The Horse’s Head


He was unmoved by the fact, that he had instantly smelled the gun on Frank, who had picked him up to “go, see the man” a few minutes ago. The look in Frank’s eyes, as they casually exchanged pleasantries, screamed murder. Frank had never been much of a poker player, nor would he ever be – the inability to hide emotions would not get Frank far in this business.
It did not matter. For once, they would not be able to use his family as leverage. His wife and children were safely out of the picture, he had seen to that.
As he entered the room, his eyes fell on the polished mahogany desk and those manicured hands, tapping the smooth surface. Pavolini fixed him with his grey, concrete stare.
“Sam. Please, have a seat.”

This time, there would be no mercy.
This time, there would be blood.

(147 words)

Written for VisDare28: Obscured – 150 words or less. Grab a pen and join the fun!
photo credits:


for my friend

how much does it take to break a human being?
how many times can a caged animal be poked and prodded, before the inner demon lends it the strength to break through the bars?

the desire for freedom is embedded in our hearts; a desire so great, so vital, that its voice can never be drowned out.

be safe, my friend.
i wish you would have had an easier path to travel.

beauty’s cruel face

it is all he remembers.

huddled in the corner of the dark, dank room, he tries not to feel. not to think. not to engage in the same battle yet again.
sanity versus longing.
a hopeless attempt.
despite his efforts, the image of her is still fresh on his mind; no matter how hard he tries, he can’t seem to shake it off.

her eyes.
those cold, feline eyes staring down at him.
so beautiful.

he shivers in the darkness.
no light. time does not exist.

has it been days now? months? years?

he can’t remember.

the soft shuffle of bare feet on naked earth makes him sit up straighter. he braces himself for yet another encounter with her.
the woman.
the Goddess.

the battered, wooden door opens agonizingly slow.

it is her.

taking her time, she steps into the room, placing her bare feet gracefully on the hard-packed earth. her legs, long and slender; playfully covered by the thin, silky gown caressing her skin; her body, a silhouette, illuminated from behind.
he swallows, licks his parched, chapped lips.

the immaculate, pale skin of her arms and chest seems to glow as she bends down to him, her hand moving up to his shoulder ever so slowly.

cold. so cold.

her frozen lips slightly parted, she delicately runs her slender fingers from his shoulder down to the center of his chest.
he shivers.

he feels neither thirst, nor hunger. neither exhaustion, nor pain.
he feels only her touch.
he craves… only her.

so this is it. the end of all things.

and as her lips draw closer to seal his fate, he loses himself in her cold, feline eyes.
there will be no dawn tomorrow.

faded memories

who are you?

a stranger, calling me mother.
i try to escape his touch but the more i withdraw, the harder he tries.
this hurt look on his face – i know i should feel bad for him, for me… but i do not know why.
holding my hand seems to give him comfort; maybe i should endure? i can see how much it means to him.

do i know you?

a silent tear. and another. he tries to hide them from me, tries to shrug them off.
he smiles at me, but i know it’s fake.
it’s as artificial as this room… this place.

this bed… my bed? this is not my home.

what is this?
where am i?

home. i want to go home… but i do not know where i belong.
if i close my eyes, maybe the clingy stranger will go… leave me alone.
if i close my eyes, maybe i will escape? avoid this charade, this B-Movie.

if i close my eyes, maybe i won’t wake again.

who am i?

if i only knew.