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Short stories about madness
Short stories about madness




short stories about madness short stories about madness

He found himself indifferent to things he had once been completely This was the first time he was going to use onions in this recipe a taste he used to fervently dislike. He threw on the onions and some mushrooms he had cut intoĬubes. He could have used butter for a heavier, heartier taste but he felt like olive oil. He put a pan, white, the ceramic kind, over the stove, and drizzled He couldn’t help but think of her but crave her smell, her voice, her little smile with the red cheeks when she truly felt that she had become significant for him. He was indifferent back then.Īlas, he was no longer in control, and those memories tortured him. Some would love that wooden smell, some would become nauseous at the alcohol fumes. A heavy, perfume-like body odor, that slowly encapsulated you, as did the sharp scent of a newly openedīottle of whisky. He had liked the way she smelled it would fill the room. He had liked those nights, when he could feel her soft flesh beneath He had spent many nights with her in his arms, listening to her warm breathing at two in the morning. He could force himself into happiness he could, and did, persuade her into being with him –not strictly in the sexual He still had some power back then both over himself and her. His mind had been completely taken over, unknowingly, by someone who had onceīeen nothing. Purple-red flesh of a medium-sized onion, the onion spewing out its juices in desperation. Which is why he was worried, as he pushed the sharp edge of the cold metal down into the The results were always pleasing to the tongue, though neverĭrastically different that’s how he had lived his life –little variation, for maximum contentment. Improvising, a chicken-curry dish he always used the same ingredients, save for adding or removing one or two every once in a while. Thelonious Monk was blasting through the speakers of his laptop far away, in another room. Was accompanied by dark wooden cupboards and an eggshell white floor. He was cutting onions with a butcher’s knife on a black marble kitchen top.






Short stories about madness