Fly On The Wall: Fairy Tales From A Misanthropic Universe, Vol. I

By Alfy Dade

Welcome to the first part of Fly On The Wall: Fairy Tales From A Misanthropic Universe.

Step into a world of 36 gruesome and morbid fairy tales from a misanthropic parallel universe. Fight off anger, sadness, disgust, and upset as you march from one tragedy to another in this awful anthology. Contains strong scenes of violence, sexuality, nudity, coarse language....and that's just the first few pages. Reader discretion is advised.

Life is a fleeting commodity, one all too often taken away by cruel fates.

This is the first book in a 100 story 3 volume anthology.

It gets worse...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alfy Dade
• Release date: Jul 2, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310923593

Book preview

1 – The Silly Rain

Remember baby, I won't be gone long, he said. It’s a short trip, just a week, at most two.

I'll miss you, daddy, I always worry when you go away, retorted Sarah in high pitched tones.

It's just a business trip darling, I'll be back before you know it. I promise!

She looked at him and pondered what would become of him, of her and of everyone she knew, she was particularly worried about Fluffy, an 8-inch tall pink bunny. Fluffy had yellow ears with floral stitching inside. Sarah loved Fluffy dearly, but not quite as dearly as she loved her own father. Here, she held the small stuffed rabbit out to him, Fluffy will keep you safe, even if I can't.

He looked at the little bunny being thrust towards him, it's beady eyes challenged his choices. One could see the exact moment in which his heart broke in two. He wondered what would become of him, of Sarah, and of everyone they knew. He cupped his hands around the back of the precious bunny and gave it a small kiss before tucking it into his jacket pocket. Fluffy fit perfectly, and as usual had a good view one almost as good as the view he would have from thirty thousand feet. He boarded the plane with Fluffy the silly rabbit in tow. Sarah stayed and waited for his return.

These days Sarah just watches rain streak down the window - drop, by drop, by sullen drop. She wonders what became of her father and Fluffy. She'd seen neither since that fateful trip. She wonders what had become of the plane too, though she supposes it really doesn't matter.

At least they are with me now, within this silly rain, the one just pouring down my windowpane.

Every year on this day, it rains a silly rain, and every year on this day, the final drops mirror her final tears. The little girl is little no more, now she stands strong against fates' cruel jokes. She swats at a fly which buzzes past her head, annoyed. The sadness she had felt for so long is no longer there, now she can rest. She hopes that next year it won't rain.

2 – A Missed Connection

BANG. To the ground he fell.

ZAP. The wires arced. They had shockingly recently claimed another victim.

REW0000WWWWEEEEEEJ000 went the ambulance as it rushed George to the hospital.

1 Month later he awoke. Alone. He rang for the nurse. She rushed in, and with her a gaggle of residents, and behind them behind a doctor – their mentor. The nurse had been sure of his imminent demise so her surprise was palpable. The mass of bodies fretted and fussed over him. Their excitement was almost too much for George to bear, and somehow he almost longed for the peaceful nothing of the past few months, it had been just him, alone, and his thoughts.

2 weeks later he left the hospital. Alone. He rang for the taxi, it rushed up to him at the entrance, as did a gaggle of reporters, with their camera crews nearby behind. His zap had clearly made the news, he had managed to short the grid, and his survival itself was nothing short of electrifying. Cameras clicked and flashed, questions assaulted him from every direction. He almost longed for the silence of the hospital, it had been just him, his thoughts, and his medical team.

1 week later he posted an ad. Alone. It went: "You know me, I brought down the city grid 2 months ago with my literal bare hands. It happened because I was distracted by you, the most beautiful girl in the world. When you walked by with your purple handbag and raspberry beret my mind froze, and my heart rose to stratospheric heights. I didn't believe in love at first sight, not until I saw you. Let's meet, hopefully this time sparks won't fly." Nobody came this time, and he almost longed for the reassurance of the interviews and the company of the press. The ever clicking cameras and their blinding bulbs had kept him from his thoughts.

3.5 days later he got a response. He read it, alone. "This is her friend," the e-mail began, stirring hope within his heart. She died that fateful day, it continued, shuttering what little optimism had grown, the grid went down and she was struck by a driver who'd had no light saying whether to stop or to go, I'm sorry. Again, he was alone.

3 – Let Them Eat Cake

poP poP poP

Everyone ducked. Well, almost everyone, somebody had to fire the gun after all.

One woman stood alone, in a red sun dress and white cowboy boots. In her hand was a magnificent 1911, inlaid with a mother of pearl grip and plated in tiger—stripe gold. Wisps of smoke as delicate and beautiful as her ginger hair escaped the muzzle.

She would not live long. It was not meant to be, her crime would see her put to death as surely as the sun set in the East. It had not been easy finding the 1911, they were highly sought after antiques. 1911s and all other guns which had been produced since the great leap backward. At least he was dead though, never to institute or instigate any further leaps, be it forwards or as in this case backward. It had been 400 years since scientists had managed to reanimate the dead, and what a tumult it had been. Villainous historical figures no longer lay entombed in dirt but instead stood and greeted children in great enclosed amusement parks. Though they were bad they were not stupid and soon they escaped. From Stonewall Jackson's zombie uprising to Putin's zombie nudist park, good brains, and intellectuals were now few and far between. Especially since zombie Lenin's great leap backward. At least he was dead, 3 to the head to make sure he's dead, right?

'BRRRAAAIIIIINNNSSSS a voice from the floor said 'Bourgeois braiiiiiiins'.…

POP! CRUNCH! SPLAT! Ewwwwww.

Well at least that did it, she thought to herself. Little did she know that according to Zombie Law per the Brains act 3007 s.63b(rains), she who kills the lead zombie rules all zombies. It was an archaic law after all, until now only used thrice. And so Jen became the head zombie, setting a new record for the highest position ever held by a living one.

4 – The Park

It was a day unlike any other. John the perfumier had just finished work and entered the nearby park. It was 28 degrees and John had his typical lunch with him. It didn't seem like all that unusual of a day, to John at least. Cars drove past, dogs barked, cyclists ran stop signs, and vengeful pigeons shat on passers-by. Even the garbage flies buzzed joyfully around the typical piles of city trash. What was unusual was that John had not eaten his lunch. John always ate his lunch. John religiously observed routines. Every moment of every second of his life was planned out a few weeks in advance. "How you can plan love," you might be thinking. If there was anyone that could, it was John. His obsession was his love, it was worship, he sought no everlasting life, but rather ordered contentment instead.

It bothered him that his lunch remained uneaten. He didn't understand what had come over him. He hadn't eaten it. Why what was wrong? Was he not hungry? No, it couldn't be that. That wouldn't explain his current craving, a strong one too it was for something he himself could not explain. Need overrode any explanation. His body yearned for it – whatever 'it' was. Shivers slithered down his spine, and John smacked his lips. But for what though? He did not know. He needed it bad, he needed it so.

Jack walked into the park. Today was the day, and no more time could pass. It had to be – now or never, and never was any option at all. Out came the pipe. Out came the sickly sweet resin which brought sense to life. Out came the lighter which illuminated his mind and ideas. Out came the smoke, billowing, beckoning, calling him forth into evanescent ecstasy.

John smelled something, he did not know what it was but knew it was what he needed. He walked to it aroused. This was surely what he sought. John's perfumery needed it, this true, liquid, love. He came across a scruffy bum holding what looked to be a pipe, thence emanated the honeyed phantoms. It was what he wanted, what he needed. He ran at the bum and snatched his pipe, he threw his lunch (now quite pleased he hadn't eaten it before) at the man, and ran faster still clutching his purloined loot. John sniffed the pipe. His heart beat fluttered at the thought of putting it in his mouth and sucking with delight, the wrongness of his actions had yielded delectable forbidden fruit. John yearned to partake but decided to leave it for the evening time.

Later that day John was arrested for possession of opium. He didn't even get to try it before that, in some ways it was a day like any other.

5 – The Visitor

Hello, say the hat, trench coat, and aviators.

Hello responds a redhead from the corner of the room in saccharine, melodious notes.Who are you? Her lilac dress swirls in the gentle draft like a jellyfish's mane in ocean currents.

Who am I?! Who are you? incredulous trench coat barks back, almost as though it were his home. It could, of course not be, for it had no furniture.

You know me. With each passing moment, she seems more and more like an apparition.

I really don't. Sullen silence falls on all. The trench coat seems to shake, its bearer trembles, furious. The only thing which keeps him civil are the endless rays which stream onto her perfect skin. I know my furniture is gone; I know that you are in my house. I … I know that I love you. the aviators rise an inch, revealing a contorted face behind them, one shocked by its the admission to the ginger stranger.

She nodded, knowingly, I am the one who has always been near. I am the floater in your eye, the peripheral sparkle. I am the sunrise, the sunset, the dusk, and the dawn. I am good, I am evil. I am. I will always love you, but we can never be, for I am me.

The trench coat awakes in a gin-cloud and slumped over a vomit soaked couch, not knowing what had happened. All that is left now is an ephemeral memory. He looks at the corner of his room, where his fuchsia stands. Its perfect curved form resembles that of an illustrious ballerina. He puts it down to the weird cheese he'd eaten last night and continues with his life. Each time his eyes came upon the fuschia, he