In the credits of our postings we always mention that our organization’s Founder, Brett Matthew West, possesses an extensive online presence for his Short Stories. So, we decided to post one of his most popular creations, known as The Hole. With a slight tinge of romance thrown in for good measure, this dark tale depicts a prisoner delving deeper and deeper into the realms of insanity.
As Brett Matthew West likes to tell his many fans and readers: sit back, relax, kick your shoes off, prop your feet up, and enjoy!
The hole is deep, eerily dark, and cold as a blizzard in the middle of an Artic winter. And, still, I press on. They may chain my body, but they will never cage my mind. That is the one part of me I will never surrender. For twenty-three long years I have rotted away inside their prison. However, time means nothing to me. You see, I still have life to go.
Life at backbreaking, hard labor out here on the rock pile as we build the Warden’s road a quarter of a mile every day. This ball and chain securely fastened around my ankle ensures I, like a cow being herded to slaughter, only go where they want me to go.
My crime? My crime was passion, and putting a strategically placed ounce of lead between the beady eyes of Jason Howard. He was the most despicable human life form that ever existed. Yes, I killed him and I would gladly do so again…for you.
After all the blood, sweat, and tears I have shed behind these four grey walls that surround me, here is a deep, dark, secret none of my confiners knows. Oh, but you do, because I break out each night to be wrapped up in your loving arms one more time.
Your love is the only sunshine that falls upon my face. With you, I hear the sweet music of violins playing as your red dress falls softly to the floor. My calloused hands gently caress the smoothness of your body I long to touch.
Tenderly, you embrace me as only you can do. Let your love wash me in the cascade of delightfulness I yearn for. I can feel your excitement as once again I enter you. The place I want to spend eternity.
If only, if only Jason Howard had not come between us, and allowed the out of control, raging inferno that was our love to explode. But, you could not refuse the fine words he told you. Nor could you resist the temptation of the demon’s eyes as they drew you deeper into his lair.
That’s why I had to bring him down. A blight on the love we shared. He was but a leech sucking the breath out of the mountain of love we built together. I don’t blame you, my dear. How could I? You were young, and naïve, and tender as the dew on the morning roses.
I lay in wait that night as lightning illuminated the humid night. Thunder rolled, but not as loudly as the .45 I held in my hand. The gun felt so good as I fondled its grip with my fingers squeezing tighter and tighter and tighter! My pounding heart pulsing deep inside my heaving chest. The moment of truth near.
I watched Jason pull into our driveway. The fifth of courage in the whiskey bottle on the table where I sat, perched like a lion ready to pounce on the unsuspecting mouse. You were tucked away inside the pine box where I left you. Why could you not be devoted to me? The one who truly loved every fiber of your being.
Your unfaithfulness sealed your fate. I still hear you pleading, and see the fear in your eyes, as I bury you alive. You made your choice. Now you have all of eternity to wander alone. Not even your cheating, scheming, lover knows what I put you through.
With silver thread I stitched your rosy red lips together. The lips I treasured each time you tenderly kissed me. The taste of honey from those lips still lingers on my tongue. Forever they will remain a fond remembrance of your passionate love. I feel them upon the breeze that blows across this hole that is now my home. Their memory keeps me from reaching out for insanity’s warm embrace.
The velvet touch of your auburn hair is my heart’s desire. It drapes itself around me, clothing my passion. Long and flowing, the ribbons of brilliance adorn the beauty of your charms, and pillow my head, as I walk this domain I am imprisoned in.
The hole is deep, eerily dark, and cold as a blizzard in the middle of an Artic winter.
(From time to time we may post more of Brett Matthew West’s very popular Short Stories.)
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The Nashville Freelancers
***Brett Matthew West is a Nashvillian and a long time Freelance Writer. His myriad of feature articles have been published in a vast array of newspapers and magazines around the United States. He also possesses an extensive online presence for his Short Stories.***