Stories From the Edge of the Precipice

She was still trembling.  The rasping inscrutable voice still hung in the air ; rest would be elusive, her breathing too fast for comfort.The silence almost choked her : its implications of further torment were the stuff of nightmares. She wished to be able to forget, if only for a moment, and vanish into a vortex of calm and nothingness. When someone spends a long time in isolation with only a few stimuli to assuage their  thirst for entertainment even the faintest of noises can become noticeable to such an extent that it turns into a persistent obsession.  She couldn't make out exactly where it came from, but it didn't matter anymore.  The only sure thing about it was that it never stopped, not even when she slept. Her eyes could not fully open. Not until the swelling went down. Outside it was dark already. The dim street lamps shed a very particular kind of light into the room,  filtered as they were by  the muddy crumpled curtains behind her. The...

Ok... this is not a story for the faint hearted. If you are easily offended or you are my mother, please stop here. Not suitable for minors... (please note: all content is subject to copyright) Susan is sleeping in her flat. It´s late morning but she likes sleeping the morning off. Afternoons seem so much gentler on the soul. More than anything else she hates it when something interrupts her sleep, especially when it´s the phone, so when Mr Shapiro calls her once again to ask her whether her flatmate has come back she is feeling quite grumpy. Penelope hasn´t been at home for a few weeks now, and she hasn´t been paying the rent, which means that now she needs to move out: something she rather not think about. With a groan she picks up the phone. - Good morning Mr Shapiro. No. I still don´t know where she is.. Yes. I do realise that. Like I said I´ll be out of here by the weekend... When the call has ended she cannot possibly go back to sleep. She beats the pillow down but it´s mor...