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| So here's what I got so far | |
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| Topic Started: Oct 22 2007, 10:50 PM (295 Views) | |
| Brandon | Oct 22 2007, 10:50 PM Post #1 |
2nd Lieutenant Gold
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I got bored a couple weeks ago and just started writing this. Found it today and added a couple paragraphs. Hasn't really been edited or finished or anything. I probably wont ever share it with anyone I actually know so here ya go. I sat there, screeching at god from behind an Outback Steakhouse. It was the height of fulfillment. I stood on a mountain top amongst the suburbs, screaming at the top of my lungs. The spike hit my arm and filled my veins with ambrosia. Steal and flesh making love with narcotic lubricant. Skinny and unshaven, I stand there, my eyes bulging from the excitement. My shirt hangs loosely off my body, my skin does the same. There were strange passer-bys walking slowly around me, circling me. I was different than them. They saw their bodies as decorations, something to dress up so they can get fuked. My body was a tool. No, my body was a portal; a median to absorb the drugs to get from their world to mine. My world was happy. I stood there alone beneath exploding balls of light. The light echoed off the air. My gnarled hand was still wrapped around the needle. I cocked my head back. The stars had abandoned their posts. Faces around me smeared like riders on a carousel. Vision blured and smudged like the eyeliner I wipe off my chest on mornings too early to rise. Senses spiked until even the air around me was intoxicating. In this sea of people, I floated- alone and numb. If this was death I didnt want to live. If this was life, I wondered how many people go on existing never tasting the intangible depth reality. The moon crawled out from behind a slumping shadow, casting new light over my distorted reflection in a car window. My mouth was filled with a metallic taste. It would have normally been putrid but this time it only served to reinforce the feeling that I was now floating across the sea in a large tin bath. My thoughts echoed from the walls of the bath, creaking thoughts; scraping thoughts; slow, indistinct tapping thoughts. Waves pulled the bath up, catapulted me into the air, caught me again, dragged me below with a twist and a turn before I popped back up at the surface, bobbing gently. Wary that I might be taken by the waves again I filled my lungs deep and for a brief moment found myself still standing by the Steakhouse, crouching slightly but other than that unmoved. I tapped my right foot clumsily on the floor and listened to the soft clap of boot on concrete. My hands were now empty. Looking down I saw the syringe floating above my left forearm, supported by the needle which still disappeared in through the skin. The skin here carried a faint blue-purple hue, which could have even been an ink stain not quite lost during my last shower. My right hand was also now empty and ahead of me on the floor I saw the body of my mug, lying on the ground unbroken beside a shallow pool of tea. I had reached an understanding of pleasure and purpose far beyond that of these humdrum passerbys. Another thought drifted into my head, this time it was a formless idea, unclear and maybe a bit dizzying but beautiful all the same. I felt like I was collapsing into my own core, cocooning my brain, eyes and voice within a little black box hidden somewhere behind my ribcage. The world was now being watched through binoculars, with me standing very far inside my own being. The people walking by were distant, silent, sprites on a computer screen, badly focussed versions of reality projected on a tiny grey wall. The people were ants. At this point I moved backwards to a wall and lowered myself to the floor. Or maybe I just imagined it. My skin ripped open as I dragged it across the cold, jagged concrete. My head began to throb. The blood pulsating through the veins in my temple made a bass line. I began to dance, never moving, and started to sing, not a word coming from my lips. The contrast in seconds was an eternity. There was another sharp pain in my head and now on my hands. The pain wasn't felt, merely percieved as blasts of white light shooting through my body. I was being attacked. There were thousands of minute, black, warriors all over me. Their weapons were attached to their mandables. Razor sharp toothed little bastards were aggresive. They moved and flanked with military precision. A thick saliva dripped from their mouths and they burried their teeth into my flesh. The battle that ensued was no battle at all. It was a massacre. There was nothing I could do to fight back; I just lay there and let them have their way with me. I laughed hysterically as the pangs of pain traveled up and down my body. I felt every sensation traveling from one nerve ending to another. The weather cooled and lightning struck somewhere near by. The thunder came right after and lifted me into a new place. I awaited the rain that would fill my tin tub, carrying me down to the depths of my own aquatic rebirth. An old man that I never saw walked pass me with his head burried in his tough, wrinkled hands. He tried not to catch the eye of the man that lay bloody, bruised, and covered in ants. So this is what it’s like to disappear. In the shadow of a parked car, my mind collapsed in on itself. I could hardly remember the sequence of events that brought me there, to that parking lot, to that night, to that concrete alter. Voices circled me, vultures examining my writhing caucus below. I refused to acknowledge them. My eyes would not be raised to the voices of strangers. Some nights I wonder if they’d be raised to the voice of God. All at once I am hit- hard. My left cheek, bruised and covered in asphalt soaks up the drop. In a moment I can feel the quick staccato tapping of rain across my entire body. Keeping tempo with my pulse, keeping time with the ticks of an invisible clock, each drop like the swift snap of a drumstick against the snare. I wanted to let the rain drown out the lights around me. Perhaps it could wash out these stains upon my soul. Maybe tomorrow I would rise clean like the night sky- blameless. Maybe. Maybe it would be better if I could have drown right there. Dissolved into a puddle, and woke up as little more than a stain against the pavement. Alone again, the pain was familiar, almost satisfying, like a flame to old burns. I knew it wouldn’t heal, but I kept tearing at the scar tissue, but healing is overrated anyway. Healing is for hippies and self-help books. Pain is reality. Against the pavement, my body longed to be drenched in nicotine and kerosene; my flesh crawled with empty thoughts. My mind was full of bleach and through the tiny window I could make out little more than shadows. Light washed over me as a passing car skid over what was left of my consciousness. I laughed and Revelations played backward in my mind. June 31, 1980. That was the day my parents conceived resulting in the pile of ecstatic flesh that lay drenched at the end of the pavement. It was an infamous day to me, a day I wished had never hapened. Blushing teenage girl and and the horny junkie-rapist in a chance meeting in a park. She should have aborted me, suicide requires guts. Lightning etched the sky above my head. It looked as if the sky had temporarily cracked and would fall on my head at any second. |
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| Some Polar Bears | Oct 22 2007, 11:52 PM Post #2 |
Chief of Staff
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I liked the eating part... ^^ Who would have thought Brandon could write such stories...? :| |
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| Brandon | Oct 23 2007, 02:38 AM Post #3 |
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2nd Lieutenant Gold
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Two more paragraphs added. And who didn't know? I mean, I'm awesome at everything soooo... But seriously thanks and glad you liked it. |
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| thedebo | Oct 24 2007, 04:21 AM Post #4 |
Warrant Officer Silver
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can you say plagirissssssm. you remind me of a young chuck palaniuk. |
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| Brandon | Oct 24 2007, 04:48 AM Post #5 |
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2nd Lieutenant Gold
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Don't you dare sir, don't you dare. |
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| thedebo | Oct 25 2007, 06:27 AM Post #6 |
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Warrant Officer Silver
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good articulation though my young writing friend |
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