3 AM

It starts at 2AM, after the party ends and when you have enough time to clear up. It is when you finally have time to sink down on the ground, and observe everything around you. The way strangers lay drunk on your favorite couch, where you see your roommate snogging a guy who’s not good for her. The way your classmates sprawl themselves on your floor, clutching empty bottles. Bottles you downed to enjoy and adjust to the noise and the chaos around you.

Chaos. It’s 2:30 AM and you can feel the pain and exhaustion roll your body. The room gets stuffier and you find yourself inhaling the smoke from some girl’s extinguished cigarette butt. You told yourself that it was the last time you call a bunch of people over and host a party. A tired smile stretches across your face, after all, it wasn’t a bad night.  Yet a nagging feeling, which you pushed down a long time ago resurfaces…


Did you enjoy the party? Did you have fun?


Sure you did, you tell yourself. Yeah, the party was fun. You met loads of people. Hell, even the cool kids came over.  This was definitely one of the rowdiest nights you’ve had in a while.


But, did you have fun?


Did you?  Did you speak to someone? Anyone? A person who cared? Did you find someone who knew about you and who wanted to find out more about you? Or did they just come for the ‘fun’? Were you an extra in your own party?

You don’t like these thoughts. So you try to think of something else. You’ve settled down, you’ve found a group to like you.

You stare at the clock in front of you. It’s 3AM.

They like you. Isn’t it?


After all these nights, you know what’s coming next.

You look up to face yourself in the mirror in front of you. Broken sometime during the night, you see only jagged pieces of your face together.

Large, bloated face, with blood shot eyes. You’ve seen it all before. You’ve laughed at this face. Called this face pathetic.

Who would want to be friends with an elephant? You had no reason to have any friend. You’re loud, opinioned, stubborn and strong willed. Your friends find you brash and rude. They laugh at your mistakes. At your marks.

At you.

You can’t breathe suddenly.


It’s 3:15 AM

You step out onto the open ledge. You breathe again. Your lungs eagerly breathe in the nip in the night air. The stillness makes you aware of the loneliness the night has to offer.

Your tee shirt feels twice as tight suddenly. The ledge is dark and is a definitely more than ten feet above the ground. You feel exposed under the moonlight. The night stars offer no solution. You hate your skin.

Mosquitoes buzz around your head. The air clears any type of buzz you had. Deep breathes scratch against your throat. You feel faint hearted.

They comment about me. The time during the presentation. The time during the shoot. The time during the photo session. I was the awkward one of the pile. I was the one chosen last. I was the runt of the litter.

No one else ever needed you. You didn’t either. Did you? No you didn’t. You never do. You can survive on your own.


Your feet have a life of their own.


You find your feet at the edge of the ledge. You sit down there. Dangle your legs in the open space beneath it.


It’s 3:30AM

You struggle to think of anything that makes you happy. People- maybe older friends. Maybe they see beyond your flaws.

Breathing becomes heavier as you stick your hands in your pocket. Your phone, you can’t find it. It’s not where you thought you had it last. Your mind runs through the events from the night.

You hadn’t thought this through. You remember every glance and scoff thrown your way. You remember everything you thought you’d ignore. You know they noticed you conscious. You know they continued.

Your phone.

Your phone.

Where was your phone?

You don’t know if that was the past you talking in your head, desperate to ignore the unwanted attention or if it was the present you, desperately trying to ignore the party.

You find your phone next to your knee.

You release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.


The stars look beautiful tonight.

I always wish on stars, nothing has happened yet. Am I not worth a miracle?


It’s 3:45AM

You’re tired. You’re just so fucking tired.

You stare straight in front of you and all you can see is a chaos of buildings together.

The hidden emotions that stayed inside for so long. That stayed hidden. That you wanted to keep in. They all come out

Your heart betrayed further.

Remember when you thought you had a chance with him? And then saw him making out with her in your room? Wasn’t she the one who had always told you that you had a shot at being with him?

Was she always with him?
Did he know too?
Was this just a game or a prank by them?

You shake your head, you know better than that. She was your best friend maybe she liked him too? Maybe she was drunk. You knew she was and so was he. Maybe they both were drunk. Both were interested in each other. That’s good, you would be happy for them.

This wasn’t the first time you were rejected for your friend anyway.

You can feel the tee shirt cut through your skin. You always loved this top. The blue always made you feel comfier. Yet now you could feel the excess fat around you.

It’s 4:00AM
Exhaustion eats you alive.

You can feel your mental breakdown attacking your heart. The constant beating makes it difficult to hear anything else.

You want to stand up. You do. But you sway, your legs refusing to help you, drained of any energy to give you. Tilting over the ledge-

Maybe. Just maybe. More to the left and then-


But the ground looks so nice and smooth. No bones to be too badly damaged. Just a few broken bones and pile of clothes and skin.


No more pain. No more self-doubt. No more questions. No more pressure. No more ‘eyes down hood up’.

It tempts you. All too much but you run away from there. You rush back inside the rooms. To other people. The snores and the smell. Anything to bring you out of this.

You strain to find anyone to talk to. To talk to you about regular life. To talk you out of this.


It’s 4:15 AM.

And now you find the pills.

You stand opposite the bathroom mirror.


You face looks lifeless. Sunken eyes poring back into yours.

Sleeping pills. Your roommate had insomnia. You know the procedure.

One pill and a glass of water and then to bed. If nothing happens try another pill after two hours. No more than two in a day. Otherwise it would prove to be fatal.

You know all this. You reminded her during her worse days.

The bottle opens easily, used to the regular use.

Pills fall out easily.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten
Ten pills. Exactly ten. It must be a sign.

You stare hard. You remember how you screamed at your roommate, overdosed on accident.

You empty the contents on your hand back in the bottle.

You stare at the mirror for another whole minutes and begin to furiously wash and scrub your face.


It’s just 4:30AM.

You stare at toilet seat. All the alcohol and the junk you at the previous night run back to you. You taste it in your mouth before you rush to it and puke right into the bowl.


And puke again.


By the time you empty your stomach, open the windows and air out the stench, you feel a little lighter.

Maybe I can try this for another day.

You have given up trying to remind your brain of what’s right and wrong. You just face your wash again.


It’s finally past five am.


You walk back to the balcony. The early morning air hits your face. The sun hasn’t hit the skies yet but you can see light in the summer sky.

“Hey, awake already?” It’s a girl from the party. You don’t know her name, you smile her a good morning.

Suddenly the day doesn’t seem too bad and the morning stars shine a bit brighter.

“The sky looks pretty”
“Hmm. I always adore mornings. Nights are scary. Apparently 3AM is called the ghost hour. That’s when demons and ghosts come to life.” She shiver.

The smell of green tea hits you, as she offers you a sip off her cup. You hungrily take you large gulps.

She laughs and calls you a dog for almost finishing her tea. The sound hits the air and the morning birds’ chirp along with her.

You look at her and her eye smile makes you smile back.

The rising sun was better with another person to watch along with.


You’re not alone.
You overcame the ghost hour and now live to see another day.






“So why were you up all night again?”
“Oh I was facing my demons. I won.”
“Ooh! A hero!”

She winks at you.
Yup, definitely not alone.


Envy- Seven Deadly Sin Universe

The shutter clicked and it sounded as if it had deeply inhaled. He felt the same. The roundness of her swollen nipple, as she pinched them, made her throw her head back.  She stripped of her thin lace underwear.

He stared at her clit. The reflection from her well placed mirror.

It looked pink, and soft, and almost entirely hairless, aside from a red stripe that seemed like a perfect landing strip to guide his way. His hands almost shook when his camera caught her fingering herself to climax.

But he was a professional.

The first time was in a bar.

He heard her first. The footsteps of nine inch heels.  He smelt her next. Musky, yet feminine. Then he saw her. Right in front of him. He stared at her full breasts bouncing as she danced. The way her dress skirted a bit too high as she moved. As she sinfully bit her lip.

That was the first time he saw her.

He traces her soft skin through the pictures. Wondering who would be touching them at that very moment. A flare of envy rushes through him. That should be him. Worshipping that nipple or sucking that neck.

He wants it.


The second time was outside her apartment’s building.

He stood there as she walked into the building in a hurry. The pouring rain outlined her black bra, her top wrinkling up as she tried to open the stubborn door.

He stood there until she entered her first floor apartment. Watched her strip off her soaking top and her shorts before she hurried to draw the lace curtains. They did nothing to hide her from him.

Under the pouring rain, he finally focused his camera.

He imagined how she’d feel under him. Some days she’d be loud as he’d finger her tight clit, hungrily grinding on them. Others she’d eagerly suck him off.  But he comes the most to the sound of her whining in the back of her throat, so desperate that she resorts to begging, a string of ‘pleaseohpleasepleaseplease‘ shamelessly escape her lips. It would give him a rush, an incredible high that his mere presence can reduce her to this, to a pleading mess writhing underneath him.

He wonders if cum stains the photographs. Though her clit look good with it on it.

Then there the time  near her office, a café.

She was with a man. Her boyfriend presumably. Someone he had seen her before.
They sit in a corner. He sits diagonally across.

His camera captured moment that people wouldn’t have noticed.

His hand in her skirt. Her legs quivering. Him pulling two fingers from under her skirt. She sucking them while still looking at him.

The last time was in her bedroom. He waited till she fell asleep before slowly stripping off her covers. His imagination did not let him down. His fingers stroke lines on her skin. She moans and turns.  She looks good naked. Sleep. Drugged, not heavy enough.

He finally kisses her. Coaxing noises out of her. Not too harsh. He wants this to last.
It simply fuels the need possessing him because her lips taste of the pleasure to come.

She doesn’t move when he prepares her. But he ignore her, taking his time stretching her. Three  fingers in. He now knows she can take it.

She moans. And grinds. Moving her hips on the fingers that fuck her.

She moves,  signalling her awaking. He thrusts in fast, his nails digging into her hips. And then she hisses, wide awake with fear. That only adds to his pleasure. He’s prepared for this. He covers her mouth with his handkerchief and she falls back on the bed. He continues his thrusts. His sucking. His marking. And stops when he’s finally satisfied.

The bed stops creaking.

He pulls back to admire his handiwork. The swollen, red lips, hickeys around her neck and breast, topped with his cum. Some in her, some on her.

It does look good on her.

It doesn’t matter if he couldn’t hear her worship his name.
Maybe the next one.
He is a professional after all.


Hear the howl cut the silent night
Feel the Goosebumps on your skin
He’s close and there is no woodcutter to save you
another move and you’re dead.

Hear the trees rustle behind you
Turn around, if you dare
see the hungry eyes staring into your soul
Turn away and utter a silent pray.

Hear the cackle from the dead,
they’re counting down the start of your nightmare
let’s see if you can run fast enough
Oh, remember, he loves a good chase.

Hear the heavy breathing near your ear,
Can you feel his smirk yet?
Did you actually think you’d escape?
His teeth gives away his true intentions

Hear him snarl before he finally has you under him
Scream, scream louder, if you can.
Fairytales are beautiful, but Reality is the harsh truth
The Big Bad Wolf always wins.