Part two

The ghoul of westside

Chapter two draft:


The words took a moment or two to set in, and once they did, Carlos shook is head. And shook it again.

”I don’t understand, I-”

“None of us do, detective.”

This was the first time Pam had referred to him as anything but ‘carl’, or ‘Gonzales’, or even the dreaded nickname, ‘Carlie’, or simply ‘Carlos’. The message that came with the casual use of the word was clear: she didn’t trust him anymore.

And who would? he thought as he caught a glimpse of himself in the dirty window of the cafe, eyepatch and all, looking out at the sleepy buildings and the passerbys of the courtyard. He had to admit, there was a reason why people looked. And looked again. It wasn’t only his eyepatch, it was everything. The way he spoke, the way he walked, his shyness which was often mistaken as the behaviour of someone cold, detached. Even before the incident, that’s all she had said. Bring a little light into your eyes, Carlos. Smile more Carlos, you’re a handsome man, I don’t want people thinking that I married a freak. He complained about pam, had cursed her existence for the last seven years- but she was the closest thing to a friend in the precinct, his partner. And now she didn’t trust him. Damn.
He reached into his pocket and did something he hadn’t done in years- he brought out a cigarette. It was partly for relief, relief that he hadn’t felt in ages after he had quit. Relief after his wife slept in the spare bedroom and he spent the night smoking joints, sitting on the porch. Relief after he got fired, relief every single time he relieved that night. Partly for relief, and partly to see- just to see, what Pam would do.

Pam, to her credit, didn’t say anything. She looked surprised, her eyes widening a little- was that fear? but the moment passed as soon as it had come, and she nodded appraisingly.

”Could use one myself. Gunther doesn’t mind.”

He pulled out a lighter from his pocket and a second cig, handing it to pam. As he lit the end of the cigarette, panic-filled him momentarily- the smell of the smoke, the tiny spark. Suddenly it was all too much, but he forced himself to put the cigarette in his mouth, and let out a long puff, relaxing with every breath he took. Soon, pams face was invisible under the heavy clouds of smoke, and they both sat there, saying nothing.

Eventually, though, pam raised her arm, almost batting the smoke away, placing the cigarette on the wooden table. She cleared her throat, and Carlos took it as a hint. He didn’t put the cigarette down on the wooden table though- opening the window, he threw it out, praying that it landed on a random passerby and ruined their day. Pam didn’t bat an eyelid.

She folded her arms. Crossed her legs. Uncrossed them.

”Do you need to take a whizz?” his voice was hoarse, unused to the smoke.

”No. Why?”

“You’ve been uncrossing and crossing those legs for the last ten seconds.”

she sighed.

”Carlos, I wouldn’t have called you this early just to tell you this.”

“I don’t understand, we never spoke, we never-”

“Carlos, they’ve suspended you temporarily.”


Pam raised her hands nervously, palms facing him.

“Don’t shoot the messenger. I’m just passing it on.” she hesitated, and then continued with caution. “It’s just that….after what happened in new york, the sergeant doesn’t want to risk it, there was already a protest when you joined, but……” her voice trailed off, unspoken words hanging between them.

”But what?” His tone had taken after one of an irate child, even though he knew what pam meant. “But what?”

She sighed. “But the sarge gave you another chance, is what happened. I’m really not trying to insinuate anything other than that” her tone softened. “Maybe in a couple of days, I can try and talk to him again, maybe he’ll revoke his decision, maybe-”


“It’s the best we can hope for.”

She glanced at her watch- a huger monstrosity than his, really, Pam wasn’t too concerned with the amount she spent- while he looked at anything but her, the dry taste of the smoke still in his mouth, and he knew that as soon as got home and locked that door, he would smoke himself into oblivion.

”I have to leave now, I do apoligize Carlos- my son’s probably about to wake up, and I have to drive him to soccer practice. You know how it is.”

No, I really don’t.

“But I appreciate you meeting me- I’m sorry, I truly thought that this should’ve been done face to face. I would’ve waited another day, but….” She gave a smile that was so fake that Carlos applauded her- it took effort, and he should know- “But I thought it would be better sooner, rather than later.” She got up and dusted her coat, although it had remained the same dull brown color as when she had arrived.

She turned away, but paused for a second and turned around, looking at him awkwardly.

“Take care, Carlos.”

Gunther found him, two hours later, passed out on the couch, clutching a packet of cigarettes in his left hand.

The ghoul of westside (short story)

Part one:

The ghoul of westside

Christmas eve, 1975

He stared at the bodies on the ground, at the girl covered in blood.

Her eyes narrowed as she stood up.

”You’re late”.

Three months earlier:

Carlos took a deep breath as the sun shone on his face, the ends of his ragged hair clinging to his cheeks, his entire face red and perspiring. What a sight. He could feel the gaze of the passerby’s burning through him, the endless flickering of eyes and the sudden jerks of head as they registered his face- the hurried, almost SQUIRRELLY way they glanced away, and then the subtle (or so they liked to think) ‘looking’ at him, the hushed whispers as they informed their friends or whoever the hell they were with what they had seen, as he if was some sort of circus animal, some sort of display they were simply allowed to look at, the goddamn bl__y EXPRESSIONS on their faces, the way they just LOOKED at him-

He took another deep breath, as he realised he had started grinding his teeth again. For f__s sake.

The glances only lasted for a few seconds before the eyes dropped, ashamed, to the rough concrete of the courtyard. But those split-second stares were enough to observe the eyepatch over Carlos’s right eye and the strange, almost ghoulish expression on the right side of his face, his lips pulled into, what seemed to be a painful half-smile.

The left side of his face, however, was largely attractive. Carlos was not an ugly man- in fact, he had once made for a rather handsome one. His eyes were a deep blue and his hair was swept to the side- into one of those pretentious, modern-day haircuts that he felt made him look like a complete and utter poster boy for some sort of magazine cover- and was a light brown. His skin was the color of ___ and if you ignored the creepy half-smile on the left side of his face- well, he was quite attractive. Quite attractive.

As he made his way through the crowded courtyard, he couldn’t help but continuously shake the sleeves of his frayed coat every few seconds to reveal the monstrosity of a watch on his left wrist, continuously checking the time, even though he knew he was late. Pam was going to kill him.

”Hey. HEY!”

he practically threw himself at the yellow cab that was rushing past him. He hated making a spectacle of himself, and resented people who thought it to be normal, humane behaviour to be public nuisances, quite like his own brother, that little bast–d – but this couldn’t wait. He could not be late.

”The hell are you doing?”

he was struggling to open the cab door, briefcase in one hand, the other desperately clawing at the handle, when a sharp voice behind him made him turn around abruptly.

The source of the voice was a five-foot-eleven giant of a woman, her hair cut into a short neat bob, with bangs that looked as if she’d done them herself. She was wearing what could only be described as the ugliest blazer Carlos had ever seen, and a pair of chunky black glasses framing a very, very pissed off face.

”Hell, don’t you ever check your phone?”

Carlos grimaced. A tiring habit of pam’s was to include the word ‘hell’ into almost anything and everything she said. He bit back a sharp retort, instead raising the hand that had been clutching the handle of the cab, as a form of greeting. The cab driver, as if waiting for this signal, sped off, but not before cussing at Carlos. Loudly.

Pam smirked, shaking her head slightly.

”Damn hell, you deserved that.”

He was gritting his teeth again but was somehow able to let loose a painfully wan smile.

”Pam. I was just coming to see you.”

She sniffed, looking at him through her long camel-like eyelashes- probably the only attractive feature that sullen face held.

”Hell, I knew you were. Why do you think I drove out all the way over here? I’m not stupid, knew you were going to be late.”

She stepped closer to him, and Carlos inadvertently took a step back.

”Especially on this day.”

Carlos forced a smile again. This time, it came more naturally, and the events of the morning faded away as he became ‘work Carlos’, slipping into the mask he wore everyday once he left the small, dingy apartment that he hesitated to call his own.
His voice smoother, he spoke again, maintaining a carefully neutral tone.

”Ah, of course. Trust you to think ahead of time.”

Pam eyed him suspiciously but said nothing.

”Look, I won’t mention it again if you don’t. One of these cafes is probably open. Hell, I need a coffee.”

She turned away, not beckoning Carlos to follow her- she knew he would do it anyway- and he did, cursing at her under his breath all the way. Pam was huge next to him- he was only 5’3, minuscule for a man of 35, and he felt nothing short of a complete dwarf next to her. Her strides were difficult to match, and by the time her highness had come upon a place that wasn’t as shoddy as the rest, Carlos was ashamed to admit that he was sorely out of breath.

”Ah. This will do. This will do nicely.”

She pushed open the door of the quaint little restaurant. It was barely eight AM, and the place was relatively empty- save a college student nursing his hangover with a ginormous cup of coffee, holding his head in his hands, letting out a groan occasionally. The walls were covered in an unusually bright blue colour, which hurt carlos’s eyes as he surveyed the area taking into account the old, cracked wallpaper and the dusty wool carpet that was beneath their feet. This place was long overdue.

Pam seemed to be friendly with the cafe owner, who was a mousy little man of forty. his moustache covering half of his worn-out face. He had an irritating way about him although Carlos couldn’t point out exactly what made him wary of the man. Perhaps it was the strange way he squinted and tilted his head to the side while looking at the two people in front of him, or perhaps it was the open trusting expression on his face. Too trusting, and those kinds of people got nowhere.

“Morning, Gunther”

“Morning yourself, Pam. How are them kids getting along?”

“Getting along fine, quite fine, yessir. Teddy just took his first steps, a few weeks ago- you should’ve seen the poor thing, wobbling on his knobby feet…Dave just got his report card back- straight A’s, at that. Don’t know where he gets it from, couldn’t be me, I barely scraped by. Probably his useless bum of a father, but, you know what they say…..”

As they chatted on, Carlos felt some of the frustration he had experienced earlier creeping back. Although Gunther seemed quite animated, responding to pams questions, asking his own, Carlos could FEEL his gaze on him, scrutinizing him judging him, he could almost-
”But we better be getting along now, Gunther, load of business to do. Two black coffees, extra sugar- hell, extra of everything, even the coffee.”
Carlos let out a gentle cough, feeling irritatingly like an infant, pam being the boisterous mother. Pam glanced at him, and back at Gunther, shaking her head.
”Ay, slipped my mind. This is Carlos, my partner down at the precinct. He came all the way from newyork city- hell knows why he’d want to leave a city like that. Carlos, meet Gunther. Gunther, Carlos.”

He was almost seething with anger, though he knew his face was still pulled into a painfully PAINFULLY neutral expression. Who was pam trying to kid? she knew why he left, she knew he had gone insane (figuratively. Of course.) in that ghost of a house, the house where he had lost everything.
Carlos squeezed his eyes shut gently, willing the memory of the night to go away. Instead, he extended his hand, and shook Gunther’s, murmuring polite greetings.

”We’ll be on our way up, then Gunther. You make those coffees fast.”

Pam lead the way (as always) up the rickety wooden staircase that led to a smaller, cosier part of the cafe. It was still so hot, hotter than it had been outside, and pam switched on the cooler as she settled herself onto one of the couch cushions, beckoning Carlos to join her on the other.

“Trust you to be late…I waited down at the precinct till about 7:30, but I bumped into the sergeant while he was getting a morning cup of coffee….he worked himself up into a fit of laughter when I said I was waiting for you, that’s when I made my way to the courtyard….”

she paused, playing with her fingers awhile, and shifting in her seat slightly. She cleared her throat, but she wasn’t meeting his eyes, why wasn’t she meeting his eyes?

”I’m sure you must be confused as to why I called you down to the precinct so early.”

He wasn’t confused, no. He was angry, frustrated, that Pam would do this to him on the one day he got off, the one day he was supposed to be grieving.

As if reading his thoughts, she gave him a small, sad smile.

”I know I shouldn’t have disturbed you today, Hon. It was quite wrong of me. Quite wrong. But I wouldn’t have called you if it wasn’t important.”

She stopped, but all Carlos could latch onto was that one word, ”hon”, don’t call me that, SHE called me that, don’t-

”But P.C Jones found a body down in the basement.”

she looked at him pitifully.

”It was that young lad, the intern. What’s his name? wanted to become a police officer. Alex something.”

“Alex Sebastian.”

“Ah. Of course.”

An awkward silence followed, broken only by the arrival of Gunther and the two black coffees. Pam sipped hers, slowly. His remained untouched.

”I take it you two were close, quite close….”

” Close is an overstatement. I merely helped him around a bit, that’s all”

”But that’s clearly not what he thought…”

This caught his attention.

”What do you mean?”

Pam set her coffee down, entering ‘police mode’, a mode he had seen her transform into a thousand times, when she had to deliver bad news.

”He….he wrote a note, see…”

“A suicide note?”

“Yes…. he overdosed. Stole a bunch of pills from his mom, apparently- probably thought that the basement was the safest place to do it, it’s like a meat locker, too cold for anyone to go down there.” she shook her head, and carlos dimly registered the fact that she was crying. “It’s bad news for the precinct, sure, we’ll be called in for questioning….that sort of stuff. But he was so young, so young, only nineteen”

“What’d it say?”

Pam looked surprised, a little apprehensive about the blank, emotionless expression on Carlos’s face- but he didn’t care about the kid who offed himself with his mothers Xanax, or whatever pill he had swallowed, not at the moment. His only concern was why this involved him, and why pam had dragged him out of his bed by calling him at 6 am in the morning on the anniversary of his wife’s death.

Pam hesitated. In all of the seven years, he had worked with her, she had never looked more uncertain.

”It said….well….”


she looked pointedly at him.

“Oh, Carlos. It said that you were the reason he killed himself.”


The myth of beauty
{ 3: am thoughts }}∆¶√

There is no myth of beauty. Because beauty doesn’t exist. Beauty is a callous term adopted by humans, a mirage. idealistic, yet impossible. True beauty lies within us. The whole facade of beauty that humans refer to is just that : a facade, a mask, hiding vulnerability, true thoughts and emotions . The constant need to gain approval of society. Beauty, in this day and age, isn’t internal.Beauty is the magazine covers, the endless diets, skinny thighs,flat stomach, Just PERFECT. But there is no perfect, there’s only you. And no one is, and will ever be perfect.

Beauty will never have just one defenition. Beauty is so many different things, so many different people. Society looks down upon us for wanting to be its definition of ‘flawless’ when they are the ones who impose it. I see humans, but no humanity.

You are beautiful, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.imperfect, because that’s what beauty is ; imperfection. Beauty is the confidence you display, your strengths, failures, and weaknesses.

This. this, this is beauty.

I was at my funeral today
saw the the casket
saw the puzzled frowns
of the onlookers
her eyes still follow me
her voice,
laced with malice,
whispers doubt and uncertainties.
They say rest in peace,
but will she ever?
They say rest in peace,
but she’s not ready to go,
they say rest in peace as I
put on a show.
I wear a mask
it’s amusing how
broken vows can be laughed
And they murmer their sorrow,
with downcast eyes
they wipe their fake tears,
smile their fake smiles,
and they turn their backs,
walk away
take your rose tinted glasses off
see the world
in its horror.
and its the two of us.
Her hold on me,
as light as a feather
her life is my tether
I let her in again;
begin her mind games again;
push herself away from everyone


Alive corpses,
breathing poison,
you committed,
your birth is your crime
same blood
different faces
same thoughts
different races
blue eyes fair skin
don’t know how long its been
since you saw the sky without it’s horizon of blood.
Hold back despair, maybe there’s hope
hunger gnaws, hands hold throat
to end it all, but something says
hold on, hold on.
each day a piece of you dies,
fair skin, blue eyes,
another one killed on sight,
and now a child, barely four,
killed before he can
blue eyes, fair skin,
stay as far away as you can from them,
blue eyes, feigned kindness,
manacles hold me,
your words bind me,
think i killed myself today,
saw the knife, drew the blade,
but here i am again,
same old life, same old place,
still alive, not for long
forced to march to deaths song
threatened, tortured, spat upon,
live to survive, what’s the point?
crooked nose, dangerous brown eyes,
you’re a Jew.
shame on

Fake friends

she said she wouldn’t leave me alone,
my other half.
She said she would stand by me
my other half.
Listen to the thoughts and feelings bottled up inside me,
my other half.
Never let the darkness swallow me,
my other half.
Walked away and left me drowning
my other half

Her wide eyes,
framed with dark lashes
A straight face,
thin lips,
a long nose,
a haughty expression.
Hair black as raven,
skin a light brown,
her eyebrows forming a small frown.
A careless look.
Proud and happy.
But if you look carefully,
her eyes dart,
slowly nervously.
her hands form fists.
Her arms are sweaty,
Face heavy,
with exhaustion.
I know who she is, I know all too well.
I know all about her.
Her secrets.
Her lies.
Her dreams,
Her nightmares.
Why wouldn’t I? wouldn’t you?
of course I do. I should.
when I look into the mirror, that’s what I see.
That little scared girl,
That is me