Still Standing By Tony Fields


Hello creeps! My good friend Tony sent in a short-story he is working on! I thought I’d share! xoxo – Mercy

~Still Standing~

By Tony Fields

Los Santos
6:30 Pm

Sarina hid in a condemned apartment complex with her camera in hand as she could see cars pulling up into the parking lot, the evening sun flowed into the room between the wooden boards that covered the windows as dust gently rain down freely occasionally landing on the lens of her camera so she would clean it off with the sleeve of her shirt, the sound of car doors closing and the sound of various men talking abruptly broke the silence.

She peaked through the window and watched as various men exited cars of all types and entered the apartment building across from the one she hid in, an older white-haired man dressed in a suit smoking a cigar exited a black limo, his glasses reflected the sun into her direction temporarily blinding her as she ducked back behind the wall beside the window then picked up her camera and began snapping pictures of the gathering outside, as she rapidly took pictures of the people and cars she heard her phone go off, it made her jump a little fearing she would alert the guys outside she fumbled through the bag she wore in replace of a purse trying to find it until her fingers hit it and she grabbed it then answered it with a whisper

“Hello, I’m a bit busy right now so can it wait?” She said while looking out the window.

“Hey Sarina it’s your manager Brandon…no it can’t wait honestly, I heard you’re doing a story on some of Los Santos crime families and I must warn you….if you get too close to the fire or start uncovering things that can bring down draw attention to some very powerful figures there is little to nothing I can do to ensure your safety so be careful.”

She felt a chill run down her back hearing such a warning from her boss as she started to feel how real the danger was.

She ran her hand through her hair and sighed under her breath then replied

” I’ve covered stories similar to this so don’t worry about me I can handle myself.”

She hung up the phone and took more pictures of the cars and building before getting up and making her way out of the building and down to the pool grounds, she was wearing a white T-shirt that covered her shorts, her white skate type shoes were dirty and some-what damaged from years of abuse from running through muddy yards to hopping fences, she wore a pair of mismatched no-show socks to go with her colorful personality, in her blonde hair she had a streak of pink highlights, needless to say she stuck out and was in a bad part of town at night so it was time to get to the bus station and soon.

As Sarina walked through the streets she took notice of a couple guys who had been following her for the past 20 minutes so she began walking faster and cutting through yards but they continued trailing her until a velvet colored SUV came around the corner and occupants inside began shooting a the two guys, she screamed as she dove behind a gas station as more shots rang out and finally the SUV sped off and the two guys who had been following her laid motionless in a puddle of blood and chunks of pink flesh.

She stared wide-eyed at the bodies as sirens rang out in the distance, she began to breathe rapidly and sob realizing those two were dead, she took off running and didn’t stop until she was near familiar territory.

(To be continued)

Ponder (Short Story)



         While others are going about their merry way this time of year, I sit and ponder the days of yesteryear. I have not noticed how much different my world has become until this holiday season. So many people have gone – either due to death or their own personal reasons. Few have stayed, some were gained. The twists and turns of life that brought us all together. Should I sit here and live with regret? I look at the fine red wine before me. Sitting in my empty house. Looking around at the pictures on the wall. The frames hang poorly, slightly crooked on the wall. It’s funny what we take for granted. We don’t pay attention to anything anymore. We sacrifice too much soul up material items, we don’t sit back and really appreciate what was around us at one point in time. At least, not until it’s too late and nothing is left but a mere memory. 

          The echoing of voices and laughter from many years ago fill my mind. The music, the food, the smell of cookies. The tale of Saint Nick and the presents beneath the tree. The wonder and imagination each child has – should still remain in us as we grow older. Imagination and wonder doesn’t equal immaturity. It equals life. Depression in adults is at it’s high, and we allow it. A creative soul is seen as insanity. Yet a greedy soulless individual is seen as sanity. We are the reason we’re so pathetic. Allowing our minds to be altered. Not sitting back and enjoying the friends and family that are good to us. No, we spend too much time focusing on the negatives. Which equal deep thought, and deep thought makes a situation a hundred times worse than if we look at the facts. 

     As a kid, I despised Saint Nick. I didn’t want a strange man to be coming into my house to give me toys. I already had so many toys. I didn’t need anymore. Give them to the poor. Been generous when I was a child. In fact, a majority of my childhood I would play with toys and friends of the imaginary kind! I would be climbing up vast mountains! Writing tales of a young woman named Becky taking a train across America in search of a wanted criminal! Oh the joys of childhood were in my hands whether creepy Saint Nick snuck into my house or not! I kept that vision to this day! Writing tales and songs. Feeling music and inspiration from the universe around me. Oh, but no! You must grow up! 

    I refuse to grow up. I will always have that child in my heart. That child that would snitch Christmas Cookies with my grandfather at three in the morn. The child who was obsessed with the Grim Reaper on the 1938 version of ‘A Christmas Carol’. The child who yearns to be in the realm of music and imagination because that is where my soul belongs! The ticking of the clock interrupts my thoughts as I sit here. A cat meows from beneath the tree and I give out a smile. “You coming to bed?” My lover asks from a room down the hall. “In a minute.” I look out at the falling snow. Each snow flake a glimpse into Holiday Memories. “Thanks for the memories.” I say to myself, holding up the glass of wine. “Cheers, and happy new year.” I know the memories heard me. I know they appreciate the acknowledgment. I got up picking up the kitten and heading to the bedroom. Time to have sugar plums and fairies dancing in my head. 

R.I.P. to those that are no longer with us on the holiday season.

Artemia Episode 3


(( Dearest Devils & Ghouls, I am making Artemia a novel series !))


Artemia Part 3

      I despise grocery shopping. The lines, the prices, my appetite. To top it off, the frizzy haired obese woman in front of me smells of a marlboro and puke mixture. I hate the check out lines. Especially those self service ones… I don’t work here and unless I’m getting paid, I should not be checking myself out. The damn computer voice annoys the hell out of me. Of course, being the bachelorette I am, I only needed a few select items and no express lane is available. Walmart. You guys must be so proud to demolish the hopes and dreams of the mom and pop shops.  I wonder why they don’t play the generic super market music they do in sitcoms. I grabbed a newspaper “Gloria Roberts, 17, Still Missing”. It’s always a shame when young people go missing.

         I was greeted by a woman with too much make up. $108.50 for a small amount of items. On the drive home, I was jamming out to the radio when The Ripper by Judas Priest came to play.Sparking very delightful memories. I am amused by those that claim the ripper case is closed. No one knows who the ripper was… but me. I was friends with the ripper until it’s death in 1896. A lot of people came to mourn the ripper… shedding tears, wishing condolences and not one of those individuals new of the dark deeds that were committed. In 1888, I was living in a small flat in England. Right above the bakery where I worked, and sometimes played piano for the guests at a nearby hotel. I remember one foggy night, I was walking home in the dark. An unfortunate had passed me by, stumbling from having too much to drink. A dark carraige followed her. I guess the well off need loving too. Shortly after I saw her get into the carriage, I heard a muffled scream. Who ever was in that carriage had some pretty insane fetishes.

         I seriously became obsessed with the ripper case. I put together pieced of information better than the police. The police wouldn’t take my findings into consideration because I was a young woman. The best thing I remember was that rainy night in 1888. A knock on my door that changed my life. I answered the door in my night gown. “Yes?” I said, wiping my tired eyes. A tall man, whom I recognized as a carraige driver, was at my door. ” Your company… is requested.” He pointed out down the front door and to the carriage. The same carriage I saw when stalking the ripper. I was taken to the carriage, greeted by the ripper and a bloody knmife. “I know you’ve seen my doing, Kathleen.” Yes, i have.” I said, firmly not showing fear. “I admire your fearlessness.” The ripper handed me an exquisite amount of money. “Go have yourself a grand meal… and this is our little secret.” I saw the ripper smile and was excused from the carriage. I wish I could get a meal like the one I had that night. But, sadly no one cooks like that anymore.

      At home, my cats greeted me one by one. I turned on some music and begane to work on my artwork. ” Oh You.” I said to myself.The Ripper was the inspiration for this art piece. I kept thinking so much of David. He could very well still be a live. He would be an elderly man now. I often wonder if I’ll ever search for him. I kept working on my art until 6:00 AM I had to get some sleep. I awoke at noon to have some french toast and home fries at the local diner. I took my laptop to look up agencies that specialized in helping people find lost loved ones. I wanted to find David and get over my fear. Maybe finding him will bring me some sort of closure on that past life. The agency around me was a fifteen minute drive. “Hello, my name is Artemia. I’m calling to make an appointment.” A polite voice answered me, “Sure. Who may we help you find?” I thought about it. I couldn’t say my son. “A distant relative.” I heard typing on the other end. “Hmmm, well ma’am we have an opening tomorrow morning at eight? Come on in with some pictures and family history.” I wrote it in my plan book. “Okay, sounds good.”

    Tomorrow begins that search. I shut my laptop and had my brunch. Angel came in and sat next to me. We had a great conversation about her engagement. I wanted to talk to her about David so much.but I couldn’t. “You need to go on a date and stop being such a cat lady.” She said suddenly. I hated it when other women got engaged, they automatically think that you need to be too or else it’s just a bore. “You can’t bring one of your cats as a date to my wedding.” I rolled my eyes. “I can go as an individual.” I said simply. Back at home, I dug out my old photographs Me, Roger, and David. I cried and listened to some Dean Martin. My emotional state about that life is quite terrifyiing. I could never forget Roger’s Love or my only child.

© Mercy Desdemona 2013

Artemia Update


Hello devils and ghouls!

I apologize for my lack of posting an Artemia Episode. I wasn’t happy with the way part 3 came out so I am spending tonight editing the version that i have written. Tomorrow I shall post part 3 and 4!

keep in mind my followers, that the short story is basically a sneak peek into the novel Artemia. Artemia will be a novel series which I will publish through createspace!

Main Characters:



David Birham

Roger Birham

Mary Roberts

Lilith Roberts


Artemia Episode 2 & More!


Hello Devils & Creeps.

It is my pleasure to present to you, Artemia part 2. Whilst writing this, I’ve grown an attachment to my Artemia and have decided to make this a book series! I have created a create space account to have my Artemia published once it’s finished. I hope you all enjoy this.

– Mercy Desdemona


Artemia Episode 2

                         In 1933, I was a young seventeen year old girl living in a small village. I lived with my mother and father in a boarding house in the center of the village near the village hall. My father was the supervisor of the village and needed to be close to the hall in case any emergencies shall erupt. He was a good man and we had lots of good times in 1933. 1933 had to be where I felt the most human. So genuinely happy and also where I experienced my first true love. Roger Albert Birham was a lovely young man. He was tall, around six feet, with brown hair and dark eyes. He enjoyed playing the piano, even thought he’d never own one. His family was not well off like my family was. Which was a main concern of my father when we started our courtship. We would go to see a moving picture or two, picnic by Black Heart Pond, and plan a life together.

                        My father was not keen on me falling for a Birham. To my father, status was everything. I think, it was because he came from nothing and never wanted me to go through the same hardship. “Abby, if your hear is true to Roger, you have my blessing.” My father gave me his blessing in the August of 1933. In 1935, we had a wedding. It was a beautiful, fresh, spring day. The flowers were in bloom and the air smelled so fresh. My mother was proud and my father took me down the grassy isle to Roger. He had a stern look on his face as he held back the tears. We honeymooned at a cabin in the mountains. It made me the envy of my peers. It was during that time I knew I wanted this to be my final life. He was my one and only, and simply not replaceable. We made a home together in a small apartment looking over the park. It was a great location near my dress shops and Roger’s work place.

                                I became good friends with our neighbor, Lilith Roberts. Lilith would always come over for tea and discuss her father’s business. She was proud of her father ever so much. She was a young lady who adored children and always asked me, “When will you and Roger have a young babe?” She would always giggle and I would always respond, “Within the year.” I had my doubts of being a mother again, I would sometimes have frequent flashbacks to my Linda Mae. In the spring of 1937, on our wedding anniversary, I gave birth to a health young baby boy. We named him David Richard Birham after our fathers. We were a complete family.

                                    Roger was the ideal husband. He put food on the table and allowed us to have romantic dinners and family picnics. It wasn’t until David was the  age of five when things started to change. Mary Roberts was the older sister of dear Lilith. She was very wealthy, refined, had business connections, and always got what she wanted. Mary and Roger courted before I was his lover. She left him cold after a young fox came her way. I knew deep down Roger never let the incident go and I also knew he would never give into temptation. I could not help my jealousy though. I was a good young wife. I kept my jealousy just fuming inside me instead of exposing it.

                                   Roger started to grow tired of his status in society. He wanted to go further with his business and considered talking to Mary about helping him. He never said it to my face, but I knew that’s what he had planned deep down. He would keep his meetings with Mary secret. He started to not come home and David and I would spend a lot of time alone. I was happy I at least had my son. One day, after dropping David off to see the grandparents, I went into a bakery to apply for a position. I wanted to help Roger in this financial slum. The dress shop would not hire a woman that was not good at sewing, bakery was the only option.  After obtaining the position, I went to my apartment so full of glee. I walked in on a business meeting between Roger and Mary, but my presence wasn’t known. ” Roger darling, I’ve missed you.” Mary stated as she took a drag of her cigarette. Roger smiled. “I’ve missed you to Mary.” They exchanged glances as I entered the room. “Mary. So nice to see you.” I said with a clear smile on my face. No need to embarass Roger in front of his lovely company.

                       Roger looked at me. “You know how much I’ve missed Mary since when we were courting.” I nodded. “Yes, I know Roger. I’m sorry for jumping to any form of conclusion.” Mary walked over to me. She had long dark red hair, a marvelous figure. “Congratulations, Abbagail… for marrying such a wonderful man.” With that she walked out of our apartment and I went on to making dinner. Mary started becoming a more prominent person in Roger’s life. David and I began spending more time alone while Roger moved up in the world. I had to deal with the snickers and sneers by the public and my peers while Roger went out galevanting around with Mary Roberts. His smile soon faded from all family dinners and he would sometimes not come home.

                Not matter how much Roger did to me, I still loved him. On David’s sixth birthday, I had a party for him in the park with his boyhood friends. It was just me and David. Roger wasn’t anywhere to be found. It wasn’t a worry to me anymore. I became accustomed to Roger disappearing for weeks without contact. Lilith would come over to check on David and I periodically. She had a look on her face that she knew something I didn’t and she couldn’t tell me. I knew deep down inside that Roger’s love for Mary outweighed his love for me. I couldn’t blame him. On September 3, 1942, I heard from Roger in the most gruesome way. His obituary was in the newspaper. He had been found stone cold dead in an alleyway. It was said he suffered of a heart attack. I let out a few tears but didn’t cry as much as I thought I would. My one true love had died, and I couldn’t cry anymore than a few me mere seconds. I believe it’s because I knew, he was more dedicated to Mary Roberts. What hurt the most was the reading of my darling’s will. He left it all to David and Mary. I was a no one. I wasn’t even anyone to the love of my life!

                   After a while, I started seeing less and less of my own son. Lilith would take him to her home and he would live like she did. Mary was acting more of a mother towards him as time went on and even had me thrown out of the apartment building. I never saw Lilith, Mary, or David again. I moved into the old boarding house where my parents lived. One day, I decided my soul needed a new host. Abby Birham died of influenza in 1948.

                      My alarm went off at 6:00 AM sharp. Today was the day I agreed to pick up Aiden. The nine year old boy would be waiting for me at the bus station to be picked up and taken to Avery. Aiden is Avery’s son from Avery’s previous marriage. This would be the first time that little Aiden meets Avery’s girlfriend, Angel. She was a good fit for Avery and always supportive of his tattoo shop even though she would never get a tattoo herself. I quickly rose from my bed and let out a yawn. I looked at myself in the mirror. I didn’t look half bad in the early morning. I couldn’t even remember the last time I woke up this early in the morning. I quickly got dressed in jeans and a Motorhead t-shirt. I brushed my hair and put it up in a bun, I wasn’t about to mess with make up this early in the morning. I hopped into my black 57 Chevy and went to the bus station. Little Aiden stood there with his blue little mohawk looking around for me. “Hey there little guy!” I leaned down so he could give me a hug. “How was the trip?” He smiled, “It was awesome! I got to see a lot of towns on the way from mommy’s!” I laughed as we walked to my car. I helped him put his bags in the car and made sure he was safely in it. “Are you excited to see your dad?” He nodded. “Yeah… are you dating daddy?” I let out a small laugh. “No. But his girlfriend is happy to meet you. She’s really nice. You’ll love her.” Aiden scrunched his face. “Really?” I nodded. “Really.” Looking at Aiden, I saw a resemblance to David. I never knew what had become of my son. I have this urge to research it. After all, it was my son. I partially believe I see a resemblance because I remember times being a mother. I’ll start looking for David tomorrow on my day off. I don’t know how I’ll take it. I truly hope he had a long and lovely life.

                  We made the turn into Avery’s Tattoos. Avery lived above the shop. I was debating going to art school part-time to eventually be a tattoo artist myself. Avery loved that idea and has been pushing me ever since. He always tells me that I’d have a secure job with him and that I should really let out my artist passion. In all my lives, I never thought I would feel content or go to college. Angel picked up Aiden. “Hey little guy.” She smiled at him. “My name is Angel. You must be Aiden. I just love your mohawk!” He smiled and I knew he enjoyed being held by her. Avery and Angel made a lovely couple and I felt honored to have them as friends.

                 Avery came over to me with a manila folder. “I appreciate you pickin’ up the little man.” He smiled. “Not a problem. He’s a kick ass kid.” I laughed. Avery handed me the manila folder. “Here is some info for you to succeed as a tattoo artist. Angel and I really want to see you succeed. You’re part of our family.” I took the envelope and smiled looking at the contents. “Thanks guys.” I spent the rest of the night chatting with them about what I needed to do. I even stayed the night on their couch.

               I awoke at 8:45 AM. The news was on the television. A young woman was missing from town. Angel handed me a cup of coffee. “I hope they find her.” She said in a sombre tone. “Me too.” I said blowing on my coffee, nodding in agreement. “…We here at News 7 wish Gloria Roberts a safe return…”

Artemia – Episode 1 – Late Posting!


Attention Devils and Ghouls,

I apologize for posting this late. My weekend was full of events I was unaware of and I do hope you forgive me and enjoy the passage below.

– Mercy Desdemona



Artemia: Ep.1

         I am an old soul trapped within a young body. I remember every detail, scent, name, etc. All of my lives. From beginning to end. I sit here smoking a cigarette, watching the smoke curl. A century ago, I was Bernadatte. A wealthy woman with a lot of political influence. My soul was born in 5 A.D. No I am not a vampire or a creature of the night. I am just a mere soul that refuses to rest in peace. No matter how hard I try. So here we are in 2013. I’m a young woman of twenty-three and I work as a receptionist at a tattoo parlor. I have to say, I have been lucky with my soul finding attractive people to call home. In the 1920s, I was Annabel Lee the Flapper. In the 1950s, I was a pin-up working a long side Betty Page. And in 2013, I’m a lovely and eccentric young woman.

        My name is Artemia. As I’ve stated before. I’m twenty-three. I live in a cabin near Dark Pond. Secluded by trees and away from town. Just how I like it. I hate when people say they wish they could live forever. You don’t realize how stressful it is. I know you hear this tons of times from vampire tales and all that jazz, but it really is a painful journey. No amount of anger management courses can help me with this pure anger and stress I feel at times. So I deal with it in my own manner. I’m working tonight, the late shift. Avery’s Tattoo parlor is in between two bars and is right in the down town area near the pizza shop. So tonight will be nothing more than a drunk tattoo spree. I couldn’t tell you how many people coming in here claiming to be oh so in love and get names tattooed on them…but it turns out to be either spelled wrong or the wrong woman/man’s name. Don’t get names tattooed Ladies and Gents. Because I guarantee within the next three weeks, you’ll be back in the tattoo chair getting a cover up.

         I’m sitting here watching the news. When will people learn the world is not just black and white. The human brain cannot comprehend what is all out there. We aren’t meant to know everything. Stop bitching about religion and politics and smell the flowers asshole. It’s times like this where I remember Morty. Morty Ives, my lover in 1925. Asshole made me swim with the fishes after our child was born. All because it wasn’t a son. It was a calm night in 1925. I was coming home with Betsy Murr from the new picture. Morty was waiting for me at the usual corner. He didn’t like to show his face. Pigs would be all over him. Our daughter, Linda Mae, was in his arms. She looked like she was sleeping. AS if she was just rocked into a slumber. Morty smiled at me and took me out to Denver’s Pond just a little bit out of town. At first, I objected. The cool night air could be too cold for Linda Mae. Morty insisted. When we arrived, his smile faded. An evil came over his straight face. Two male figures approached us out of the dark. Morty looked at me. “Annabel Lee… I believe you promised me a son as our first born. And since you’ve broken a promise…” He dropped Linda Mae on the ground. She was stone cold dead. I let out a cry and then a scream. “Morty! How could you do this?! To our child!” He smacked me across the face and snickered. “Devil Woman!” He proclaimed before having his two goons tie me up and gag me. “Devil woman! Gave me a devil child!” He sent me to drown… my demise… all the while screaming that I was a devil woman with a devil child. His chant were the final words I heard.

      Once Annabel died, my soul found a new host. A woman who found Annabel’s body. Yep. I found my own dead corpse. And I was allowed to do my duty as a responsible citizen to get Morty Ives and the Goons locked up until their dying day. Mother flippin’ Justice! How about them apples? Morty, I hope you never rest in peace. More like resting in pieces.

                    I made it to Avery’s Tattoo Parlor on time. Some rather large woman was pulling down her pants to get a tramp stamp of a butterfly. Poor Avery. I sat down at the front desk to help some customers. Tonight shall be interesting.

– End Part One-

© Mercy Desdemona 2013

“Tune In” next Friday at 11:00PM for the Next “Episode”.

Comment below with your feedback and get a chance to have your blog mentioned at the end of one of our videos!

= Mercy Desdemona =

Short – Story


Hello Devils & Ghouls!

I am currently feeling creative and can sense a creative binge on the rise here. I am currently working on a short story that I have decided I will post on here in different “Episodes”. For instance, Friday will be part one but I shall call it Episode 1 and in order to continue you have to tune in next Friday. Won’t that be interesting? The set time for uploading the story is 11:00 PM Eastern Time (USA). So if you are interested in reading and following along – that would be great. I’m thinking of tying in games to go with the story for more interaction with you guys. Here is a little bit about the story without giving to much away:


Summary: Artemia Aisling is a young and beautiful woman the age of 22 in current times. She’s straight forward, independent and works as a receptionist at a tattoo parlor. Her mind is always full of interesting places and events that have occurred. A lot of friends and a romantic interest make it seem like Artemia is the perfect woman. She’s got a great life that she’ll admit, but people don’t see whats on the inside. She’s trying to just rest. Simply rest. But she’s unsure of how she’ll achieve this rest – or if she even will.


I know what you’re thinking and I can just tell you  – you’re wrong. Tune in Friday at 11PM to read the first episode. Those who leave feedback on the episode may get a part in adding something within the story or a chance for me to share your blog on my YouTube Channel to show my appreciation for your creepage.


Blood & Guts,

Mercy Desdemona





Dear Creeps,

One of my favorite hobbies is writing short stories. I’ve always enjoyed those televisions shows where they would tell a tale you could get lost in. When I was a young girl, I would write to my hearts desire and even compose music soundtracks for the story I was writing! My love for writing is #2 on my list of loves as Music shall always be my #1. I received a few Creeper questions via Facebook, deviantart and Youtube that I’d like to answer here.

What type of stories do you usually write?

– I enjoy writing stories that could be placed within the Gothic category but also psychological horror. I do have a few Science Fiction short stories as well.

Do you outline your stories or just write?

– This depends. If it was for an assignment I would outline. If it’s for myself, I just write and then analyze.

What is the earliest story you remember writing?

– Let’s see — I was 10 sitting in my grandparents house for a visit. I had a notebook and composed a tale that took place in the early 1900s. It was about a young girl named, Rebecca, who was trying to find the truth of paranormal activity.

What’s the first story you received feedback?

– The Girl. I wrote it for a school English project and put it on Deviantart. Re-reading it now, I see all the errors and I’m in the process of re-writing it.

Thanks for the little questions. I’m off now to consume a dinner.

– Mercy

The Girl – Intro


**** This is a story I wrote in 9th grade (I’m guessing) for a school horror project. Needless to say the post here, I’ve re-written to make it more how I write now. The original intro will be written below the Re-Written.*****

It’s 5:08 AM. I’m still awake from the night before. The house is silent as it creaks with the wind. My mother lay asleep next to my father in the next room. Their snores seem to echo throughout the silent house. I’m lying upon my bed, bathed in light from the sky. I don’t know what has come over me lately. I just never sleep. I got out of my bed quietly, tiptoeing downstairs. No lights are on and I smile in the dark. I love the dark and the way it holds me. The way the devil’s arms seem to be around me. Much like that of the embrace of a lover.
I made my way to our neat and tidy living room. Everything had its place. Ever since mom became best friends with Prozac. I went over to the family portrait. As I’m standing there looking at our faces with the phony smile and the “everything is well” pose… I wished it would burn. Burn to hell. Burn it all! I hate having a fake smile. I hate the way I cannot be true to who I am within. No one would understand what’s within. No one… not even myself.
I try to hold back tears as I stood there. Oh, what I would do to have my friend back. If he wouldn’t have died, maybe my mind wouldn’t be in this state. He taught me how to be strong in a family full of liars. A family full of lunatics that would tear each other down instead of help them up. I throw the portrait into the fireplace and watched it burn slowly. A grin came upon my face as I watched the flame devour our faces. First, my father’s face, then my mothers and finally mine. I felt a sense of evil running through my veins. It was like a drug and I was the addict. No rehab for me. I slowly walked into the kitchen and grabbed a knife. I slowly made my way up the stairs, being ever so quiet, and slowly opened my parent’s bedroom door…

© Mercy Desdemona 2012

Original Written in ’06:

It’s 5:08AM. I’m still awake from the night before. My mother lay asleep next to my father in the next room. There snores seem to echo through the house. I tiptoe downstairs. No lights are on. I love the dark. The way it holds me. The way the devil’s arms seem to be around me. A loving embrace.
I go towards the living room. Looking at my family portrait. I wish it would burn. Burn to hell. Burn it all! I hate my fake smile. I hate the way I can’t be myself. No one understands. No one!! Not even me!! Oh. What I would do to have my friend back. If he wouldn’t have died, maybe my mind wouldnt be in this state. He taught me how to be strong in a family full of liars. A family full of close-minded lunatics.
I throw the portrait in the fire. Grin as I watch our faces burn. BURN BABY!! first my father’s face, then my mothers. Finally mine. I felt the evilness goes through my veins. It was like drug. I was addicted. No rehab for me. I slowly walked into the kitchen. Grabbed a knife. Started making my way up the stairs. I slowly opened my parent’s bedroom door….

© Mercy Desdemona 2006