Interrogation Room

The woman spat blood to the floor, the tears now falling much heavier down her face. Her shoulders heaved once again as sobs shook her head and the creak of rope strained against her.

The blond man shook out his hand, hissing as he did.

“She’s got a tough face,” he noted to his black haired companion. The red head was now drooling pink spit falling to her blouse as she continued to sob.

“I don’t know what you want from me! I’m not Hiza.”

“Of course not,” the Black-Haired Man said, his voice dull and grey. He sighed and folded his arms across his chest, “hit her again,” he said in the same tone.

The Blond Man sighed as well but stepped towards the Red Head again.

She screamed, what little movement her legs had she used to try and push herself away from the two men. It didn’t work, and his fist fell with a dull thud. The Red Head sniffled.

“I’m not Hiza!”


“Do I even look like them!?”

The Blond Man joined his companion with his arms folded.

“Well famously no one knows what Hiza looks like.”

The Black-Haired Man let out a long sigh.

“Well why do you think I am them!?”

The two men looked at each other, at the sight of his partner’s arms the Black-Haired man shook his arms out.

“We have good information that you are Hiza.”

“No, I’m not I’m Caroline Hansen.”

The woman’s sobs became louder, crying into her chest. The two men stood frozen for a minute,  making the woman rock in the chair, her sobs becoming screams.

“…As in Fredrick Hansen’s daughter?”

She sniffed, “you know my father? He’ll kill you when he finds out what you did to me? He’ll break every bone in your body! He’ll burn you alive.”

The men looked at each other for a long time.

“If he finds out,” the Blond Man repeated.

The Black Haired man nodded and drew his gun.



You couldn’t have waited?

Wedding Cake

Samantha beamed at her groom though she wasn’t really paying him any attention. She was smiling for how perfect the day was going. Her train was being held by her beautiful niece and her dress were dazzling white. Her hair was curled, her makeup was flawless. Everything was prefect. Even the groom was, a twenty-five hunk with an oil baron father, days from dying. She smiled for the crowd who was simpering as the groom read his vows. She dabbed the corners of her eyes. She wasn’t listening to what he was saying but didn’t matter really. He just needed to say his and then she’d say hers and then they’d be flying to the Bahamas.

The church doors opened and at first Samantha paid no attention to the screams from the aisle, they had been very over dramatic all day. Only when the gunshots started did she scream herself, pushing the groom away as she dived. Everything happened in slow motion and Samantha was able to turn just in time to see her groom riddled with bullets, ruining his three-piece suit with his blood. She sobbed as the vicar fell gracelessly across him. She had been so close. The bullet storm still streamed overhead, but she could see the cloak room from where she was. If she could just crawl unnoticed to it…maybe she could see what the law said about marrying a dead man. She slipped when she took her first step, biting her red lipstick in pain. She turned over, her whiten dress was now stained by blood.

“Shit,” she hissed. The shooting had quietened though the screaming had not. Samantha held her blood stained dress and looked across at the groom. He wasn’t moving, deathly still. She sniffed and sobbed again. So close. Heavy footsteps approached her, and she groaned and rolled her eyes as the shooter came into view.

He was masked and held the gun to her head, still all she did was exasperatedly mutter, “You couldn’t have waited until he said I do.”


“Who’s Your God?”

Helen hissed and raised her gun to the knight who was now standing opposite her. He was faceless, his helmet twisted and like the rest of his armour, it looked melded to his very skin. His sword was thin and poised in his left hand.

“This isn’t cornering you solider!”

He didn’t move, still ready to attack. Helen sighed and fired. The knight only left a cloud of dust in his place as he leapt over the yellow explosion left by the Magma powder. Her gun was slow to reload and the solider came down on her, sword raised. But the gun proved to be sturdy as well and as the man’s sword hurtled toward her, the flank of her gun came to meet it. The force behind the blade shot through her so powerfully, that once it racked its way out of her body it shattered the earth beneath her.

She groaned as the solider jumped away and stood with his back towards her, standing like a dancer, barely effected by the fight, while Helen stumbled.

The guard had made a good choice when choosing his God. Her legs shook, and her skin now felt like it was burning. Where was hers? Quiet as always.

She stood straight and cocked her gun again. She aimed and shot before the solider had turned around. The red shot of lightening scattered as it hit the blade now between it and its target. The sound of the clash reverberated through the small village and Helen was sent backwards by the force. She groaned again as the sand burnt her eyes and she spat it to the ground. By the time she looked up the knight was already over her, pressing his foot into her chest.

She huffed, “fine you win, happy?”

The helmeted man cocked his head, “who is your God?”

Helen raised her eyebrows: woman, helmeted woman. She was only baffled for a second before her gun was taken from her clutches by one of the townspeople and her hands were taken by another.

“Hey! Get off of that! I have no God! The weapon is just mine.”

The woman solider was unphased and stepped off her chest, allowing Helen to be taken.

“Mine is the God of Fire…you probably want to start using ice powders if you’re going to defeat me next time.”

Next time.

“I didn’t catch your name,” Helen yelled as she was dragged away.

“It’s Lucy!”

“I’m Helen, see you around Luc’.”

She broken out of cells before, she hoped this time was a little more eventful.

Hitching a Ride


Emily wondered if a thumb could be worn out. Hers certainly felt tingly as she stuck it out again. The car past her without it’s brake lights even flashing. She sighed stuffing her hand back in her jacket.

“Fuckers,” Michelle grumbled, mimicking Emily’s action.

“They don’t have to stop, they don’t know who we are.”

Michelle huffed. She was still frustrated at Emily for turning down a car a few miles back.

“She had kids in the back,” Emily had reasoned.

Michele was still grumbling. The sound of the wet gravel being turned up behind them made her stick her thumb out again. This time the car did slow, and she leant down to the open window. No kids this time. Three men and a woman dressed in ironed dress wear.

“Need a lift,” the driver said, he looked old, at least older than her, with thinning hair and deep wrinkles under his eyes.

“Yeah, I’m heading to Merryside, you heading that way?”

“Ah there about,” the man beamed, “we have room for one more.”

Emily smiled, “thanks.”

She opened the door and squeezed in next to the two in the back of the car.

Michelle huffed, “bit tight.”

“Oh, don’t complain now,” Emily hissed.

“Sorry?” the man said.

“Oh, nothing.”

They couldn’t let these people think she was mad now that they were in the car. She felt nervous.

“Oh, you can’t chicken out now,” Michelle said, “it’ll be fun.”

Emily felt the butcher knife in her jacket pocket and squeezed the hilt.

Yes, it would be fun.

Counting Down


Jordie scraped her long nails across Sam’s hands. He screamed but kept his thumbs pressed down over her neck.

“Tell me you bitch! Tell me how to get out of here!” Sam shouted, his hands now red with blood. When the blue faced Jordie didn’t respond, Sam slammed her head down twice into the metal grating, “Tell me! Tell me!”

Cristine couldn’t take her eyes away from his bloodied hands. She stared at them intently keeping her hands clasped over her mouth. Bryan’s blood was a different shade to Sam’s own and the fact that Cristine now knew that sickened her.

She had hidden herself under one of the line of metal school benches pressed against the walls. The room did remind her of old nightmares. Fears of coming into her classroom naked or being laughed at for handing in something wrong. Of course, it had been a while since she had had such dreams, but now they came rushing back to her, vividly remembering the fear and how childish it was when faced with what she saw. The bodies on the floor were only half of the mess of the small classroom. Along with the class benches there were too small chairs now scattered across the room, some broken against the door, one of them was covered in blood. At the front of the room was a large electrical projector, only showing a large red countdown. Twenty-four hours were now down to two minutes. None of them knew each other or why they had even wound up locked in this room. There had been six of them and for the first twenty-three hours, the six of them had mostly ignored each other. But with the last hour counting down a question had to be asked:

What happened when it reached zero?

Sam reared up from the body, Jordie’s bloodshot eyes now staring at the ceiling light, its light bouncing off her opaque eyes.

He come for Cristine next.

Sam hadn’t been the first to turn bloodthirsty. Michael had broken Lucy’s arm for answers and then her neck, Amy wrestled with him until Bryan had silenced them both. Then Sam had taken first to Bryan and now to Jordie. Now it was only the two of them left, with a minute on the clock.

“Cristine, so it was you.”

She pressed hard against her mouth until she bit her own palm.

“Why didn’t you tell me!? Why haven’t you released us?”

He rammed into her desk. She screamed, scrabbling away but he still sought her ankle. Her hands tried to grab hold of the floor, but nothing could stop him from pulling her out and pressing his foot into her throat.


Had he lied to himself? He had never thought that possible and yet…the bodies littered the floor and each of them he had checked over, he had torn open their necks just to be sure. He sat down on the floor cross-legged, picking at the blood in his fingernails as he watched the timer ticked slowly down.






 He closed his eyes and bright white light enveloped him, the sound of the air conditioning unit stopped, his breathing stopped, and all was left was the white light against his eyelid. Finally, after an eternity, he

opened his eyes again.

He was still there. Same room, same people. They were alive, or perhaps they were all dead. He didn’t have long to think on before Jordie ran at him and gauged his eyes out with her nails.

And the Award goes to…


“And the Award goes to…!”

I already know who it is before they open the envelope. But I act surprised and clap along with everyone else. I know the cameras are on me, wanting me to be enraged that my award has been snubbed from me…again. But I smile and give a standing ovation. Maybe next year, she won’t steal my glory…it’s not at all like every year, like clockwork, she wins.

I bite my lip as she waves to the audience.

‘God, she’s trying to act so humble, just hurry up and get up the damn stairs.’

And yet she takes her time, a perfect tear rolling down her perfect face as she holds her hand over her chest. When she finally reaches the stage, she takes the award from the presenter’s hand.

‘Too bad,’ I think, ‘I actually kind of liked him, it’s a pity he’ll wind up dead tomorrow.’

I don’t think too much on it, knowing she’ll be dead too. Like I said, every year, like clockwork, she gets hold of the award.