POETRY: The blast and the little boy…

I don’t know if it was a dream because it was something, I couldn’t believe. I saw a boy with tears in his eyes and fire burning his hope alive. He quietly looked up and to God, he prayed “please kill me once and not every day.” I couldn’t watch so I ran and hugged … Continue reading POETRY: The blast and the little boy…

The killing…

I grip the knife in between my fingers as tightly as I can. My palms are so sweaty that I'm afraid the knife will slip through and clatter on the white marble floor. After every minute that passes by I rub my hands on my pants, trying to remove the moisture that's gathered on my … Continue reading The killing…

Planning a murder

Her whip hits me on my back between my shoulder blades, right beneath my neck. I wince in pain, but like all the other kids I clench my jaw as tightly as I can. The lesser I scream the quicker it will be over. I try to focus on the yellow grease spots on the tiled … Continue reading Planning a murder