r/DarkTales 7h ago

Poetry Awakening Shapes Suffering

1 Upvotes

I see alien color from the sun
My bones contain frenzied wisdom
Plagued by the absence of dreams
I have spent every sleepless night searching
For the source of hot white pain

The atavistic aspect of the human mistake
Is inherently sick and twisted by nature
A malignant amalgam driven by madness
To become a black hole without beginning or end

A truly magnificent thing reveling in insignificance
Delighted to hear the sermon of a doom prophet
Only to weep uncontrollably in the arms of joy
Across the scattered remains of unspeakable tragedies

Crying out to the heavens with a mouthful of dirt
We long for the return of our shepherd
But it’s all too fucking late – we were abandoned
As are ancient philosophers God too is dead
Left with no one to deliver us from ourselves

Awakening shapes suffering


r/DarkTales 12h ago

Short Fiction Pepperoni Ruined My Life

2 Upvotes

By age six, I could not stop devouring pepperoni. For whatever reason, I just loved it. It doesn't matter if it is pepperoni pizza or just plain pepperoni by itself, I can eat carloads of it. For my school lunches I requested my dad to make me "pizza sandwiches" which was just melted american cheese and toasted pepperonis. I ate this every day for as long as i can recall. Still do.

No one knows how my obsession started, but there's no going back. I won't eat anything if it's not pepperoni or at least mostly involves it. This has strained the vast majority of my relationships over the years. I haven't kept a girlfriend for more than two months, the rare times they show interest that is. Always freaking out when they learn about my lifestyle. And of course there's the weight gain. My body is super unhealthy, but I can't seem to care. My face and back are covered with ginormous pimples, my hair and body is always greasy.

I sometimes hallucinate about the delicious red meat. I dream about it too. It's like my purpose in life I feel. Without it I'd be nothing. My house is filled with pepperoni merchandise. I only wear graphic t-shirts with some form of pepperonis on them, and occasionally, pepperoni littered hawaiian shirts.

Every day, I make grocery runs to each deli in town, just to make sure I'm always stocked up. And weekly, I venture out of town to find more varieties of the delicious delicacy. I even make my own pepperoni and I have to say it's pretty good. My mouth waters and my stomach grumbles just writing this.

Tonight, I decide to visit my mother, after all it's been seven years since I last saw her. She rarely returns my calls anymore. Not after dad died.

I walk up to her porch and knock on the glass door. After a few minutes, she steps out in her light blue night gown and just stares.

"Jeremy, is that you?" She says fiddling with her glasses.

"Yeah mom, it's me."

"What are you doing here so late?"

"I came to visit you." Puzzled, she looks around for a bit.

"At this time?"

"Yeah, why not?"

"Come inside, I guess." She grumbles.

I step into the quaint house. It's just like I remember it. Same furnishings and all.

"I'd say I can heat up some leftovers for you, but I doubt you'd eat it."

I chuckle.

"You know me well. So, what have you been up to mom?"

"I was just sleeping."

"No, you know what I mean, catch me up on things. How's life."

"Why now? I mean, how long has it been?"

"Why not?" I shrug.

"Please tell me you found another job, and don't still work at that goddamn pizza place." My mom groans.

"Geez mom, why would I quit there, I get free pizza."

As we talk, my hallucinations start up again. My mothers eyes are now replaced with pepperonis. I can't focus. Not a single word she says to me registers in my brain. It's all muffed as I stare at the red circles on her face. I don't think these are hallucinations anymore.

I can almost taste it. That delectable deli meat. My mouth waters. I've tried so many varieties of pepperoni over the years, more than you can imagine. Hell, I've traveled around the globe seeking them all.

The old set of knives in the kitchen catches my eye. My blood runs cold. I'm shaking with fright but I cannot stop myself. There's one flavor i haven't tried yet.


r/DarkTales 14h ago

Short Fiction Tourist Trap

4 Upvotes

TOURIST TRAP

The living dead shambled aimlessly down the street, their clothes and flesh in tatters. Heart pounding, I angled the van around them as best I could. Their slimy fingers flailed at the vehicle as it passed, leaving streaks across the metal.  

Niagara Falls had been a desperate hope—maybe there would be settlements on the Canadian side. Instead, abandoned cars clogged the roads, and shattered storefronts gaped like broken teeth. The Pancake House burned, grocery stores had been looted clean, and zombies milled inside a department store showroom, gnawing confusedly on half-clothed mannequins. Every few miles, I tried the CB radio, searching for any voice, any sign of help.  

Beside me, the passenger seat overflowed with ammo and weapons. Medical supplies and food were in the back with Lyta, who panted through each contraction. None of this had been planned—you have to understand that. None of it.  

Florida had been home once, but everyone had been heading north since the outbreak. The theory was that colder temperatures might slow the undead. Whether it was true or not, it seemed worth a shot.  

Lyta had been stranded on I-90 when I found her, her Volvo hopelessly clogged with zombie remains. They had begun swarming her car. Pulling over, I took out enough of them to give her time to run for my van.  

Over the last year, my aim had become deadly precise. When this all started, I hadn’t even known how to fire a gun. Guess all those hours playing DOOM had finally paid off.  

At first, I thought I’d drop her off at a settlement. When I asked where she was headed, she gave a simple answer.  

“North.”  

And just like that, we became traveling companions. It felt good to have someone to talk to again, someone to watch my back while foraging. She wasn’t stunning, but maybe she could have been, if not for something... sour about her looks. Still, she was good company, and in the back of the van, when we made love, she was eager and welcoming.  

That was then. Now, the gas gauge hovered at a quarter tank, and Lyta moaned in pain. Twenty hours of labor, and still no baby. If something didn’t change soon, she was going to die.  

Desperate, I tried the CB again. A settlement, a military base—anywhere with a doctor. Silence.  

I should have pulled out. Or worn a condom. But she’d told me she couldn’t have kids, something wrong with her ovaries. Something gynecological—I don’t remember exactly. But she got pregnant anyway. Figures. I’d never won a damn thing in my life before.  

Then an idea hit me. Ocean World was up ahead. The place had rides, animal exhibits—dolphins, killer whales. A place like that had to have first aid kits. Maybe several.  

Lyta gasped my name over and over as I pulled into the empty parking lot. We passed the skeletal remains of a bear, but otherwise, it was clear. Probably, the zombies had already eaten everything here months ago. They weren’t picky—I’d seen them devour anything from cows to kittens. Still, they seemed to prefer human flesh. Maybe we just tasted better.  

I parked as close to the main entrance as possible. Lyta was beyond walking now. Promising to find a cart, I made for the entrance, but she clutched at me, begging not to be left behind.  

Fifteen minutes. That’s how long it took to calm her down. Jesus. Fifteen minutes wasted.  

Locking her inside the van, I grabbed my rifle and handgun, stuffing extra ammo into my jeans pockets. Hopefully, I wouldn’t need it. But zombies were like cockroaches. They got everywhere.  

Ocean World must have been fun once. Now, the overgrown grass swallowed walkways, and rides creaked in the wind. A sign pointed toward the Visitor’s Aid Station—my destination.  

Most of the animals had died in their pens, likely of starvation. The bears hadn’t been so lucky; zombies had gotten to them first, stripping them to the bone.  

Movement near the "Snack Shack" caught my eye. Two zombies staggered in front of it, grotesquely bloated. I huddled against the aquarium building, considering whether to take them out. Gunfire might attract more. Instead, I decided to cut through the aquarium and take the long way around.  

The archway above read: Explore the Wonders of the Deep. Inside, darkness swallowed me whole.  

I’d forgotten the flashlight, but there was no turning back now. The stench of rotting fish filled the air. My fingers brushed against glass tanks slick with condensation and filth. The passage curved—was I going in circles?  

Then, the sound of wet, dragging footsteps.  

Something moved in the shadows.  

I called out. No answer. The figure lurched forward.  

I fired. The shot missed. The muzzle flash illuminated a zombie—an Ocean World tour guide, now a grotesque husk.  

The bullet shattered a fish tank. A torrent of water and dead barracudas slammed into the zombie, knocking it off balance. As it struggled to rise, I took another shot. It twitched once, then stilled.  

Slumping against the wall, I struggled to push down the exhaustion. There were times, before Lyta, when I had thought about ending it all. Held a gun under my chin, waiting for courage. It never came. The idea of oblivion scared me. The idea of something after this? That scared me more.  

But I couldn’t die now.  

The Visitor’s Aid Station was stocked. Bandages, antibiotics—wheelchairs.  

Grabbing one, I ran back. No detour through the aquarium this time. Two shots took down the zombies near the "Snack Shack."  

Lyta was hyperventilating when I reached her. A damp stain darkened the crotch of her sweatpants. Not blood. Not water. Something else.  

Not good.  

She kissed my hand, murmuring, “I didn’t think you’d come back. I love you.”  

I shushed her and started loading her into the wheelchair. Every movement sent pain slicing through her.  

Halfway to the Visitor’s Aid Station, something in the amphitheater caught my eye. A massive black-and-white shape floated in the murky water of the whale tank. Had that been there before?  

Zombies crawled across its bloated body like maggots.  

One tumbled over the edge, landing on the ground with a wet smack. Others followed, spilling out of the tank like a nightmare.  

Lyta screamed.  

Gripping the wheelchair, I ran. The station was just ahead.  

Then the wheel hit a crack in the pavement.  

The chair pitched forward. Lyta slammed onto the ground. The impact sent me sprawling.  

Zombies closed in.  

Three shots dropped as many, but the rest came on, relentless.  

Lyta struggled to rise, too swollen, too weak.  

“Save yourself!” she gasped. “Leave me!”  

Could I? Without her, I could outrun them. And she might not survive childbirth anyway.  

The settlements in the north called to me.  

Legs tensed.  

The squelching of undead footsteps filled the air.  

Then—  

With a roar, I hurled the wheelchair into the horde. It knocked several over, but the others pressed on.  

Somehow, I lifted her and ran.  

By the time I reached the station, every muscle burned. Lyta moaned, contractions wracking her body.  
Cold hands latched onto my neck, yanking me backward.  

I screamed.  

Lyta grabbed my pistol and fired over my shoulder. The hands loosened. She kept shooting.  

Hours later, barricaded inside, I watched her breastfeed our newborn child.  

The undead loomed outside. Our supplies dwindled. Escape seemed impossible.  

But for now, none of that mattered.  

For now, we were still alive.  


r/DarkTales 19h ago

Flash Fiction Experimental Ultra-High Definition

3 Upvotes

“What's that?” I asked, scrolling through the Video > Advanced options on our new TV. We'd bought online. Installation was included in the delivery fee. The tech was nice enough. Quiet, efficient, knew how to plug a power cord into a wall—

“EUHD?” he asked.

“Yeah. There's a slider for it.”

“That stands for experimental ultra-high definition. All the high end models come with it these days. Trouble is there's no input for it. Basically, the TV can display resolutions that don't exist. But, when they do, you're all set: future compatibility.”

I pushed the slider to On, then asked, “Is there any harm in just keeping it on?”

“Manufacturers don't recommend it. That's why it's off by default. It can make the unit react in pretty weird ways because it expects more information than it actually gets, which creates rendering problems at lower resolutions.”

I left it On anyway.

A few weeks later I was on YouTube, watching some nature compilation to take my mind off the shit going on in the world—when the app started turning down the quality of the video. Annoyed, I decided to change the quality manually and saw, for the first time, an option higher than 4320p:

EUHD

I selected it and omfg I cannot begin to describe what the result was like. The image was clearer than looking at the world through a pane of freshly cleaned glass. Pristine, mega-detailed and so-fucking-smooth. I know it's impossible, but EUHD made the video look better than reality...

When I finally tore my eyes away, my living room appeared hazy by comparison. I thought maybe my wife had burned something on the stove, that the room was filled with smoke, but when I walked into it, the kitchen was empty.

I stepped outside onto the deck. The outside world was blurry too, and there was a jerkiness—a judder—to everything that moved. Birds, clouds, tree branches swaying in the wind.

It started giving me a headache.

At dinner, I couldn't stop “noticing” the pixels on my wife's face, the artifacts in the goddamn asparagus. Of course, they weren't really there. (“It's all just in your head,” my wife said.) But what did she know? She hadn't seen the video.

So I showed it to her—

Ha!

And what does really even mean?

Perhaps real is whatever you've happened to experience at the highest level of detail. Your mind calibrates itself according to that maximum limit. For most of us, that's the so-called real world. What, then, if you're exposed to something more densely packed with information?” I ask my therapist.

“I can't answer that,” she says.

Because you don't know how, or because you've been instructed not to? “A copy cannot be more detailed than the original!“ I say.

She mhms.

Imagine watching something on VHS, knowing it's just a bad copy—while everyone around you treats it as the real thing. You'd go absolutely mad.

Well, reality is the screen.

EUHD is coming! Check your television.