Unhappiness

By Maxim Agrest

Unhappiness is a collection of unhappy stories.
They are freaky, frightening, and a few that are just weird.
Also, one is comedic.
All stories are short, a thousand words or less.
It’s a collection of short stories; why not give it a read?

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: May 16, 2019
• ISBN: 9781728382999

Maxim Agrest

Maxim Agrest is a young author who started writing at age 12, stunned by how much easier it was to write with a keyboard. He found himself loving writing fiction and coming up with strange stories, consuming many books – from classics such as Frankenstein to more modern stories such as Harry Potter. After finishing a collection of short stories, he hopes to be able to put together a well-done novel for people to read and love, just as he hopes for this book.

Book preview

THE THIN GREEN MIST

T he man put on his pair of white gloves and his tuxedo. He chose only these clothes and ran his tongue over his teeth.

The man looked at his hands, counting his fingers.

The man looked at his feet, counting his toes.

The man knew nothing had changed—luckily.

He walked out of his little shack in the forest. The autumn leaves crunched beneath his feet, creating a satisfying harmony with nature. The birds sung, and he smiled. He was going to marry his fiancée! So long had he waited, bided his time, and she’d said yes. Nothing would get in the way of their marriage. He couldn’t breathe, but he assumed this was just because he was anxious.

The man looked at his hands, counting his fingers.

The man looked at his feet, counting his toes.

The man knew nothing had changed—luckily.

His bride was beautiful. Their precious wedding day was just them, and someone to make it official. He and his spouse … wouldn’t it be beautiful? Granted, the weather wasn’t the best; a thin green mist hung in the air that had been there for as long as he had.

Sometimes it made him have horribly terrifying dreams, but otherwise it was actually quite beautiful. The green mist strained his head, but he liked to think he was mentally resilient.

But he liked to think he was mentally resilient.

He didn’t know anything about the mist, of course. He had moved there only one month ago and taken his fiancée with him to celebrate.

That was the day he proposed, and oh, was it a beautiful day. He replayed the memory over and over in his mind until he found that nothing would play, strangely enough. It must’ve been his anxiety.

But he liked to think he was mentally resilient.

The man looked at his hands, counting his fingers.

The man looked at his feet, counting his toes.

The man knew nothing had changed—luckily.

His feet were pleasantly cool. It was cold outside, but not unpleasantly so. Instead, it was a nice day to relax. The day simply couldn’t get better—his marriage, the weather.

He counted his fingers and saw that half of them, in random places, had gotten smaller.

But he didn’t worry about anything. He didn’t even remember what he was thinking of (although he liked to think he was mentally resilient). He was getting married, so what was the point of worrying? All his worries would soon be swept away by a relaxing and definitely rewarding married existence. Nothing else mattered much to him.

He walked up to the tree that they had agreed to meet at and saw his fiancée waiting there. He found himself grinning hopelessly at the sight that stole his heart and was still, at this moment, stealing it. He punched her shoulder playfully; yes, he knew they would be perfect. She shook a bit. He steadied her, adjusting her on the nail on which she was hung.

She was beautiful. The white dress had gone yellow with what may have been age. In place of eyes were nothing, only wounds leading to fleshy areas inside her head. The nail she was hung on pierced her heart, which by now was brown. She refused to drink her water every now and again, and because of that, the nail had gone rusty.

The rest of her body was covered, but her grey face was uncovered. The nose looked like it was melting down her face. Her face had been scarred by rot now covered in all types of scavenging bugs that kept coming back, no matter what the man did. But her lips were still full and red.

He went to his tiptoes, kissed her lovingly, and then rested back on his feet. He spat out a maggot and smiled at her. His wife.

But he liked to think he was mentally resilient.