Mental Trip

Sometimes I think I've kind of had it - my muscles won't work, I am through; but then I move, I get up, and I find that I can move on. I feel like I am going to be an invalid, but then I move and it's like if I keep moving I can go on forever. It's a mental trip that I can't move.

More Money

It seems I am finally making some money. I have been doing online modelling for a whole five days, and I have an extra 100 dollars. I am yet to be posted the check but it is a good improvement. I am finally hitting target, and it feels a bit better to have a bit more coming in - even if I don't have any job; at least I am getting something a little more. Too bad I am not more popular, but I might say that I am getting there... slowly.. getting a bigger bank which will decrease the wait for a new home. But I am rambling a bit, just a little excited at a little extra cash.

Bump In The Back Of A Stranger

Ingrid walks home. She feels scared - it is dark, the world is hollow. She steps and shadows creep to grab her, she screams. Quickly she steps along the pavement like her shoes have grown wings. Her back is wet from sweat trembling down her frozen skin. Ingrid is so blind she doesn't see the figure of a man she rudely bumps into. Ingrid takes a trip, then she falls onto the road scraping her knees. The shadow grabs her throat, and with her choking he throws her into the back of his car. Blind fists make their way onto her head, her face, her body. Ingrid screams while her face fills up with blood. It is her blood, her nose is bleeding and its trail is dribbling into her face for her to swallow. "I said stop!" she screams as she holds out her hand. The guy stops and he stares at her as she sinks her weight onto the chair. He nods, and then he darts out of the car closing it on the way. Ingrid sights out her relief and she runs trembling fingers through her hair. She offers a moment to give herself praise, but then the car moves and she straightens her back as she realises she is being driven away. Ingrid tries the doors and the windows - both are locked tight. She squeals as she bangs her fist on one of the windows - it is cold and hard, and she takes her hand away as she feels a bruise on her fingers. Minutes pass. Many minutes pass. Ingrid sulks as the car rolls on by. She glares at the driver, she shivers over his stare which is black as coal. She looks away. Inside a garage the car stops. Ingrid bites on her nail as the stranger gets out and races for the back. She leans away as he opens the door on her side, then he grabs her and throws her out of the car. Ingrid falls on the cement and she feels throbbing pain, then she remembers her scraped knees and as she looks down there is blood on them. She sobs for half a second before she is picked up and thrown somewhere else - it is a small room, and she screams before a fist makes her drop to the floor which smells like petrol. "Oh;" she whispers as he stops to stare at her. "What will he do?" she asks before he steps back and slams the door closed.

Buried Alive

Anne comes home from her friends house. She feels weak. She has been swimming and her legs feel like jelly. She grabs a drink and goes to her room, then Adam stops her. "What you want?" she asks. He grabs her and takes her to his room. There he slaps her until she is red faced, she can't stop it; his anger in on the rage and with a bleeding nose she trips over a foot stool. He picks her up and slams her head against the wall. She falls dead on the carpet, and he kicks her before he leaves. "What the hell my head?" she mutters as she hears a car engine. She is in the back of a car, being taken somewhere; she doesn't know... one blur turns into a shadow and she falls out of the car. She is being dragged through a forest, pulled over a log - is she dead? Being laid on carpet she gasps - she can move! Her fingers move to play with the carpet, it feels soft, but it is moist and damp. It's not even carpet, something crumbly. She looks up. There a heap of dirt is shoved over her and she wants to scream. She scratches with her fingers as she tries not to panic. She tunnels. But one movement just leads to more dirt heaping on her. She wants to scream but she can't breathe, she can't even move, and after a while she gives up and hangs her head. She rests. She thinks she is sleeping but after a while she feels stiff like she is dead. She can't breathe or move, she just leans on the dirt resting; sleeping in a way; Anne then feels a yank, a pull, and she is laid on pine-needles. She is dead, she is sure; but she still wonders about it as she lays there unable to move. She gets thrown to and fro, and then she waits. Sounds turn into hums, then beeps. Anne moves a finger. She thought she was gone, dead gone. She turns her eyes - they feel cold, like they have been boiled and put back in. Anne feels a needle poke her arm and she gasps. She can't turn her head, just her thoughts, and she wonders what is happening to her. Then someone talks, and she can only cry... she doesn't know what they are saying and she doesn't want to listen! Then she moves her head, and she sees people staring at her - doctors, nurses, cops; not a family amongst them. "I live in Hansridge;" she mutters through sore face. "I saw my father, then I began to feel dead; like I was in a car; like I was dead" she mutters. "My name is Anne Murray;" Then it all becomes blank like her thought has just popped, and she drools through her lips as nurse attend to the machines. She feels a pinch, then a drug, she can touch her face - it feels like ice! She excuses herself, then she turns her head; she slips away, and then she is back at home. Anne looks at Adam as he rakes nails through her hair. He talks to cops while he touches her, then he is left alone. Her mother is not there, she is on a trip, she fears Adam, but he pushes her wheelchair into her room and leaves her there. She feels dim. She sits there waiting for him to return, and in a short time he does. "I want to lay down;" she tells him. "Sure thing;" he mutters before he wheels her to her bed and puts her on it. Anne is put on her bed and left there. She grows cold, she grows hot, she grows thirsty; he comes in only sometimes to feed her drugs and soup, the rest of the time she is suffering alone. She feels sad, and crying she gives herself a swarm of misery. "I don't even know the world anymore; what's happened;" she mutters. Adam scoffs. "I'm here you know, you're just so whacked out you can't see me;" he mutters as he stays in a corner. "I'm watching;" he sings before he leaves. Anne shrugs as she suffered a wash of ice cold. "So what?" she gasps. "Just be there then, she if I care, I was dead!" she gasps, as she tries to think but can't remember the grey lines behind wads of furry thoughts. "I was dead some time, and you can't reach me!"

The Photographs

Annabelle sits in the school room. She feels stupid for having had forgotten her signed slip to go on the school excursion, for she is stuck with Mr Anders and he is sitting at the front of class reading a novel while she's stuck there twiddling her thumbs. Anaabelle looks outside but can only see blurs the windows are so dusted, so she focuses on the floorboards which creak as she leans back in her chair. "Stop rocking on you chair please;" mutters Mr Anders. Annabelle stops, and then she stroppily leans on one hand. She is bored. She tries to daydream but her daydreams come up with nothing inventive. "Can I go for a walk?" she asks with a sigh. Mr Anders looks at her and then to the door which shows the lavish green of lawn beyond its open frame. He clears his throat as he thinks - the sun in warm but not too warm, the day is bright with some wandering overcast; he thinks about the camera in the back of his car which he has only just brought, and he thinks of the bright idea of trying it out. "As a matter of fact I could take you to the forest on a photography excursion;" he mutters after a minute. "It will eat the morning up at least;" "Okay;" smiles Annabelle. She has never been near a camera let alone used one, she finds it exciting that she may get to learn how to use one. Into the woods the both trek. They wander through the trees only twenty minutes until they come to a rock cliff face. it is filled with lines and shadows that could make a good photograph and the spread of flowery lawn before it looks perfect for a picnic shot. "This is nice;" mutters Mr Anders. "It's got lines and contours which suit;" "Oh..." mutters Annabelle as she puts down the camera she has been carrying. "Not on the ground!" gasps Mr Anders before picking it up. "That's what the stand is for;" Annabelle blushes deep red as Mr Anders sets up the camera. After ten minutes it is set up and he is taking photographs of the cliff face. However the subject is a little dull after four or five photographs have been taken, so Mr Anders looks to Annabelle who is leaning on a tree. "Would you take a pose?" he asks. Annabelle perks up to attention. "Me?" she asks pointing to herself. "Yes;" mutters Mr Anders. Annabelle nods and then she walks towards the rock face. She smiles as she stands before it and Mr Anders takes a photograph. He laughs a little, then he asks her to stand to the side and he takes another one. A few pictures later he is bored and wanting more, so he approaches Annabelle and slips a sleeve over one shoulder before returning to the camera to take another photograph. Annabelle smiles, turns, and smiles again at direction, and at each photo taken Mr Anders grows a greed for more. Annabelle is perfect, she is there, she is willing - why not take some nude photographs? The subject is a little bit illegal, more then a little bit actually; but there is no one around, why not do it? Take some good pictures to sell? "Could you take bother sleeves over your shoulders?" he asks. Annabelle hesitates but she does it, and after a few more photographs Mr Anders is approaching her for more. He pulls her arms out of her sleeves, and then he pulls her top down so that its collar is under her bust. Annabelle gasps as she grows fear and shy, but Mr Anders pats her cheek. "It's just for the photograph;" he mutters before he races back to the camera to take another picture. He takes a good one, then two, then three. He asks Annabelle to pose with a hand on her breasts, and then without. It is a dangerous move, but he collects a decent picture. He drools over it and how easy it is. He has it, the perfect picture, the perfect muse. He looks to Annabelle and smiles. "Do you mind taking all your clothes off?" he asks. Annabelle shakes her head. "I couldn't!" she gasps. Mr Anders nibbles on a finger. "Take it all off;" he then orders. "Or I'll make you;" Annabelle shivers, she feels the lethal tone and she grows scared. She quickly dresses and tries to run away, but Mr Anders catches her and he drags her back where he slaps he with harsh that her cheek stains red. "You'll do it!" he growls as his lips become wet from greed. "You'll do it, or I'll hang your head!" Annabelle touches her cheek and sobs. "I don't want to do it!" she screams. "You'll do it!" grows Mr Anders before he takes her clothes off himself. "You'll do it or I'll hit you again!" Annabelle sobs. Then she shivers as she poses nude for the first time. Mr Anders gets his photographs of a shaken and upset girl. However after a while, when her tears dry, the photographs turn into pictures of a naked girl. Mr Anders smiles, and then he raises his brows. "Put your hands in-between your thighs and rub yourself;" he orders. Annabelle drops her mouth open. "Or I'll beat you;" he adds. Annabelle drops her surprise and she rubs herself. Mr Anders laughs at her and then he narrows his eyes. He has no reason to not rape her, but he stops himself - it is not the right time. Mr Anders sells the pictures to Mr Newbury who gives him two hundred dollars for everything but the pictures of the rocks. Mr Newbury plans to sell the pictures for thirty dollars each to people outside the country to make a profit of one thousand three hundred dollars. It is the perfect crime. "It looks like you assaulted this girl;" he mutters. "She was shy in front of the camera;" mutters Mr Anders. "I hope you didn't do it against her will, I would like more pictures;" he adds. "Of course;" tells Mr Anders. "And of anyone else like her;" tells Mr Newbury. "The younger the better;" Mr Anders nods. "I'll see what I can do;" he tells. But deep in his mind he is nervous, he will need more kids, and he will have to do it so they don't tell. So Mr Anders takes a whole group of girls on a picnic trip and he feeds them tea which has them asleep in no time. Then he undresses them one at a time to take pictures of them alone and together. It is a lovely sight, and Mr Newbury drops his jaw and drools as he looks at the pictures. However with everyone looking so dead he can tell that he will need to put Mr Anders on a more honest track. "I like the first collection the best;" he mutters. "Do you mind taking pictures of her in beads and jewels?" Mr Anders nods, and in a day he is inviting Annabelle into his home for a photography session. Mr Anders dresses Annabelle in nice dresses, jewellery, and other items. He takes photographs inside, outside, and even in the bath. He becomes most inventive and has over a thousand pictures in no time. Mr Newbury looks at the pictures and cheers. He sees art at its finest, and he gives Mr Anders three thousand dollars for the lot. Mr Anders cheers and he drinks with Mr Newbury who gazes at the photographs fondly. "This one looks like a star;" he mutters before he packs the photographs inside a bag. Mr Anders smiles and politely drinks more wine. There is little he can say, he is not entirely comfortable of taking so many pictures and getting thousand of dollars for them. Sure it is easy money, but he wonders if it is ethical. Here he is taking illegal pictures and selling them, and he can't help but wonder how he can get away with it. Mr Anders tosses and turns in his bed. He feels uncomfortable, so uncomfortable he can feel chains on his wrists and ankles. He has been arrested, he has been charged, the charge is jail, he is to be kept in a prison and beaten for years. mr Anders wakes up with a gasp and he wipes his brow. "I can't do it anymore!" he mutters. "I'm going to get life in jail if this continues on;" However on his next meeting with Mr Newbury he gets an invitation to make ten thousand dollars. "To take nude photographs where she is being raped;" is the last sentence on Mr Newbury's lips. Mr Anders looks at the money - he is being paid before the shots have been taken, that is big business. He wants to shake his head, but with ten thousand dollars glimmering in front of his eyes he can only nod. What is a girls virginity anyway? They are going to do it some time. Mr Anders raises his brows. "By whom?" he asks. "I'll send a couple of people over;" mutters Mr Newbury. "They'll know what to do, you just take the photographs;" It is a hard shot to take. There are many assaults and Mr Newbury has no cotton to stick into his ears. Leading Annabelle into a dark room where two thugs wait for her was his ultimate deceit. Watching them, listening to them, seeing her blood - it makes alarm bells ring. There is a lot of violence, and many screams; at one point a neighbour knocks but after a while they go away. Mr Newbury cringes as he finishes his last shot, and then the two fellows leave. "Well that's then thousand dollar;" he mutters before he puts the camera on automatic picture. Then he has sex with ANnabelle herself while she is only semi-conscious, the eye of the camera filming his own deciet which Mr Newbury collects when he takes the envelope of photographs. Pictures turn into movies, Mr Newbury gets his hands on a camera and he makes reels good enough to sell. He collects many girls inside of his mind only - he wishes he could; but the world would squeal so he sticks to Annabelle who manages to suffer through kidnap and abduction so he can take his next dirty movie. Mr ANders gets thousands of dollars, and Mr Newbury gets his own opportunity to rape Annabelle at a garden party. It's all the rage for a summer, but then the fad grows weak and Mr Anders is told to get some new girls or he is though. "I've done enough;" mutters Mr Anders. "I have no heart for it anymore;" Mr Newbury nods and then he shakes Mr Anders hand. "Then we'll leave it at that;" he adds. Mr Anders grows grim, but on the drive home he sighs - life will be better without the dark underworld behind his mind. He can get back to normal teaching. But when he gets home cop cars are at his door and his house have been broken into. "Is everything okay officers?" asks Mr Anders. The cops look to him. "Just checking to see if you collect dirty pictures and dirty movies; there are reports that you might;" they mutters. "I have nothing;" tells Mr Anders, happy he never kept a film or reel of what he had done. "With your permission we might like to search the house a little more;" they mutter. "Go ahead;" tells Mr Anders. "But you won't find anything;" Hours later the cops leave, and Mr Anders closes the door. He has been hurt, shaken, violated; but he gulps down his anger with a drink before moving on with his life. He has just been given his last paycheck and he is retired. Mr Anders looks to Annabelle who sits at the table biting her nails. She looks different, more glowing; he shrugs before moving back to a book he has interest on. Annabelle looks at the floor as she sits there shaking; she has been stung, but she manages to hide it. They both ignore each other, and after a while they forget each other; it's a day past, and in time Mr Anders throws his cameras into the bin; they are dusty and broken, and will no longer function not even if he wishes to use it. He smiles it is a slight victory that he has thrown his hobby away, he can forget. But sometimes at night he screams - he is being thrown into a jail cell and beaten after all the photographs he took turn up in court to haunt him like cells from a broken memory; the court finds him guilty, and he needs to wake up before he is able to breathe easy.

A Spare Tyre

Trisha looks to Dean as he enters the room. April's cooking she can smell in the distance, it smells good but it takes an hour to bake. That means there is an hour to wait through. Dean rubs Trisha's back and she grows cold. She looks to him. "What do you want?" she asks. "You on the bed;" tells Dean. Trisha nods. She stands and walks over to her bed, there she takes off her underwear. She then lays down and spreads her legs open and Dean smiles as he watches her loins open like a flower in sunlight. He enjoys the sight, the smell, the turn on; he watches with keen interest like he is watching sports on television. He grows amused, and then he masturbates as Trisha fingers herself. Trisha eats dinner and then she returns to her room to study. She hates Dean, he had touched her leg through dinner with his own leg and she knows he has been trying to tell her he wants her. Trisha gasps and she puts her mobile on video record, and she stuffs it amongst toys, before Dean enters the room. Dean grabs her and he pushes her onto the bed while the taste of beer is fresh inside of his mouth, then he takes down his pants and rapes her. It is an exhaustive exercise which runs his heart murmur to the full. He thinks he is going to have a stroke so many times and his face turns plush red. Trisha puts up with Dean and she even takes a nap as he takes a long time to finish. When she wakes Dean is leaving, and she sits up and races to the toys where she left her mobile. She has perfect picture caught on film, and she downloads it onto the internet. The video makes money, thousands. Trisha packs the money, then she leaves with a bag full of clothes and a mouth full of goodbyes. She never wants to see Dean again.

Raped

Eve sits looking out of the window. There is fog so thick she can barely see the play ground. She grows glum seeing it, she even grows cold. However Mr Anders does not care about the window he cares about the lesson which Eve is not listening to. "Detention;" he mutters as he appears out of thin air to whisper into her ear. Eve jumps. She them blinks as she is given a card, it has the word detention written on it to make the moment more real. Eve nods and then she looks at the chalk board which has a range of questions written on it. "Christ, I was off the planet!" mutters Eve under her breath before picking up her pen and writing the questions down inside of her notebook. The bell rings and the school kids leave all except for Eve. Eve packs her bag and then she looks at Mr Anders who closes the door leaving the kids outside the room. He turns off the lights, and the solar lights turn on. Their bulbs are weak, barely moonlight, and it makes the atmosphere dusky. Eve shrugs at Mr Anders who calmly approaches the board to rub it down. He spends ten minutes getting rid of all the questions and answers, and then he places all the chalk in his bottom drawer before locking it. Mr Anders then packs his bag before placing it beside the desk. Then looking at Eve he crosses his arms and he stares at her. "Do you know what you did wrong?" he asks. "I wasn't paying attention;" tells Eve. "I was looking outside;" "Next time make sure you pay attention;" tells Mr Anders. Eve nods. A silence lingers like a loop and strangles her making her feel unsafe as her nerves tingle. Eve blinks and looks away, when she looks back Mr Anders is smiling. "What's funny?" she asks. "Nothing just admiring..." Mr Anders trails. Eve shrugs. "Could you smile at something else?" she asks. Mr Anders nods. "Detention over Eve, I don't feel like staying behind;" he mutters in his next breath. Eve nods, stands, and walks over to the door where Mr Anders is standing bag in hand. He looks to Eve as she passes, he even smells her - her hair smells sweet, and he almost stops her from passing. However he does nothing as she walks past and down the hall, he watches her go. Outside it starts to rain as Eve exits the building. She screams as the rain buckets over her head and she races for the car shelter to hide from the rain. Mr Anders looks at her as he unlocks his car. "Do you want a ride?" he asks. "I wouldn't mind!" gasps Eve. "It's raining buckets!" she exclaims before she slips into the car. Mr Anders slips inside and he leaves. He drives through the rain and to his house. Mr Anders parks the car as the garage door closes. Eve smiles at him, but her shoulders are hunched, she is nervous. "Time to get out;" he mutters before slipping out of the car. Eve follows, and she is escorted inside and to the nearby bedroom. Mr Anders touches Eve's face. It is smooth and fresh, and it makes his fingers tingle. Her features are so tight it is as though her face has been pulled, he smiles. Eve looks away and soon his fingers are floating in mid-air without her face near enough to touch. "Whats the matter? he asks. "You don't like it?" "I thought you were just offering me a ride home;" tells Eve as she blinks. "I will... I will..." mutters Mr Anders with a nod. "Just not yet;" he drawls. Eve feels her lips tremble and she turns away. "What do you want?" she asks. Mr Anders looks at her skirt. "Just some time with you;" he mutters. Eve turns to him and he slaps her hard in the face! Eve stumbles, then she trips and falls against the wall. He catches her, before lifting her up and taking her to the bed. Mr Anders has her underwear off in two seconds, and then he takes time to lick his fingers before putting them in-between her thighs. He rubs her gently, then obtrusively, then with aggression. Eve rolls her eyes. She tells herself she doesn't wanting him touching her, making her wet, it engulfs her senses as something wrong and she can only look to the ceiling for console. "What do I do?" she asks with a pant as wetness splashes on her thighs. Those are her juices, she has just spurted, and it makes Mr Anders hot, so hot her slaps her in the face. "Just a minute..." he mutters as he pushes his fingers inside of her. Eve cringes - his fingers are thick where as hers are small, he hurts he as he puts in two or three. He cuts her with his nails as his fingers scrape deep inside her, and Even whimpers. "Can you let me go?" she asks. Mr Anders smiles and then he takes down his pants. His loins get shoved inside of her before they are even swollen. Eve gasps and Mr Anders grunts as they then swell and stretch her out. It is agonising for Eve to be so helpless, and she closes her eyes to stop herself from crying as Mr Anders pushes his whole weight onto her to get inside her at a deeper level. An hour later Eve lays limp on the bed as Mr Anders showers. She has been raped and left to bleed and she feels cut and hurt. He whole level of trust has been broken and she cannot mend back the portions of her trust to make it right. The world is brittle and has struck her with a thorn, one which she cringes at. Eve looks to Mr Anders as he stares at her. Her sweat has dried and her shivers have stopped. He touches her face and looks at her. "It was worth it;" he mutters while staring at her closely. Eve gasps as he then turns to clutch at her throat. "You tell nobody;" he mutters. Eve nods. She is then left alone to rest as Mr Anders moves to watch television.