Posts Tagged Rachael Blackwood


by Rachael Blackwood

She presses the blade against her lover’s skin, deep into the meeting place of his penis and his balls.

“You’re alien to me.”

“That’s technically not correct.”

“I don’t mean…” She bites her lip. “I really hate you.”

“I’m sorry.” His skin shimmers, blue and green.

“I was sane before you.”

“I became male for you.”

“You couldn’t have created something thicker?” She flicks it with her little finger – floppy.

“I can’t grant wishes.”

“I love you.”

His mouth disappears from his face, like so many times before.

“You gave me this but you never gave me you.” Swift and sharp, she makes two deep cuts and his penis is in her hand. “I’m taking what belongs to me.”

Grey-skinned and bleeding, he reaches down to hold himself. His skin shimmers and he shifts shape.

He looks like her now.  His bleeding wound has shifted into a normal functioning gash.

She rolls her eyes, her fingers wrapped around her lover’s severed shaft.  “You’re not so cocky anymore.”

She puts his member in her pocket, twirls the knife in her hand, and she leaves.


Rachael Blackwood writes, reads, loves, and laughs. Her current internet home is here; her Twitter lives here.

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by Rachael Blackwood

Your ribs expand yet your breath catches twice before you scream. As you scream, you close your eyes and all you see is blood.

Someone died today and the blood drips through your hands. Your face is wet and your lap is wet and the overhead light buzzes ‘I-know’. Your eyes know but your brain overheats as the fluttering flickers your pupils.

You’re frozen on the spot but a hinge creaks and your hands, they stutter and they shake. It’s okay, she says, and pats your back and you’re five years old hiding under the stairs.

You’re on the way to nowhere and yet now you’re here.  You’re here and here is somewhere but Someone is not there. Not here. Nowhere. It’s a nightmare but it is not night.

Not right, but to your right she’s opening the door again and it squeaks again and you’re five again. Five perfect little hands, you think, and then realise that’s not right either.

Can I see, you squeak, and wish you hadn’t. Your brain is catching up with your eyes. She doesn’t answer just pushes the door wider and he shuffles in.  His eyes are catching up too so you squeeze yours tight and black him out.

And then you laugh abrupt and hollow, bah, as that’s kind of how you slew Someone.  So you squeeze your eyes tighter and wish him dead too.  Instead, he slips his fingers between yours and the blood fills the gaps like mortar.


Rachael Blackwood writes, reads, loves, and laughs. Her current internet home is here.

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