03-11-2016, 05:05 PM
Never tried horror before so if someone can either shoot this down or give it a nice lift that'd be nice. Thanks and appreciation in advance.
I have known anger. You have most likely not.
You know when you want to punch something, you’re seething, you’re ticked off beyond belief? Some douchebag on the street or another news story of terrible people doing terrible things? That’s not anger. That’s being frustrated, being upset. Not angry.
Anger is deeper. Anger is ancient, primal, and older than the human species.
Anger is a terrible force. Anger inspires war, death, suffering, unreal punishment of the soul. Anger is a waste. I have known this.
I have known the stinging in my knuckles, white bone feeling cool air for the first time, the grinding and crunching of my own teeth, lips pulled back and up to my ears. My eyes so terribly wide, revealing pupils shrunken to small dots. My arms, my legs, whole body lacking sensation save for the absolute and all-consuming heat. The kind of heat you get when you’re too close to a fire and the smoke’s hitting your face or it’s the middle of July and no amount of sweat can stifle the humidity.
I have known my brain, that calculating flesh, not my mind, to compose that gory melody, the symphony of grief.
I wonder what my little girl saw. Not a hero, not a man, not an old and wise teacher. Something else, something that’s not supposed to- no, something that should never come out.
I wonder what they said about me, with the creature that provided so much joy to so many, so much reason to postpone demise, ripped apart piece by red and pulpy piece. What did they call me?
“Monster”
“Devil.”
Animal.
That week was the smallest moment I had ever lived in. I don’t remember speaking, just hands pulling me this way and that, cold steel on my wrists and ankles. Then chill all over, the sun setting and casting long, parallel shadows into a concrete cube.
Before this kingdom of agony became my home, I never felt the pinch of the needle, I never saw the faces of those who made my body still. All I saw was a smile, red and full lips, an elegant frame and long, blonde hair. All I felt was the empty space inside me, only meat under skin. I heard laughing, joyous and full of life, echoing in my ears.
I have known anger. I pity all those who have.
I have known anger. You have most likely not.
You know when you want to punch something, you’re seething, you’re ticked off beyond belief? Some douchebag on the street or another news story of terrible people doing terrible things? That’s not anger. That’s being frustrated, being upset. Not angry.
Anger is deeper. Anger is ancient, primal, and older than the human species.
Anger is a terrible force. Anger inspires war, death, suffering, unreal punishment of the soul. Anger is a waste. I have known this.
I have known the stinging in my knuckles, white bone feeling cool air for the first time, the grinding and crunching of my own teeth, lips pulled back and up to my ears. My eyes so terribly wide, revealing pupils shrunken to small dots. My arms, my legs, whole body lacking sensation save for the absolute and all-consuming heat. The kind of heat you get when you’re too close to a fire and the smoke’s hitting your face or it’s the middle of July and no amount of sweat can stifle the humidity.
I have known my brain, that calculating flesh, not my mind, to compose that gory melody, the symphony of grief.
I wonder what my little girl saw. Not a hero, not a man, not an old and wise teacher. Something else, something that’s not supposed to- no, something that should never come out.
I wonder what they said about me, with the creature that provided so much joy to so many, so much reason to postpone demise, ripped apart piece by red and pulpy piece. What did they call me?
“Monster”
“Devil.”
Animal.
That week was the smallest moment I had ever lived in. I don’t remember speaking, just hands pulling me this way and that, cold steel on my wrists and ankles. Then chill all over, the sun setting and casting long, parallel shadows into a concrete cube.
Before this kingdom of agony became my home, I never felt the pinch of the needle, I never saw the faces of those who made my body still. All I saw was a smile, red and full lips, an elegant frame and long, blonde hair. All I felt was the empty space inside me, only meat under skin. I heard laughing, joyous and full of life, echoing in my ears.
I have known anger. I pity all those who have.
Such terror you are facing
Isn't it wonderful?
Isn't it wonderful?