Three Books that have recently caught my attention.

Most of the time if I'm not writing, I'm reading. And since I have a few very particular types of book I enjoy reading, I thought I would list them.
3.) Thirst series by Christopher Pike
This is a vampire series, I know they are looked down upon, but when you are in a slump and nothing interests you it is always nice to have something you can use to read that requires very little attention.
2.)The Bone Parade by Mark Nykanen
An over all amazing thriller. It's one of those books that looks like it deserves little to no attention, but good lord was it worth the read. It's about a man who tortures victims, and during their final moments of terror, turns them into bronze coated sculptures. Finally he runs across a victim who knows how to fight him back. Was simply amazing.
1. Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov
There's a reason I made it number one. It's outstanding and quite possibly the greatest book I have found to date. I won't go into the plot because it may cause some people not to buy it, but you can find it fir $4.00 on Amazon.

The Messenger

Kill the messenger
In his suit and tie
His black limousine
The bullet-proof glass
The parade of red and blue
Armed men

10-millimeter standard issue
Kill the messenger
String him by his tie, and burn the foundation he built
Through blood,
Sweat
Tears
This land is my land
This land is our land
So kill the messenger.

Depression: Another Excuse

It seems like I always experience something when I write a story.
This time I am pretty sure it was mild depression. This may not be a short story, but, hell, I may as well write something.
Over the past few weeks my life has been made hell by something that has happened over the past year. I'm in the middle of a divorce, and anyone who has experienced it knows it is hell. I'm a pleasant 18 and in my senior year of high school, on my way to moving out. I'm considering moving out before I graduate simply because getting away could do me some good.
Despite all of the promises to be civil, and to never fight, none held up. Shortly after the divorce my mother accused me of taking sides. This lead to arguments which lead to me being kicked out. After moving in with my father, having to leave all of my friends and loved ones, I avoided contact with my mother for a few good. months.
There's more, but let's save it. This is not a sob-story. I am protected by anonymity, and this is for your entertainment. The depression lead to sleepless nights and a severe loss of appetite. Suffice to say I was not in the writing mood.

The Taxidermist: Part 1

The Taxidermist: Part 1

It was a gathering like any other. Everyone dressed in black, mourning the loss of their beautiful baby girl. The crucifixes were everywhere. Thrown upon the walls as a ritual of safe passage to the Land often mentioned in ignorance. The lights were dim and the sobs muffled.
No matter the good wishes, regretful thoughts, and memories ridden with sorrow one mind stood apart from the rest. One mind darkened the already bleak halls of the church. The man at the altar said things such as, "God reserved a special place for our sweet young Annabelle"
I would tell you more of what was said, but I was hardly paying attention. She was so beautiful and pale. If there were a polite way to casually ask the mortician's name, I would have. Anyone who does that kind of work deserves to be congratulated. Her skin was flawless. Her make-up just as a pre-pubescent queen like her deserves. I could only see her from the waist up, but her figure was flawless from there, and I always was superb at connecting the dots.
I wanted nothing more than to fix her, though. Her eyes... He FLAWED her beautiful eyes! Precious orbs, wrapped in ivory. Perfectly powdered as to leave no mystery as to what precious gems lay beneath. The X's. The perfectly thin black lines were missing! An otherwise flawless work of art, RUINED by a simple absence!
I had a feeling no mortician, in spite of his self-worth, would have the moxie to include such a bold finish to a bold assignment. What man could do such things to a girl and forget the X's?!
Approaching the casket was something I had long been waiting for. Having all of the eyes staring into me actually hurt. You could basically hear them questioning who I was. This was obviously a close-knit family which is always bad news for me. It would mean I would shortly be ushered out and every second close to my sweet Annabelle was to be treasured. If I somehow was able to make it to that casket I would be satisfied.

Feeling sick

I'm not feeling particularly good today, so if anything is posted it will likely be something older. This may not be the place for such things and I am probably barking up the wrong tree for wanting helpful criticism, but it's worth a shot I suppose.
Just read my previous posts. When I learn to edit posts I will fix the typos, but for now just tell me what you think overall.
Thank you for all criticism, and comments. I hope you enjoyed yourself.

Below Me

 BELOW ME

I am in the second story of an apartment complex. This is one of many like it in the fact that it can house four families consisting of one to three people. Any more than this and things would become rather crowded and complicated. In the four families, or maybe just a collection of people who are fond of each other, are each housed ob their own 5 room apartment. I am in one of many like it in the fact that it can hold up to three people. Any more and things would become rather crowded and complicated. Each one has 1 bathroom and two bedrooms.
I sleep in my mothers bed. She sleeps on the couch and relinquishes her bed to me for two nights out of every 14. She sleeps on the couch. I would LOVE to sleep on the couch. I have asked her many times to let me, but I guess she is trying to make me feel like she is making a sacrifice for my own happiness. I would love to sleep on that couch. It's quite soft and roomy. She claims it is unfit for sleeping, and I claim she is a lovable liar.
So, I guess each apartment has it's similarities with the others. Now let's talk about the differences. I believe there is something afoot in the other apartments. Example: The apartment across from me, there is a small three member family. The male served as a marine (or some other shit. I don't care) and the wife seems very.. Shelled. There's a baby somewhere in the mix too, but who cares? The wife is what I'm concerned about. We are in a war and this man is fairly young. He's a fucking marine! Why is he here?!? I know why, because he has done something that was too intense for the marines and they realized he's crazy and sent him home. Home to a wife. A wife that probably gets annoying. A wife that probably becomes very annoying all day, every day in a small apartment. With a baby screaming in the background he must be infuriated. I'm not saying he abuses her, I'm saying he's most likely shown her something to be afraid of.
I wish the madness ended there. It does not.
There is a rather chubby gentleman, probably by the age of 15, that comes home from school, sets his i-Pod to shuffle, and goes for a little stroll. He walks from complex to complex, fists clenched, teeth gritted, blank eyes. We thought nothing of this until tonight. We were sitting alone in the corner of our fenced in haven. (I'm withholding names fir a reason) it's nearly 7:00 pm. It is very dark. It is frigid. This gentleman is bare footed. He is wearing nothing but a pair of ball shorts and a Carrhart T-shirt with a pocket on the right breast. He is listening to his i-Pod, ob the nearby swings. He is swinging with intensity and purpose. He is SCREANING for blood. He wants to kill bitches he wants to see fuckers bleed. I sit to the left of him, my friend to the right. He has called us here with his intoxicating growl. We sit with blank stares while he swings. We are waiting for orders and we are waiting to relinquish our blood. Suddenly we are free from his spell and we walk away as does he. He has proven that we are not to fuck with him. He is the master. Us, but pawns.
This is nothing though. Below me. Below me lives a witch. She has a child, most likely forced to live with her. He stares blankly and laughs falsely. He is playing nice. Waiting to strike. He is an apprentice of her dark arts. We had this boy over for thanksgiving and we eat. He is mildly polite. He does not belch and he enjoys the food. All while making small talk. We clean our plates and retire to our quarters for privacy after the meal. Of course the boys stay in the kitchen and have desert. I hear the boy howling with laughter. I walk in and my brother is wielding a knife. It is pressed to the boy's beck. He is staring at death and laughing. He not only wants this, he commands it with forgotten arts of the darkest kind. She has given these powers unto this child and while suspicions are disproven of her the boy carries out her dark will. She will strike, but only when all eyes are on the boy.
These are the things I bare to see my mother. Demons and witches. Sorcery and black magic. Happy Thanksgiving.