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Don't Mind Her, She's 'armless
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TITLE (EDIT)
Don't Mind Her, She's 'armless
DESCRIPTION
Ugly people have feelings too.
[1,000 words]
TITLE KEYWORD
Horror
AUTHOR
Johnny Abrahams
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Has ideas but lacks talent and skill to commit completely to writing his perfect novel.
[March 2007]
AUTHOR'S OTHER TITLES (6)
Crazy Crash (Short Stories) Just plain stupid [645 words]
Do Memories Really Have A Title? (Non-Fiction) Seriously no point in reading unless over 35 and drunk, I am not kidding but hey you think you know better so go right ahead, don't get smart or witty. You are being stupid by pretending to not read i... [168 words] [Relationships]
God Does Indeed Understand Irony (Short Stories) Basically a strange way to die. [691 words]
In The End All Becomes Clear (Short Stories) When death comes knocking, do you open the door? [831 words] [Drama]
Is Evil Edible? (Short Stories) A very brief introductory work by a person who wishes he could write better than he can. [542 words] [Mystical]
Our Father Who Aren't In Heaven (Short Stories) A man searches for his father but will he find him? [3,026 words] [Thriller]
Don't Mind Her, She's 'armless
Johnny Abrahams

I have a fairly large by numbers and size human arm collection. I keep them in specially constructed viewing boxes that prevent decomposition. Quite a few of the arms are still wearing parts of clothing, T-shirts, nighties, etc. Most are naked resting in isolation with the moist bits varnished to preserve their look. The ending of the arms are unique to each one. Some have noticeable teeth marks, some look they were cut with razor sharp implements. Some looked like they were hacked apart with a dull blunt and rusty butter knife. The lack of blood on some proves the level of mental fortitude shown by some of the victims. To the average person they would represent the most violent of actions. A cruel crime worthy of the backlash of the community. But if I was to tell you that they were given up on their own accord would you believe me?

Perhaps I should be offended, I was at the start, quite disgusted in fact. It robbed my self esteem and will to live and love. But as time past my sense of humor saw it in a different light and hence the ever growing collection. If it wasnít for the wonders of alcohol my collection would never grow. I admit that I am not pleasing to the eye, I realise that I am carrying a few extra pounds where they are not appreciated. Thatís life, if it wasnít for us Ďuglyí people the pretty ones would not be appreciated. But I do believe deeply that underneath I am a worthy person, pity most canít see that far.

How do I come across these arms? Do I get them myself? I find them every time in the same place at the same time of the day, blood trails can lead me to the people involved but I do not follow. I have come across a few arms in various parts of the city but it is not until later they become my possession. I have met every person who gave up their arms, I have known them all on an intimate level, names are forgotten but the faces and breasts and bodies are all stored up in the memory bank that is my brain rekindled everytime I glance at their respective limbs.

I am the hunter yet for me to win I need to hunted. Anytime I can give up and never find another arm again, in fact I have given up in the past but after a few months I am lured back into the hunt by an unseen all powering force from deep inside me. Not everytime do I find an arm, sometimes I am unlucky but like the cheetah who lets the zebra escape I know that another chance will prevent itself soon and as patience as an ally I merely wait and let them come to me.

The hunt takes place usually at night, in dark and smoky nightclubs where light doesnít have the chance to show any surface imperfections, the music and noise too loud for decent conversation, the smoke masking all but the most noxious of odours. As early evening passes into late night the amount of alcohol consumed increases, visions blurred, sounds smothered, this is my time. As natural forces of selection take place the location empties out and only the dregs remain, this is my jungle savanna, this is my ground. Alcoholic perception overtakes reality and I can now make my move. Like a fish acting wounded to lure away sharks I walk across the floor, aura pumping, sincerity screaming out of every pore, baggy clothes give the impression of bulk muscle not bulk fat. It isnít long before reconnaissance takes place, a look here, an accidental bump followed by extended eye contact there. Luckily the alcohol inhibits vision and as the old joke goes, what is the difference between a dog and fox? About 10 beers. I donít mind women buying me drinks as a matter of fact I relish it adds spice to what usually is a memorable night.

As the night draws on the picking become more concentrated, beautiful women are everywhere, their lack of self confidence is evident like a lighthouse which doesnít have a globe on a stormy night. These are my prey. I can lure them in without their knowing, I massage their flagging egos whilst they rub and down my leg. It surprises me to no end what the average woman feels about themselves, it makes my job so much easier. In a way I am good for them, like a foul tasting medicine without which the illness spreads. When I lock onto a suitable one it isnít long before we are back are my place, drinks are served, one of which is usually alot stronger than the other. Nothing too bad, just enough to lose all inhibitions. The sex is usually great, the ones that donít get lucky too often go off with a bang. I spend all available energy in pleasing them and then pass out dead to the world for the next 10-12 hours.

The feeling of moisture and stickiness awakens me to my surprise. Blood is on my pillow, face, sheets and chest. I sit up and grab the now lifeless arm from my pillow and examine the meaty end. Yes fine teeth marks are present, there is quite a bit of stretching of the ligaments around one side. Must of been desperate this one. I get up and walk to the dresser and look in the mirror, I still canít see what would possess a woman to chew her own arm off to avoid waking me up, but then again I see this face everyday and it no longer bothers me.

The arm goes into my collection, along with a brief description of the owner. I have been tinkering with the idea of setting up a hidden camera to catch the person and place a copy of her picture alongside the trophy.

 

READER'S REVIEWS (5)
DISCLAIMER: STORYMANIA DOES NOT PROVIDE AND IS NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR REVIEWS. ALL REVIEWS ARE PROVIDED BY NON-ASSOCIATED VISITORS, REGARDLESS OF THE WAY THEY CALL THEMSELVES.

"This was a pretty creepy piece with a twist that I'm sure no one will guess. At first I thought he was a cannibal, but boy *ha ha ha* was I wrong. Keep up the magnificence." -- Michael .
"This theme is so sick, it's funny. I think you could improve upon it by polishing up the grammar,punctuation, and typos, and perhaps, putting more emphasis on the hideousness of the seducer. I've been on the other end of these encounters, but I've always managed to get away without severing anything." -- Richard, Oh.
"Ewwww! I love it! I love it!!!!!" -- Harriet Nicholas.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!!!!!!!!! I LOVE IT!!!!! WONDERFUL! Write some more stories NOW!" -- Wolfa.
"Hey, pretty cool, sounds like you know what you are writing about " -- Greg Baker.

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COPYRIGHT NOTICE
© 1999 Johnny Abrahams
STORYMANIA PUBLICATION DATE
September 2001
NUMBER OF TIMES TITLE VIEWED
2180
 

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