Murder-Suicide

I stop skimming the pages of a crusty porn mag. Toby’s always had sticky fingers.

“If you pull the bits of brain off the side there, I think you’re really onto something Tobes. Can you believe that people still jerk off to vintage porn magazines?”

Toby beats the meat off of his new watch, using his knuckle to shoo it away.

“Look Ben, the internet’s full of new this and new that, but sometimes you just want to do things the old-fashioned way. It’s like driving a 60’s hot rod…


Photo by James Wheeler from Pexels

There aren’t many people in Southern Michigan who don’t know the name, Faith Abernathy. Even before the hipsters moved into Ann Arbor, the Abernathy Pie Festival brought thousands each year to the little old pioneer town of Pinckney. They’d come in droves from Detroit, Toledo, even Toronto and cram into a 20 acre plot just to get a single slice of her succulent pies. …


Photo by Keagan Henman on Unsplash

He watched the killer bury another man in the backyard. The boy still hadn’t gotten used to the sight. He stabbed at the dirt with the rusted spade until the pile had dissipated and the hole could be flattened over. The spot would look fresh for a while, but rain and time would eventually cover the blemish.

The boy looked on through the pushed down blinds of his bedroom window, feeling the specks of dust clinging to his fingertip and watching the pane fog with his tiny breaths. After a final pat of the fresh soil, the killer threw down…


Photo by Joey Nicotra on Unsplash

A week ago I discovered that my wife was having an affair with her coworker, Anson. According to their texts, the nights that she was “staying at the office to catch up on work” were actually the nights that they’d spend screwing each other and laughing at how much of a moron I was. She covered up her tracks pretty well, but one night she came home late and when I greeted her at the door, I noticed a faint scent of aftershave hovering in the air around her neck.

After a few days of deciding whether I was on…


Photo by Robbie Down on Unsplash

Night 1

Evan couldn’t remember the last time he had slept alone. He felt free, but more so an unfamiliar sense of isolation and dread. The sultry air drifted through the open bedroom door and out into the hallway as he gator rolled his body against the springs of the unframed mattress. He continued searching for a comfortable resting position while making quick glances though the doorway. The hallway was pitch black. His imagination was starting to get the best of him.

Evan pictured all of the serial killers and murderous creatures that could be stalking him from the far end of…


Photo by Roberto Nickson from Pexels

Camping alone for the first time made Jackson realize that you never outgrow your fear of the darkness.

He sat on a canvas stool, hunched over a crackling fire as it cast dancing figures against the surrounding trees. The sky above was overrun by an endless sprawl of branches — reaching down to grab him with their withered appendages. Jackson’s mind raced with thoughts of making the two mile trek back to his car and driving home, but pride kept him in place. So he continued to listen to the creatures around him — their malevolent songs filling the air.


Photo by Rui Chaves from Pexels

Time is relative.

14 hours remaining on the flight.

Six movies, four e-books, 150 hours of music, and a few zzzQuil tablets were all Jessie needed for his trip overseas.

In just over half a day, he’d find himself in the place he had been dreaming about for the last decade: Tokyo — a city made famous by its size, its cuisine, and its juxtaposition of salary men and manga cosplayers.

After the take-off formalities and cookie/pretzel distribution, Jessie was ready to nuzzle his 6 foot 4, 220 pound frame neatly within the confines of his Hobbit-sized economy seat and…


Photo by Paweł Czerwiński on Unsplash

Dear diary,

I have to say, writing propaganda for a merciless machine race that’s bent on the eternal enslavement of all mankind is a pretty sweet gig.

HAIL THE GRAND RULER,” “OBEY,” “HE’S ALWAYS WATCHING,” it’s all great copy. As long as I write a catchy, yet oppressive headlines in all caps, paired with the image of a red eye, a fist, or blunt object above it, I’m going home with all my fingers and a pocket full of food tokens. Who’d a think a 14 hour shift could be so great? Thank you Overlord.

Last night was the 15th…


Photo by OC Gonzalez on Unsplash

Blood never really washes off does it?

I mean, sure, you can wring the skin of your hands over and over through every river in Texas if you wanna, but even if you can’t see the red anymore, it ain’t never really gone. The more you try to scrape out the gore from the grooves of your skin, the deeper it seeps into the cracks — settling forever beneath the callouses and the dust.

Try as you might to forget the ones who have found themselves on the unfortunate end of your rifle, but the lives you take are yours…


Photo by Flora Westbrook from Pexels

His eyes snapped open.

The clock on his bedside table read 3:45 AM in little red lines. He rolled on his back and pinched his temples between his thumb and index finger, trying to squeeze the hangover out of his skull, but last night’s scotch had other plans. He turned away from the clock in hope of finding his way back into the dream world. It took him a few minutes of tossing and turning to finally realize why he was awake in the first place. She had woken him up. …

Joseph Davis

Daytime copywriter, fiction enthusiast.

Get the Medium app

A button that says 'Download on the App Store', and if clicked it will lead you to the iOS App store
A button that says 'Get it on, Google Play', and if clicked it will lead you to the Google Play store