by Shannon Bell
The blade slices through flesh, seizes another death.
My father’s voice echoes inside me; “Prove your worth. Travel, to other worlds, dimensions, and times, gathering souls. When you have taken enough, the knife will glow. Only then may you return.”
I stare at the weapon. It remains dull. Hundreds of years, thousands of lives. How many more? How much longer? I can almost hear my father’s voice counselling patience.
Blood drips from the steel. I’m tired of travelling. I’m sick of slaughter. I plunge the blade into my stomach. “I’m sorry, father. I wasn’t worthy.”
Death approaches. The knife glows.
Author bio: Shannon Bell is addicted to words. You will find him madly writing away in the spare time he has available between holding down a full-time job, being part of a dysfunctional family and looking after his attention seeking dog. His stories have been published in Dark Edifice, Short & Twisted, 101 Fiction and strippedlit500. You can follow Shannon on Twitter at @ShannonBell1967.
Collected is part of 101 Fiction issue 25.
Showing posts with label Shannon Bell. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Shannon Bell. Show all posts
Sunday, 15 December 2019
Saturday, 14 September 2019
Peeled
by Shannon Bell
Georgia held the piece of skin up to the light. “Will it all be this translucent?”
“Of course.”
“So paper-thin and see-through. Your knife skills are exquisite.”
“Thank you.”
“Such delicate bones.” Georgia stroked the girl’s hand, held up the fingers. “Can you carve quills from these?”
“Absolutely.”
Georgia dipped her finger into the gore pooling around the girl’s leg, brought it to her lips, curled her tongue around it. “Can ink be brewed from her blood?”
“Most definitely.”
“What beautiful books we’ll make from you.” Georgia fingered the girl’s creamy thigh. “What stories we’ll tell now yours has ended.”
Author bio: Shannon Bell is addicted to words. You will find him madly writing away in the spare time he has available between holding down a full-time job, being part of a dysfunctional family and looking after his attention seeking dog. His stories have been published in Dark Edifice, Short & Twisted, 101 Fiction and strippedlit500. You can follow Shannon on Twitter at @ShannonBell1967.
Peeled is part of 101 Fiction issue 24.
Georgia held the piece of skin up to the light. “Will it all be this translucent?”
“Of course.”
“So paper-thin and see-through. Your knife skills are exquisite.”
“Thank you.”
“Such delicate bones.” Georgia stroked the girl’s hand, held up the fingers. “Can you carve quills from these?”
“Absolutely.”
Georgia dipped her finger into the gore pooling around the girl’s leg, brought it to her lips, curled her tongue around it. “Can ink be brewed from her blood?”
“Most definitely.”
“What beautiful books we’ll make from you.” Georgia fingered the girl’s creamy thigh. “What stories we’ll tell now yours has ended.”
Author bio: Shannon Bell is addicted to words. You will find him madly writing away in the spare time he has available between holding down a full-time job, being part of a dysfunctional family and looking after his attention seeking dog. His stories have been published in Dark Edifice, Short & Twisted, 101 Fiction and strippedlit500. You can follow Shannon on Twitter at @ShannonBell1967.
Peeled is part of 101 Fiction issue 24.
Monday, 10 June 2019
Snapped
by Shannon Bell
I look at this photo of my soul. It’s blurry, shades of bitterness, anger and disappointment swirl like a vortex.
My light no longer shines. I am no one to nobody. I have nothing. I am nothing.
The bullet sits there, mocking me, my name scratched onto its cold surface.
Death watches me, loading the gun with my autographed cartridge.
“Please,” I beg. “Take me. End this.” The victim inside, it craves a tragic, beautiful ending.
That sweet angel of death, he strokes my cheek and smiles. “You’re mine now. Death will unfuck you like life never could, my friend.”
Author bio: Shannon Bell is addicted to words. You will find him madly writing away in the spare time he has available between holding down a full-time job, being part of a dysfunctional family and looking after his attention seeking dog. His stories have been published in Dark Edifice, Short & Twisted, 101 Fiction and strippedlit500. You can follow Shannon on Twitter at @ShannonBell1967.
Snapped is part of 101 Fiction issue 23.
I look at this photo of my soul. It’s blurry, shades of bitterness, anger and disappointment swirl like a vortex.
My light no longer shines. I am no one to nobody. I have nothing. I am nothing.
The bullet sits there, mocking me, my name scratched onto its cold surface.
Death watches me, loading the gun with my autographed cartridge.
“Please,” I beg. “Take me. End this.” The victim inside, it craves a tragic, beautiful ending.
That sweet angel of death, he strokes my cheek and smiles. “You’re mine now. Death will unfuck you like life never could, my friend.”
Author bio: Shannon Bell is addicted to words. You will find him madly writing away in the spare time he has available between holding down a full-time job, being part of a dysfunctional family and looking after his attention seeking dog. His stories have been published in Dark Edifice, Short & Twisted, 101 Fiction and strippedlit500. You can follow Shannon on Twitter at @ShannonBell1967.
Snapped is part of 101 Fiction issue 23.
Sunday, 10 March 2019
Terminal
by Shannon Bell
Darkness drops its anchor, spreading like ink. Silence holds me gently as my existence unrolls before me like fragile, ancient parchment.
Failures, sins, stains; the pins that track an empty, wasted life.
I scream into the void inside me. I rake my nails across this map of my soul until it is disfigured, shredded, destroyed.
Malignant fingers pull at the threads, stretching them tight.
Light fades and drains away. I am as black as death inside. Wings flutter toward me, stitching death around me like a spider wrapping its prey.
The map burns. Soon I will be ashes and dust.
Author bio: Shannon Bell is addicted to words. You will find him madly writing away in the spare time he has available between holding down a full-time job, being part of a dysfunctional family and looking after his attention seeking dog. His stories have been published in Dark Edifice, Short & Twisted, 101 Fiction and strippedlit500. You can follow Shannon on Twitter at @ShannonBell1967.
Darkness drops its anchor, spreading like ink. Silence holds me gently as my existence unrolls before me like fragile, ancient parchment.
Failures, sins, stains; the pins that track an empty, wasted life.
I scream into the void inside me. I rake my nails across this map of my soul until it is disfigured, shredded, destroyed.
Malignant fingers pull at the threads, stretching them tight.
Light fades and drains away. I am as black as death inside. Wings flutter toward me, stitching death around me like a spider wrapping its prey.
The map burns. Soon I will be ashes and dust.
Author bio: Shannon Bell is addicted to words. You will find him madly writing away in the spare time he has available between holding down a full-time job, being part of a dysfunctional family and looking after his attention seeking dog. His stories have been published in Dark Edifice, Short & Twisted, 101 Fiction and strippedlit500. You can follow Shannon on Twitter at @ShannonBell1967.
Terminal is part of 101 Fiction issue 22.
Saturday, 8 December 2018
Retribution
by Shannon Bell
I run my fingers through the dust that has settled on these forgotten things, in this darkened room.
My soul is dry. Guilt spins memories like cobwebs in my mind. I remember their pain, their screams and their fear. I recall their torture, their blood, the taste of their deaths.
If only I had known their misery would fester within me, rupture inside me.
They see me, these shadows, these ghosts, these remnants of lives I slowly tore apart. They part the air and step through.
Lonely hearts. Broken minds. Emptiness. This damage cannot be fixed.
I await their vengeance.
Author bio: Shannon Bell is addicted to words. You will find him madly writing away in the spare time he has available between holding down a full-time job, being part of a dysfunctional family and looking after his attention seeking dog. His stories have been published in Dark Edifice, Short & Twisted, 101 Fiction and strippedlit500. You can follow Shannon on Twitter at @ShannonBell1967.
Retribution is part of 101 Fiction issue 21.
I run my fingers through the dust that has settled on these forgotten things, in this darkened room.
My soul is dry. Guilt spins memories like cobwebs in my mind. I remember their pain, their screams and their fear. I recall their torture, their blood, the taste of their deaths.
If only I had known their misery would fester within me, rupture inside me.
They see me, these shadows, these ghosts, these remnants of lives I slowly tore apart. They part the air and step through.
Lonely hearts. Broken minds. Emptiness. This damage cannot be fixed.
I await their vengeance.
Author bio: Shannon Bell is addicted to words. You will find him madly writing away in the spare time he has available between holding down a full-time job, being part of a dysfunctional family and looking after his attention seeking dog. His stories have been published in Dark Edifice, Short & Twisted, 101 Fiction and strippedlit500. You can follow Shannon on Twitter at @ShannonBell1967.
Retribution is part of 101 Fiction issue 21.
Sunday, 3 June 2018
Spawn
by Shannon Bell
Gavin watched, disbelieving, as a flower uprooted itself, ran to him, and spat a sickly-smelling liquid over him. His skin itched, and hundreds of small pustules appeared, a tiny foetal form curled within each one.
A voice tinkled in the air. "Protect the host.”
Golden mist enveloped him.
He wasn't sure how long he lay there, paralysed. Days? Months? Time moves differently in their world.
The pustules all erupted together, the air filling with fledgling fairies.
A voice tinkled in the air. "Consume the host."
"Oh fuck," he whispered, as hundreds of heads turned towards him, their teeth-filled mouths gaping.
Author bio: Shannon Bell is addicted to words. You will find him madly writing away in the spare time he has available between holding down a full-time job, being part of a dysfunctional family and looking after his attention seeking dog. His stories have been published in Dark Edifice, Short & Twisted, 101 Fiction and strippedlit500. You can follow Shannon on Twitter at @ShannonBell1967.
Gavin watched, disbelieving, as a flower uprooted itself, ran to him, and spat a sickly-smelling liquid over him. His skin itched, and hundreds of small pustules appeared, a tiny foetal form curled within each one.
A voice tinkled in the air. "Protect the host.”
Golden mist enveloped him.
He wasn't sure how long he lay there, paralysed. Days? Months? Time moves differently in their world.
The pustules all erupted together, the air filling with fledgling fairies.
A voice tinkled in the air. "Consume the host."
"Oh fuck," he whispered, as hundreds of heads turned towards him, their teeth-filled mouths gaping.
Author bio: Shannon Bell is addicted to words. You will find him madly writing away in the spare time he has available between holding down a full-time job, being part of a dysfunctional family and looking after his attention seeking dog. His stories have been published in Dark Edifice, Short & Twisted, 101 Fiction and strippedlit500. You can follow Shannon on Twitter at @ShannonBell1967.
Spawn is part of 101 Fiction issue 19.
Sunday, 4 March 2018
Sacrifice
by Shannon Bell
“Eat it.”
“I can’t. The guilt is too great.”
“A unicorn heart bestows eternity, but you must eat it while it’s beating.”
Tears leaked from my eyes. I bit into the flesh. Blood dribbled down my chin and the heart beat softly against my lips. “Where is the horn?”
“The horn is my payment.”
Magic surged through me, healing what was broken and diseased and granting eternal life. I looked at the ruined forehead, the sightless eyes, the gaping hole in the chest. I cradled my face in my bloody hands. “It’s a horse,” I whispered. “It’s only a horse.”
Author bio: Shannon Bell is addicted to words. You will find him madly writing away in the spare time he has available between holding down a full-time job, being part of a dysfunctional family and looking after his attention seeking dog. His stories have been published in Dark Edifice, Short & Twisted, 101 Fiction and strippedlit500. You can follow Shannon on Twitter at @ShannonBell1967.
“Eat it.”
“I can’t. The guilt is too great.”
“A unicorn heart bestows eternity, but you must eat it while it’s beating.”
Tears leaked from my eyes. I bit into the flesh. Blood dribbled down my chin and the heart beat softly against my lips. “Where is the horn?”
“The horn is my payment.”
Magic surged through me, healing what was broken and diseased and granting eternal life. I looked at the ruined forehead, the sightless eyes, the gaping hole in the chest. I cradled my face in my bloody hands. “It’s a horse,” I whispered. “It’s only a horse.”
Author bio: Shannon Bell is addicted to words. You will find him madly writing away in the spare time he has available between holding down a full-time job, being part of a dysfunctional family and looking after his attention seeking dog. His stories have been published in Dark Edifice, Short & Twisted, 101 Fiction and strippedlit500. You can follow Shannon on Twitter at @ShannonBell1967.
Sacrifice is part of 101 Fiction issue 18.
Sunday, 3 December 2017
Soiled
by Shannon Bell
He looks me up and down. “There’s beauty in dirt.”
I don’t know what to say.
His finger pokes painfully into my flesh. “There’s space for others in here.”
I never know what to say.
This self-proclaimed hero who promised to rescue me is a monster that devours me. He draws from people. Enters them. Snatches their bodies. Steals things from deep within.
I am no tranquil ocean. I hum inside. He pockets that heat, slips inside my dreams and stays awhile.
Another piece gone. Each piece taken spreads his stain in my soul. There’s no beauty in what’s broken.
Author bio: Shannon Bell is addicted to words. You will find him madly writing away in the spare time he has available between holding down a full-time job, being part of a dysfunctional family and looking after his attention seeking dog. His stories have been published in Dark Edifice, Short & Twisted, 101 Fiction and strippedlit500. You can follow Shannon on Twitter at @ShannonBell1967.
Soiled is part of 101 Fiction issue 17.
He looks me up and down. “There’s beauty in dirt.”
I don’t know what to say.
His finger pokes painfully into my flesh. “There’s space for others in here.”
I never know what to say.
This self-proclaimed hero who promised to rescue me is a monster that devours me. He draws from people. Enters them. Snatches their bodies. Steals things from deep within.
I am no tranquil ocean. I hum inside. He pockets that heat, slips inside my dreams and stays awhile.
Another piece gone. Each piece taken spreads his stain in my soul. There’s no beauty in what’s broken.
Author bio: Shannon Bell is addicted to words. You will find him madly writing away in the spare time he has available between holding down a full-time job, being part of a dysfunctional family and looking after his attention seeking dog. His stories have been published in Dark Edifice, Short & Twisted, 101 Fiction and strippedlit500. You can follow Shannon on Twitter at @ShannonBell1967.
Soiled is part of 101 Fiction issue 17.
Sunday, 11 June 2017
Infernal
by Shannon Bell
"You will join me."
His graveyard breath washed over me.
"No, I won't."
He grinned. I watched, terrified, as unspeakable things crawled between his teeth.
"I can smell your fear. That's a perfect way to start."
He touched my feet. They thickened into cloven hooves. Then he touched my forehead, and horns pushed through the skin.
"Please, stop." Tears ran down my cheeks.
Lucifer bent down, his forked tongue lapping greedily at them. "Your pain tastes magnificent."
"Oh my god."
A thunderous laugh rumbled through my blood.
"God won't help you. Rise demon, and take your place at my side."
Author bio: Shannon Bell is addicted to words. You will find him madly writing away in the spare time he has available between holding down a full-time job, being part of a dysfunctional family and looking after his attention seeking dog.
"You will join me."
His graveyard breath washed over me.
"No, I won't."
He grinned. I watched, terrified, as unspeakable things crawled between his teeth.
"I can smell your fear. That's a perfect way to start."
He touched my feet. They thickened into cloven hooves. Then he touched my forehead, and horns pushed through the skin.
"Please, stop." Tears ran down my cheeks.
Lucifer bent down, his forked tongue lapping greedily at them. "Your pain tastes magnificent."
"Oh my god."
A thunderous laugh rumbled through my blood.
"God won't help you. Rise demon, and take your place at my side."
Author bio: Shannon Bell is addicted to words. You will find him madly writing away in the spare time he has available between holding down a full-time job, being part of a dysfunctional family and looking after his attention seeking dog.
Infernal is part of 101 Fiction issue 15.
Sunday, 5 June 2016
selFISH
by Shannon Bell
“Psst, hey you. Yeah that’s right, you. Fuck me, enough is enough mate. Look at this dump. A glass bowl and some sand; like, hello, boring. Some decorations would be nice.”
This can’t be real.
“And while you’re at it, how about supplying some female company. It gets lonely in here and I have needs too you know.”
I must be hallucinating.
"Are you listening to me? Is the brain not processing what the eyes are seeing? And they call humans the most intelligent species!”
Lips pursed in annoyance, fin tapping the glass impatiently, my goldfish is talking to me.
Author bio: Shannon Bell is addicted to words. You will find him madly writing away in the spare time he has available between holding down a full-time job, being part of a dysfunctional family and looking after his attention seeking dog.
“Psst, hey you. Yeah that’s right, you. Fuck me, enough is enough mate. Look at this dump. A glass bowl and some sand; like, hello, boring. Some decorations would be nice.”
This can’t be real.
“And while you’re at it, how about supplying some female company. It gets lonely in here and I have needs too you know.”
I must be hallucinating.
"Are you listening to me? Is the brain not processing what the eyes are seeing? And they call humans the most intelligent species!”
Lips pursed in annoyance, fin tapping the glass impatiently, my goldfish is talking to me.
Author bio: Shannon Bell is addicted to words. You will find him madly writing away in the spare time he has available between holding down a full-time job, being part of a dysfunctional family and looking after his attention seeking dog.
selFISH is part of 101 Fiction issue 12.
Sunday, 6 March 2016
Pulped
by Shannon Bell
Tegan sat on the highest branch, hugged the trunk and pressed her cheek to the bark.
“I hate him.” She whispered over and over, a mantra for her broken heart. Her tears and her words seeped into the tree. Its sap pulsed with the power of her contempt.
Kyle walked along the garden path.
“Hate him.”
The tree reached down, seized him, threw him in the air.
Tegan stared at Kyle’s body, limp and lifeless in the upper branches. “Oh,” she smiled, “thank you, tree.”
The tree shuddered, its leaves shook as ridges of bark stretched into a grotesque smile.
Author bio: Shannon Bell is addicted to words. You will find him madly writing away in the spare time he has available between holding down a full-time job, being part of a dysfunctional family and looking after his attention seeking dog.
Pulped is part of 101 Fiction issue 11.
Tegan sat on the highest branch, hugged the trunk and pressed her cheek to the bark.
“I hate him.” She whispered over and over, a mantra for her broken heart. Her tears and her words seeped into the tree. Its sap pulsed with the power of her contempt.
Kyle walked along the garden path.
“Hate him.”
The tree reached down, seized him, threw him in the air.
Tegan stared at Kyle’s body, limp and lifeless in the upper branches. “Oh,” she smiled, “thank you, tree.”
The tree shuddered, its leaves shook as ridges of bark stretched into a grotesque smile.
Author bio: Shannon Bell is addicted to words. You will find him madly writing away in the spare time he has available between holding down a full-time job, being part of a dysfunctional family and looking after his attention seeking dog.
Pulped is part of 101 Fiction issue 11.
Sunday, 6 December 2015
Feast
by Shannon Bell
I can’t abide raw meat. It’s not that I don’t love the taste of blood, I do. But it’s the smells and the sounds, as much as the taste, which informs my dining experience.
The smell of a juicy, fat-marbled piece of meat roasting over a naked flame; such an aphrodisiac.
A crackling fire, sizzling flesh, spitting fat, terrified screams, what music!
“Please,” he begs. His fear flavours the meat, his tears a tasty marinade.
I carve a thick slice of thigh. At this rate, he won’t last a day. I like them alive, but oh, I am a glutton.
Author bio: Shannon Bell is addicted to words. You will find him madly writing away in the spare time he has available between holding down a full-time job, being part of a dysfunctional family and looking after his energetic, attention seeking dog.
I can’t abide raw meat. It’s not that I don’t love the taste of blood, I do. But it’s the smells and the sounds, as much as the taste, which informs my dining experience.
The smell of a juicy, fat-marbled piece of meat roasting over a naked flame; such an aphrodisiac.
A crackling fire, sizzling flesh, spitting fat, terrified screams, what music!
“Please,” he begs. His fear flavours the meat, his tears a tasty marinade.
I carve a thick slice of thigh. At this rate, he won’t last a day. I like them alive, but oh, I am a glutton.
Author bio: Shannon Bell is addicted to words. You will find him madly writing away in the spare time he has available between holding down a full-time job, being part of a dysfunctional family and looking after his energetic, attention seeking dog.
Feast is part of 101 Fiction issue 10.
Sunday, 21 June 2015
Taken
by Shannon Bell
Those lips, stained red with the blood that flows beneath, stained darker with the blood that flows above. Those lips, shaped like a funeral wreath, evoking sadness and hopes of rebirth.
Those eyes, they glow like rubies while you empty me and fill yourself. Those eyes. Fierce, obsessive, wild and seductive. They are not windows to a soul; they are doors to death and portals unto immortality.
Those lips, blood red leeches, stinging, sucking, greedy, hiding your instruments of violence and of redemption.
Those eyes. They enchant and possess and command me as I lie wrapped in your vampiric embrace.
Author bio: Shannon Bell is addicted to words. You will find him madly writing away in the spare time he has available between holding down a full-time job, being part of a highly dysfunctional family and looking after his extremely energetic, attention seeking, high maintenance dog.
Taken is part of 101 Fiction issue 8.
Those lips, stained red with the blood that flows beneath, stained darker with the blood that flows above. Those lips, shaped like a funeral wreath, evoking sadness and hopes of rebirth.
Those eyes, they glow like rubies while you empty me and fill yourself. Those eyes. Fierce, obsessive, wild and seductive. They are not windows to a soul; they are doors to death and portals unto immortality.
Those lips, blood red leeches, stinging, sucking, greedy, hiding your instruments of violence and of redemption.
Those eyes. They enchant and possess and command me as I lie wrapped in your vampiric embrace.
Author bio: Shannon Bell is addicted to words. You will find him madly writing away in the spare time he has available between holding down a full-time job, being part of a highly dysfunctional family and looking after his extremely energetic, attention seeking, high maintenance dog.
Taken is part of 101 Fiction issue 8.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)