Dark Comedy Novels & Stories

Prologue: Decompensation In Desolation The Men's Restroom, Unknown Pub, Unknown Location, Outskirts Of Wakefield... One drink seemed to be all it took to make the world of a rather optimistic and cheery young man go from a happy-go-lucky bliss to a downward spiral of agony in the wake of his body attempting to expel what was believed to have been poison as his perception changed rather drastically in the wake of the terror that filled him. Just one drink, from a local pub where the bartender seemed to be on the payroll of a group of odd thugs that frequented the place. He'd been a rather charming old man, the spiking of the younger lad's drink notwithstanding, as he set about wiping down the

Both chuckle and pass hush-mumbling comments that I can’t make out, and I know it’s either crude or downright mind-numbing. “This has to be the worst topic for us….Right, Kales? It’s not like either of us has any idea what that is. No great role models and I don’t think either of us has dated anyone long enough to form a successful relationship.” Dane’s words are steeped in sarcasm. Only I don’t disagree with him.

They stood like statues, stunned on what just happened, their brain processing the horrifying event, hearts beating in melodic rhythm; fast and deep. Black smokes rose up into the heavens, staining the clean blue sky and filling the air with the smell of burnt grass and oil. All the cries and shouting suddenly fell silent. Even Maddy stopped sobbing; her cloudy puffy eyes were on them. As usual, it was her who always broke the silence. Bringing everyone to talk and in a non-diplomatic argument. "Badbloods" she said in a low growling voice but the hate and anger in it was loud and clear.

I asked, "So, Miss. How is it going with the Dark humour guy? Any update so far?" "HA! Dark humour! He's the funniest guy, I've ever met. Didn't you hear that line of him? I mean he called himself motherfucker; oh my, that's the kind of humour I love. Every time he cracks a joke, it makes me head over heels for him. And not forget his awkwardness around girls" the sarcasm was dripping from her mouth. But that changed my mood. And we both started chuckling, "He's not that bad!" I exclaimed. Right? He's not that bad.

"An experience?" "You're there to make them feel special," he continued, exhaling smoke. "Listen to them. Laugh at their jokes. Make them feel important. You won't be serving drinks or dancing publicly. You'll be in private rooms, having... conversations. Keeping them happy. And they pay very, very well for that happiness. Cash. No paper trail." My heart hammered. Private rooms. Conversations. "How... how personal does it get?" I pushed the words out, my voice barely a whisper. I needed to know the line.

“So, no documentaries about corporate greed either, I take it?” “Exactly,” she shoots back, crossing toward the kitchen. “I’m talking dumb comedy, the kind where you lose brain cells but gain a little peace. That’s what you’re getting and what we’ll be doing with the rest of our night, for once, I actually am looking forward to it, a little peace never hurt anyone.”

"Except you're not keeping me at arm's length." "No. I'm not. Which is why this terrifies me. Because you could actually hurt me. Really hurt me. Not just disappoint me or prove me right. Actually break me." Derek's arm tightened around me. "I don't want to break you." "But you might. And I might break you. That's the risk." "Your turn," I said. "Tell me something real." Derek was quiet for a long moment. "I'm afraid I'm exactly who Catherine said I was. Boring. Predictable. The kind of man someone tolerates but never really wants."

Christophe whipped back with sarcasm. “That’s a good idea,” Lara slung back at him bitterly. “And maybe if you’re very lucky you can find a whore in the bar because clearly, that’s the only kind of woman you’re accustomed to!” she completed with the shrill edge of hysteria in her shaking voice. An electrifying silence fell. Christophe dropped her arm as though she had burned him. Beneath Lara’s distraught gaze, he had tautened. Dark color had highlighted his blunt cheekbones.

A few people chuckled. "Oh, I agree," Rachel nodded. "He is very, very, very crazy. No one who knows him for more than a day can truthfully deny that. He's mad, cracked, insane - and he laughs at death. He laughs at life. He mocks condescension and helps alleviate ignorance through comedy.

I tried to fight back, but the three of them overwhelmed me, punching and kicking until I was dizzy and couldn't do anything. Finally, they pulled out their phones, laughing at my helplessness as they filmed. Darcy wasn't finished yet. She grabbed a utility knife and came toward me with a menacing grin. "I won't allow you to use this face to chase after my man. You only have yourself to blame for being so pathetic." She was only with Felix because of her looks, and she would never allow any threat to that. The three lackeys laughed nervously. "Darcy, maybe that's enough. Don't make too much of a scene. This is Mr. Palmer's villa, after all. It could cause problems for him."