the quote in the beging was mandatory and the piece had to be short so it's not my best D
NARATTIVE
“A trip? Awesome!†I shouted. I couldn’t wait to be going there. This would be the best experience ever, or so I thought.
But alas I didn’t. I never shouted with glee. I didn’t look foreword too much of anything. And I didn’t care either way how this experience felt. Feeling lost… Oh so lost without reason is hard. And each day feels like a trip, a trip to Hell.
It’s the feeling of the starving deer waiting for the hunter. The feeling of the fly who knows it’s time is soon up. It’s the feeling of a fish trapped in a bowl. The feeling of a palm swept up into a hurricane. The feeling of hopelessness and restrictions that life provides. The feeling of wanting to leave this all behind.
And that’s what she had. She had all of those feelings in her frail body. That frail body which I used to hold into the night. That frail which shook when she was afraid. That frail body which made me laugh and smile. That frail body who held such a wonderful person. That frail body which failed her. That frail body which eventually destroyed her. And now that frail body is buried deep within the ground. As with her spirit, and my heart.
Though yesterday throughout the late nights I couldn’t help but toss and turn. My eyes leaked, as did my wrists. And that is when I couldn’t take it no longer.
I jumped into my car and jammed the key into the slot and stomped my pedal on gas. The speed limit was just another meaningless sign. The cop another corpse. The road a blur. And myself a lowly worm.
The reflection in the mirror isn’t me. The reflection in the mirror isn’t me. The reflection in the mirror isn’t me! They always tried to tell me that I was that person. But I know I’m not.
The lady in the dark skirt and black stockings who always wears her hair in a tight bun but some gray fuzz always seems to leak out, who has the pinchy face and beady eyes which she hides behind glasses, who keeps in her sighs and grimaces and talks all calm.
Or the man who tells me to come out, that man who calls me his brother, the man who talks about a person called “mother†and another one called “fatherâ€, who shows pictures of a happy little boy and how he grows into a man, that man who looks oddly like me, the man who says he’ll pray for me everyday.
Sometimes even the voice who bangs at my door, her voice is loud and filled with rage but I hear tears in the background, the banging hurts my ears and she shouts meaningless words I can’t normally here, she calls me her “friend†though I don’t remember what that means, with each sip of scotch the word seems to go further and further back into my mind.
And there voices hurt. They hurt me worse than the knives. They hurt me worse than the sleepless nights. I wonder if I’m just imaging all of this, they seem so far away and whenever I try to reach out my hand I’m too afraid to find out if this whole world is real or not. I’m sure it has to be a nightmare without her. It has to be, it just has to be a horrid dream.
And right now as my car pulls up and I step out inhaling the first breath outside of my dark home I have had in what seems to be eons I wonder if this is real. The crispness of the air, which seems to be invading my lungs with coldness freezing them. Or how my hands are shaking and my body feels so strange. And how my breath comes out like smoke and wisps around my head before leaving me.
And my steps which make crunching sounds on the brown carpet beneath me. It’s the sound of bones rubbing against and snapping each other. The sound of teeth chattering. The sound of breaking bodies.
And the sky which is the color of fat piled clouds as they sit lazily in the sky unmoving. The color of the dull blade. The color of evil and good colliding as so I’m told.
And then I see it. The tomb stoned marked with her name. The letters are fading as I lay down pressing my face to the moist earth inhaling the rotten stench. My eyes seem to start raining again. They’ve been doing that ever since she left almost none stop.
The water stings my face and plop onto the ground forming a small puddle on the ground. They keep flowing though. They smell like salt, like the oceans I vaguely remember. Though they are clear like the air which is biting and gnawing slowly at my skin.
I keep sitting here though. My muscle are tense and sore as I feel them searing like they’re on fire. I just can’t bring myself to leave her. I can’t pull my body away. I’m trapped forever in her embrace. And I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to ever leave.
Today now the air is chilled and frigid and little stings awash my body. Little white bugs from the sky, I think they’re called “snowâ€. Though my body feels hot. I can’t stop sweating which makes the cold sear my body even worse. And I can feel my body slowly though slipping away,
And the I hear the belching of a car coming up near letting out a cough of black haze. And the crunch of the brown caret of decay. And those voices that I can hear shouting in a tongue in which I cannot comprehend. But it doesn’t matter. I lost her. And now I have lost myself. And by the time the voices grow louder, I am gone, just like she is.
NARATTIVE
“A trip? Awesome!†I shouted. I couldn’t wait to be going there. This would be the best experience ever, or so I thought.
But alas I didn’t. I never shouted with glee. I didn’t look foreword too much of anything. And I didn’t care either way how this experience felt. Feeling lost… Oh so lost without reason is hard. And each day feels like a trip, a trip to Hell.
It’s the feeling of the starving deer waiting for the hunter. The feeling of the fly who knows it’s time is soon up. It’s the feeling of a fish trapped in a bowl. The feeling of a palm swept up into a hurricane. The feeling of hopelessness and restrictions that life provides. The feeling of wanting to leave this all behind.
And that’s what she had. She had all of those feelings in her frail body. That frail body which I used to hold into the night. That frail which shook when she was afraid. That frail body which made me laugh and smile. That frail body who held such a wonderful person. That frail body which failed her. That frail body which eventually destroyed her. And now that frail body is buried deep within the ground. As with her spirit, and my heart.
Though yesterday throughout the late nights I couldn’t help but toss and turn. My eyes leaked, as did my wrists. And that is when I couldn’t take it no longer.
I jumped into my car and jammed the key into the slot and stomped my pedal on gas. The speed limit was just another meaningless sign. The cop another corpse. The road a blur. And myself a lowly worm.
The reflection in the mirror isn’t me. The reflection in the mirror isn’t me. The reflection in the mirror isn’t me! They always tried to tell me that I was that person. But I know I’m not.
The lady in the dark skirt and black stockings who always wears her hair in a tight bun but some gray fuzz always seems to leak out, who has the pinchy face and beady eyes which she hides behind glasses, who keeps in her sighs and grimaces and talks all calm.
Or the man who tells me to come out, that man who calls me his brother, the man who talks about a person called “mother†and another one called “fatherâ€, who shows pictures of a happy little boy and how he grows into a man, that man who looks oddly like me, the man who says he’ll pray for me everyday.
Sometimes even the voice who bangs at my door, her voice is loud and filled with rage but I hear tears in the background, the banging hurts my ears and she shouts meaningless words I can’t normally here, she calls me her “friend†though I don’t remember what that means, with each sip of scotch the word seems to go further and further back into my mind.
And there voices hurt. They hurt me worse than the knives. They hurt me worse than the sleepless nights. I wonder if I’m just imaging all of this, they seem so far away and whenever I try to reach out my hand I’m too afraid to find out if this whole world is real or not. I’m sure it has to be a nightmare without her. It has to be, it just has to be a horrid dream.
And right now as my car pulls up and I step out inhaling the first breath outside of my dark home I have had in what seems to be eons I wonder if this is real. The crispness of the air, which seems to be invading my lungs with coldness freezing them. Or how my hands are shaking and my body feels so strange. And how my breath comes out like smoke and wisps around my head before leaving me.
And my steps which make crunching sounds on the brown carpet beneath me. It’s the sound of bones rubbing against and snapping each other. The sound of teeth chattering. The sound of breaking bodies.
And the sky which is the color of fat piled clouds as they sit lazily in the sky unmoving. The color of the dull blade. The color of evil and good colliding as so I’m told.
And then I see it. The tomb stoned marked with her name. The letters are fading as I lay down pressing my face to the moist earth inhaling the rotten stench. My eyes seem to start raining again. They’ve been doing that ever since she left almost none stop.
The water stings my face and plop onto the ground forming a small puddle on the ground. They keep flowing though. They smell like salt, like the oceans I vaguely remember. Though they are clear like the air which is biting and gnawing slowly at my skin.
I keep sitting here though. My muscle are tense and sore as I feel them searing like they’re on fire. I just can’t bring myself to leave her. I can’t pull my body away. I’m trapped forever in her embrace. And I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to ever leave.
Today now the air is chilled and frigid and little stings awash my body. Little white bugs from the sky, I think they’re called “snowâ€. Though my body feels hot. I can’t stop sweating which makes the cold sear my body even worse. And I can feel my body slowly though slipping away,
And the I hear the belching of a car coming up near letting out a cough of black haze. And the crunch of the brown caret of decay. And those voices that I can hear shouting in a tongue in which I cannot comprehend. But it doesn’t matter. I lost her. And now I have lost myself. And by the time the voices grow louder, I am gone, just like she is.