Jazz

Jazz

By Amberly A. M. Oosthuizen

New Orleans. The city I think of when I sit on my wrought iron balcony, facing the Mississippi, glass of viscous red liquid in my hand. Swirling...

In the dead of the night you could hear the strident musicians of New Orleans. The jazz, the mardi gras. The people, beautiful, sweet scented cheeks red with the ebullience of keeping a secret.

I was king of the night, prohibition was in full swing and I was thrilled. Elated. Happy/

Three hours before sunrise, I jumped off the balcony and straightened my suit. The glass knocked over, the red liquid pouring back into her mouth.

I prowled the streets for some excitement. Walking into a club, I was greeted with exuberance. I kept the police off of their backs.

Two hours...

I find myself dancing with a flapper, beautiful, red curls.

I kissed her neck sweetly and brought her home. 

Draining her energy. And as I did, we fell back into the coffin. The music fleeing to my heart only to fade into eternity.

© Amberly A. M.Oosthuizen

Mourning Heat

Mourning Heat
By Amberly A. M. Oosthuizen

WHY was it that she, Abigail Smart had to wear black on such a blistering hot day?

She would rather be wearing white but this, in her family would be an outcry.

No, her family were not Goth. No, her family where not vampires, although she wished she were, if only to escape this nauseating heat. 

At twelve o'clock she went down the stairs, dressed in head to toe black. Her eyes looked like raccoons and she was exhausted. She met her family into the black hybrid and they stared at her. She sighed with the constant shame that she felt.

The car drove slowly, playing gloomy music to get the in the mood. 

When they got to the hot, dark, dreary location Abigail shivered and stared at her family, reminding herself that she was not part of the Addams Family.

With great strength she announced to the world, "I am NOT Goth. I am NOT a vampire. We do NOT belong to the Addams Family. I am merely mourning in this horrible heat..."


© Amberly A. M.Oosthuizen

The Mountain

The Mountain
By Amberly A. M. Oosthuizen

It was treacherously deep and dangerous. Temper looked up at it and sighed. The rest of her world had fallen away. The plague, newly modified, had wiped almost everyone out. 
Blood ran into the sea.

She remembered all the lives she had taken, their souls like lights leaving their eyes. 

She knew she had to climb it.
To get away from herself and the monster she had become. She was ready and took her first step up the craggy ruins.

She smiled hysterically at the sky. She had no idea what was up there or the actual reason for her wanting to reach it, but she knew she had to.

Temper reached the top and reluctantly let go or her harness, unaware of her surrounding.

As Temper looked out into the blood stained sea, she felt the pierce of a blade through her heart.

She fell back into a velveteen box.

"Now it's your turn..." A hooded figure said as he shut her eyes, threw a bloody rosary onto her chest and thrust it closed. 

The hooded figure then sat on the box, opened the flask and sipped on the Bourbon, looking out at the crying sky and the crimson kissed sea.

© Amberly A. M.Oosthuizen

It's Friday

It's Friday
By Amberly A. M. Oosthuizen

Alice awoke with a start. She had another nightmarish dream. As she tried to control her breathing, she could help but look at the clock.

3:30 in the morning, again. Same dream again. People chasing her with knives, Chelsea grins stitched across their faces. Like that Buffy the Vampire Slayer episode that Jake dared her to watch. That was when he was still living and not six feet underground. That was before she found him holding an gun to his throat, brain matter everywhere. Kurt Cobain style.

She lay in the dark for a while, then switched on her bedside lamp. 
As she got up she looked at the photo of her and Jake. They were smiling, happy. 

She walked quietly to the bathroom and took a deep breath. She reached into her pyjama top and pulled out the pocket knife. She stared at her reflection in the mirror and sighed before driving her through her flesh.

The date was Friday the 13th,
For the last time...

© Amberly A. M.Oosthuizen

Ginger

Ginger

By Amberly A. M. Oosthuizen

He thought that ginger haired people were not very attractive. He thought the biscuits were, but not the people. Except that one special lady...

Her skin was a translucent ivory and her hair was more auburn than ginger, as it was the opposite way in her early years of life. Years when she still knew the taste of wine, the look of the eternal sunrise and the sound of the larks singing in the tree branches.

She looked ethereally beautiful in black and stalked the nightclubs for him,

Devouring others as she went.

A sultry vixen of the night...

  
© Amberly A. M.Oosthuizen

The Island

The Island
By Amberly A. M. Oosthuizen

Anne screamed. The lucious tropical plants were beginning to melt into vicous black tar. She felt the ground beneath her dirty, bare feet begin to shake. She looked down, hesitantly, at the cracks into the earth beneath her. She took a breath, inhaling sulfur and chlorine and then the earth swallowed her whole.

She cried out as she fell into the opaque abyss. Suddenly the fall stopped and she hit her head on a large, brown rock.

As she drifted in and out of conciousness, a dozy, purple mist started to rise. The mist pulled Anne off the slimy ground and carried her into a giant hand carved out of the rock face. It then dropped her into the clammy ochre palm.

A vociferous man was operating the hand and as Anne awoke, she could feel it clamping down on her, squeezing the life out of every pore...

 She tried to Ameliorate the situation and she fell through the space between the fingers, straight into oblivion; where she was vivisected into an infinite amount...

Caution: desire will swallow you whole like the island.

© Amberly A. M.Oosthuizen