Belle’s head tilted, studying him uncertainly as he sipped at his tea. There were two other maids besides herself for the estate, and he used but six rooms of it. The rest were kept closed, the furniture covered in white sheets. Only the door at the end of the hall was locked. No one was permitted inside, and he kept the key on his person at all times. She set the teapot down and summoned up all her bravery.
“Why did you want me here, Mr. Gold?”
His smile was crooked, his eyes almost mirthful as he gazed at her over the rim of the tea cup. “The place was filthy.”
Elizabeth was best known for her investigative and undercover reporting,
In the late 1800s, she was given the assignment to report on the conditions of the ‘Blackwell’s Island Insane Asylum’. She decided the best approach was to be committed to the facility.
In order to look more convincing, she dressed in tattered second-hand clothes and stopped bathing and brushing her teeth. She also practiced looking like a lunatic in front of the mirror for hours. Soon she started wandering the city in a daze.
Someone called the police to have Seaman evaluated, just as she wanted. Soon she was shipped to the Women’s Lunatic Asylum on Blackwell’s Island.
Seaman spent 10 days collecting information. She realized that the “human rat trap,” as she called it, was a filthy and overcrowded place. Nurses choked, beat, harassed and mocked the “inmates.” Food was terrible and vermin-infested.
Some of the “inmates” were not insane at all, they were in the Asylum because were physically ill, or foreigners.
She experienced firsthand the treatment that the “inmates” received while in the institution.
Seaman’s exposé, published in the World soon after her return to reality, was a massive success. Her report of the cruelty prompted public and political action led to the reform of the institution. She wrote about this experience in her first book,
Cooper got out of his car and stared up at the tower that was now his new home. He took off his shades as he whistled low. “Ain’t that some fancy ass shit.” He said with a wide grin as he took in the massive tower and was damn glad he took the job. Sure worth it after dealing with a failing company. Cooper wasn’t poor by any means but he wasn’t filthy rich either. He placed his glasses back on and headed for the front door.
The moment he stepped inside, the atmosphere of the place was sophisticated and high end class. He liked it already. He headed up to the front desk to grab the keys for his room and headed for the elevator. He had a jacket on to hide the gun he had tucked in a holster under his arm and another at the small of his back. Never too safe. He was grateful to the MacNamara’s for offering him this job and putting his skills to good use. The elevator stopped at the 11th floor and the doors slid open to allow someone to walk in.
“i’ve only been here a day and i’m already wishing i was back home. this place is filthy, just an hour ago i saw an animal walk down a hallway unattended. the next animal i see i’m getting my staff to capture it and getting it euthanized.” they sneered in the general direction of the hallway, “i don’t care if it belongs to another royal, people need to learn to respect their new home and to get control of their disgusting mongrels.”
This is a group blog/project, dedicated to the creation and proliferation of filthy content. Filthology will host filthy short stories and flash fiction, filthy artworks, and filthy essays should the inspiration strike.
But what kind of filth, you ask? Every kind, every flavor, and every kink – within reason, of course. Although we are sometimes open to suggestions.
It goes without saying this blog is 18+ so don’t come crying to me if you trip on a dildo or something. They’re just lying around everywhere here.
I prepare for the nobel war.
I’m calm. I know the secret.
I know what’s coming and I know no one can stop me, including myself.
I kill people I like.
Some of them beg for their life.
I don’t feel sad.
I don’t feel anything.
It’s a filthy world we live in.
It’s a filthy goddamn helpless world.
I feel like I’m helping to take them away from the shit and the piss and the vomit that run in the streets.
I’m helping to take them to somewhere clean and kind.
The world is a filthy place.
It’s a filthy goddamn horrorshow.
There’s so much pain. You know?
There’s so much… There is something about all that blood.
I drown in it.
The Indians believed that blood holds all the bad spirits.
And once in a month in ceremonies they would cut themselves to let the spirits go free.
Now, there’s something smart about that.
I like that.
You think I’m crazy?