Thoughts of Copious Beer

Written by Eruantien

I am who I am
No one else
My thoughts are my own
as are my emotions

To think she would feel the same as I
is arrogance indeed
For each has their own mind
not to be moved by any

some may shout and scream
when they think they are short-changed
but who am I to disagree with her heart

I can still be there for her
to be her friend is my reward
and enough that must be
for I dedicate myself to her

and her happiness
shall I give myself for.


Smack, bang in the middle of the friend zone, Eruantien’s poem certainly hits the mark. Unrequited love may be difficult at first, but we learn to move on and cope in our own time. Rejection is cruel, but it’s something we all must deal with, whether it be through love, work or friendships. Thoughts of Copious Beer concludes our love-themed content for this month, but if you’ve enjoyed Eruantien’s work make sure you check out his other work such as, ‘The Art of Swordplay‘ and ‘An Address to the Coconut‘. 

Featured Image CC // Zach Dischner

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Short Poetry Spotlight – Open Hearts, Sore Wounds

Written by Blue-Eyed Devil

Haiku XXX

Blinding, liquid light,
Steals and drinks luminescence,
Thirst never sated.


Written by Wasteland Explorer

I Feel

Have you ever tried to open your heart?
To someone whom you adore
But yet they walk all over you
and break you to the core.

Their callous, tearing, spiteful words
just cut you through and through.
Yet never even realize the hurt that they can do.

They walk along oblivious,
to what their feelings say.
And keep on crunching through your soul,
until you waste away.


These two splendid poems have been joined together as part of our Short Poetry Spotlight this month. Blue-Eyed Devil’s Haiku XXX – he’s written quite a number of these – gives us much food for thought, while new contributor Wasteland Explorer opens hearts to sore wounds, giving us the title of the piece. If you enjoyed their works, make sure to leave a like or comment below. You can also view more intriguing poems from our short poetry selection with Duality in the Beginning and Mattress & Graffiti.

Featured Image CC // Santos Gonzalez

Lift Girl – Part 2

Written by Fantasy Girl

She must have left work slightly earlier than usual as I didn’t see her in the lift. But our cars were the only two left in the car park as I stepped from the double glass doors of reception – her red MR2 parked next to my silver Nissan just like every day. She was struggling to start the car as I approached, so I stuck my head through the open passenger window.

“Need a hand?” I asked with a slight smile on my face.

“My stupid bloody car won’t start!” she growled back through gritted teeth as she tried again.

“Which way are you heading? I could give you a lift home, get a mechanic to look over it tomorrow morning?”

“I’m heading back to Colchester, if you know the area, just off Tufnell way?” she seemed hopeful.

I lived about a ten minute walk away from the street she mentioned. “Jump in,” I said. “Let’s get you home.”

The journey home was quiet, pleasurable rather than awkward. We both enjoyed the peaceful silence after a stressful day at work.

“Which road is it?” I asked as we turned on to Tufnell way.

“This one just here,” she pointed to the road sign that said ‘Axel Way’. “But I’ll get out here. Thanks for the lift, I really appreciate it!” And before I could protest, she was out of the car and jogging down the road.

I had to go down the road to turn around anyway, so I drove down, and sped back up the street to the house she was approaching.

“Who the hell is he?” shouted the man who was waiting at the door for her – a partner, I presume. She didn’t answer. Was he on about me? “Who is he? You stupid slut!” He back-handed her across the face, and dragged her into the house by a handful of her hair. He slammed the door behind him, but it bounced back open.

I scrambled out of the car, not knowing quite what I was planning on doing, but knowing I should be doing something. I heard screaming as I approached the door, she was begging him to stop. He didn’t. I crouched down by the door for what seemed like a lifetime, listening to his rhythmic grunts, and her constant pleas for him to stop.

I was in hysterics by the time it finally ended. I had let him do that to her, and I could do nothing about it… I let him rape her, this girl that I barely knew, and it was because of… it was because of me!

I heard her sobs as he moved around the room. Then a gunshot, footsteps. The door swung open and he spat in my direction.

“Enjoy the show did you? She’s a screamer!”, he said, with a sadistic smile on his face. “Well,” he continued after a minute of silence, “you’re welcome to the slut now. A right lot of good she’s going to do you though.” And he walked off, without looking back.

I couldn’t bring myself to move until he was out of sight – I was frozen to the spot like a statue, but then I rushed in, and followed where I thought the commotion had come from. All I could see was blood, a lot of it, akin to a horror film I’d watched the other week.

Lamps, paper, and other household items were scattered all over the floor. There was smashed glass on the kitchen floor tiles and the curtains had been pulled down. And her naked body laid there, in a pool of blood on her cream carpet. The body of the girl I had seen every morning for the last three years, so helpless, so vulnerable. Until today, we had never truly spoken, just a polite ‘hello’ in the lift or a meek wave, on my part.

It was a gunshot to the heart that killed her. Her body was covered in bruises, some old, greening as they faded; some new, purples and blues blossoming like flowers on her ivory skin.

She didn’t even know my name, I thought as I fell to my knees and cradled her head in my lap. I’m the only person here, and it’s because of me that this happened. I should have invited her for coffee, I should have taken her to my place to look over finance plans for the company. She wouldn’t be here – she wouldn’t be like this if I had… – this would never have happened, and it’s all my fault.

“I’m sorry!” I cried, stroking her dark hair away from her beautiful face. “Shiv, I’m so sorry!” And then was when I felt a very faint pulse through her neck.

“Dan,” she whispered as her eyes fluttered open. “Thank you.” And she went limp – her breathing stopped.

I checked for her neck pulse again and confirmed what I already knew.

She was dead.

Fantasy Girl’s second and final part concludes Siobhan and Dan’s tragic story. It’s heartbreaking, and we can’t help but feel a little stab of pain when she mentions his name at the end. Oh dear, better pass us some tissues! If you enjoyed the finale of Lift Girl, make sure you check out the first part which we published last month for the complete package. 

Featured Image CC // Peter Almay

The Game – Part 2

Written by Dice

The Game is never really won. The man may think he has succeeded if he and the woman are currently ‘dating’, or ‘going out.’ This is when the opponents are together in such a way that, traditionally, the battle is now concentrated to the two players. Opponents may also be ‘going steady’, ‘engaged’, or even ‘married’, these occur later in the battle; it is a time when the quiet moments are the most numbing, but the battles are fought even harder.

When opponents are together, other opposition is generally silenced when they are informed of the player’s situation with another. There are, however, times when an outside opponent does enter the ring. This is considered as bad form and bad gamesmanship but – in actuality – gives the Game a whole new level. And it’s also becoming an increasing trend in the modern Game.

Battles become more complex during the ‘together’ period, usually more so for the man. The man must now be on guard for a ‘question move.’ As such, this can be a cruel move but is very common. It’s the woman’s way of twisting words so that the man must think on his feet to avoid defeat. Delaying tactics are available but they do not buy a lot of time.

An example of when a question move can occur is when the woman is trying on clothes and inquiring the man’s opinion. Generally the questions can be innocent and calm, such as ‘What do you think of this dress?’ This example is a relatively easy answer, where the man must, in all cases, give positive yet constructive feedback. These are also opportunities for the man to gain bonus points, with comments such as: ‘This one [ie: the dress] goes with your beautiful eyes.’ A comment that would sound ‘cheesy’ to the man, of course, but one that women will love and may concede points in the Game further down the line. This move can also end the question move before it becomes too dangerous.

A question move that turns dangerous can have serious consequences on the man, particularly if he is not alert. If the couple have spent a long day shopping together, for example, the man may become mentally tired which could cause him to be caught off guard. Variations of the question: ‘Does my bum look big in this?’ must always be answered with a firm ‘No.’ A reply that can in any way be linked to: ‘Yes’ is a textbook error on the man’s behalf.

The move and counter sounds trivial to avoid, but a woman can be craftier in applying this move. Continuing on the same theme, a man must be at the top of his form if faced with the ‘Does my bum look bigger in this dress, or the last dress?’ Note the negative state this question takes. The obvious reply would be ‘the last dress’ but this move is a mistake. In fact, it implies that her bum looks big in the current dress and even bigger in the previous dress. No, a man has to be smart and chose his words wisely; his reply must ensure the woman that her bum looks big in neither dress and that he has given an opinion on the current dress. A very well constructed move will result in both the woman being satisfied in the answer, and the woman choosing the dress that the man preferred.

As Valentine’s Day is now well and truly over, Dice’s second part of The Game might just make men question what women really want. No, not the Mel Gibson film, or the one with Colin Firth and Amanda Bynes, either, but one of the man’s own choosing. That niggle of a question, “Does my bum look big in this?” is probably one that only women can answer themselves. Besides, us women prefer to go shopping either alone or with our girl friends, we only drag men along when we don’t want to pay! If you enjoyed Dice’s piece, why not check out the first part of The Game, which we published last month. 

Featured Image CC // Charles Rodstrom

Consummate

Written by Magnificent Mayhem

It is a cannibalistic carnival of carnal delights,
flesh consumed by flesh until there is nothing left,
of you or I, or the space in between. Disregard the screams.
To stop would be to deny the sweetest taste of taboo you or I have known.

It is painful pleasure to wait
as teeth graze the skin wrapped tight,
each morsel a reminder that we are free
only here, where you are most vulnerable
and I am ravenous.

This forbidden feast that you and I indulge,
the cavernous need it satiates: to devour:
voracity is truth; base instinct undeniable
a return to purest connection.

We can be no closer, you and I, than this
attempt to quench carnivorous desire.
With no conventions here to bind appetites,
I will leisurely explore every delicious secret you contain
while you luxuriate excruciatingly in each determined bite I take.

Submitted on behalf of the Fiction Frenzy’s summer theme last year, Magnificent Mayhem’s poetry is a celebration of our basic instincts for desire. It’s both seductive in language as well as its carnal pleasures, gripping us with such an intimacy we dare not let go. Consummate doesn’t just leave romance hanging in the air, but the sticky scent of nature. If you enjoyed Magnificent Mayhem’s poem, why not check out some more of her work including, “Rabid” and “I & You“.  

Featured Image CC // Stuart Conner

Differences in Love

Written by Hope75

With a relentless assault, the rain poured as it had done for most of that day. The crowd huddled uncomfortably in the tiny, dry space of the bus shelter as the passing traffic heaved by. Those unlucky enough to be at the front were soaked from the spray of the numerous puddles, shimmering from time to time with the light from the moon.

Nestled at the back, as he was at the same time most evenings, Dennis tried in vain to read the trashy fiction he had grown to love on these dreary commutes home. He glanced at his watch, noting that the bus was now over twenty minutes late. The hustle of the irascible crowd against him was beginning to wear his patience.

The growl of an engine followed by the screech of brakes caused Dennis to look up from his book. Turning the corner he spotted the 145 that would finally get him home and back to Amy. Boarding the bus, he flashed his travel card quickly at the uninterested driver before taking the nearest available seat. Resting his briefcase on his lap he returned to his trashy tale of the pauper who fights for the love of the fair maiden, hoping this would block out the chatter of those seated around him.

It was after ten when he stepped off the bus into the cold and biting, damp air. The smell of the nearby slaughterhouse invaded his nostrils as he made his way across the deserted small road that led to his home.

Dennis shivered. Soaked through, he unlocked the door of his shabby bungalow and stepped inside, just relieved to be out of the rain more than anything. Making his way down the hallway, he stopped at the bedroom and quietly opened the door. Amy lay with her back to him, her raven-coloured curls resting on the porcelain of her exposed shoulders. He pulled the fallen bedclothes back over her shoulders and went out to the kitchen to fix his supper.

He ate in silence, flicking through the files he had brought from the office. The McMahon report had to be finished within the next few days, but it could wait for the moment. There were more pressing matters to attend to.

Dennis moved through the house for his safety check stint – making sure the front door was bolted and the back door was locked. Happy that all was in order, he dried his thinning auburn hair in the bathroom and returned to the bedroom.

Amy felt cold on his skin as he spooned next to her naked body. He could smell the faintest hint of coconut still lingering in her hair. He ran his hand over her right breast, causing him to stiffen against her buttocks. Pulling her curls back he began to softly kiss her neck and upper back. Moving himself into position he guided himself into her. Her vagina felt dry and tight but continued, penetrating her deeper. He pushed harder, quivering, readying his orgasm. It didn’t take long. Satisfied, Dennis lay on his back and began to snore.

The shrill, electronic shriek from his phone abruptly stirred him from sleep the following morning. Focusing his tired eyes, he picked his phone up from the locker beside his bed. It was work.

“Hello”, he answered.

“Morning Dennis, Mr Boyce would like you to come in early today. Urgent meeting,” the tinny voice of his boss’s secretary replied.

“Oh, okay, sure. What time does he need me?” Dennis asked, scratching his eyes.

“If you could get here in the next hour, that would be great.”

“Yeah, sure. I have a few things to sort out at home but will try to make it in as soon as I can,” he agreed, before Mr Boyce’s secretary rudely hung up.

Dennis staggered across to the bathroom, turning on the shower. It was going to be a long day. He sighed and stood in front of the mirror, observing his sagging middle-aged body before turning away, almost in disgust.

In the kitchen, he once again ate in silence, organising the McMahon files for his upcoming meeting as the toast crunched in his mouth. Permeating through the smell of burnt toast, a pungent – yet familiar – odour drifted through the air of the small bungalow.

He dashed down the hall to the bedroom, gagging a little. Getting down on his knees, he lifted the bed covers and grabbed some air freshener from beneath the bed. Dennis put the box to his nose, no lime breeze smell. He pulled out another, followed by another and found they were all beginning to lose their freshness.

Leaning in closer to Amy he realised then what was happening. Dennis would have to get rid of his latest girlfriend. It was a shame he thought, he had loved Amy more than any of the previous ones. Danielle, Pauline, Sarah, he remembered the names he liked to give them.

The heavy rain of the last few days had made the soil in his secluded back garden soft and easy to dig. Dennis carefully laid the body, now draped in the sheet, into the newly dug hole beside his other girlfriends. They were all there, lined up in a row, his dear possessions. All lined up with pretty little flowers where their beautiful heads lay. What flowers would he grow on top of Amy? Yes, definitely lilies.

Terribly dark and yet somehow quite beautiful is Hope75’s short fiction. We love the fantastic twist at the end, though obviously don’t approve of Dennis’s actions. However, we know it’s almost Valentine’s so if you prefer to keep a bin by your bed when reading this, we understand! If you enjoyed Hope75’s writing, why not check out her other less gruesome but just as enthralling fictional piece, “Anna“. 

Featured Image CC // Kaz Kuro

February Editorial – Acts of Love & Upcoming Content

Hey Inkblotters!

Welcome to February’s editorial from the Inkblots team. I hope you’ve had a lovely start to the year, much like our site which has gone from strength to strength over the past few months with an updated look and official domain name. But moving on from all the jibber-jabber, as it’s the month of love. While it screams tacky, Valentine’s Day is only a couple of weeks away, and if you’re not knee-deep in commercial disaster, good for you!

Our content this month falls under the theme “Of love and other drugs”, but we won’t be following the traditional route of love. So, kicking content off on the 5th is Hope75’s short fiction on a different type of love. It’s horror at its most grotesque, but told lovingly – we’ll let you figure that one out. Next up on the 10th is some intimate poetry from Magnificent Mayhem, while on the 15th Dice has got some great tips in part two of The Game. Concluding content for the month is a lovely selection of poetry, along with another short fiction piece.

And if that wasn’t enough, our new Half Hour Challenge theme is now live for February under: Fanning the Flames. Whether you’re looking to pen some poetry or short fiction, why not try to do it in half an hour? We never get tired of reading new submissions so feel free to send them our way.

Have a lovely February, and if you’ve got something special planned for Valentine’s Day, make sure you have a cracking time.

– Colette (Silver), Inkblots Editor

Featured Image CC // SweetPea0613