Damian A. Landon
Bio
I'm an amateur writer, but I hope that I can increase my skills and knowledge to eventually become a notable author. I live in California, USA.
Stories (2)
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Bad Trip
It was dark outside, dark and cold. I had just gotten out of work. God, I hate my job. Mr. Pardo was busting my balls all day for not restocking the movies last night. Maximum Overdrive had just come out a couple of weeks ago, and it was flying off the shelves. Or it would be if I had put them on the shelves, but I didn’t. But that’s in the past, it was time to go home. I started my walk to my car, a 1969 Maserati Spyder. It was a gift from my father for my 16th birthday. It was kind of old by the time I got it, but man did I love it. It was pretty chilly out, but that’s nothing new for Chicago. I just pulled my jacket closer to me and continued walking.
By Damian A. Landon4 years ago in Horror
Not one of us has a face.
I saw a man on the subway yesterday. It was rather peculiar. He looked at me from under his hood. He looked at me without eyes and saw not my skin, nor height, nor appendages, nor any of my features. He only saw me. My soul. What if all of us were like that? Non judgmental. Not concerned about race, gender, sexuality or nationality. What if we only saw each other for who we really were? I must find a way to replicate this man. So I went back to my house and sold everything. My television, my chairs, my couch, my bed, my lights, everything. I then had my house renovated with that money, and I made a lab. My own little secret laboratory. But that was only half of the equation. I needed volunteers. So I went into the streets and found a man screaming at people in the street. He was saying that people with other skin, and race, and nationality are cretins. If people weren’t carbon copies of him then they didn’t matter. I waited, patiently of course, for him to leave. When he went to the restroom I asked him to be my test subject. He was, as I thought he would be, difficult. But difficult wouldn't do. I took a syringe out of my pocket and jabbed it into his neck, instantly incapacitating him. I struggled, but I was eventually able to stuff his body in the trunk of my automobile. Once at my laboratory I strapped him down and drugged him. He was sleeping like a baby, and I started. First I carefully removed the skin around his face. With my scalpel I drew a line around his eyes, nose, and mouth and pulled gently. Peeled like a fresh orange. I then got to work on his eyes, and his lips, and his nostrils. Before I knew it he was perfect. I sewed the skin back onto the face. I unstrapped him and propped him up in the bed. He awoke, and saw me. For me, not for bodily form. For my soul. Yes, he was a perfect example. This will do nicely for me.
By Damian A. Landon4 years ago in Horror
