He ate flowers. this mentally challenged boy from the countryside I used to watch him in the fields when I visited my grandparents as a kid He was like an exotic thing a wild beast chasing static pray They had no chance, the flowers he would assault them with a killer’s smile, frothing, and […]
Love letter by Bogdan Dragos
Usually it was after the second pack of smokes that inspiration came into his soul but today it came after the second cigarette And when inspiration hit he'd grab the paper and pen and write letters old style He was a romantic My love, he wrote, this is the 272nd letter I write you, and its subject will be the idea of impossibility. I think impossibility is highly subjective, my love. I for one can climb Mount Everest in my shorts if I want to, but one thing I'll never ever do is get over you. I dream you every night. Every. Damn. Night. And I wake up and grab the dress you left behind and I wrap its strap around my penis like one of those rubber rings meant to make you last super long. I've been doing it for… a long time, love. Believe me…
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Interview with Author and Poet Bogdan Dragos
Biography:
I was born in 1992 in Romania and had a happy childhood until I went to school. I never had an answer to the question “What would you like to become when you grow up?” and still don’t. But I was lucky enough, after college, to land a job as a dispatcher at a gambling company. There, I spend 12 hours alone in the office (day and night shifts) supervising casinos through CCTV cameras. I like to think I learned a lot about humanity from this. But I also learned a lot about myself. It’s also where I started writing.biog
What is your greatest accomplishment as a writer so far?
That’ll be the publication of my poetry chapbook, “Pour The Whiskey Over My Heart And Set It On Fire”. In August 2020 I found myself with quite a bunch of poems and no audience, so I started submitting a…
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heavy cross, tight shackle by Bogdan Dragos
The house doesn't feel like home, mother. Not since you left for the other world after father left for another house from outside town Now there's just me here. And my older brother who is younger than me mentally and will remain so for the rest of his life He still hears whispers coming from every dark corner of the house and because of this our electric bill is enormous I can no longer take this I'm not strong enough I'm not willing enough This cross is too damn heavy. It's breaking my back, breaking my soul I want to get a better job and eventually a car and a wife and start a family I can't do that while taking care of my troubled brother I quit. Tonight I will make his nightmares come true The electricity will go out…
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Cajun Mutt Press Featured Writer 02/01/21
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( ͡ ͡° ͜ ʖ ͡ ͡°)
\╭☞ \╭☞Big thanks for the feature!
a dead body in the room
there was a dead body in the room
Had to be
Else where did the smell
come from?
Every time he’d turn around to catch
a ghost or a zombie
from the corner of his eyes the smell
would slap him
A smell of death
He decided he’d look around for the
dead body
but later
He didn’t have the energy now
or the disposition
or anything
He only wanted to sleep
some more
He just woke up and needed a good
nap to recover
Perhaps there were times when it
didn’t make sense
but now, today, nothing made more
sense that this
All you need is a healthy
dose of chronic depression and it makes
sense
Just like not cleaning the room
and not taking a shower
in a time longer than memory can be
bothered to remember
So he paced back to…
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faded silhouette in the mirror
By Bogman Dragos
the worst part about being alone and sick is being sick but perhaps the second worst is having no one to comfort you He reminded himself aloud that it was his own choice and rolled on the carpet and pushed his thumbs inside his eyes The head was killing him, like the brain grew legs and constantly kneed his eyeballs from the inside, seeking to push them out like caps of beer bottles and exit through the holes And his stomach wasn't any better although it got everything out some time ago The first few coughs came with liquid, pungent vomit but now there was only blood "You can only get what you deserve," whispered the faded silhouette from the mirror. "You might think all this is caused by the bottle of wine you found while dumpster diving as you do. It…
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“Ouija Board” Short Story by Bogdan Dragos
Well, when you’re desperate you’re…
“Me,” he said. He was alone in the room and lonely enough to have bought one of those Ouija boards from some old woman who called herself a medium. It was time to try it out.
All he hoped for was a sexy ghost that would haunt him, maybe hurt him a bit, he wouldn’t mind. Anything just to take away the soul-crushing loneliness. Anything!
He said the prayers exactly as the medium instructed and did the breathing exercises and was ready to use the board. He moved the piece to spell HELLO. Got no answer. Looked around the room. Nothing. Again, he spelled HELLO. IS ANYONE HERE? ANYONE AT ALL? ARE YOU FEMALE? Nothing. Nothing new at least. Only more loneliness and more frustration and deeper down the rabbit hole of misfits he slipped.
WELL FUCK YOU! he spelled, and jammed the pointy side…
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“Mother forbade feeding the poor thing” Short Story by Bogdan Dragos
There was a dog outside and it kept barking for some reason. Ah yes, it was chained and the chain was terribly short and the poor animal was hungry.
Mother wouldn’t bother feeding it. No, mother wanted it to die because it had been father’s dog, inherited along with the house after father died. Mother forbade feeding the poor thing.
Her child stood next to the window and listened to the poor thing barking outside. It was better than listening to mother drinking and talking ugly words with her boyfriends.
He opened the window and the dog saw him immediately and barked at him. He wanted to cry. Tried talking to the creature but it wouldn’t listen. It kept barking.
“Mother would cut my hand off if she caught me stealing food for you.”
But he was a smart kid. He leaned over the window and thrust two fingers down…
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vomiting snake by Bogdan Dragos
in nights like this he would just drink in the dark and smoke and lie on his side and hallucinate about a snake vomiting vibrating colors on a white wall Maybe the snake had eaten paint But it was a small snake no bigger than a worm and the amount of dancing colors it vomited all over was astounding Enough to paint the whole house But the colors would never stay on the things they fell upon The colors would bounce around and dance and vibrate mingle with each other and part and mix again and the small snake would vomit some more and it would make a sound like babies crying All he wanted in times like these was to crawl over to the poor snake and comfort it in some way pat its head, place it in his armpit to get warm…
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“the veins” Short Story by Bogdan Dragos
Something wasn’t quite right in this small, barren room. The man sitting across the square table, dressed in a white coat, seemed a little to calm for someone in reaching distance.
‘I could just reach for that bald head and snap the neck real nice,’ he thought as he watched the man. ‘What does he want from me? More questions?’
It was indeed more questions.
“So,” said the man in the white coat, “if you are ready to speak, I am ready to listen. I am here for you.”
“How come you’re still alive?” he asked the man.
And the man answered, “What do you mean?”
“Are you one of the few who adapted?”
“Adapted? That’s interesting. Please, explain. What do you understand through this adaptation you speak of?”
He shrugged. “I just… thought I’m the only one who adapted. To the new life.”
“I see. And what about your…
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Daydreaming as a profession 