Journals of a Psychopath



Will Lady Flarice escape?

The Segregation Cell

Traipsing into her chamber and Smithson gawped at the Lady Flarice. On awaking, she quailed, as my fingers edged to her honeyed-place, she twitched, as I touched the delicate, but vitally strong flesh. The coupling was near, Lady Flarice was totally in my control, and I was at the pinnacle. Dancing and the chanting discharged from me with strength I concentrated on the whiz from the Purifiers and the Darkest-One.
My eyes trained on the Lady Flarice’s private parts. Unshackling her, she had been chained in a complicated fashion. Entry was available the silver stars stitched into her labia dazzled.
      “Exit this place now,” the Voice said.
I was enraged and Smithson was rigid. We chained Lady Flarice again and the black-angel was in the corner he was guarding her. Impatience thrived, Smithson pacified me, and he performed a dance, I was filled with admiration, my son the legatee to the calling. Smithson ceased dancing and he came to me, his vision-orbs dull with disappointment.
      “Do not worry son it will be worth it when we finally fulfill our intention.”
      “You are correct father,” Smithson replied.

Mother’s House

      “You and your son are wired to the moon, you keep coming and going, I know it is your fear that makes you do that.”
(Darlenson insisted circumcision was performed on me as a child, I was just as determined Smithson's foreskin would be cut. Rheanna objected, but my son's manly skin was slit, the practice had been in the family for generations. Mother did not accept my biological father's name my female parent spurned him. Mother relocated from England when we were seven. Meeting stepfather they married and she retained the Samuel name.) On the shelf in his silver frame, Hanson beamed I was never free from Hanson, predominately in death. Swirling into the kitchen and mother's skirt was the one she had worn, when she had knifed and raped me, the sensation of security soothed, because I knew the knife was in my pocket. From the kitchen, I heard pots and pans clattering, and mother re-appeared.
      “You can stay for dinner I have enjoyed the diversion you provided, and we will eat the dinner you hate.”
      “We cannot stay for dinner.”
      “Have you no stomach for fish, eh son?”
      “Grandmother please lay off my father?”
      “Just go back to where you came from,” mother replied.






Global Scriggler.DomainModel.Publication.Visibility
There's more where that came from!