Probably the best way to put it.

Empty and barren. Not a drop to drink in sight; not for the body, not for the mind, not for the soul. Just a patchy, arid, place that resembled the word…”cough”. Actually, not even that. Because that would imply a place like this had lungs to begin with, that air could leave its windpipe, and it could take oxygen in. No, no. This place stopped being able to breathe a long time ago.

Could get some gas at the gas station. Except it’s been boarded up. Pumps were shut off long go and the well underneath it has long since dried up or turned putrid, sticky, and just plain unusable. Whatever’s inside, well…probably went bad ages ago. Maybe some tramp has made it their hovel, or perhaps some wild critters are nesting in there; you don’t know, and a part of you tells you to not care. Answers aren’t always meant to be sought out. Sometimes you’re better off…not knowing.

On the way here, you saw farms. Bleak patches of parched grass and infertile dirt that seem to roll endlessly through the town. You wondered if they were still inhabited in any capacity. Sure, there were houses out on the edge of these many, many acres, with various buildings that stored animals, grain, hay, vehicles, tools, etc. However, there was a distinct lack of a human presence. There was the presence of animals, however. Yet…they looked…like they were rotting. Ribs showing, eyes hollow and sunken in, clumsy and stumbling movements, a weariness about that made them seem intoxicated, when it appeared, in all actuality, that they were in a state of neglect, looking off in the distance…either towards nothing at all, or something the human eye could not perceive.

So you kept trekking along. Driving down cracked roads that haven’t been maintained in…probably years. Every little crack, every sharp pothole, every chipped piece of asphalt, every section where there’s only dirt left…you can feel it in the very movements of your car. From the suspension translating it to your ass and feet, to the steering wheel communicating it to your arms and hands.

Most of the buildings you come across seem to belong to the aforementioned farms. And you see gas stations and little convenience stores here and there. But they’re, as you figured out very quick, boarded up, usually with generic names hung at the top of the building to indicate what this and that place was called (even though they looked painfully similar and just as decrepit as the last). Shoddy conditions aplenty, with some of them in such a state of disarray, they looked as though they may fall over and collapse at any second. You had to wonder…why were they all like this?

However…one spot in particular gained your interest.

Looming further on down the road, like a castle in a Bram Stoker novel, was a house. A rather large house, probably three stories tall, no doubt containing a large basement. Fences were around it, with a large amount of land surrounding the entire property. Didn’t seem like anyone owned the property. It appeared to be abandoned, given the state of disarray the structure appeared to be in. Rust forming all over, windows either smashed in or boarded up, doors halfway attached to their hinges, part of the roof caved in, shingles and bricks and wooden panels strewn about haphazardly, paint peeling off like potato skins. Who could be living here? What derelict individuals were nestled up in this kind of hellhole? What even was the story of this place? How did it get like this? Before…all of this, what had the town looked like? The people that lived here before…what were they like; who were they?

Didn’t matter. All that pondering came to a stop when you rolled up in front of the home.

Carefully, you opened the door of your car…and slowly step out. The car was already shut off, so there was little need to worry about that. So far, no signs of life. Really, there didn’t seem to be any vehicles. None that were in your field of vision, anyway. If there were, they were kept out of sight. Likely left in a garage somewhere and doomed to rot away, breaking down into unusable status after being subjected to the elements.

Keeping your knife and gun holstered for the time being, you climb over the flimsy fence and approach the front door, hand reaching out to grasp the door handle. Chills ran down your spine in heavy waves, and the urge to turn back grew stronger and stronger; you shouldn’t be here. Nevertheless, after steadying your breath and closing your eyes, your fingers wrapped around the knob, pushing open slowly…

Eyes met with the sight of…

Pitch black.

Oh well.

Can’t say anything, can’t hear anything…

The air in the place is stuffy, able to feel it pressing on you. And the dust…you sneezed a few times, shaking your head, waving your arm, trying not to trigger your allergies too much. But the most unbearable part…was the smell. It smelled as though something had died. Scratch that; not just something, but plural…somethings. Oh, the odor was overwhelming. Made your head hurt, and your mouth taste strange. Left an odd feeling in your nostrils. As well as make your pulse race. What the fuck was the source of that smell?

Gagging and almost puking…you wondered if you even wished to know at all.

Bringing out your flashlight, you turn it on.

Rusty tools and sharp objects of all kinds, covered in bloodstains, are littered everywhere. Even bits of flesh and bone adorn the blades. Speaking of flesh, blood, nd bone…internal organs are piled up upon what appears to be a kitchen counter, or sloppily placed upon plates. Torsos, some of which are dug into and some of which that have yet to be ravaged (aside from being limbless and headless), are also everywhere. Arms and legs decorate the room, some nailed to the wall…others piled up into a refrigerator that has long since ceased to be operational at all. Occasionally, there’s a head. A few are left intact. A few others show signs of having the interior scooped out. Likely devoured, as a meal. Hunks of meat are stashed in various corners, collected into big fishing nets. And, naturally, all of this had become old and expired long ago.

Frozen in place, pure horror and panic overtaking your entire being, eyes threatening to spill out of their sockets…you wonder to yourself: what should you do? What can you do? How do you proceed? Did you want to go further? Or escape, and never return to this accursed place ever again?

All you could manage to do for the time being was simply…stand there.

Swallowing hard, blinking hard and slow (this was not a dream), you pointed your flashlight at the open basement. Methodically stepping towards the crimson-colored stairs that descended into what could only be described as total darkness. You began to pray to whatever may be out there that you could leave this place alive…

Of course, whoever or whatever may be out there didn’t hear your prayers. That was confirmed by the door slamming shut behind you. Now…now you were locked in here with…with something. Stuck in an unlit nightmare. Shaking and unable to move a single muscle.

When slaughtering an animal, the first step is to cut its throat, and drain it of any and all blood…



I’ve been sold this drug
Since time immemorial,
Hopped up on empty promises
And fed guarantees that my dreams won’t be spoiled!

But I’m no longer an addict,
Quite the opposite; as sober as I
Can be, no longer dependent upon
Sweet-tasting malice!

Try to rope me in,
Make me swallow a plethora
Of lies (or else I’ll have sinned!),
Ghosts having fled my head, no longer possessed
By a haunted aura!

The alternative fills me with fear,
Yet what I’ve already tried has left me in shambles,
Broken and beaten, I shiver and shake right here,
So towards that hated thing, I tentatively scramble,
For if I keep on digging deeper,
I’ll be another dead fucking dreamer!

And for whatever reason,
This bitter taste is more soothing,
Perhaps I’m addicted to committing ideological treason
Or I have finally become conscious of what it is I’m consuming,
Relinquishing myself to this harsh beating,
Letting go of what was looming
Where my eyes look up, my shadow and my self it was eating,
Ball and chain finally severed when more of it I stopped producing!

Now I cannot go back
To that place that ironically didn’t contain
All that I lacked,
Unable to be submerged
Deep into that old funerary dirge…

Snake-tongued deceiver takes me under their wing,
Whispering in my ear all that can be,
Guaranteeing for sure all they say they’ll bring,
Meanwhile, draining all that is left of me!


You say that the rambunctiousness
And discord is little else but
Pure, jumbled mania, carnage
Without rhyme nor reason, thus
Violent; these are all true, yet it
Is the meaning of freedom, of being
Unchained, living like wolves
Rather than automatons…

Declare, you do, that the opposite,
That foul imposition of control,
Of symmetry, understandability,
Congruency, sensibility, is the
Real way of things, but outside of the
False constructs, I find this idea to
Be sorely lacking in any
Validity at all…

Pipedreams are required to even gain a
Mere sliver of a chance of fulfilling the
End goal of this inane desire, this utopian
Need for stability, boring and dull stagnation…

Outside of the idiocy of charlatans and frauds,
An individual can gaze all around and find
Zero trace of its alleged existence, for outsiders
Balk at the idea of being steamrolled over for convenience…


My jaws of death
Encircle your throat,
The fangs in my jaw
Here to steal your last breath; the
Only wish I have left
Is to see you croak.

Nothing personal, it’s just war,
Something you and your kin had started.

But make no mistake, I
Do not apologize for being so cold-hearted.

You came to my home,
Where I gleefully wander and roam,
And yet are surprised when I
Bare my teeth in revolt.

Would you grant me mercy
If I committed the same transgression?

Killed my family for sport and shallow trophies,
Laying lead into us like Japs
Gunning down bogeys.

Gaze into my eyes
Because now I deem you
Must be torn apart, made to die,
Feel my fucking aggression.

Point your gun,
This war’s not done,
And I won’t be another
Decoration you have won.

I’ll dig in your entrails,
Frail, pink-fleshed beast of burden,
Pulling you apart with tooth and nail.

Not your world, not your land,
It never was, and never will be.

As long as I live, the Yukon will never be yours,
You’ll just have to go ahead and fucking kill me.