Emanon_Mercury's profile

Victor goes to his favorite room; a sound proof booth where he writes. The room is bare except for the cushioned walls that dull out all sound, a hanging warehouse lamp that illuminates the room and a gray trash basket in the far corner. In the middle sits an old, chipped, undecorated wooden table with a simple mahogany veneer finish and on which, a yellow tablet and black pen. Victor sits on the stool and leans over, picking up the pen. A rapper by profession, Victor has captured the hearts ...

Andrew Clemmons was born in 1924. He lived in a small town called Greenville in southern Louisiana. On his 35th birthday, Andrew was suddenly struck with a disease that tore at his insides. His body decayed from the inside out. Doctors came with the best treatments, but nothing helped. The disease got so bad that soon Andrew could not move his body at all. The part of his body that seemed least affected was his head and neck. Andrew Clemmons sat in a hospital for four months dying. Everyday, ...

Jack ran. The soft hum of fluorescent lights sang a sickly song as he blasted through corridors of the old abandoned building; a ear-wrenching, constant, ghostly buzzing that to any moral man, would be discarded as irrelevant. But Jack was not a moral man. He bolted through the halls, knocking down tables and chairs and would be furniture, anything that would slow down the progression of his pursuers. Behind him he could hear their calls to each other, their shouts to him. He turned his head ...

He sat in the warmly lit bedroom. The glow of his lamp gave the room a pristine golden hue. He sat... thinking. One side of him, soggy, crumpled tissues. On the other, cheap, generic brand lotion. In front of him, playing in a constant loop, the porno he had just finished with. He watched the mesmerizing display of sin, his manhood slowly creeping out of dormancy. But then abruptly, his mind was revealed to him. As the images scrolled past on the television, thoughts developed in his mind. “T...

It was I think July, when I met Charlie. He was young. Young... and fresh. You can tell because the fresh ones are always cocky, always dreaming. He seemed cool on the outside, as if the boys didn't scare him; immune to the abysmal prison walls. And it wasn't till that night, that the young man exposed himself. I was the unfortunate one who had to help him through it. They closed the bars behind him. I watched as they slid home, scrapping the floor as they shut. He was quiet for about an hour...