped like a slave to a life confined

Copyright: authorchrisbrown