Oneshots

A gallery of them. Feel free to submit your own<3
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Host and Whore

Rated... T? ._.

No smut. Nada. Never.
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Clamped between the beast's jaws was a single rose. Petals fell onto his lap as he looked down on all of his clients. One in particular interested him. She was a fellow colleague, it was her day off. Surprisingly enough, she was HIS client today. The women on the other side of him were touching him everywhere; they were drunk. Inappropriate behaviour for young ladies, he'd chime when he had his break. The woman was no better. She'd get carried away, men would see her more than thrice. They'd see eachother during night shifts when they'd smoke cigarettes at the back door, reminiscing on the old days. Her taunting emerald eyes were like a dagger that pierced through his barriers. They stole his secrets, he was sure of it. Her black hair absorbed the smoky scent, she didn't bother to wash it. She always said that it would be a reminder of their time together. It was an excuse to not wash her hair, he thought. The woman in front of him was tapping her foot impatiently, groaning. The beast only sneered before popping the flower out of his mouth, catching it between his fingers and threw it at her.

"Esmerelda, what brings you to my room?"

The woman grinned cheekily. She made a sly advance, but not before shooting dirty glares at the two woman beside him. They ran out frantically, not wanting to get on the bad side of this slut.

"Oh? You don't want to spend the last of our time together? I do have to go back..."

Her seductive voice made him think for a moment. Those dreams he always had of her, it was merely a fantasy. Her breath was hazy, it fogged up his mind.

"...You've still got your touch, I see."

The woman grinned, obviously drunk.

"Oh...? Do you want some? You'll have to pay up...."

The smell of alcohol was strong, it was mainly vodka. A bit of champagne, too?

"Heh. Whatever you say, Esme."

The girl drunkily stumbled, falling into his lap before playing with his ruffled hair.

"Have I ever told you how sexy you were with that goatee of yours? Shame you cut it..."

Her eyelids were half closed now.

"No, you haven't..."

Their faces were inches too close, the gap almost closing. As if on cue, Esmerelda stole a lick from his lips.

"Jerard, you're still as naïve as the first time I've saw you... Ahhh... What a rookie you were."

The man sneered before turning back to his current gal.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Oh yeah..."

Their faces were farther apart now, but if they turned around to face the window or the door, their cheeks would touch, sending electrified jolts up their spines.

"..."

The bell rang, signalling that her time was up. Esmerelda moaned, but was reluctant to stand up.

"Go home now, Esme... Your husband and kid's waiting."

She only sent him another drunk grin and winked before stumbling out the door, not bothering to close it.
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*cough*

I was in a very macabre mood... If macabre could even describe how you're feeling.

 

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Euphoria

Rated... T. I dunno. Mild sexual references? Nah. Maybe violence?
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They'd occasionally get high, inhaling the smoke wafting through the midnight air. The aftermath of the drugs they'd taken didn't help either. They were so indulged in their own world playing inside their mind, that whatever was happening before them didn't matter. Cars honked, and drivers yelled at the woman whose heads were lolled at the sides, obviously stoned or drunk. They didn't care. The men who sat in the car would only sneer before driving away, but not before cussing. They were drunk as well. Broken bottles of wine sat on the newspapers below them, shards of glass scattered on the cement. The pavement was hard, adding to the roughness of the area they were in. Nobody bothered with "mellow". It was hardcore, pure rock and roll.

One of these days, you'll miss your train and come stay with me
We'll have drinks and talk about things, any excuse to stay awake with you
You'll sleep here, I'll sleep there, but then the heating may be down again-at my convenience
We'd be good, we'd be great together.

Why'd ya have to be so cute?
It's impossible to ignore you
Must you make me laugh so much
It's bad enough we get along so well
Say goodnight and go

Why's it always goodnight and go?
Darling not again-goodnight and go

Heads still lolled, the women only laughed. Delusional and oblivious to the scene around them. Too absorbed in their drunken pleasures.

One of these days, you'll miss your train and come stay with me

Those too tired to even slur the lyrics out collapsed on their sides, stoned and intoxicated from it all. Others began to strip, red and uncomfortable from the drugs.

Goodnight and go...

The sensible ones only swayed a bit, but were able to sing along to the radio. It was annonymous, whoever put the song on. Nobody cared though.

Why'd ya have to be so cute?

Shirts opened and their eyes blank and glossed with oblivious pleasure, they were trapped in their own minds.

Must you make me laugh so much

They were giggling. Hiccuping, dancing. Sheer joy. The scenario replaying in their heads, meeting with dead family members or loved ones. It was always like this on Sundays.

Get drunk.

Get stoned.

Escape.

Reality was such a prison, getting high was a bitter recluse.

Say goodnight and go

Goodnight... And go...
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You're probably confused.

Prostitutes. Alleyway. Drunk. Stoned. High. Thinking about smurfs and midgets (I mean... Family! Yes! Family.) and slurring, finding false happiness and being cowards by running away from their problems.

 

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Ꭼverlasting

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Queer... Physical never seened to faze me. I've done many experiments in my life, it only numbed my body. It was probably because of an emotional overdrive, my therapist reminded me. I didn't care. It was fun while it lasted. The numbing feeling when the scissor blades run across your skin, and when it actually skins in and draws blood.

Humilation. My psychologist had always told me that my initial reaction would be to inflict as much pain on myself. I was labled a masochist. Day after day after day, after suffering from blows to my pride, I would always find comfort with my scissors. I'd hold them close to my chest before rolling up my sleeve, revealing numerous cuts. They were my flaws. Nobody bothered to stop me. I knew, so I kept it a secret. Wallowing in self pity was something I'd always detest, but isn't that me being a hypocrite? Aren't I escaping reality using such a faux solution? Only a moment of bliss, I pray to God. Only a moment.

Attention wasn't something I needsd, either. Emotional abuse was all the attention I'd ever get. The screaming, the shouting, I'm imperfect. After realizing that writing out my emotions on a piece of paper wasn't enough, I'd glance longingly at my pain relievers at the top of my shelf.

I wasn't good with socializing. I was insecure. School was fun while it lasted, being able to hide behind the crowd. Occasional greetings such as "hey" or "hi" did come across. I'd meekly reply with a hey myself before disappearing behind a pillar that held the building up. Peers would ask me to help with their English homework too. I was glad to help.

They'd ponder. Where had the hyper girl went? The one who had an obsession with hugs and attacked everybody in sight? Where was she?

The one who had As in most of her categories, the one who had smart comebacks and attitude?

The one, who cheered everybody up when they were down?

They never bothered to ask.

It was such a bliss knowing that my stepfather and mother wouldn't be home for another month. Business trips, I know.

"I bring up my daughter in a harsh way."

I remember my psychologist reminding her that I was only 11, and I should be treated with caution. I was still "fragile" and "innocent", was what she said. She was so naïve, my psychologist.

"She'll break inside if you treat her like this."

"She's still alive."

My psychologist would keep shut after that.

Yes, I'm alive. But I wasn't breakable anymore. My souls were like shards of glass, falling into a bottomless pit. It's been years now, I wonder how far they went?

All I know is that I was dead inside.

Usually, fairytails depict a place where freedom was granted. Everlasting, it had repeated.

I only touched the cover page ever so lightly to realize that there was a wet and transparent substance there.

I had glanced over to my best friend before looking back at the book.

There was always a savior that would grant you endless joy.
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Skin peeled off this time. It wasn't numbing though. It burned. I held my arm and hissed, the blood leaking. It wasn't a fatal blood loss, but tears welled up because of it. I bit my bottom lip and let the blood flow, not moving for minutes before grabbing a towel and wrapping it around my arm.

This was the only time I was caught off guard.

My pain relievers had begged for forgiveness numerous times. I simply just sat on the floor and stared at the clock.

Admist the constant wailing in my head and the tick tocks above the door, I was able to think.

"She's unbreakable."
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Scissors were on my lap. I kept thinking of driving it through my chairs. My nanny told me that I would go to a place called hell if I did it. Decisions, decisions.

Should I cut my arm off instead?

No, no.

Silent moments passed by and I was too indulged in my own mind to even move until I heard the door unlock. My immediate reaction was to hid the scissors and pull down my sleeves, but this time, I only stared ahead. It was only the door to my bedroom.

I decided to do it, afterall, I've experienced some of the pain the world has to offer.

*clang*

Knives dropped. Blood splattered. Shrieks heard. Endless pounding. Sirens wailing. People crying. Teardrops falling.

Was this how it was all supposed to end?
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YES!!